Lasting Doubts (The Red Lake Series Book 2)

by Rich Foster

  He was on the verge of giving up when he knocked on the front door of a cabin that was in steep decay. The woods were reclaiming the lot and oxidation the old Plymouth in the driveway whose rocker panels and wheel wells were rotted out. Rain fell through the shattered windshield. One rear tire was flat where the rotted rubber sidewall gave out.

  An old man answered the door. The odor of old age mingled with the aroma of burning oak and the scent of cleaning products.

  “Come on in!” he ordered as if expecting him.

  Harry found himself in a well-kept room. A peninsula island counter separated it from an immaculate but Spartan kitchen. In the fireplace a fire roared, the air though pleasant after being in the rain, was almost stifling.

  “Have a seat!” the old codger ordered again and Harry dutifully responded.

  “Want a drink to cut the chill?”

  “No, thank you, I’m good.”

  “Nonsense! You need a stiff belt to keep healthy. Besides, I hate to drink alone.”

  He shuffled into the kitchen and filled two highball glasses halfway with Bourbon. The old man moved slowly, as if impeded by an invisible force, but he moved relentlessly.

  “Drink that!” he said proffering the drink to Harry. He turned and retreated to a sagging Morris chair where he placed his drink on the broad armrest and settled into place. “So, you want to know who lived around Amber Wood twenty years ago, huh?”

  “Yes. The person I am looking for would likely be in his sixties, but much older because he is still quite strong.”

  “How do you know that?”

  The man worked his false teeth between sips and questions.

  “Why don’t we wait in discussing that?” Harry said.

  The man rummaged around in his memories. “Well, you can pretty well forget the east side of the shore road. Twenty years ago lake front property was still affordable. Who would build in the woods when they could be on the water?” The man eyed Harry, “Drink up! Or are you some sort of namby pamby?”

  Harry resolutely took a belt, expecting rotgut, but the old man was not one to scrimp on his liquor, the amber fluid slid down smoothly with a pleasing burn and lingering aftertaste. He took another hit, not to placate the old man, but to please himself.

  “Jack Barnes lived in the cottage two doors up from Amber Wood, but he dropped dead and the family moved. Don’t recall the people next door to the big estate, but the fella might be about the right age.”

  The man took a drink that caused half of his supply to disappear. “The places to the south are mostly old families. I think only one or two have sold in the years I can remember, but they weren’t the types to socialize with mere working people like myself. Most owners had locals come in and work for them between Memorial Day and Labor Day, but the rest of the year the houses are locked up.”

  “No winter visitors?”

  “I suppose it happens, but months go by without most driveways being cleared of snow.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Elsie Lawton lives next door to the Barnes place, she’s been around a long time, but she isn’t what you would call strong, downright frail actually.”

  “Does she have a husband?”

  “Used too, but he was killed by a drunk ten or so years ago.”

  Harry waited, but the old man had run out of names.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Everyone else is a stranger. As much as I get about nowadays, two or three families may have come and gone without me knowing them.”

  Harry killed his drink. The old man hoisted his in a silent toast and followed suit. “Nice to have you drop by.”

  Harry thanked him and left. The rain waxed in intensity so he gave up and trotted up the side of the road to his car.

  Perhaps Paula found something.

  As he drove to town the steady burn of the old man’s bourbon rode with him. Halfway home the rain fell in a cloudburst. At a slow crawl, he watched the yellow stripe below his side window. Then three minutes later, as suddenly as it began, the rain slacked and he resumed his highway speed.

  Harry dropped his sodden clothes in the washing machine and went upstairs to the shower. He let the water beat upon him.

  “Don’t use all the hot water!” Paula’s familiar voice shouted.

  “I’ve told you a dozen times we have an on demand water heater, the only thing we could run out of is propane,” he shouted back over the shower bar.

  ”Whatever, I just feel grimy from going through old ledgers.”

  The curtain slid open and Paula slipped in beside him.

  “Do my back,” she ordered as she handed him a washcloth and bar of soap. “You owe me. And, did I mention, I want a raise?”

  Harry scrubbed her back and then massaged her shoulder muscles and neck. Then took to scrubbing the opposite side.

  “It couldn’t be that bad, could it?”

  Paula looked up and stuck her tongue out at him.

  Dinner was rigatoni pasta mixed with red, yellow, and green peppers sauteed in olive oil and diced chicken breasts fried up in a pan. Outside the rain slatted against the French door’s windows. The wind howled among unseen branches that scratched at the eaves, and an occasional blast of air rattled the frame of the house.

  Having done his duty in the kitchen washing dishes, Harry was content to sit on the sofa and attempt to read his notes. Sadly, his pen used water-soluble ink and whole words were melted into a bluish blur.

  Paula puttered in the kitchen making libations. She poured ½ oz Green Crème de Menthe into a shot glass then added an equal amount of Blue Curacao Liqueur. On top of this she layered a teaspoon of Everclear.

  Not far away, there came a simultaneous flash of lightening and crash of thunder that rattled their windows. Their lights went out. Harry set his notes aside and settled for watching the orange and yellow flames dance in the fireplace. Paula came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with flaming shot glasses that added their light to the room and up lit Paula’s face with a seductive glow.

