Dead Hot Mama (5 page)

“I
met her last August,” said Ray. “She was tending bar on karaoke night at Thunder Bay. She’s not a local, Chief. If I remember right, she’s from a little town outside Oshkosh.”

“She tended bar, huh. She didn’t dance? With that body?” Lew was skeptical.

“I’m not saying she never danced. But she wasn’t dancing when I was out there. What she told me was that she was trying to get out of a contract that she had signed with a club up near Hurley. I got the impression she’d been screwed over by the people she had been working for …” Ray paused. “Now that I think of it, she was quite careful not to name names. I’ll tell you one thing—she was a very pleasant person.”

“Ray, have you ever met a woman who wasn’t?” Catching Osborne’s eye, Lew gave a wry smile.

More than once, while mending their dry flies through riffles in a trout stream, they had chuckled together over Ray’s wizardry with the opposite sex. Charm appeared to be his middle name, as few women—regardless of age, shape, or bank account—could resist. And whatever it was that made Ray so irresistible to the ladies, it eluded Osborne.

Eluded and disturbed. Once he had asked Lew if she knew Ray’s secret, but she just shook her head, snorted and said, “If you don’t know now, Doc, you never will.” Then she had laughed and waded on up the stream, her back cast uncurling overhead as she set out to tease new and unsuspecting trout.

Osborne had hung back, working an overhang until he snagged his fly. The consequent angry yank was directed as much to the insulting branch as it was to his friend and neighbor. All that luck with the ladies was hitting a little too close to home as Osborne found himself more than a little unsettled by Mallory’s ongoing interest in the guy. Good friend was one thing, son-in-law was quite another. The peripatetic lifestyle of a fishing guide was not what Osborne had in mind for his eldest daughter.

“Her name?” said Lew, quizzing Ray. “I’m sure you got that far.”

“I knew her by Eileen. Just a first name, but that’s not unusual at Thunder Bay.”

“Excuse me,” said Bruce, his right nostril twitching and his brow dark over his eyes, “mind if I ask what this place Thunder Bay is?” He stepped forward, elbowing Osborne out of the way.

Osborne moved off to the side. He liked the young man; he just hoped he didn’t have the same bad habit as the rest of the Wausau boys: the urge to push Lew out of the way when the stakes in a case got high enough to further a career. Better men had tried and lost.

“A strip joint west of town,” said Lew. “Lap dancers, that kind of thing. Changed hands recently after I fined the former owners ten thousand bucks for violations of Code 2116B. I wonder if she’s been working for the new people?”

“I heard Karin Hikennen bought it,” said Ray. “You know Karin, Chief?”

“What’s that Code 21—?” asked Bruce, a question mark vivid in his eyes.

“Never met Karin. I knew the old lady, Karin’s grandmother. She used to run the Kat House, one of Hurley’s finest in the days when that town was wide open. I imagine Karin has inherited that joint …” Lew reached into her jacket for her cell phone. She asked the dispatcher to put her through to Thunder Bay.

“Thunder Bay is very popular with what we call ‘da boys from da cities,’” said Osborne in a low voice to Bruce. “You know the crowd—up to hunt or fish with no wives in tow.”

“And Ray hangs out there?” asked Bruce, his nose wrinkling like something nearby smelled bad.

“Five rounds of draft Leinenkugels, and our friend here is guaranteed at least one new client for guiding,” said Osborne, answering loud enough for Ray to hear.

“Don’t forget the bad jokes,” said Lew as she waited for her call to go through.

“Yep, I stop by Thunder Bay a couple times a week in the summer,” said Ray. “When it comes to R & D that’s the place to be.”

“R & D?” said Bruce. “Don’t you mean R &
R?”

“No, R & D—research and development—mining new clients. Bruce, I’m probably the only guy you’ll ever meet who can deduct lap dancing from his taxes.”

“Oh,” said Bruce.

“Things are different in Loon Lake,” said Osborne, shuffling his feet to keep the blood moving.

“I’m finding that out,” said Bruce. “About that code—”

But before he could ask his question, Lew had snapped her phone shut.

