Close Up on Murder

by Linda Townsdin

  He held up a gas can. “I’m glad I could help but we’re running out of gas. I forgot to fill the backup.”

  “We can stop at one of the resorts for gas, but first can you pull around closer to the island and follow the shoreline?”

  A narrow road bordered by a few trees connected the land to the island, so technically it was a peninsula, but it had always been known as the island and was part of the Ojibwe reservation. The tribe built a rehab and diabetes center on the shore side of the peninsula and kept the island as wilderness.

  A certainty gripped me that something terrible had happened. Peder interrupted my dark thoughts. “Didn’t we already look here? We really are running low on gas.”

  We’d have to turn back soon or they’d need to send someone out to rescue us. I said, “Maybe he got out of his boat and slipped on a rock. Please, get as near shore as you can.”

  He pointed at the rocks below us in the shallow water. “Any closer might damage my propeller but I’ll try.”

  Peder slowly guided his boat into the shallow area. Weak sunlight had finally shown its face, and something silver glinted on shore. I pointed. “Stop!” He throttled down, I jumped into the knee-deep water and stumbled toward the object.

  My legs turned to jelly when I saw what had caught my eye. It was the hull of Lars’ boat hidden under brush. I yelled to Peder. “There’s his boat. I’m going to look for him.”

  His voice floated back. “Be careful.”

  My fingers were clumsy as I punched in the sheriff’s number but the signal was too weak. I followed a sketchy trail toward the center of the island calling to Lars.

  Through a break in the trees, a streak of yellow on the ground caught my attention. I ran. “Lars!”

  The breath left my body when I reached him. He lay unmoving under a stand of birch, upper body curled in a fetal position, arms protecting his head, his right leg splayed in an unnatural angle. I froze. He couldn’t be dead. The barest groan came from his mouth and I dropped on my knees next to him. Whispering past the boulder in my throat, I said, “Hold on Lars. I’m getting help.” I didn’t dare move him. It was impossible to tell if other bones were broken. I could see cuts on his hands and face but no giant pool of blood showed unless it was under his body.

  I raced back to the shore, branches biting my skin and tearing my hair. I tripped over a fallen tree trunk and sprawled on my stomach. Catching my breath, I ran again, screaming for Peder. He stood in the boat, his hands at his ears.

  “I found him! He’s hurt!” I pointed to the mainland connecting the island and yelled louder. “Go to the building on the north side. It’s a rehab clinic. Get the doctor. Tell them to call Wilcox. Hurry!”

  Peder nodded, carefully turned the boat away from shallow water, and when he was deep enough, sped off. It wouldn’t be long. The peninsula was only a half mile away.

  I made my way around the perimeter of the island until I found a weak signal, and called Wilcox. My voice was thin and high. “Did the rehab center reach you?”

  “No. Have you found Lars?”

  “He’s barely breathing!” I told Wilcox exactly where I was and that I needed a medevac to get Lars to the hospital.

  He said, “Woz is almost there. I’ll alert the hospital. Medics and an ambulance will meet you at Branson Lake. We’re heading to the R & D Center now. We’ll walk from there to the island.”

  I stuttered, “Sheriff, I don’t know if he’s going to make it.”

  Wilcox said, “Goddammit, you hang on Britt. Get back there and document the crime scene.”

  Numb, I nodded at the phone, made my way back to Lars and leaned in close, barely detecting a breath. With trembling hands, I pulled my camera out of my vest and focused. That calmed me enough to start shooting the trampled brush, footprints and Lars lying motionless. As the camera clicked, I kept up a constant one-sided conversation. “Hold on, Lars, help is coming. You have to stay with me for Little. He’s waiting. We all love you. We all need you.”

  The minutes dragged before the buzz of Woz’ float plane penetrated the air. The woods were too thick on the island for him to see me so I ran to the shore and splashed into the water, arms flailing. He saw me and came in for a landing. The plane bounced twice and skimmed toward me. In a few minutes, Woz waded to shore with a backboard balanced on his head. Daniel’s boat pulled up, Jake on his Jet Ski right behind him. The three of them followed me.