  “My Gosh,, what is that?”

  “Blue Gorillas.”

  “I’m afraid to ask, but what is the accelerant?”

  “Everclear! Grain alcohol at 190 proof.” Paula boasted proudly, adding, “It can be used as a lacquer solvent, for furniture polishing, as an antiseptic, or even as a fuel when camping!”

  “Quite the versatile beverage,” Harry said.

  When the flames died out, he picked up the glass and felt the heat. Exercising his better judgment, he set it aside to cool. “Aren’t you tired of this cocktail crusade, yet?”

  Paula shook her head. “Nope, I’m still having fun.”

  Harry tried his drink. I hate it! he thought. Outwardly he forced a smile.

  Paula snuggled up against him.

  “Want my list?”

  “Of what?”

  “Property owners around Amber Wood in 1990.”

  “Sure.”

  Paula opened a spiral notebook. “I checked thirty two properties surrounding Amber Wood. Only eight have the same owners today. Twenty three are owned by people whose tax bills are sent out of the area.”

  “The seasonal cabins?”

  “Right.”

  By candlelight Harry ran his finger down the list of property owners, none were familiar.

  “We should check these names against the voters roll in the late sixties.”

  “You must be kidding!”

  “It's an idea.”

  “Sure, and what does it prove? Your perp must be sixty some years old. It would be easier to look for an old guy living here today than track down who lived here twenty or forty years ago.”

  Harry shrugged. “You have a point. Plus the guy we want probably lived in Arizona at least part of the last twenty years.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I talked to Gaines on my way home, Pat Egan got a hit on a similar M.O. from southern Arizona

  “Why don't we run a search of the names on this list? Tha
t would give us their age and a list of former residences?

  “Paula, you are handy to have around!”

  “I know!” she said with an impish smile. “I'm just glad that you know it, too!” She snaked a hand around his neck and drew him toward her on the sofa..

  “Mmm...” she purred, “you are handy!”

  The next morning Harry and Paula went to the office and began an online search. They ran every property owner from the early '90's A pot of coffee later, they took a break for a late breakfast.

  “I didn't know there could be so many people with the same name!” Paula said between bites of blueberry pancakes.

  Harry massaged his face. “My eyes are beginning to cross.”

  “Don't look to me for sympathy, I spent all day yesterday reading property deeds.”

  “He has to be there.”

  “No Harry, you want him to be on our list, you hope he's on our list, but he may not have lived anywhere near Amber Wood.”

  “Don't discourage me, we have too many names to go.”

  By early afternoon they expended the list. Some were too young to have been a predator forty years previous, others were too old to have kidnapped Kerri Kershaw. Three were possibilities, however none showed any records of having lived in Arizona.

  Harry stared at the ceiling and watched his office fan spin slowly, stirring the torpid air.

  “Now what?” Paula asked.

  “Nothing. We let the sheriff handle it because I'm fresh out of ideas.”

  “What if he kidnaps another girl?”

  “He probably will.”

  “Harry!”

  “What Paula?” Harry said exacerbated. “Just what the hell am I suppose to do?”

  Paula silently inspected her fingernails. “I don't know. I guess I hoped you had another plan.”

  “Well I don't!”

  Harry stood and walked out. He felt angry and frustrated and not a little irritated with himself for snapping at Paula. Outside the afternoon heat had cleared the streets. Tourists and residents alike sought the shelter of shade, air conditioning, the lake, or backyard pools.

  Harry walked the pavement until his anger abated.

  Some cases end this way. Nothing to do about it.

  Still he kicked a soda can when he came across it.

  I was close! I thought I could solve it, that's what irritates me.

  Finally, he turned around and made his way back to the office. The door was locked. A sign read, back at 9AM. Harry didn't blame Paula for going, it was a good day for quitting.

  Chapter 26

  Over the next few weeks Sheriff Gaines and Detective Egan worked the case but completely failed to turn up anyone who was the right age and once lived in Red Lake and Arizona during the requisite periods of time. They did learn of two other possible victims from authorities in Columbia, South Carolina.

  In 1986, Melissa Hartlage went missing. She was a freshman at the University of South Carolina, nineteen, blonde, and hoped to be a teacher. Instead, she was found floating face down n a swamp with her hands tied behind her back. The Medical Examiner reported that Hartlage did not drown but was strangled before she entered the water. He also noted the knot tying her hands was odd and commonly refered to as a thief's knot.

  A year later, Kate McClellan, a young WAC from nearby Fort Jackson, failed to return from leave. She was reported AWOL. The MP's found no trace of her, but her belongings were still in the barracks. Three months later, when duck season opened in mid November, Kate was found in a remote duck blind, twenty miles away. She was propped against the blind's wall as if to greet anyone who entered. Her hands were lashed behind her back. Other than a crushed esophagus, she was unmolested.

  There were no other incidents in the Columbia area and though the crimes appeared related the police failed to ever make an arrest.

  Labor Day came and the summer season ended in Red Lake. Main Street took on an abandoned appearance without the vacationers' traffic and with children back in school.