“Thunder Bay’s closed, dammit. One good thing about cell phones—they save time.”

“Yep, closed Tuesdays and Thursdays,” said Ray. “Open noon tomorrow though …”

Her eyes troubled, Lew mulled the tips of her boots. The three men waited in silence, turning their backs when a swirl of wind kicked snow across the rink. Osborne shivered. He never could stay warm standing still.

“Okay,” said Lew, looking up, “here’s what we’ll do. Ray, I’ve got enough left in my budget through the end of the year to bring you and Doc on board to help out for a couple days. Do you have the time to track down some of the other girls working Thunder Bay? First thing in the morning? They may know more than Hikennen would ever tell us anyway. If Karin’s anything like her grandmother, she’ll be mean, greedy, and close-mouthed. If you hit a brick wall—”

“I don’t understand why he doesn’t just go to the owner first,” said Bruce. “They have to answer. What good is talking to a bunch of strippers—”

“If you don’t have any luck with the girls, let me know and we’ll see if Suzanne can help,” said Lew, ignoring Bruce. “Incidentally, Ray, ha
ve you
met Karin?” “Nope, never set eyes on the woman.” “And who is this Suzanne?” An undisguised bossiness in Bruce’s voice irritated Osborne. He turned and stared at him—second-guessing Lew was not the way to win friends at the moment.

“Bruce, you’re here to help with trace evidence,” said Lew, her voice level but her eyes hard. “I take care of the rest. Since you asked, Suzanne is my daughter, and she used to work at Thunder Bay. A few years back, right after her divorce, she danced and tended bar at Thunder Bay to pay her way through school. But that was six years ago—before I joined the force. Today she’s a CPA in Milwaukee, just opened her own firm. Remarried and I’ve got three grandchildren. Even so, she’s kept in touch with several friends who have continued to work there—and they may know something.”

“Not the most reliable sources,” said Bruce. “Most strippers I’ve had contact with are into drugs or—” He stopped short.

Ray gave Osborne an amused look, but it was the expression on Lew’s face that made Osborne feel a little sorry for the guy.

“Bruce …” Lew paused. “Just because a girl dances in a strip club does not mean she’s a hooker or a drug addict. Yes, one or two may violate the code, but that’s almost always under pressure from the boss, which is why I fine owners—not dancers. This is the northwoods, bud. It is not easy to make a buck—particularly if you are young, female, single, and a mother. And, frankly, I’ve known a few crooked cops in my day—”

“Chief—” said Ray, interrupting before Bruce could dig himself in any deeper, “look, I’ve got the time even if you
don’t
have the money.” He looked down at the white plastic covering the girl who once had a lovely smile. “She was a good kid—someone loved her.”

“Doc, is that okay with you?” asked Lew. Before Osborne could say a word, she said, “Bruce, first thing tomorrow Doc will get us a dental ID on all three victims, including the two you worked with today—”

“Fine with me,” said Bruce.

“Settled then,” said Lew, nodding at Ray and Osborne. “I’ll call Connie in the morning and let her know you two are on the payroll.”

Turning to leave, she stepped up onto the dock, then paused, raising her hands to the moon in a gesture of frustration. Bruce almost bumped into her from behind. “You know, if it weren’t for Pecore,” said Lew, “if I didn’t have to live with that jabone’s seventy thousand a year salary—I could add another full-time deputy and not be forced to lean on people like Doc and Ray who have better things to do.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Osborne under his breath as he hopped up onto the dock behind them.

“Now what the hell—? What is Ray doing out there?” asked Lew, peering over Osborne’s shoulder.

The three of them looked out towards the fishing shanty, which glowed from inside. To its left, behind the frozen bier holding the young woman, all that could be seen of Ray was a dark shadow hunkered down near the snowbank.

His voice came to them muffled. “Did Pecore shoot this?”

“Dammit,” Lew cursed as she jumped down off the dock and walked back towards Ray. “What now—I’m freezing.”

Ray was staring at the snowbank behind the victim. “Did you move the body from where you found it?”

