Dead Insider (10 page)

Ray knocked on Kaye Lund’s screen door and waited. The afternoon sun was hot on his back, and he noticed the windows along the front of the house had been shoved wide open. After waiting a good minute, he knocked again as he said, “Hello, Kaye? It’s Ray. Need a little help here. Helloooo, anybody home?”

From the darkened room beyond the screen door, a shadow lumbered toward him. With a creak of the hinges, Kaye pushed the door open and beckoned him inside. Her cheeks were damp and her eyes red-rimmed. A balled-up handkerchief that may have been white in a previous life was clutched in one hand. Raising the hanky to her face, she blew her nose long and hard.

“I am so sorry to bother you, Kaye. What an awful time this must be.”

“’S fine. You get your hat okay? I left it at your place.”

“Hat’s great, Kaye. I’ll betcha I can wear it for another ten years. Thank you, but that’s not—”

“I got the memorial service all set for Tuesday morning,” said Kaye. “Father John’s gonna say a funeral Mass even though we may not have a casket …” A sob escaped in spite of her effort to keep her voice level. A quick wipe of the handkerchief at her face, and she managed to force more words out. “Father said it’s okay ’cause it’ll be kind of like a cremation, y’know? And, um, I’ve arranged for the church ladies to have lunch for everyone afterwards.”

“Isn’t that rushing things?” asked Ray, his voice soft. He didn’t want to sound critical, but he wasn’t sure Kaye was thinking clearly. “I mean—Tuesday is only two days from now.”

He could have kicked himself the minute after he spoke. What was he thinking? That Jane’s poor body would somehow reassemble itself for a traditional viewing, Mass, and burial? Chances were the crime lab might not release the remains for months. Kaye’s effort might lend some decency, if not respect, to the grim developments around Jane Ericsson’s death.

“Father John is going fishing in Canada on Thursday. He said it has to be Tuesday or not for another couple weeks. I thought maybe it would be good to get it over with. You know all those college kids that were working for Jane this summer. Be nice if they can attend. Don’t you think? Oh, Ray, did I do the wrong thing?” The despair in Kaye’s eyes broke his heart.

“No, of course not. If Father John thinks it’s okay, then I’m sure he’s right. But you shouldn’t have to pay for the luncheon. Think how many people may come—hundreds, perhaps.”

“I hope so,” said Kaye, her voice shaking as she started to break down. “That,” she sobbed, “… that would make Jane so happy.”

Kaye’s head fell forward, her shoulders shaking. Uncertain what to do next, Ray pulled one of the kitchen chairs up next to the rocker and sat down. He placed a reassuring hand on her knee as he said, “Let me help organize the memorial and the luncheon. You know, Doc’s daughter is visiting, and she can help, too. And I know lots of people who will be happy to chip in a few bucks for the luncheon. For heaven’s sake, Kaye, Jane’s estate must be worth millions. Whoever manages it should help pay for the luncheon, too.”

“Now, Ray, you listen to me,” said Kaye. She paused to blow her nose and wipe at her eyes. Clearing her throat, she sat up straight in the rocker, her chin thrust forward. “Jane was all the family I had. We might have had a little falling out last month, but that was just because of the hoopla ’round the campaign. I know it wasn’t her who got so mad at me. Not really. It was that awful woman she hired. Goddamn spider, that woman.”

Kaye was rocking back and forth with such vengeance, Ray had to reach out and slow her down. When she came to a stop, she leveled her eyes at him, saying, “I am doing this my way, and I don’t want you telling anyone. Promise me you’ll keep your mouth shut?” Her tone softened. “It’s my last chance to take care of little sis.”

Ray got to his feet and patted her shoulder. “I won’t tell a soul, but I insist you let me know if you need help. You promise me that and we’ve got a deal.”

Kaye managed a slight smile. “Deal.”

“Good, that’s taken care of. But, Kaye, the reason I dropped by is I need a pair of your shoes. Chief Ferris wants me to check the grounds around the property for any sign of an intruder. The ground is so soft from the rain, especially around the house where no shrubs have been planted yet. I need to be able to tell your footprints from any stranger’s.”

“Oh, that makes sense,” said Kaye, pushing her heavy body up from the rocker, “but you better check with some of the workmen who’ve been around, too. Hold on, I’ll get you something you can use.” She walked into the kitchen where she leaned down to reach for a pair of black rubber boots. “Here, I always wear these when I’m outside gardening. Will these work?”