  People continued to come up on weekends into the fall months, but that tailed off as the lake houses were gradually boarded up for the year.

  As September came to a close, some of the smaller marinas readied themselves for winter. Yardmen pulled and shrink-wrapped boats and then fork-lifted them into large metal storage sheds , racking them five high. The marina staff used tractors to pull the floating docks out of the water beyond the crushing reach of the coming ice.

  At the Alder Ridge Ski Resort, east of Red Lake, the first employees for the ski season reported back to work and began servicing the chairlifts or readying the lodge.

  The call came in at six fifty two in the morning.

  “This is Sgt. Ray Maddox over here in Beaumont. I need to talk to the sheriff..”

  “He's not in until eight, usually. Can I take a message?” said Carey Randall

  “No, call him at home and tell him to give me a call, ASAP. He'll want to hear about this.”

  “Anything else, Sir.”

  “No, just get Gaines and do it fast.” As an afterthought, Maddox left his cell phone number.

  Five minutes later Maddox's phone rang.

  “Maddox.”

  “Gavin Gaines here, Ray. It's been a long time, but at this time of day it can't be good.”

  “It's not. I'm standing next to a stiff at a bus stop on 14th Street here in Beaumont.”

  “Don't tell me, she's about twenty, blond, her hands are tied, and she's been strangled?”

  “Right on all counts. I figured you'd want to see this before we move her.”

  “It'll take me three quarters of an hour to get there, even with my lights and siren. You sure you want to hold off?”

  “Fourteenth Street is pretty quiet. And we have a canopy up over the area. Take your time. She ain't going anywhere.”

  Gaines hung up, dejected.

  Damn, I had hoped he moved on!

  It was not standard procedure, but he called anyway.

  “Grim?” he asked when Harry sleepily answered, “Gaines here. He has struck again. They have a dead girl over in Beaumont.”

  “Damn!”

  “My sentiments exactly. You want to run over there with me? You've been integral with this case.”

  “I don't know if I have anything to offer, but sure.”

  “I'll pick you up in ten minutes.”

  Harry slipped into his clothes. From the kitchen came the aroma of brewed coffee, suddenly glad that he loaded it the night before. He found two insulated mugs in the cabinet and filled both. He poured half and half into the second one. He took his black.

  From the drive came the chirp of a car horn.

  Harry slipped into the cruiser.

  “Morning.”

  “Same to you,” and he handed Gaines the coffee cup.

  “Thanks. I forgot to get some.”

  Gaines backed out onto the highway. flipped on the flashing lights and put the pedal down. They flew through town, easing back for the intersections, hitting the siren for ones blocked by early morning commuters. Then they were on the pass.

  Harry had never crossed the Anasett Ridge so fast. When an occasional vehicle was in their way, Gaines hit the siren and the car quickly took to the shoulder.

  “You've given a half dozen people heart attacks wondering what they did wrong.”

  “It will make them safer drivers. That's what we are here for, serve, protect and frighten speed offenders.”

  They hurtled around a hairpin curve, then Harry was pressed back in his seat as Gaines opened the car up on the straightaway.

  “We're in Parson's County, can't really use the lights and sirens here can you?”

  “Planning on making a citizen's arrest?”

  “No, but I wouldn't mind owning a car like this. Saves time.”

  They were talking around the murder and both knew it. As certainly as they had known another killing was coming. Now it was here. And the wait began for the next.

 
; “What would you do if you caught this guy?” Harry asked.

  “Arrest him.”

  “Any temptation to just shoot him?”

  “I'm paid to resist such impulses. What about you?”

  “At times I think it would be best, but then you come up against a situation like Sheriff Whittier and Martin Hoffman.

  “Pretty tough dying for crimes you did not commit.”

  They were down on the flats and the countryside flashed by. Minutes later they entered the outskirts of Beaumont. Gaines slowed, setttling in with the flow of traffic.

  “Left up ahead, ” Harry said. “I had a client whose office was near 14th.

  They drove up a quiet tree-lined street, crossed a thoroughfare that carried commercial traffic, and were then back into a residential area.

  One block later the street was barricaded. Gaines pulled to the curb.

  A Beaumont City policeman manned the barricade.

  “Sheriff Gaines of Canaan County. Is Sargent Maddox still here?”

  The patrolman thumbed his microphone. A moment later he held the yellow crime scene tape up with one hand. “Go ahead, he's at the bus stop. Who's this?” he asked nodding at Harry.

  “He's with me. A material witness.”

  Gaines and Harry walked about two hundred feet. A blue walled canopy shielded the bus bench from prying eyes.

  “Gavin,” said a heavy-set guy who was pushing fifty.

  “Morning Ray,” Gaines said with a wan smile. “Good to see you, but not a particularly nice reason to get together” He pointed Harry's way, “This is Harry Grim, he's worked with me before, up in Red Lake.”

  “The ADX Praxis thing. I remember the name, nice work.”

  “Thank you.”

  They stepped into the canopy. A blond girl sat on the bench. Her head hung forward, the long hair covering her face. She remained upright because one arm went over the top slat of the back and the other went below it. Her wrists were lashed together with cotton sash cord.