“No, she’s exactly where she was found, so Bruce can work the site tomorrow morning.”

“Well, I hope to hell Pecore shot
this,”
said Ray.

“Shot what?” said Lew, moving closer to Ray. “I don’t see anything.”

“Right here—someone shoveled this snow. You got a plow pushing snow over there, but here it’s been heaped. See how the pattern changes? It’s slight but it’s there.”

“Whoa—you have a good eye,” said Bruce shaking his head. “I didn’t see any difference in how that snow was mounded. Tomorrow, in the light, I might, but in these shadows?” He whistled.

“Bruce,” said Ray, “I do graves in the summer, snow removal all winter.”

“He isn’t kidding,” said Lew. “We are in the company of a man with an intimate knowledge of plows and shovels.”

“And an eye so good he can hit an aspirin with a BB gun,” said Osborne.

Bruce knelt to examine the snowbank with his flashlight. Then he walked ten feet towards the rink and dropped to his knees again. “I see the difference now. This is good, this is very good. And you know what? I’ll bet you anything that a shovel, like a knife, has to leave a distinctive mark.” He looked up at Lew. “We’ve got to get photos before the weather changes. Can you get your coroner back here? Or find out if he took some already?”

“Sure,” said Lew, “but from what Terry said, I doubt Pecore took the time or made the effort—I certainly wouldn’t count on it.” She pulled off her glove and reached inside her parka for her cell phone. She punched in some numbers and waited. Then she tried another set of numbers. “No answer,” she said. “That’s interesting. He’s not in his office and he’s not answering at home. Where the hell can he be at this hour?”

“Chief, I’ve got some black and white film in my camera,” said Ray. “It’s right over there in the truck, under my seat. I was shooting a flock of migrating loons that landed on the lake before it froze over, and I haven’t used it since. I’m sure I’ve got enough film—you want me to get a few photos?”

Lew threw up her hands. “What choice do I have?”

As she spoke, Bruce headed off across the rink, jogging and skidding in the direction of the boathouse where the ATV with the plow was parked. “I’ll see if they got shovels in there,” he said. “We don’t want any of those disappearing.”

“Up at the main house, too,” said Lew. “I saw one on the porch.”

Osborne never thought the warmth of his own home could feel so good. The house was dark except for a night-light over the kitchen stove.

“Dad? Is that you?”

“Find everything you need, hon?” The door to Mallory’s bedroom was open. She looked sleepy and cozy, propped up against the pillows with a book in her hands. “We’ll go find a tree right after I help Lew in the morning. Around ten or so? You sleep in, enjoy your coffee….”

“Sounds great, Dad. I’ll dress real warm, too, so we can take our time. You know me—I want just the right tree.” She gave him a happy smile. “See you when you get back from town then. And, by the way, those dentures you left on the kitchen table? I put them up on the shelf near the cookbooks. Couldn’t stand the idea of those greeting me first thing in the morning. Hope you don’t mind.”

Minutes later, after cracking the window very slightly, Osborne slipped under his quilt. He smiled at the thought of the busy morning ahead. And the relief he felt knowing Mallory was comfortable in the room next to his was palpable. That was all he ever wanted to do for his children and their children: keep them safe.

He woke with a start. The clock beside his bed read 3:43 a.m. Moonlight filled the room, making it easy to see that Mike still slept soundly on his bed in the corner. Osborne lay perfectly still wondering what it was that had awakened him. Then he heard it: the soft put-put of Ray’s pickup moving up the rutted slope that served as his driveway.

What on earth could he be doing at this hour? Osborne waited, half-expecting a knock on the door. He got up to use the bathroom, then checked the other bedroom. Mallory was sleeping soundly on her side, curled up with her feet tucked under. Lifting an extra quilt from a chair in the corner, Osborne gave it a shake, flipped it up and over, and let it drift down onto his daughter as lightly as a dry fly onto a still pool.

His final thought as he drifted back into sleep was of Bruce. Wouldn’t surprise him if that guy was still awake—searching computer files for the details of Code 2116B.