A siren wail in the distance drew closer. In less than a minute, a large SUV driven by Randy Kucsmarek, one of the sheriff’s deputies, came hurtling down the drive past the big house and skidded to a stop in the clearing in front of Kaye’s house. Right behind the SUV was Osborne’s Subaru.

The deputy jumped from the driver’s seat and ran up to where Ray and Kaye stood watching him. “Hey, Pradt,” he said, “they got a signal from a cell phone belonging to some guy who’s gone missing for three days. The signal is coming from somewhere in the woods between Rolf Ericsson Drive and the county road. Chief Ferris wants you and Doc Osborne to check it out. See what you can find. If you need help or want to use our K-9 search and rescue dog, give a call. I’m outta here now, though—we got a heck of a problem managing all the idiots driving in to see where the body parts were found. What a circus.” He shook his head in disgust, and climbed back into his vehicle.

“Kaye, how’s it going? Sorry to disrupt you like this,” said Osborne after the deputy had driven off.

“I’m … managing.” As Kaye spoke, they heard a loud bang from the back of the house. “Jeez, what’s that? Sounds like my back door. “Before she could walk back into the kitchen, Lauren Crowell came flying into the front room.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she said, looming over Kaye.

“None of your business,” said Kaye, sounding smug as she walked back over to her rocking chair.

Lauren threw an angry look at Osborne and Ray, who were standing speechless. “She’s made arrangements for Jane’s funeral. Got the whole damn town coming to a party.
What’s that all about?
”

“We call it a wake,” said Kaye, starting to rock. “That’s what we do here when someone passes away.”

Lauren sputtered. “I know what a wake is. Don’t tell me what a wake is. I want a national memorial service for a woman who might have become a U.S. senator, not lunch in a fast food joint.”

“St. Mary’s school cafeteria is not a fast food joint.” Kaye tipped her head higher as she spoke.

Lauren turned to Osborne. “Dr. Osborne, you tell her. It is so tacky to do this.”

“Actually, Lauren,” said Osborne, “I agree with Kaye. Loon Lake needs to mourn its own in its Northwoods way. I would imagine you can arrange another service on a larger stage when it’s appropriate. Maybe in a month or two, in Madison or Washington, D.C. Something with status, like you say. But what Kaye is doing is right for here and now.”

Lauren threw her hands into the air, spun around, and stomped through the kitchen and out the back door. The living room was silent except for a whisper of wood on rug as Kaye rocked. “Kaye, don’t you lock your doors?” asked Osborne.

“Never. This is Loon Lake, Doc. Do you lock your doors?”

“Now that you mention it, no. But I have a dog.”

Kaye shrugged and smiled. Ray and Osborne smiled back, their mutual satisfaction one ray of light in a somber day.

After placing Kaye’s boots on the passenger seat in his pickup, Ray walked over to Osborne’s car. “Doc, you know where this signal is coming from?” Before Osborne could answer, he said, “Poor Kaye. That woman has aged ten years since we saw her yesterday. And what is the deal with that Lauren woman? Does she need meds?”

“Lauren Crowell was running Jane’s campaign and apparently she believes she is running everything around here. Just be happy she’s not in the car with me. But yes, I’ve got a marked map with me that gives us some idea—”

“Is this connected to the Ericsson murder in some way? I can’t imagine Lew would pull me off that search of the grounds if it wasn’t.”

“Not sure. All we know so far is that this Kelly fellow has been tag-teaming the campaign trying to get Jane to change her position on a wetland development project. His girlfriend got in touch with a reporter he was e-mailing to say he hasn’t been heard from since Friday night, when he supposedly had a meeting with Jane at her home. The girlfriend is convinced he’s lost or drowned or something.” Osborne raised his eyebrows as he said, “Oh, I forgot to mention—the guy was carrying fifty thousand dollars in cash.”

“In cash? What was this? A drug deal?”

“Who knows. He told the girlfriend it was to be a donation to the campaign that would encourage Jane to support his cause. V-e-r-y fishy. On the other hand, the guy was a fanatic on the issue, and this is politics.”

“True,” said Ray. “But hauling around fifty grand in cash is a good way to encourage a Jack Pine savage to support his wish for breaking your legs. So tell me again—exactly where are we going?”

