Lasting Doubts (The Red Lake Series Book 2)

by Rich Foster

  He began in June, assuming if there was cause and effect they divorced after Alison supposedly left Red Lake.

  He came across the filing, stamped June 30, 1992.

  Joint Petition for Dissolution of Marriage between Raymond G. Holland and Doreen C. Holland. The cause checked was irreconcilable differences.

  They were married on September 19, 1987.

  Doreen Holland chose to restore her maiden name, Doreen Ellen Corbett.

  The mailing address for Raymond was a post office box. The one for Doreen was along Route 12 on the western shore of Red Lake.

  Harry returned the film to the clerk and walked across the hallway to the Assessor's office. The Assessor’s clerk was both younger and better looking than the Recorder's.

  “May I help you?”

  “I want to look up the owner of record for a property.”

  “Those are by parcel number in these binders,” she said pointing to the shelves on her right, “and are cross referenced by address or last surname in the binder on that table.”

  Harry thumbed through the surname binder and found numerous Corbetts but no Doreen. It was a common name in Red Lake; Corbett was an old and powerful family and the Corbett Mill a large and prominent employer.

  He tried the binder listed by address. The address on Doreen Corbett’s divorce papers was for parcel number 171-452-1027. Volume 171 was titled, The Corbett Tract, in that the area was parceled out of the old Corbett ranch that once covered ten thousand acres. When he located parcel 452 it showed a twenty-acre lot that dominated a whole point on Red Lake’s western shore. The shore frontage was over two thousand feet!

  Doreen comes from serious money!

  Returning to the parcel map index Harry found the Corbett Family Revocable Trust held the land.

  “Do you have a phone book?” he asked the clerk.

  She pushed one across the counter. He tried Corbett but there was no listing for Doreen or D. Corbett. Of course she may have remarried.

  Outside in the foyer Harry called Lou Harding.

  “Do you know Doreen Corbett?”

  “Sure, Harry. We get together all the time. I put on my tuxedo and go to a celebrity benefit, or jet over to the Sun Dance film festival, or just hang out at one of their half dozen lodges, castles, or ranchos.”

  “I take it your answer is, no?”

  “I don’t know her, only who she is. Big money. She used to do the circuit with the upper class. Twelve years ago, during a steeplechase; her horse clipped a rail. They both went down. She never got up.”

  “She’s dead?”

  “No, paralyzed from the waist down. She lives at the family estate here during the summer and I believe she winters in Palm Beach.”

  “Do you have a photo?”

  “Probably in the archives. I can e-mail it to you.”

  “Thanks Lou.”

  “Whoa boy! Hold your horses! What does Doreen Corbett have to do with the Albright thing?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing.”

  “Don’t forget me if it does, Harry.”

  “You’re first in line my friend.”

  The Corbett Estate was well fenced. Harry was able to pick out several security cameras as he drove past. There were certainly more he did not see. The gates were impressive yet not pretentious. Rather than some ornate baronial style, the architect used a rusticated mix of steel and wood. Harry rather liked them.

  He pulled up to the gate and rang the buzzer.

  “Hello?” The voice was English.

  “My name is Harry Grim. I wanted to speak with Doreen Corbett.”

  “Is she expecting you?”

  “No, but I hoped to be able to contact her.”

  “She is not available at this time.”

  “How about later?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Next week?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Next month?”

  “No, sir.”

  “How about never?”

  “Yes, sir. If you were someone Ms. Corbett wished to see, you would already have her private number. Good-day, sir.”

  Harry thought about waiting outside the gate but that seemed to be a waste of his time. Who knew when or if, Doreen went to town? He reversed his truck and headed to the office.

  An hour later Harry and Paula were racing across the lake in his outboard.

  “Where we going?”

  “Take a look at the Corbett estate.”

  “And to think I thought you were taking me on a date,” Paula aped a false frown.