  When we reached the clearing where Lars lay, Jake stumbled backward. “What in hell happened to him?”

  Woz fastened his deep-set eyes on the two men. His black eyebrows drew together. “Don’t talk, just do what I tell you.”

  We were quiet after that. Woz checked Lars’ breathing, then pulled a cervical collar from his backpack and fastened it around Lars’ neck. He told us how to lift without causing more trauma. Daniel and Jake were on one side and I stood next to Woz. He counted to three. We all lifted at once and slid Lars onto the backboard. Woz strapped him down and the four of us waded to the Beaver holding Lars above the water.

  I got into the plane. Jake and Daniel watched as we taxied out and lifted off. I whispered to Woz. “He’s going to make it, right?”

  He turned to me, his eyes filled with compassion. “Bad head wound, there could be internal bleeding. I don’t know.”

  Chapter 14

  A team of medics was waiting to transfer Lars to the ambulance when the Beaver touched down on Branson Lake. Shaking from head to toe, Little arrived at Branson Hospital shortly after Lars was admitted and found me in the intensive care waiting room. “Where is he, I have to see him.”

  We told the desk nurse who we were and asked when we could see Lars.

  She frowned at her paperwork. “I’m sorry. You’re not listed as family. A sister has been notified. Once he’s been stabilized, she can see him.”

  Little took off down the hall and pushed through the doors to the intensive care unit looking for Lars’ room. I followed, but he’d already been stopped by two orderlies. One on each side, they brought him back, still struggling. Nurse Connie hurried toward us. She led him to a chair, saying something to him in a soothing tone. I edged closer. When he was calm, she suggested he take a sedative. He nodded. Connie waited until he relaxed against the chair before leaving.

  It was futile to argue with hospital rules but that didn’t stop me from haranguing the desk nurse, demanding Little’s right to information as Lars’ partner. My ranting didn’t work any better and I wasn’t offered a sedative.

  Little turned inward, refusing to talk to anyone. I called Lars’ sister Sarah. She said she’d booked the next flight from Chicago. Their mother passed away years ago, and their father lived with his other daughter, Margaret, in St. Paul. He had Alzheimer’s and she couldn’t leave him. We could do nothing but wait for Sarah.

  Ben called me. The sound of his voice triggered a mild hysteria. My voice wavered. “I don’t know what’s happening here. They won’t tell us anything about Lars.”

  “I know. I just talked to Wilcox. I can be there in a few hours.”

  I wanted Ben but what I wanted more was to go after whoever did this. Ben would be on Wilcox’s side and try to keep me away. I took a deep breath and calmed myself. “There’s nothing you can do. Little and I are just waiting to hear about Lars. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

  He argued but eventually agreed. “I’ll talk to Wilcox again in the morning and let you know what they found at the island. They’re out there now.”

  Wilcox came in at eleven o’clock, three hours after I’d found Lars. He spoke with the desk nurse, then joined us, hat in hand. “We’ve done what we could, but it’s too dark now. We don’t want to trample over evidence. We’ll go back at first light to continue processing the scene. Ray’s deputies are guarding the site.”

  He was referring to tribal police Sgt. Ray Stevens. Anything that happened on reservation land was his jurisdiction. Ray and Wilcox weren’t exactly buddies, but they respected each
other.

  Little nodded and focused his gaze back on the corridor. Wilcox put on his hat. “We’ll get this guy.”

  He turned to leave and I followed him. Out of Little’s earshot, I asked, “What caused his injuries?”

  “Right now all we know is it was a blunt instrument. Best guess is that it was someone five-nine or ten, right-handed, strong.”

  “Now will you take the World Church and Matthew Willard seriously?”

  “We’re checking their alibis and we’ve talked with everyone at the rehab center. No one saw anyone going to the island, although it would be easy to miss if they had a boat. They have twelve-step groups in the afternoons and the usual diabetes regulars and visitors to the hospital section. But with the rain, people hurried in and out of the building.”

  “That’s all you have?” The feeling of helplessness was more than I could stand.

