Dead Boogie (7 page)

Lew signaled Osborne with a quick glance.

“Pauline,” he said, “what’s this about Pat’s ex-husband? Was he abusive? Could he be a suspect?” Osborne kept his voice low-key and professional—it was a tone he knew to be effective with patients who were frightened or near hysteria. Once calmed, people were likely to tell him everything he needed to know.

“Well, Butch hated Patsy—that’s for sure. She turned him in, y’know. They were living in Point when she found out he was cooking crystal meth in the trunk of his car. Scared her to death. She knew if she didn’t turn him in that she’d end up in prison herself—as an accomplice, y’know. That guy was crazy high most of the time.”

“Crazy and abusive?” said Osborne. “He hit her a couple times and, yeah, once he threatened to kill her.”

“Last name Kuzynski—what’s the first name?” said Lew, pen poised over her notepad.

“I’ll get you all the information—he’s doing time. Ten years. Patsy was staying at my place so the records ought to be around somewhere.”

“Oh,” said Lew, setting the pen down. “More likely he would have hired someone to do it for him if that’s the case.”

“I don’t know with what,” said Pauline. “He ain’t got no money.”

“Let’s go back to the women for a minute,” said Osborne. “Peg Garmin was quite a bit older than both your daughters—by at least twenty, twenty-five years.”

“You’d never know it,” said Pauline, her voice offering a hint of affection. “That girl was young at heart. I know she … well, what she did was her business. The fact is she was a very nice person and helped my Patsy out a lot last year.”

“Helped her financially?” said Osborne.

“Oh no, nothing like that. Once they found out they were both going to the same plastic surgeon—way the hell down in Milwaukee—Peg would let Patsy ride down with her. Save on gas, y’know. A coupla times, Peg drove all that way just to pick her up. Well, maybe she had some shopping to do, too. But that’s where Patsy first met Peg—in the doc’s waiting room.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Oh, maybe a year and a half ago.”

“And how did Pat know Donna?”

“Oh, they’ve known each other a long time—they worked together at Thunder Bay?”

As Pauline was speaking, Ralph had edged his chair forward, anxious to interrupt. “Hey, y’know something? I think Donna was seeing that same doctor. She told me that’s why she took the job at the club in the first place—so she could pay some medical bills.”

“Yeah,” said Pauline. “Patsy and Donna both got the same package—breast implants and some Botox. Oh—and their teeth whitened. But Peg had something different done. Went wrong, too. That’s why she was driving down there so often.”

“Teeth whitened by a plastic surgeon?” said Osborne, making a mental note to check into that. “So what you’re telling me is that all three of these women have been seeing the same doctor?” said Osborne. Pauline nodded. “Isn’t that rather unusual?”

“Not really,” said Pauline. “Everyone at Thunder Bay knows Dr. Forsyth. I think he sends brochures to all the clubs where they got strippers. That’s what he does—breast implants, and anything else a girl might need to keep her job. A few of those gals have some years on ‘em, doncha know.”

The phone on Lew’s desk rang. She raised a hand to quiet everyone as she answered, then said she would take the call in a nearby room. “Keep going, Doc, I’ll be right back.” She hurried out the door.

“So we know how they met. Do you have any idea why they were all three together?” said Osborne.

Ralph shrugged but Pauline gave an eager nod. “Sure—it was karaoke night. Every other Wednesday for the last six months those three been driving down to Wausau to have dinner and go to this bar where they do karaoke.”

“Every other Wednesday? Never any other night of the week?”

“Wednesday was Patsy and Donna’s night off.”

Lew came back into the room and took her seat at the desk. “What did I miss?” At the mention of Wausau and karaoke, she said, “Do we know which club?”

“Oh, they had their favorite—Chucky D’s,” said Pauline. “And doncha know they had the best time every time. Patsy would tell me… .”

Sadness crept across Pauline’s rough features as she said, “I hope to hell it wasn’t someone from there that killed them. I don’t think I could stand knowing that someone who saw my Patsy so happy would—”

“Pauline,” said Lew, “from what you’ve just told us, can we assume that as of Wednesday night, they were alive and on their way to Wausau?”

