Dead Madonna

by Victoria Houston

  “Chief Ferris,” said Gretel, walking over to Lew and extending a gloved hand, “I understand I came on a bad day.”

  “I wish we could have saved you the trip,” said Lew, shaking her hand.

  “Maybe later this week? Your deputy here has invited me to Friday night fish fry since I have to travel back this way anyhow. You know I’m determined to talk you out of that Sig Sauer of yours. If you’ll just try one of the new Glock revolvers with the short trigger reach—I have a lot of women in law enforcement who swear by them.”

  “That’s a tough one,” said Lew. “What’s this about a sniper rifle? Is Ray making unapproved purchases on my behalf?”

  “Heavens, no,” said Gretel. The more she laughed and smiled, the worse Osborne felt. How would he tell Mallory?

  “Hey, Chief,” said Ray, “you never mentioned you had an expert marksman coming in today. I can’t get over this—we drive out to the shooting range so she can show me the new rifles they’re using and BAM! You ought to see her with an M-16. Man, I swear she could drop a bear five hundred yards away with one shot.”

  Gretel raised her eyebrows apologetically. “Have to admit I was showing off.”

  “I appreciate you keeping this joker out of trouble for a few hours, Gretel, and I apologize for not being able to spend any more time with you but we’re a bit overwhelmed at the moment with two homicide investigations—”

  “Ray told me. I totally understand. I’ll call ahead on Friday just in case some time opens up. But I’ve been hearing about FawnCam, which has made my trip worth it. What a concept! I’ve ordered one of Ray’s DVD’s for my little niece.” Again the enchanting smile directed at Ray.

  “Speaking of which, Ray,” said Lew, “Doc told me about this new enterprise of yours and I was wondering if you might have enough cameras that you could set up one or two around my deer garden? Over the last two weeks, I’ve had an uninvited guest who leaves a very large paw print. And it’s not a bear.”

  “Sure. I’ll put a couple out tonight,” said Ray. “What are you thinking? A wolf?”

  “That or a bobcat or a mountain lion. I think it’s a four-legged critter of some kind. Got out of my truck the other night and saw the animal in the clearing near the barn. But it was dusk and the animal was in the shadows. I expected it to run off when I slammed the door but it didn’t flinch. That animal watched me all the way into my house. Struck me as too tall to be a bobcat, but I could be wrong. Hope I’m wrong anyway. Bobcats don’t worry me.”

  “Are you serious?” said Gretel. “I didn’t know you had mountain lions this far north.”

  “Not many,” said Ray. “They used to be native to the region, but that was a hundred years ago. Then last summer the DNR got reports of a pair sighted along the Prairie River—they follow water. I doubt you have a mountain lion, Chief. But I’ll set up so we can see.”

  “Once the cameras are on, how soon are you able to see the tape?” said Lew, her hand on the doorknob, ready to leave the room. “My grandchildren arrive next week and I’d sure as heck like to know before they get here whether I have a big cat to worry about.”

  “Right away. It’s all wireless and the monitors are at my place. That’s the beauty of it. You just fry up a few bluegills, put your feet up and watch movies.”

  “That easy, huh?” said Lew.

  “Nothin’ to it. You can watch in real time or, if you want the tape from the previous day or two, just fast forward to when there’s action.”

  “Then the sooner the better if you can manage it, Ray. Now, Gretel, if you’ll excuse us—Ray, Dr. Osborne and I need to sit down and go over what he found today.”

  “No we don’t,” said Ray. “I finished up early this afternoon, processed my photos, wrote up what I found, then put the photos and report on your desk. Marlene sent the negatives, a copy of the report and all the trace evidence down to Wausau, except the teeth—saved those for Doc. Also, figuring you’ll want the Wausau boys to take a look, I taped off and posted the site. You asked me to find where DeeDee was killed—you got it.” Satisfied that that was as much information as Lew needed, he turned back towards Gretel.

  “Ray …” said Lew, “there’s more to it than that. Give it to me in detail. Impress Gretel here with your powers of observation.”