  “You can tell me everything Lars said to you before he got in the boat.” He looked over at Little. “I’ll talk to him later.”

  I told him about Neil’s angry taunting of Lars, and that he’d left by boat.

  “I’ll bring him in. Maybe that argument escalated.” Wilcox cast a worried look toward the closed doors to the intensive care unit and left the building, his usual ramrod straight back slightly stooped.

  Peder called an hour later. I jumped on him before he had a chance to say anything. “They said you never showed up at the rehab center.”

  “That’s what I wanted to tell you. My boat ran out of gas and I drifted until one of the boaters looking for Lars saw me and hauled me to shore.”

  “Why didn’t you use your oars?”

  He sounded sheepish. “I’ve never put them in the boat. They didn’t seem necessary with a motor.”

  “Did you at least try to reach them?”

  “Yes, of course, but I couldn’t get a signal. I’m sorry I let you down.”

  What he said was true about cell service, and I’d assumed all Norwegians would know about boats. Clearly, that wasn’t true. I dropped the strident tone. “Sorry I snapped at you. You were a huge help.”

  “I feel terrible about this. How is he doing?”

  The lump in my throat made it hard to answer. “We don’t know anything yet.”

  Peder apologized again and said goodbye.

  Near midnight, Dr. Fromm stood before us, chart in hand. “All I can tell you is that Lars is still unconscious.”

  I moved close to Fromm, forcing him to take his eyes from his chart. “You know us. Tell us if he’s going to make it.”

  He took off his round glasses and wiped the smudges with the hem of his white coat. “I wish I could tell you more, but we have to talk to his family first.”

  Blinking back tears, Little said, “I’m his family too. Let me see him.”

  I ached for my brother and for all of us. Dr. Fromm really did look troubled that he had to follow the ridiculous rules. He motioned to Nurse Connie. She took Little aside and asked if he’d like another sedative. “You really should try to rest.”

  He nodded, haunted eyes straying to the corridor where Lars was lying close to death.

  In the past, I’d made fun of Dr. Fromm and Nurse Connie, or Nurse Cranky as I’d nicknamed her, but they were the best medical team in the area. They wore identical round glasses and had worked together so long they communicated without words. I just wished they’d communicate with us.

  The restaurant staff had heard what happened to Lars. Little asked me to call Chum and have him take over. Little said, “Chum doesn’t like to work hard or make decisions. He tried to manage a burger stand on the outskirts of town and couldn’t handle the stress, but you have to convince him. I can’t deal with it.”

  Slumped against the waiting room wall, I called Chum and asked him to handle the kitchen without Little for a while.

  He tried to turn down my request. “I don’t know, Britt. What if, like, we get real busy?”

  I pushed myself away from the wall, trying not to lose my cool. “Just do the best you can. It won’t be for long.”

  “How’s Lars doing, anyway?”

  “He’s a tough guy and he knows how much we all love him.” The words caught in my throat. “He’ll get through this.”

  “Okay, I’ll try.”

  Little sat slumped on one of the waiting room couches. I sat beside him. “Chum said he’d do it.”

  Little didn’t respond. He spoke slowly—the sedative’s effects. “Lars was the reason I had the strength to move back to Spirit Lake to the house I hated because of the way Dad treated me.”

  “I was surprised when you said you were leaving the classroom. You loved anthropology.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “I did, but my stomach clenched up every time I taught a class. I dreaded standing in front of the students.”

  “I had no idea.” A pang of guilt at how much I didn’t know about my brother’s recent history made me wince. At one time, I’d known every detail.

  Little gazed toward the intensive care corridor. “He’d been there teaching history a few years already. All his students loved him. He’s so outgoing and friendly. We had coffee one day and that was the beginning.”

  Little’s words drifted away. His face clouded. I didn’t want him to brood in silence again. I prodded. “You were going to explain why he was the reason you came back here.”

  “We began seeing each other and he raved about my cooking. He said I was a different person when I cooked, that it was clear I loved it. He said I should open a restaurant.”

  “So you quit and moved to Spirit Lake.”