“On their way
back,”
said Pauline. “Patsy always called me as they left so I would unlock the door for her. When you run a business like mine, you don’t leave no doors unlocked y’know.”

“So what time would that have been?”

“Same as always—one in the morning.”

“And then they would drive straight back.”

“Yep, one pit stop for gas, have one last drink together—then home.”

Osborne looked over at Lew as he said, “And where was that last stop?”

“Oh …” Pauline paused and grimaced, “That I don’t know. Never asked.”

“Jeez,” said Ralph. “Must be a hundred places ‘tween here and Wausau where you can get gas and a beer at one-thirty in the morning.”

“Not if we’re lucky,” said Lew, standing up.

ten

Within you there is afire / Within the fire / An expanse of water.

—DoDo Jin Ming, contemporary artist

The
wooden sign at the top of the driveway off Wolf Lake Road made Peg Garmin’s cottage easy to find. Hung from a wrought-iron pole, it was painted with a lavender and lemon yellow iris whose green tendrils twisted around four words etched in a delicate script: babe in the woods.

Osborne pulled his car in behind Lew’s cruiser and walked down the asphalt drive. The cottage was situated on the kind of real estate difficult to come by in northern Wisconsin: a level site with a western exposure blessed with sunsets. Tonight the view was spectacular—the lake sparkling with diamonds and promising one of those long, clear summer evenings when the sun refuses to go down.

He paused for a moment to appreciate the quiet loveliness of water and sky. No neighboring homes or cabins invaded the view, which meant that Peg’s property had to include a good five hundred feet of shoreline. Five hundred feet on Wolf Lake would sell for thousands of dollars
per foot.
Osborne gave a silent whistle. Whatever else Peg Garmin may have left behind, this land alone had to be worth close to a million.

He found Lew on the porch, about to push open the front door. “Ray was right,” she said as she pressed down on the handle and the door swung open. “The place is unlocked.” After remembering that Peg rarely locked her doors, Ray had called Lew’s office and offered to drive over and secure the cottage—but she had thanked him and said she preferred to do it herself.

Osborne followed her in. They stood for a moment, taking in the details of the living room. The setting sun sent rays of light through a picture window facing west. Dust motes floated in the gold air. All was silent, expectant.

An old oak desk situated to the left of the door held an oval brass bowl into which had been tucked a number of pieces of mail. Also on the desktop were three more items: a blank notepad, a ring-bound weekly calendar, and a small address book, set side by side and in line with the edge of the desk. A tall ceramic mug, painted with a map of Wolf Lake, held pens, pencils, and a pair of scissors.

“Very neat,” said Osborne, glancing around the room. The house felt good—warm, welcoming, everything in its place, from pillows on the sofa to newspapers stacked neatly on a side table. It was as if Peg had dusted and vacuumed before she left.

“Peaceful … and undisturbed,” said Lew. “Certainly doesn’t look like anyone’s been in here rummaging around, does it. I’d like to do a quick check—see if anything jumps out at us—and come back in the morning for a thorough search.

“And just so you know, Doc, it’s legal to look over everything that’s out in the open. Anything else has to wait until tomorrow when I’ll have that search warrant.”

Lew waved toward the far side of the living room where two doors were closed and another, to a bathroom, stood open. “I’ll start in here—why don’t you check the back entrance and the kitchen area.”

Earlier, while Lew completed the paperwork for the warrants that would allow her to do a thorough inspection of each of the victim’s homes, Osborne had walked Pauline out to the curb and waited with her until the weasel drove up. She seemed to stand straighter now, and her face was less fallen than when she had arrived. She told Osborne that in spite of her grief, she felt a little better knowing she had been able to give the Loon Lake Police valuable information.

“You certainly pointed Chief Ferris in the right direction, Pauline,” said Osborne. “I hope you know you can trust her to follow up on anything else that might come to mind.”

“Oh, yes,” said Pauline, “I trust her all right—I can tell she’s damn good at what she does.” Osborne was relieved to hear that. Pauline may have walked in angry and defensive but she was leaving eager to cooperate.