“Got it right here,” said Osborne reaching for the plat book on the passenger seat. “Want to remind you of one thing, in case that sheriff’s deputy shows up again. Lew has not told anyone Mike Kelly’s real reason for being up here but you, me, and Mallory. She wants to run this like a rescue search for a missing tourist. If it’s a search for a suspect, she has to get a subpoena for the phone trace, and that could take a couple days.”

“Chief Ferris strikes again,” said Ray with a conspiratorial smile. “You sure she’s not smarter ’n you are, Doc?”

“Thank you,” said Osborne. “I’ll remember that remark when you need a referral to a good endodontist. Okay, here we go,” he said as he held the open plat book so that Ray could see the page. “The trace on the signal shows that it’s somewhere within this area.” Osborne pointed to a circle drawn on a map. “Can’t pinpoint any closer than this—we have to search on foot.”

“Hmm,” said Ray, studying the map. “You know where this is, don’t you?”

“I know there’s a couple of logging roads back in there. Doesn’t this land belong to the paper mill?”

“Doc, that’s the old town dump,” said Ray. “Been closed for years. My buddies and I used to ride our bikes back in there to watch the bears.”

“You’re right. I forgot about that. Okay, since you know the area, I’ll follow you.”

Back on the county road, Ray watched for signs of an old logging lane he knew was likely to lead back into the area marked on the plat map. A faint impression in an overgrown ditch along the highway looked promising. He pulled over.

“Doc, you better ride with me. This Subaru of yours rides so low you might get stuck.”

“Good idea,” said Osborne, reaching for his black bag. He hurried over to Ray’s truck and opened the driver’s side door. “Mind letting me slide in from your side?”

“Oh, sure,” said Ray. “Sorry. Always forget that other door doesn’t work.”

Carefully, very carefully, Osborne slid under the steering wheel, past the gearshift, and into the passenger seat—where he reminded himself to be sure to take it slow getting out.

Scanning the dense growth of young aspen squeezing in on both sides of the narrow lane, Ray yanked the steering wheel back and forth, maneuvering the pickup over and around deep, muddy ruts. “Someone’s been driving in here recently,” he said, braking to a stop. “Hold on, Doc; before we go any further, I see something I want to check out.”

Brushing back clumps of grass obscuring the faint outlines of the logging lane, Ray knelt for a closer look at tire patterns that had been left in the mud. He peered through the driver’s side window of the truck. “We better park here, Doc,” he said. “Whoever drove in here did so before the rain stopped. We’ll go the rest of the way on foot, so we don’t mess up any tracks.”

“You mean a vehicle went in, but hasn’t come out?”

“Not unless there’s another way out, and I don’t believe there is. Let’s see that map again.”

Osborne handed over the plat book, and Ray studied it for a long minute. “Okay,” he said, looking up, “I’m going to bet we are within a thousand feet of that cell phone signal. Follow me and stay to the right, so we’ll know those are our tracks.”

“Got it,” said Osborne.

The green VW van was parked in a clearing five hundred feet ahead. Behind it was all that remained of the old dump: a rusted iron fence, a wooden shack with its roof caved in, and a large berm capped with NO TRESPASSING signs. The afternoon might be warm and sunny, but the view of the dump was desolate. Nor did the sight of the van do anything positive to Osborne’s gut.

Mike Kelly appeared to be dozing in the front seat of his van—head back, eyes half-open. Anticipating movement, Osborne and Ray approached slowly. But the man remained still. The window on the driver’s side was open, and Osborne could hear flies buzzing. Up close, it was obvious Mike Kelly was deep into the sleep of the dead.

“Ray,” said Osborne, pulling open his instrument bag, “let me give you a pair of nitrile gloves before you touch anything. Tell you right now—Bruce just got another couple days of work.”

“Wonder what Lew will owe him after this?” said Ray as he pulled on the gloves. The driver’s side door of the van was unlocked and opened easily. The seat around the van’s owner was blood-soaked, even though the front of the T-shirt was unmarked.

“Hmm, doesn’t look good,” said Ray. He gave the dead man’s shoulder a gentle shove. The body fell forward onto the steering wheel. White as the front of the T-shirt might be, the back was blood-black. Working his gloved fingers gingerly, Osborne was able to lift the shirt high enough to see the source of Mike Kelly’s deep slumber: a single knife wound under the left shoulder blade.

While Ray moved back from the van to uncap the lens on his camera, Osborne checked his phone for cell service. He had two bars, enough to alert Lew, who answered after two rings.