  At that, Ray gave a self-satisfied shrug of his shoulders and leaned eagerly across the conference table. “The long version is this: First, from the canoe I didn’t have to go far before I spotted an area where some young oak branches were torn and grasses had been raked and trampled as though something had been dragged towards the channel.

  “So I beached the canoe and found footprints—well-defined in the black and white photos. Our guilty party wore sneakers. I followed those back in a ways. And I’ll be doggoned if there isn’t a sandy road down from the public landing that leads to a campsite quite near the channel. Jackpot! Plenty of evidence—blood everywhere, a shoe that’s not a sneaker, two teeth and … tire tracks. Shot excellent photos and with no bad weather due in for a few days, Wausau should have a field day.”

  “No weapon?”

  “No weapon. After I taped off the area, I called our favorite game warden. He promised to keep an eye on the campsite and make sure no one gets near it until you’re finished in there. So how’s that? Enough detail?” Again, he turned to Gretel.

  “I guess so,” said Lew, thoughtful. “Can’t do anything in the dark anyway.”

  “Ray,” said Gretel, checking her watch, “I need to get on the road. Do you mind helping me pack up here?”

  “Does he mind helping you pack up,” said Lew with a snort as she closed the door behind her. “Doc, you should head home. It’s been a long day.”

  “I thought we might make it to the river this evening.”

  “Not with the calls I have to return.”

  “That’s too bad.” Osborne started down the hall towards the entrance, then paused. “Lew? If you don’t mind, I’m interested in what the bankers found out. How about we order in from the Loon Lake Pub—then you call Carlson.”

  She gave him a grateful smile. “That’s a terrific idea. And I really can’t complain about Ray—that’s great field work he did today.”

  “I know,” said Osborne, “but some things about Ray never change.”

  “You mean Gretel.”

  “I mean he’s been hanging around Mallory all week and now this. If he’s not careful, he’s gonna blow his business venture. Y’know,” said Osborne with a shake of his head, “Ray likes to call male/female relationships ‘the dance of the porcupines.’ Wouldn’t you think he could take his own advice for once?”

  CHAPTER 20

  Bob Carlson picked up on the first ring and Lew put him on speakerphone. “Chief Ferris, thanks for getting back to me. We’ve had a breakthrough—”

  “You have,” said Lew, pulling her chair closer to the phone.

  “Yep. About four this afternoon, the three of us met and pooled everything we had been able to find out about our customers opening those fraudulent accounts and—we got it! Every single person had attended one of the Chamber’s job fairs within the last few weeks.”

  “Say that again?” said Lew. She shot Osborne a look of disbelief. “Even Nora Loomis?”

  “He’s right,” said Osborne. “Her son mentioned that she was offered the job at Universal Medical after attending her first one ever.”

  “Yep,” said Carlson, repeating himself. “Every one, male and female.”

  “So what do you think happened?”

  “Well, we certainly don’t know how exactly—and we’re not accusing the Chamber, of course, but we do see a pattern because the accounts were opened within days of the job fairs. However, not one person was aware of the new account in their name until after the money had been withdrawn. Then, if they did know, it was only because they got a notice in the mail or a call from one of us.”

  “So money was indeed deposited?” said Lew.

  “It appeared
to be. The checks were drawn on legitimate companies—companies with booths at the job fairs—but in fact they were excellent computer-generated counterfeits. The person opening the account would do so electronically with all the paperwork needed to open an account—right down to birth dates and social security numbers.”

  “And no questions were asked? Even when someone was depositing a check for fifteen or twenty thousand dollars?”

  “Ah, but that’s what they didn’t do. The Loomis account, for example, had twenty thousand dollars in it but three checks had been deposited. The first was for eighty-five hundred and the others were in the five to seven thousand range—the person doing the depositing knew to stay under ten thousand dollars—our red flag for anyone trying to launder drug money.”

  “Bob,” said Lew, “I have difficulty understanding why this sudden influx of money wasn’t questioned earlier.”