  The day was calm, the water flat, and so in minutes they reached the far shore. Harry throttled back and let the boat idle along just outside the row of swim buoys. Large houses and sprawling lawns dominated the northern end of the lake. The docks were long, the boats fast, and the signs all said Private Keep Out.

  “Take the wheel.”

  Paula took the helm while Harry slouched back and scanned the shoreline with his binoculars. At the Corbett estate he spotted a couple of guards with dogs patrolling the fringes away from the main house. Closer in, the visible staff was uniformed gardeners and the occasional maid in traditional black dress and white ruffle apron.

  The Corbett dock was an immense T. A gazebo covered one wing and a diving board was on the other. Docked alongside was a seventy or eighty foot cabin cruiser. The boat was handsome, though almost too large for Red Lake. On board, a crew member, dressed in whites polished the stantions along the aft rail.

  Harry’s glasses followed the dock under the gazebo. Two women sat in the shadows. One wore a nurse’s uniform the other sat in a wheelchair. He studied Doreen Corbett. It was hard to tell much from a distance.

  “Go north a ways then turn around, Paula.”

  “What then?”

  “I am going water skiing.”

  A minute later, Harry hopped into the water.

  Paula tossed him the slalom ski, it skipped and then glided across the water to him.

  “We don’t have a spotter!” she protested.

  “I won’t be up long. After I drop hang around. If I wave you in, pick me up. If not, you will probably need to post my bail.”

  Paula rolled her eyes, “Again?” she protested.

  Harry gripped the towrope and when it ran taut, yelled, “Hit it.”

  The engine easily pulled him out of the water. He crisscrossed the wake making broad sweeping turns that left arcing sheets of water hanging in the air.

  As they neared the Corbett house he gave Paula a thumb’s up to pick up the speed. The boat raced across the water with Harry cutting behind. Then he swept out wide and cut back across the wake. Paula put the boat into a turn and Harry accelerated like a slingshot with rocketing speed. The rope popped from his hands. He skied toward the end of the dock before permitting himself to tumble. A moment later he surfaced, shaking the water from his eyes, not fifteen feet from the gazebo on the dock.

  “You’re trespassing.” The woman in the wheelchair said. She was in her fifties but appeared to be aging well, or she knew an excellent surgeon. Her hair showed gray but was pulled back in a girlish ponytail.

  “I thought people only owned to the waterline, but I won’t argue,” Harry said lazily treading water.

  “What do you want? That little show wasn’t an accident.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I wasn’t always in this wheelchair. I used to slalom-ski. I was good. You are too.”

  Harry looked up at her from the water, She probably doesn’t have many conversations looking down on people, at least physically, he thought. “My names Harry Grim. I wanted to talk to you about your ex-husband, Raymond Holland.”

  “I’m afraid you got wet for nothing. I haven’t seen him in twenty years.”

  The deck hand came into view on the boat’s deck. At the head of the dock a security guard also ran toward them.

  “That’s the time I want to talk about. I’m investigation Alison Albright’s disappearance.�
��

  The guard arrived and Harry found an Uzi aimed toward his head. “Get out!” the guard ordered.

  Harry took a couple strokes and pulled himself up the ladder of the dock. The guard cautiously stepped back keeping distance between them.

  “One moment Luis.”

  “Yes, Ms. Corbett.”

  “Are you the same Harry Grim who broke the story at ADX Praxis last year?”

  “I am.”

  “Then I think we should talk.”

  With a slight nod, she dismissed Luis. He moved away, far enough to be out of earshot but not so far as to be out of easy range.

  She paused, not a woman to be rushed. Harry felt slightly foolish dripping water. He waited. After a minute she spoke.

  “You seem to be able to stir up a great deal of publicity, Mr. Grim. I don’t care to see my name in print, at least not in any matter with which you might be concerned.”

  Her diction is quite good, Harry thought, also her disdain.

  “If I speak openly with you, will you leave me out of it?”

