Ray looked across at her. She briefly turned in his direction.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“You know how to control the static. You own a TV, but it’s never on. Classical music is usually playing, the local NPR station. You read more than almost anyone I’ve ever met, and faithfully reflect on your day every evening in a journal. You always have your mind chewing on something. In between, you’re focused on food, making sure the next meal is worth eating. And at the edge is always the lake, the water, paddling or walking the shore. You seem to be able to keep the bad stuff in perspective.” She paused briefly. “I’m not sure how women fit into that scheme, but thank you for letting me into your life, at least a little bit.”
Ray pondered Hannah’s statements. He had never thought about his life in those terms before. She had seemed to nail it. He was still savoring the last bit of chocolate when she pulled into a circular parking area at a road end.
“I’ll undo the boats while you change,” she said, climbing from the car.
After carrying the boats to the water’s edge, they sat quietly for a while, watching the surf, each lost in their own thoughts.
Hannah slid behind Ray, putting her arms around his neck. She pulled him tight and playfully nibbled at an ear, then stood up. “How much light do we have?”
Ray looked at his watch, then at the horizon. “Two hours, with the gloaming, then some moonlight. The lake should be flat by then, and we can paddle in the dark. North or south?”
“South. Get your GPS going. Do five or six miles, then turn back.”
They launched through the surf, Hannah first. Ray pushed her into the waves, then followed. They settled into an easy rhythm, more relaxed than usual. The sun moved toward the western horizon and slowly sank into the gently curving lake.
The light was almost gone when Ray and Hannah neared the take-out point. Ray’s phone, in a protective case under his front deck lines, started to ring.”
“Don’t ruin the moment,” said Hannah. “Don’t give in to the static.”
“It’s Sue, it’s important” he replied. “Raft up with my boat.”
Ray answered and listened as they floated on the still water. He pulled his GPS from the deck and illuminated the screen.
“We’re about two miles south. I see the fire. It’ll take us about 20 minutes. Get all the resources in place. When I’m in position, I’ll text you. Come down the beach fast, lights and sirens, on. That should create enough of a diversion for me to make a move.”
“What’s going on?”
“Something bizarre. There was an apparent kidnapping, a possible hostage situation. We’re going toward that bonfire. Get my gun.” He leaned over Hannah’s boat, holding onto her deck lines, steadying the two kayaks, so she could pull open his back hatch cover. She passed him the dry bag and re-covered the hatch. Ray pulled the pistol from the bag and stuffed it in the top of his PFD. “We need to paddle fast. We’ll land where a stream dumps into the lake. We’ve been there before. Sue’s going to create a diversion, and I’ll see if I can get to the hostage. Stay with the kayaks until I yell.”
Ray and Hannah paddled furiously along the shoreline, 30 or 40 yards from the edge of the beach. As they neared the area of the bonfire, shots rang out. Ray paused, grabbed the phone, and hit Sue’s number. “Now Sue. Shots fired. Now.”
He paddled toward shore, releasing the spray skirt, grabbing his pistol as he tumbled from the boat and scrambled up the embankment, cautious at first, then fully standing up to survey the carnage. “Hannah,” he shouted. He held a flashlight for her as she quickly did a triage on the three gunshot victims.
“The guy in the trench is dead. That one,” she motioned, “may be salvageable. This one,” she said, soon after she began checking the woman on the ground, “has a sucking chest wound, and was severely beaten. I need your hand here.” Hannah pointed to the torn flesh with a flashlight. “Enough pressure to keep air from escaping. I’ll be back.”
Ray stayed in position, his hand covering the warm, slick flesh until Hannah and an EMT returned, took over and dressed the gaping wound. They loaded the woman onto a basket stretcher and trotted toward one of a collection of four-wheel drive vehicles waiting on the beach. The other shooting victim, clinging to life, was also quickly carried from the scene. Ray stood on a bluff above the dwindling bonfire, watching the receding lights.
Sue came to his side.
“What just happened?” asked Ray.
“It’s going to take some time to sort all this out. I don’t even know where to start. Probably there,” she said, shining the beam of her flashlight on the body in the trench. She half circled the body from above. Two eyes, unaffected by the glare, stared up at her.
It was almost light again when Ray caught up with Hannah Jeffers in green scrubs and a dark blue surgical skullcap.
“You were amazing,” he said, putting his arms around her. He felt her puddle against his body. They clung to each other for several moments, and then she pulled away.
“How’s my boat?” she asked.
“On your car. In my garage. How are…?”
“The woman, gunshot wound to the chest, broken rib from the bullet, tissue damage to the breast. But lucky as hell. The bullet was on a non-lethal trajectory. I can’t say about her eye yet. We’ll know a lot more when we wake her up. What do you know about her?”
“Very little at this point. How about the man?”
“Four wounds, two in the left shoulder, one to the gut, one to the groin.”
“Will he live?”
“Probably. The gut shot is the most problematic. He’s been in surgery for hours.” She hugged him again. “We’re both in desperate need of a shower.”