“Pecore
is out,” said Lew. Osborne reached for a kitchen chair and sat down. It was ten after six and he had been pouring his first cup of coffee when he grabbed for the phone on its first ring.

“Fired? It’s less than ten hours since you last saw him, Lew. What on earth—” Osborne shook his head. How much trouble can a late middle-aged man get into after dark in a town of thirty-one hundred people? With an outside temperature of twenty-three below zero?

“He doesn’t know it yet. I can’t call Arne Steadman until after eight, and as mayor, Arne has to be the one to fire him—but I can’t imagine he won’t be out once I talk to Arne. So don’t say anything if you run into him before then.”

“Don’t worry about that. But, Jeez Louise, Lew. What happened?”

“He showed up at Marty’s Bar about eleven o’clock last night with eight-by-tens of that poor girl. Passed ‘em around. I got a call from someone who was there.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I just hope her family, whoever they are, never hears about it. Unforgivable. And you and I both know it isn’t the first time …”

She was right. More than once, Osborne’s coffee crowd at McDonald’s had heard rumors of Pecore misbehaving with photos taken of women under official circumstances. But only rumors; no one had ever caught him red-handed.

“The good news is Loon Lake will finally have a decent coroner. If I play my cards right with our city fathers, we may even get a professional.”

“Careful, Lew. It’s still a political appointment.”

“You’re right, Doc, but I’m thinking positive. Let me know if you have any thoughts on a good replacement. This catches me a little unprepared. And speaking of being prepared, I’m hoping the four of us—you, me, Bruce, and Ray—can go over a few things this morning before we all head off in different directions. Any chance you could make it to my office by seven?”

Before Osborne could answer, Lew said, “Oops, here’s Ray now—”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” said Osborne.

The door to Lew’s office in the old courthouse was wide open when Osborne got there. In spite of the new jail with its fancy offices and conference rooms right next door, Lew had opted to keep this spacious room with its white walls, dark wood trim, and high, old-fashioned windows for her private space.

Just entering the bright, cheery room for an early cup of coffee always lifted Osborne’s heart—especially when the reason for dropping by was to plan for a late afternoon’s angling. Winter changed that. Though the room and its occupant still radiated warmth on his arrival, the visits were less frequent. A fact that kept him focused on finding a way to change her mind about ice fishing.

She, on the other hand, had been coaxing him towards learning to tie trout flies—something he had no interest in whatsoever. Dead animal hair, fur, and feathers held little appeal for a man who loved the cool surfaces of porcelain, gold, and silver. As a boy, he’d been persuaded to turn his urge to sculpt towards dentistry, a significantly more lucrative career: While few people may have a driving desire for bronze figurines, most want to own a healthy set of teeth. Nope, he was not about to trade his love of line and form for something teensy, fuzzy, and furry. But he let her coax—the coaxing was fun.

As he had hoped, the coffeepot in the corner was still half full. The room was crowded, with Lew behind her desk and both chairs facing her occupied. Bruce sat in one, right leg crossed over his left, with the loose foot jiggling. Ray lounged in the other, right foot resting on his left knee as he leaned back, way back it seemed, and waved a coffee mug as he spoke. He looked wired.

“Morning, everyone.” Osborne grabbed a straight- backed chair from the corner and plunked it down between the other two men. Then he unzipped his jacket, tossed it onto an empty chair near the windows, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Morning, Doc,” said Lew, her dark eyes resting easily on his for a brief moment as he took his seat. She looked alert, rested, and happy. Even though the December sun shone only forty percent of the time these days, Lew’s face maintained a warm and healthy glow. More attractive to Osborne than the makeup so carefully applied by the female friends of his late wife. He’d sneaked a peek once into Lew’s medicine cabinet—the only makeup he could find was sunscreen.

“Ray was just telling us something I want you to hear. Start over from the beginning, Ray, would you please.” She flipped her long narrow reporter’s notebook to a new page.

“Doc,” Ray dropped his foot onto the floor and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, “I was telling these two folks that as I was dozing off last night, I remembered something I saw … night before last … on my way in from ice fishing.”