After asking her not to disturb any of her daughter’s belongings until they could be examined, Lew had given Pauline her business card—on the back of which she had written both her cell and her home phone numbers. “Anything you think might be important—please call me right away,” said Lew, her arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Do not hesitate. Understand?”

Pauline had nodded, eyes glimmering with tears.

Ralph got the same card, but without the extra phone numbers. No doubt he would have multiple theories on what had happened to his daughter—input Lew preferred to filter. Marlene would know how to handle him.

“In the meantime,” Lew had said, shaking his hand, “I’m going to bring on an extra deputy or two so I can get somebody up to those poker tables where Donna was training. Thanks to you and Pauline, we have some excellent leads here, Ralph.”

Before Lew left the office, she touched base with Bruce, who was still hoping to make the Shania Twain performance. He had nothing new to report, except that the overturned convertible had been thoroughly checked for trace evidence and was on its way to Robbie’s warehouse. He added that Robbie had been able to reach his friend in Rhinelander and Bruce gave them the go-ahead to pull the car’s electronics for a computer analysis first thing in the morning.

Walking to their cars after talking to Bruce, Lew told Osborne that the call that came in while she was questioning Ralph and Pauline was from a security guard at the Hugo Garmin headquarters in Chicago, where she had left a voice message earlier. The guard refused to give out any personal phone numbers, but promised to get the necessary information to “the right people.”

“He wouldn’t even give me names,” said Lew. “Even though I told him it was official police business. Can you believe that? So I gave him all my numbers and asked that the family or someone close to the family call me as soon as they get the news—no matter how late. I made sure he knew to tell them I would have my cell phone with me and, even if I’m out of range, I should be able to return their call within half an hour.”

As they arrived at Peg’s cottage, Lew was still waiting for the call.

Before walking off toward the kitchen, Osborne took a long look around the spacious living room. One wall held a television with a VCR and DVD player and a stereo systern. Shelves along the wall on either side of the TV were laden with CDs and videotapes.

Below the picture window on the west wall was a sofa angled to face two matching armchairs upholstered in gold corduroy. The furniture, including lamps and a coffee table, was arranged on a dark green rug. At one end of the room was a stone fireplace next to which was an ottoman. A folded afghan was draped over one arm of the sofa. The room radiated casual comfort—but yet, something was missing. Osborne puzzled for a moment, then gave a shrug and set off to check the rest of the house.

The kitchen faced east. It was a long, narrow room with appliances along the inside wall and a small round table with two chairs nestled into a nook, with floor-to-ceiling windows on the far end. Osborne looked through the windows: Peg had a morning view of the lake, too. She must have loved the place.

On one counter, below a wall phone, was an answering machine, its red light blinking. A quick check of the cupboards, which had glass fronts, disclosed stacks of dishes and glassware, a bar set for mixing martinis, and six bags of chocolate chip cookies. A pantry held cereal boxes, some canned soups, and a few baking supplies. Everything was so neat, he was surprised the soups were not in alphabetical order.

Osborne opened the refrigerator. At least a dozen bottles of beer—all different brands but each brand lined up one after the other, along with tonic water and sodas—filled three shelves. A selection of cheeses and a bowl of fresh limes were packed into the crisper. The overhead freezer opened to display boxes of frozen meals—all Weight Watchers brand.

The kitchen of a single woman who entertained.

“Hey, Doc,” said Lew, calling from the front of the house, “come here—tell me what you think of this stuff …”

He found her in the bathroom examining the contents of a tall white cabinet with glass doors. Four of its five shelves held neatly arranged bathroom appliances—blow dryers, a basket of curlers, a curling iron—along with an assortment of cosmetics and perfumes. The top shelf held bottles of aspirin and Advil, several cold remedies, and several vials from a pharmacy. Osborne could identify the contents of the prescription drug containers through the glass.

“Painkillers,” he said, pointing to two. Of the remaining two, he said, “This one is a decongestant—and this a medication for dizziness.”

“The dates are all pretty recent,” said Lew.

“She had an infection of some kind. Must be related to the plastic surgery since the prescribing physician listed on these is Forsyth.”

“I saw that,” said Lew. “Interesting, isn’t it. If we didn’t know better, we might assume she had been having dizzy spells, which could cause her to lose control of her car … right?”