48
The noon rush was long over and the room was near empty when Ray and Sue sat down at a table far in a corner of the hospital cafeteria with Ken Lee Park.
“Thank you for believing me,” he said, half standing to shake their hands. “That was my first fear.”
“As soon as our dispatcher put you through to me, you sounded credible. And then when I checked the address you provided, the car with the broken window, blood all over the interior….”
“Did you have to force your way into the house?” asked Ken Lee.
“No, the garage door was standing open. Her assailant was in too much of a hurry or just careless.”
“How did you know she was in trouble?” asked Ray.
“She was wearing a satellite communicator on a lavaliere. It allowed me to keep track of her. It also had an emergency communicator on it. The device suddenly went dead. First I called, then I viewed her security cameras.”
“How did you know about the Hollingsford estate?” asked Sue.
“The people she had been watching; it’s a complicated story.”
“So start at the beginning,” said Ray. “Tell us about your friend. Why was she here?”
Over the next 50 minutes Ken Lee Park talked. He provided a carefully crafted tale of why Mackenzie Mason, née Caitlyn Hallen, had returned to Cedar County. He left out actions on his part or Mackenzie’s that probably violated state or federal law.
“So what did she intend to do to these men?” asked Ray, after Ken Lee had finished.
“That was probably the weakness in the plan. She didn’t know what to do. She wanted justice rather than revenge. She wanted them to go to jail, but didn’t think there was anyway they would ever be prosecuted. By yesterday she was ready to give up on the whole idea and fly back to California.”
“The cell phone, the one she left at Jim Moarse’s place….”
“The original intent of that device was to make sure that she could get the attention of local law enforcement if she was in trouble. As it turns out, it worked perfectly when she wanted you to find that crime scene.”
“How do you know about this stuff?” asked Ray.
“Corporate security and intelligence. This is what I do.”
“And Ms.
Mason?” asked Sue.
“She works as a project manager for tech companies.”
“What’s the nature of your relationship with her?” Sue pursued.
“Good friends. She often employed my company in recent years. But our involvement was more than casual.”
“Why now?” asked Sue. “It’s been decades.”
Ken Lee ran his hands over the stubble on his face and head. “The death of her brother…I don’t how to explain it…the festering wound…which sounds too clichéd. But it was always there. She told me about his death soon after I got to know her. Every so often she would search for Sabotny. Finally finding him was the key to…well, the key to something. One day his name popped up. There he is back in Cedar County, living very openly. She needed to come back here. Try to figure out how to get some kind of retribution. I tried to talk her out of it. But that was what she needed to do, so I did my best to support her.” He looked from Ray to Sue and back to Ray. “What happens now?” he asked.
Ray shook his head. “I don’t know what the prosecutor will do with all of this,” he said. “In the end, circumstances suggest that Mason was acting in self-defense. As for Sabotny, if he lives, he’ll be charged with two murders, kidnapping, and a host of other things.”
“How about the death of Terry Hallen?”
Ray looked at Sue and back at Ken Lee.
“I guess I know that’s impossible,” he said, shrugging. “Sabotny managed to take out all the guys involved. The truth will probably never be known.” He paused briefly. “Having him in jail; I think that will be enough. She will be able to get some kind of closure.”
“Sabotny—did you do any background work on him?”
“You hear things along the way. On the plane last night I was thinking about that, thinking someone might be interested in him. I put a few things together. It’s just the surface, public info, gathered legally. But I think some of it might be of interest to all sorts of folks.” He reached into his shirt pocket and held out a thumb drive. “Is there anything else, Sheriff?”
“I’m sure there will be.”
“I’m not going anywhere. It’s pretty up here. I hope to get to know the place while Mackenzie is recovering. Now if you will excuse me, I’ll go up and see if she’s awake yet.”
They watched him walk away.
“Interesting man,” observed Sue. “A rather exotic couple. They would turn heads up here.”
“Doesn’t take much,” said Ray, passing her the thumb drive.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“Need to know. He told us just what we needed to know, and nothing more. There will nothing on that drive that came through illegal channels or would compromise any of their sources, but I bet they know a lot about Richard Sabotny and his associates.
“You know the dance at this point. We need to get everything on paper and really tight. Sabotny will have sufficient funds to put together a good defense. Let’s make sure we don’t give his lawyers any openings.”
49
Simone arrived in Ray’s lap before Sue had cleared the door.
“We do better at co-parenting than most,” she said, setting a bright purple milk crate on the conference table.
“She’s very special, and neither of us is poisoning the water. She picked mature parents. How are you today?” asked Ray.
“It’s amazing what a couple good nights of sleep will do. That and the weather, the wonderful sunshine and warm temperatures. How quickly we forget about the months of gray skies and barren landscapes. And the ever enthusiastic Simone seems even more so. I took her for a run on the beach last evening, and she was beside herself playing in the surf and chasing gulls.”