  “I am looking for a favor, other than a confession of murder, Ms. Corbett, I see no reason that your name should be involved.”

  “I did not kill Alison Albright. I was only alone with her once. Get this gentleman a towel, Linda.”

  The nurse rose. From a cabinet near the cabana's back wall she drew a towel from a stack of large white ones. From another cabinet she picked up a terrycloth robe. Harry dried his face, slipped on the robe, and took the chair Doreen pointed toward.

  Offshore Paula idled in circles.

  “How did you hear about Raymond and Alison?”

  Harry feigned knowledge he lacked, “People talk, rumors.”

  “People should have better things to do than gossip.”

  “People who have less money than you think your life is more fascinating than theirs, so they talk.”

  “I’d trade places with my maid for a good pair of legs.”

  Harry was not certain of the truth in that. Wealth is hard to part with.

  “Carole Albright said her daughter was very active at the church before she and he both left.”

  “Why don’t you get to the point, Mr. Grim? Your real question is, was Ray having an affair with a girl half his age and a minor at that!”

  “Was he?”

  Doreen momentarily retreated to some private space of long forgotten hurt. When she looked up Harry thought he saw a tear in the corner of her eye, but it may have been a trick of the light.

  “I was head over heels in love with Ray. My parents nearly died when we became engaged. He wasn’t from our “set,” which was their way of saying he was below our class. Furthermore, he was an Episcopal priest. That set my father on edge; he wanted a son-in-law to work in the business. However, they reluctantly assented. We married in 1987. It lasted less than five years.”

  Doreen fell silent. Harry waited, listening to the hum of distant powerboats, the slop of waves against the dock, waiting for the wash of currents from the past.

  “Alison was in the youth group. I disliked her.”

  “Why?”

  “She was a bit of a tart and wore too much make-up. She said all the right things at church but, personally, I doubted the sincerity of her words. The girl was trolling whenever a male came by. Ray was no exception.”

  “Did something happen between them?”

  “One day she turned up at the parsonage and said we needed to talk. Alison claimed Ray molested her and they had been having sex for three months because she was afraid to tell.”

  “Did you believe her?”

  “Not really. Very quickly she hinted that the right amount of money would buy her silence.”

  “Did you pay?”

  “No, I told her I would get back to her. This was a week before she disappeared. I never heard from her again.”

  “Did you tell your husband about her visit?”

  “I did.”

  “And, did he?”

  “Have an affair with a minor? I don’t know. When I asked him, he was so embarrassed that I believed it might be true. Few men have much self control around a willing woman, or girl for that matter.”

  “Did he deny it?”

  “Yes, but he looked guilty as hell. I took that for an admission. I couldn’t stand the thought of him touching me again so I filed for divorce a short time later.”

  “Did you wonder if maybe he went off with Alison Albright?”

  “When she disappeared the thought crossed my mind, but in the divorce he asked for nothing. If he was keeping the girl I suspected he would need a lot of money to hold her. Of course, now that we know the Albright girl is dead …”

  Her voice trailed off leaving unspoken thoughts about the cause of Alison’s demise hanging in the air.

  “That could make him a suspect in her death.”

  “Yes, I am afraid so. But for all his faults I don’t believe Ray could murder someone.”

  “What people can do never surprises me, Ms. Corbett.”

  She shrugged. “In any case, Mr. Grim, I’m fifty-five years old and crippled. I should be beyond caring but I still have my small vanities. If you could keep my name out of this I would be grateful.”

  She extended a hand. When they touched, her fingers were cool in his hand.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Grim.”

  She nodded and the nurse hurried over. They rolled away toward the house. Harry tossed his water ski into the water then dove in after it. He swam toward Paula who still motored out beyond the swim buoys. She put the helm over and circled to meet him.

  *

  In the kitchen Paula chopped up cabbage for cole slaw and sipped her drink between whacks. A pair of steaks languished in teriyaki marinade.