“On Loon Lake,” said Lew, anxious to fill in gaps and hurry him along.

“What time was that again?” said Bruce. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

“Around two in the morning.”

“I
did
hear you right. You fish at that hour of the morning?”

“I fish when the fish feed. And they were feeding after midnight so—”

“And then you get up early to plow snow and dig graves and—how do you that?”

“Well, we aren’t digging any graves right now … but I catch a nap in the afternoon.”

“We call it ‘Ray time,’” said Lew, rocking back in her chair. “Rhymes with ‘waste time.’”

“Thanks, Chief, nothing like appreciation.”

Lew chuckled, “You’re too easy a target.” Then she raised her hands. “Just kidding. Please, Ray, you have the floor.”

“Thank you. So there I was out in my truck on Loon Lake … the far side. I have four holes there, everyone knows they’re mine—”

“Ray, please. Save the fishing details for later. I see Arne at eight, and we’ve got a lot to cover.”

“I hear you, Chief. So I’m driving back over to my place, and just as I got near my dock, I happened … to look south, down the snowmobile trail … way down. And I see these blinking lights …”

“By Kobernot’s?” asked Osborne.

“No, no, wa-a-y past their place. Down at the end where there’s an incline, a couple seasonal cabins up on the ridge, nothing else—you know that real rocky bay area.”

“Right,” said Osborne. He knew exactly the spot. “Someone just cut a road in past those cabins. Big house going up next spring.”

“So I see these lights blinking in a vertical line—one, two, three, four—like some kind of signal. I kinda thought about it, but it was two in the morning and I was pooped. I forgot all about those lights until … just as I was dozing off last night.”

“So that’s why I heard your truck so early this morning,” said Osborne.

“Yep. Couldn’t sleep thinking about ‘em, checked the weather radio, and decided I better see what I could see before that storm moves in. So … I get over there in the deep dark of the morning … shine a flashlight around the general area where I think I might have seen those lights and …” Ray paused and looked at his companions, his eyes narrowed. Osborne often wondered if the man knew how moments like this tempted the best of his friends to shoot him.

“And?” Bruce made a winding motion with one hand.

“Wasn’t a signal at all. Someone carrying a lantern tripped and fell down that hill. Someone in a hurry, because they left a few items behind … scattered all the way down to the lake …”

“Supposition. I’ll determine what happened,” said Bruce, now taking notes.

“I’m counting on you doing exactly that, Bruce,” said Ray with a wink. Then he leaned sideways to zip open a large duffel that was sitting on the floor beside his chair. Pulling on a pair of rubber fish gloves, he said, “Just so you know, everyone, I haven’t touched a thing without these on.” He held his hands up, fingers spread.

Then he reached into the duffel and pulled out a minnow bucket, which he set on the desk. “Note, brand new.” That was followed by a stainless steel ice scoop and a small electric lantern.

“You found these in the snow along with tracks from a vehicle,” said Bruce.

“Yes, and I was careful to walk up and down one side, so you can tell my footsteps from the others. Plenty of footprints leading down to the lake and back up, and no doubt that someone slipped and fell. I threw two tarps over most of the area, too, in case it snows before you get there.

“Also …” Ray stood up and walked over to the wall near the window—”I found this.” He held up a snow shovel that had been leaning there. “Brand new, too. Has its ‘Ralph’s Sporting Goods’ sticker on it still. Last thing … I could see signs of a plastic sled having been pulled down to the snowmobile trail and back—but … no sled.”

“Not unusual,” said Lew to Bruce. “Most ice fisherman who don’t have shanties will put all their gear in a big plastic sled and pull that out onto the ice. What’s different in what Ray found is that shovel. No one uses a shovel ice fishing. No one I know, anyway. Do you, Doc?”

“Never.”

“One other interesting thing, and you can check this out, Bruce,” said Ray. “The footprints in the snow? One individual, very petite. Not a guy, unless he’s got a hormone imbalance.”

“A woman, you think?” asked Bruce.

“A woman or a boy. And that’s a real nice ice scoop, too, doncha know. Cost twenty bucks or more. Which is why I think someone was in a hurry to leave. Why else would you leave all this good equipment behind?”