Sue paused for a long moment and looked at Ray. “Getting some closure on the Fox murder, that was a special gift. I was absolutely frustrated by all the wheel spinning. You are more patient than me,” she observed.
“Does anything tie Richard Sabotny to the Vincent Fox murder?”
“No. That said, I need to work the Moarse home again, same with the Jeep. At this point nothing suggests Sabotny was part of that crime. My guess is that Moarse was solo on the Fox abduction, a desperate man going after some low hanging fruit.”
“When time allows,” said Ray, “I’d like to connect the dots in that investigation, as if we were preparing to take the case to the prosecutor. I want to make sure Moarse had no accomplices, including Sabotny. I don’t want anyone to walk from that crime.”
“Like they were almost able to do in the Terry Hallen murder,” said Sue. “Justice delayed is justice denied. And our finding the truth in this case was a matter of luck. Think if his death had been thoroughly investigated at the time.”
“It’s justice of sorts, and sometimes you have to be thankful for what you get. The bad guys all paid a price. If Sabotny survives, he’ll never see the outside again. And Mackenzie, bruised and battered, will heal. She got justice for her brother. Now she will have closure, and that’s a good outcome.”
“If everything hadn’t fallen into place….”
“But it did. And we, especially you, did everything right to get a good outcome.”
“The Doc, too, Ray. She’s a good woman.”
“The planet’s were in proper alignment.” Ray pointed to the crate, “Money in there?”
“Yes, everything is signed for, complete custody trail. I thought your plan was to hold on to it until we were sure that….”
“You’ve got all the serial numbers and photographs. Now that we have several federal agencies involved, it might be months or years before this is all resolved. Ma French called yesterday wondering about the money, saying she had a bit of an emergency. She found it. Let’s return it to her. We’re doing everything according to law and policy. In this matter it won’t be justice delayed.”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when Jan was standing at the door, Ma French, at her side.
“Please come in,” said Ray, “Why don’t you sit here.” he pulled a chair for her at the conference table. “Sue has the cash you found. We need you to count it and sign off that we have returned it to you.”
“Oh, Ray, do I really have to count it. I trust you.”
“Yes, you really do. We will sit here quietly so you can concentrate.”
They watched as Ma French made stacks of bills, counting out loud to ten as she constructed each pile. “It’s all here,” she said after she finished. “Okay if I keep this envelope?”
“Absolutely,” answered Ray. “You mentioned on the phone about needing money. What’s going on, Ma?”
“Well, I need to get some roofing done. It was bad to begin with, and a big branch came down on it a couple of weeks ago when we had that last ice storm. But the big thing is Roxy. I mean she found the money and all.”
“What’s going on with Roxy?” asked Ray.
“Well, the vet says it’s hip dysplasia. Both hips. She’s a young dog with lots of years left. And Ray, that dog means everything to Bobby, especially since Pa’s gone. Roxy, that’s his friend, his constant companion. And when I’m over at the school working, I’m comforted to know Roxy is there with him.”
“So what’s the cost?” asked Sue
“I think it will be about $5,000. The vet says after the surgery I’ve gotta be sure that Roxy doesn’t get fat. It will be hard to teach Bobby not to keep giving her treats. But Roxy should have a long happy life.”
“So is $10,000 enough?” asked Ray.
“Well, it will take care of Roxy and do the roof over the back of the house. Maybe the rest of the roof will last as long as we need it. The money is a godsend, just a godsend.”
“Before you go will you sign on this document that we’ve returned the money to you, and that you’ve counted it,” said Sue, sliding a form in Ma’s direction and handing her a pen.
“Thank you so much, both of you,” said Ma, using the table to help push herself to her feet.
“Thank you,” said Ray, reac
hing for her hand. “I hope things go well with Roxy.”
“They will Ray. They’ve got to.”
After Ma left Sue said, “We need something like this every day to keep things in perspective.”
“We do. Let’s order some sandwiches to go, take Simone to the beach for a run, and celebrate spring before the weather changes. The mountain of paperwork these events have created can wait till later this afternoon.”
Author’s Note:
I am greatly indebted to Heather Shaw for the cover photo, design, and interior layout. I am in awe of her artistic skills and literary sensibilities.
Special thanks to Sergeant Roy Raska and members of the Grand Traverse Sheriff’s Office for sharing their knowledge and expertise in answering my questions about police procedures.
And, finally, Mary K, who provides support, friendship, and wise counsel as the book moves from a few random notes to a final draft.
A Final Note:
Readers of this series are aware of the importance of sea kayaking in the stories. For more than a decade I have benefited from the friendship and instruction of many skilled kayakers. There is a special bond between members of this small community who share the exhilaration and danger of paddling on the Great Lakes. It is with sadness that I remember Dave Dickerson. He was one of the best waterman in the sport. I am so sorry, Dave, we missed that last paddle beyond the shelf ice.
Books in the Ray Elkins Series:
Summer People
Color Tour
Deer Season
Shelf Ice
Medieval Murders
Cruelest Month Page 24