  “Chief Ferris, do you realize how many people are moving into this region? People with well-paying jobs, hefty retirement accounts, people from the cities who telecommute, professionals who work in health care. The northwoods economy is booming and our banking community serves the region, not just Loon Lake. We have over a hundred thousand people employed within a hundred-mile radius—”

  “And the banks are all chasing the same customers, right?” said Osborne.

  “You got it,” said Carlson. “Someone walks in with a nice check and says half of it is for moving expenses, you don’t question—you jump up and down. You celebrate.”

  “So we have the job fairs as a link,” said Lew.

  “At least a starting point. So, Chief Ferris, knowing this, do you still want us to call the FBI?”

  “You’re required to, but I’ll follow up right away regardless. This job fair connection may have something to do with whoever killed DeeDee Kurlander—”

  “Sorry,” said Carlson, “don’t mean to interrupt, but I forgot one more thing you might like to know: the accounts were never opened in their home banks. Just like the accounts we mentioned earlier today, it was always a new account in a new bank.”

  Osborne flipped through his notes from the interview with the Currys—address, home and office phone numbers, his request that Curry drop off the registration forms completed by people attending the job fairs—everything Lew needed for a warrant.

  “You think it’s the Currys?” he said.

  “I don’t know but they would be the ones having access to personal information, wouldn’t they—even DeeDee’s, since they had such easy access to the Chamber’s offices. Interesting they never found time to drop off the forms you requested.”

  “I was adamant,” said Osborne.

  “I know you were. That’s what bothers me.”

  The judge’s offices were in the same building as Lew’s, but he’d left for the day. A call to his home and a conversation with his daughter got Lew nowhere—the guy was out, no one knew where he was and he’d left word he wouldn’t be home until after nine. She arranged to drop the paperwork by his house and pick it in the morning.

  Lew drummed her fingers, her brow knit with impatience. She picked up the phone and called the number Curry had given as his residence. No answer.

  “I don’t like this, Doc. What if they skip town tonight?”

  “There’s one more job fair, Lew—tomorrow in Arbor Vitae. I doubt they’ll miss that. Plus—don’t jump to conclusions. More people than the Currys had access to those forms.”

  “DeeDee.”

  “And her friends, if she brought her work home with her.”

  Again Lew drummed her fingers, thinking. “Someone could have taken advantage of her to get those files. I don’t think it would be Bert Moriarty—he doesn’t need to scam banks for money.”

  “Yeah. On the other hand, that whole crowd she hung out with—that’s the age group that knows computers inside and out. Maybe …”

  “Well, hell,” said Lew, “maybe isn’t getting us anywhere.”

  Osborne checked his watch. It wasn’t quite six yet. “Let’s do this—if we’re lucky, we may catch Ryan still at the Chamber. He worked closely with DeeDee—he may know something.”

  After a few rings, Ryan answered. Lew shared a few details, enough to ask Ryan who beside DeeDee and the Currys would have access to the job fair registrations.

  “Why don’t you ask Mr. Curry?” said Ryan. “He and his wife are here—they’re getting everything ready for tomorrow’s job fair—”

  Lew jumped to her feet. “Keep them there, Ryan. Lock the door if you have to and pretend you can’t find the key, but don’t let those two people leave until we get there. Can you do that?”

  “Easy,” said Ryan. “They’re printing a ton of stuff. If it looks like they’re finishing up, I’ll trip over the cord and pull the plug. Takes the printer ten minutes to boot up.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Osborne spotted Ryan waiting at the entrance to the Chamber offices as they drove into the parking lot. The only other vehicle in sight was a white Toyota pick-up. Glare from the sun made it so difficult to see through the windshield that Osborne couldn’t identify the person in the passenger seat.

  “Lew,” he said as they jumped out of the cruiser, “is that Gwen Curry sitting in the truck? Want me to stay out here?”

  Lew started towards the truck, then stopped. “It’s a dog, Doc. A Malamute maybe.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Osborne. “How do you fit those two adults in a truck that small with a dog that big?” But Lew was already at the door, which Ryan was holding open for her.