  “Not right away. I thought he was just being nice. But he said he’d grown up in a Minneapolis suburb and lived for the summers when their family would go up north to the lake. He loved to fish and hike and intended to move to a small town on a lake when he retired.”

  “That’s a long time to wait for a dream to come true.”

  “Exactly. After Mom moved to Palm Desert, Lars and I spent a summer in our house and that’s when the restaurant plan was hatched. After that it was a whirlwind. You know the rest. Back then you’d made it clear you had no interest in coming back here, and neither did Mom, so she let me have the place. We got a loan to renovate it, and here we are.”

  I moved closer to Little and put my arm around him. His eyes filled. “We were so happy. How could anyone do this to someone as wonderful as Lars?”

  He lifted agonized eyes to me. “And the worst part is that I wanted to get married when gay marriage was legalized, only he was concerned it might keep people from coming to the restaurant if we drew too much attention to our relationship.”

  I squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry, Little. Sarah will be here soon.”

  He eventually fell asleep. I paced again, furious. Why hadn’t Wilcox gone to Iona sooner? Maybe it would have stopped this brutal beating. I was angry at everyone, the Willards, Wilcox, Peder, the doctor, and especially myself.

  Toward morning, I sprawled on the couch across from Little and dropped off to sleep.

  Sarah arrived at noon. Small and dark-haired, she looked nothing like Lars. She rushed to hug Little. He gripped her hands. “We can’t find out anything from Dr. Fromm. Please make them tell you if he’s going to be all right.”

  “I’ll get you in to see him. Don’t worry.” She hurried to the nurse’s station and asked to see the doctor. They handed her a form and when that was filled out to their satisfaction, Dr. Fromm arrived and spoke into her ear as he guided her down the hall.

  We waited an interminable fifteen minutes. Little rocked back and forth and I paced. Both of us kept our eyes on the hallway waiting for the first glimpse of Sarah.

  When she returned, she clung to Dr. Fromm’s arm as if she might collapse. He eased her onto a chair. Little and I waited, our eyes on the doctor.

  Fromm cleared his throat. “Ms. Weinstein has authorized me to tell you about her brother’s condition.” He nodded at Little. “You will be allowed to see him.”


  Little jumped up, ready to go, but Dr. Fromm held up a hand. He gave us the details, most of it in layman’s language so we got the picture. Lars could die, or never come out of the coma, or wake from the coma and be brain-damaged and not know any of us, or a miracle could occur and he would heal and be the same Lars he always was.

  I breathed. “When will we know?”

  “We won’t know the extent of damage to his brain for a while. He’s in an induced coma until the swelling lessens.”

  “What about his leg and the rest of him?” I asked, inwardly cringing at the image of him lying in the woods.

  Dr. Fromm referred to his chart. “Someone beat him with a blunt instrument on multiple parts of his head and body. His leg was broken. He’d been kicked repeatedly in the ribs and kidneys.”

  He noticed our stricken faces and hurried to add, “Those we can fix and they will heal in time.”

  Little stepped forward. “Thank you, Doctor. I want to see him now.” I knew what he would find, but there was no way to prepare him for the shock.

  Dr. Fromm checked his watch. “He’s scheduled for more tests, but you have about ten minutes.”

  Little’s face was drained of all color when he returned, as shaken as Sarah had been. He turned away when I went to him. “I can’t talk now.”

  Sarah and Little took turns sitting with Lars for the rest of the day. There was no change. Little told the restaurant staff he wasn’t leaving the hospital until Lars came out of the coma. “If it’s too difficult, you can close.”

  To me, he said, “I don’t care about the restaurant. All I care about is Lars.”

  That evening, Wilcox passed through the waiting area with Jerry. I stirred from a fitful doze. “What’s going on, Sheriff?”

  His head tilted toward the deputy. “I’m stationing him outside Lars’ room. Lars might have gotten a look at his assailant. If the individual believed he killed Lars and found out he’s alive...”

  “I get it, Sheriff.” A chill moved up my spine. “What about the restaurant?”

  “We’ll keep one guy on during the day and one at night.” Wilcox walked toward the exit and I followed. “Can’t you tell us anything?”