“So you think we can trace where they bought that stuff?” asked Bruce. “I’m sure we can get prints off it.”

“I dunno about that. It’s standard issue,” said Ray. “Everyone who ice fishes uses the same type of lantern and minnow bucket … although … y’know, I just thought of something …” Ray bent down to pick up the bucket. He tipped it forward and back, pulled out the liner, and peered inside.

“The purpose of the bucket is to carry minnows, right? But this was empty. No minnows tossed out or spilled on the snow, none down by the trail—”

“Most people dump their minnows near where they’re fishing,” said Osborne. “You don’t haul them all the way back to your car.”

“Most people I know don’t dump any minnows,” said Ray. “They’re good for a long time. Even so, I don’t see any trace of water in this bucket, not even a residue of water that might have frozen at the bottom. Look! There’s a label stuck inside here—this hasn’t even been used. Now why would anyone haul an empty minnow bucket out and back?”

No one said anything.

“If you ask me,” said Ray, “I think it is quite likely the party in question may have pulled poor Eileen onto the ice in the sled, using the fishing gear as a front.” He raised his palms as if to fend off an attack. “Just a theory, Bruce.”

“I better get out on the lake,” said Bruce, looking out the window as he got to his feet. “It’s light, finally. All I get is eight hours and thirty minutes, too, so I better hustle.”

“Less if the snow hits,” said Lew.

“I’ll take care of the situation at the Kobernots’, then I’ll check this other out.”

“Before you go, Bruce, anything Doc needs to know as he heads over to do the dental exams?”

“Not that I can think of. Your man, Pecore, is the one to establish cause of death. You have two in the hospital morgue, Dr. Osborne, and if the coroner is on the spot when I get to the Kobernots’, we should have the girl sent in shortly.

“Chief,” said Bruce, “I was hoping Ray might have a chance to stop by the site where the snowmobilers were found. He knows these lakes so well, he might see something I missed.” He pulled on his jacket, then reached down for his briefcase.

“Ray, still no sign of their sleds,” said Lew. “Be nice to know which direction they were coming from before going through the ice.”

“Happy to do it, Chief,” said Ray. “That’s not far from Thunder Bay Bar, and I’ll be starting there.” Lew nodded.

“Other than that, the only significant finding I’ve got that’s changed since last night is this.” Bruce set his briefcase on the chair, clicked it open partway, and pulled out an object in a Ziploc bag, which he set on Lew’s desk. “A Palm Pilot—we found it on one of the snowmobilers. It’s double bagged because they had it in plastic, too.”

Lew reached for the plastic bag, “I’ll take this.”

“No,” Bruce put his hand on it, “I’m sending it down to Wausau, we’ve got a good tech guy—”

“Don’t worry about it—I’ve got an excellent tech myself,” said Lew, placing both hands on the package. She was not going to give it up.

“Okay, Chief, whatever you say. It’s your case, I’m just here to help out,” said Bruce, more than a little disgruntled.

“That’s right, you are,” said Lew.

After Bruce and Ray had left Lew’s office, Osborne checked his watch and walked over to refill his coffee cup halfway. “Lew, I’m curious, who’s this tech expert of yours?”

“I don’t want Wausau getting their grimy hands on this.”

“That’s not what I asked you,” said Osborne, chuckling. “Well?”

Lew pulled open a desk drawer and pulled out a small red leather address book. She flipped a few pages, then picked up the phone. “Marlene, get me Gina Palmer at this number, would you please?” She read the number from the address book over the phone.

“Gina? She’s in Chicago,” said Osborne.” They’re getting the brunt of the storm this morning.”

“Then she’ll be happy to leave, won’t she? Especially when hears she better check out that property she bought on Loon Lake. We’ve had some burglaries in some of those seasonal cabins.”

“It’s Christmas, Lew. I’m sure she has plans.” “Last time I talked to her she was quite interested in the activities of a certain fishing guide we know,” said Lew, giving Osborne a wink. “You want to put money on this?”