  On the deck, Harry dumped a pile of briquettes into the barbeque, added some lighter fluid, and tossed in a match. Once flames flared up he retreated to his Adirondack chair with a tablet, pen, and a cold beer where he reviewed his notes about the ill fated graduation party.

  Dave Barnes went with Cathy Kinyon who was in Europe.

  Mitch Conners

  Anders Schmidt

  Phil Quelan, not there due to broken leg.

  Herb Lanski, went with Becky Fenton

  Hughie Thompson, dead, went with Vicki Mills Thompson

  Travis Parks

  Frank Darby

  Bobby Goodman, executed for murder, took Rachael Buchanan

  Homer Benson

  Vinnie Tagliero

  Patty Wourk Anatolli

  Becky Garner Fenton

  Vicki Mills Thompson

  Cathy Kinyon

  Rachael Sylvester Buchanan

  Alison Albright, dead.

  Jessica Jessup Farron, came with Alison

  He couldn’t be certain it was a complete list of who was at the party but it seemed unlikely there were others. Three were dead, one executed by the state, one by his own hand, and one by person or persons unknown. He put deceased by Goodman, Thompson, and Albright.

  Kinyon and Quelan were not there. Those who said maybe a particular person was present seemed iffy; those who said no were definite in their memories.

  Harry was left with thirteen names and only two he had not yet interviewed, Schmidt and Darby.

  He wondered, How many guys received extortion notes in the mail? And when did Alison mail them? And if she lived long enough to mail them, where was she between the end of the party and her death?

  Any of them might have killed her. Harry thought it unlikely it was the work of a girl, although jealousy usually knows no bounds.

  And why did the body turn up after twenty years? Find who and I’ll know where. Find out where and I might know who.

  At the bottom of the page he added Ray Holland’s name. Statutory rape at eighteen is a problem, statutory rape when your thirty-five or six might be worth killing for.

  While he thought the briquettes burned down to a nice bed of coals. He dropped the steaks on. They sizzled. S
moke rose. He shut the lid.

  From the kitchen Paula slid up behind him and kissed his neck.

  “Drink up,” she ordered sliding a highball glass in his hand.

  Harry sipped. “Scotch and something sweet.”

  “It’s a Rusty Nail. Scotch and Drambuie.”

  “Isn’t that a bit hard core for a girl?”

  “You’re a sexist pig, Harry,” she said as she downed her drink. Then she kissed him again. What’s next?” she asked.

  “Steaks will be up in fourteen minutes.”

  “I mean in the case?”

  “Look for Ray Holland and interview the other people on my list.”

  “If Alison never left town, what happened to the money? It wasn’t in her suitcase.”

  “Probably whoever killed her took it. The more important question is where or who did the money come from?”

  “Do you think Corbett was lying? Maybe she did pay. Its not like she would miss the cash.”

  “I think Doreen Corbett knows once you pay it never stops. I tend to believe her.”

  Harry put out plates and silverware while they talked. Paula put the slaw along with a loaf of garlic bread from the oven on the table.

  “It would seem whoever killed Alison is still around because the body turned up, yet if you got away with murder I would think you would move away,” observed Paula.

  Harry flipped the steaks. “That’s hard to say. Killings are usually about money or hate, this case has both.”

  “What about love?”

  “I don’t think anyone loved Alison Albright.” Then he thought of Jessica Jessup Farron at the funeral. “Well, hardly anyone.”

  Chapter 12

  “I’d like to look at Alison Albright’s suitcase.”

  “And I told you we’re not a lending library,” the sheriff retorted.

  “Afraid I’ll find something you missed?”

  “Fat chance, Harry!” Gaines sounded a little miffed. “Go ahead take a look. I’ll call over to the evidence archives and have it pulled. You won’t find a thing.”

  A half hour later Harry was at the evidence room lock up. The duty deputy put a vinyl suitcase onto the counter. A bus depot baggage tag was still attached. The handle was smudged by fingerprint dust.