  “They’re in the back office,” he whispered, stepping out of the way. The boy looked worried. “Dr. Osborne, you won’t tell them I told you about DeeDee’s lawsuit, will you? When I rode my bike in to work this morning, Mrs. Curry followed me the whole way. Felt weird, y’know.”

  “Not a word, Ryan,” said Osborne with a pat on the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sure that was just a coincidence. She was on her way here, too. Wasn’t she?”

  “No. They didn’t get here until half an hour ago. They always do that—come just when we’re about to lock up for the day. I think they wait for Mrs. Rasmussen to leave so she doesn’t know how much of the Chamber supplies they use. They’re always printing tons of stuff on the color copier and that’s expensive.”

  “So, Ryan,” said Lew, “thanks for staying. But I’d like you to leave now. Would you mind?”

  The look of relief on the boy’s face was palpable. He was out the door before they had started down the hallway.

  Hugh Curry had traded his sport coat and slacks for grimy khaki shorts that sagged under his butt. A Hawaiian shirt, neon blue, dotted with lurid yellow ukeleles, hung loose over his belly. At the moment, he was kneeling in front of a wheeled trunk into which he was jamming sets of manila envelopes. Scattered around on a formica-topped table beside him was a stack of cords, a laptop computer, rolls of duct tape and a box of tools.

  He wasn’t alone. Seated at a desk at the rear of the room was Gwen Curry, eyes intent on the screen of a laptop.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Curry?” Lew spoke from the doorway. Hugh was so startled he jumped. Gwen looked up, her mouth open, and stared. Hugh was the first to recover.

  “Sorry, didn’t know you were in the building,” he said, bracing one hand on the table as he hefted his weight from the floor. Pulling a used hanky from the pocket of his shorts, he wiped at his face then shoved the hanky back into his pocket. Hands on his hips, he exhaled loudly and said, “Boy, am I out of shape. Whew! Gotta do something about that. So, hey, Dr. Osborne—what’s up? And you must be Chief Ferris?”

  Hugh attempted to shake Lew’s hand but she managed to sidestep the gesture by turning around to close the door to the office.

  “Don’t know if you’ve met my wife, Gwen. I know the doc has,” said Hugh, voice hearty as he pointed to the woman at the desk. Eyes down, Gwen refused to acknowledge the introduction until she had finished saving or deleting whatever it was that she had on her
computer screen. Only then did she close the cover on the laptop, shove her chair back and get to her feet—with an audible sigh of irritation.

  “What’s up?” she said with a growl as she crossed her arms and stared at Lew and Osborne. There was no trace of a smile, only a distinct air of having been pulled away from something much more important than talking to them.

  Osborne couldn’t help but notice that the sleeves of her fire-engine-red T-shirt were a little too short and too tight—short enough and tight enough to give her upper arms the bulk of a weight lifter. It didn’t help that the shirt ended just above the waistline, exposing an alarming expanse of black legging.

  Still, he had to admit the woman’s face redeemed the odd proportions of her figure. Once again he was struck by the symmetry of her skull (perfectly round), by the flawless skin under the sleek cap of black hair, by the penetrating gaze of her tiny, black eyes—glinting now in the late day sun that streamed through the office windows.

  “Have had some developments in our investigation of DeeDee Kurlander’s death that require a few minutes with your husband,” said Lew, genial but businesslike.

  “What for?” said Gwen. “I thought we answered all Dr. Osborne’s questions yesterday afternoon.” Her brusqueness surprised Osborne. Most people found the presence of Chief Lewellyn Ferris—in full uniform with a badge and a gun—to be intimidating. Immediate accommodation was the usual response. Not Gwen Curry—a mosquito couldn’t have gotten a cooler welcome.

  “Some issues have come up,” said Lew.

  “Issues?” huffed Gwen. “Issues are bothering you people? Couldn’t we deal with those tomorrow?” Pointing at the trunk her husband had been stuffing, she said, “We have at least another hour of work to do here—then finish packing so we can leave at the crack of dawn to make set-up in Arbor Vitae. We’re expecting three hundred people at tomorrow’s job fair and,” she shook one of the thick manila envelopes as she spoke, “each one has to get a packet like this—”