“Check for the fifty thousand in cash,” she said. “The girlfriend said he was carrying it in a money belt under his shirt.”

“No sign of a money belt,” said Osborne. “Just so you know, whoever did this must have left on foot. Ray can tell that only one vehicle drove in here. Right now the ground in this clearing is still soft enough that he is photographing any footprints that don’t belong to us. Hold on a moment, Lew …” Osborne held his phone away as he called to Ray, “Any sign of a vehicle driving out of here?”

“No. But I see at least two deer trails leading in the direction of the Ericsson property. Tell Lew that I’ll double-check the plat book, but I believe the Ericsson property line is located beyond the stream running behind this berm. Tell her that it makes sense to me to start my ground search here.”

“What about the guy’s phone?” was Lew’s next question. “If you can find that, we can check his messages and texts—”

“Hold on,” said Osborne. After scanning the bloody seat of the van he pushed aside an empty McDonald’s bag on the floor, but found nothing. He reached a gloved hand down into the opening between the passenger and driver’s seats. “No phone that I can see. Lew and I don’t want to disturb the contents of this van until Bruce can check it out. I assume you’ll have him work up this site, too?”

“Hell on the budget, but I’ll have to. Do you mind holding the line? I’m going to check with the phone company and see if that cell signal is still alive.”

Osborne waited until Lew came back on. “Doc, it’s around there somewhere. I’m going to e-mail you a GPS setting from the phone tech. I’ll bet it got tossed in the woods back there.”

Ray, standing nearby, walked over and pulled his own phone from his back pocket. “I have an idea, Doc. Ask Chief Ferris what kind of phone the guy had. And if it’s an iPhone, see if the girlfriend has his Apple ID—it’s what he would use to order off iTunes.”

“Lew, did you hear that?” asked Osborne.

“I did. Hold the line and I’ll see if I can reach her … okay, here it is.”

“Hold on, now,” said Ray, as he punched Mike Kelly’s ID into his own phone, “I have an app called Find My Phone that just might help us … yep, there it is.” He held up his phone, and Osborne could see a small gray phone icon that the phone was quite close to the van. “Tell Chief Ferris, it’s so close that I’ll find it within a few minutes, I’m sure.”

“Call me ASAP when you do,” said Lew. “I know it’s getting late, Doc, but will you and Ray please stay there until I can get Todd or Roger out to close off the entrance?”

“Of course, but don’t worry too much. It’s tough to see from the road. I don’t think this place gets a lot of visitors.”

Osborne waited while Ray crossed the clearing in the direction of the stream, which they could hear gurgling just beyond the berm. Pulling a pair of polarized sunglasses from his shirt pocket, he waded into the stream, his eyes moving back and forth between the icon on his phone and his feet.

“Score,” he said, leaning over to stare down into the shallow streambed. “Doc, better hand me another pair of gloves—we got a soggy cell phone here.”

An hour later, standing in Jane Ericsson’s driveway with Lew, Osborne, and Ray, Bruce pursed his lips and wrinkled his brows as he studied the wet cell phone. Its battery had run down so there was no longer even a signal. “Too bad,” said Bruce, “who knows what we might have found on this besides the fact that someone wiped all the prints off it. I’ll send it down to the lab but it may be a lost cause. I dropped my iPhone in the toilet last month and our tech couldn’t get that to work.”

“All … is not lost,” said Ray, raising the index finger of his right hand. “I have rice at my place. Want me to give it a try?”

“You talking some kind of witchcraft?” asked Bruce with a sneer. He pushed his glasses up his nose and blinked at Ray.

“Not … at all. Believe it or not,” said Ray with one of his pauses that indicated he was about to deliver information that would change the lives of everyone nearby, “rice works. Tried it myself a couple months ago when I dropped my Android off the dock. Uncooked rice is a powerful absorbent. All I had to do was submerge my phone and the battery in a bowl of dry rice for twenty-four hours and it worked fine … well, kinda fine. I lost my birdcall ringtone, but otherwise the phone works great.”

“Did you have voicemails on it, and were you able to get those?” asked Lew.

“Yep. I was expecting a call from a client from Chicago, and it came through clear as a bell. Otherwise I would’ve lost a good guiding gig. Let me take care of it, okay?”

Lew looked hesitant. “Chief,” said Ray, “it’ll cost you two bucks … for the rice.”

She glanced over at Bruce, who shrugged and said, “Worth a try. I know my tech can’t do it.”