Dead Insider (7 page)

It was not easy explaining to Kaye why she had to identify her childhood friend from the mutilated remains resting on the floor of a squad car parked in the mud on Woodland Avenue. But Bruce refused to release any of the rescued body parts to the morgue until he had decided on the correct procedures, which would involve testing the butcher paper wrappings, analysis of the contents, and documentation of each stage of the search for more parcels.

Until he had finalized that plan and confirmed his approach with his colleagues at the Wausau Crime Lab, nothing and no one (meaning Roger and Stan) left the site near the now-vanishing river on Woodland.

It was impossible to tell how many parcels had traveled the waterway that night, but it was becoming clear that there would be no more, as the river was now less than six inches deep with no hint of the raging current that had been strong enough to carry the weighted parcels.

“I understand, Doc,” said Kaye, after Osborne had described as gently as he could the events of the morning and how little the police knew so far. He was about to explain how Bruce’s approach was grounded in proven forensic science when Kaye interrupted, saying, “Let’s just get it over with.”

And so it was that shortly after six
A.M
. they approached Roger’s vehicle. An ambulance was parked nearby, awaiting a green light from Bruce. In an ironic twist, the low-hanging clouds of the previous three days had cleared, the rain no longer a threat. As the sun rose over neighboring rooftops, a pale rose suffused the sky: promise of a gorgeous day.

After pulling on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves, Osborne knelt in front of the open car door. “Can you see over my shoulder?” he asked Kaye.

“Yes.” Her voice was soft, tense. Osborne pushed the crumpled butcher paper back for her to get a good view. She gasped. Sagging sideways, she grabbed on to the car door for support. Osborne jumped to his feet in time to catch her by the shoulders before she fell. As Kaye struggled for a breath, he pulled her toward him.

“I am so sorry, Kaye,” he said. “No other way to do this.”

“Don’t talk, please don’t talk,” said Kaye, her words muffled against his shoulder as she continued to heave so hard with each breath that Osborne worried she might hyperventilate and pass out. After a few minutes, she steadied, got her footing, and pulled away from him.

Kaye turned to the door, closed now, and leaned against it with her arms crossed and her forehead resting on her arms. She shook. Her entire body shook. From deep inside her throat came a keening, a cry as wild as her wolf call: the cry of grief.

Osborne stepped away and waited until Kaye pushed back from the car and wiped at her eyes. When he felt she had pulled herself together, he forced himself to ask the necessary questions: “Am I right? Is that Jane?”

She nodded, blew her nose with a Kleenex Osborne had handed her, and managed to whisper in what voice she had left: “Yes. Oh, dear Jesus, yes. Who would do such a thing? What evil—” She choked. Again Osborne folded her into his arms.

Half an hour later, the two of them sitting in his Subaru, he handed her a clipboard with the documents that needed to be signed. She did so, identifying herself as a close family friend who had known the victim for over forty years.

On the drive back to Kaye’s house, Osborne asked, “Will you please let myself or Chief Ferris know if you think you may have seen any strangers on the property recently? Any cars that you don’t recognize?”

“That’s not easy,” said Kaye. “She had so many campaign workers coming and going, not to mention the guys doing the landscaping …” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head as if that effort was futile.

After a moment’s thought, she said, “You know, there has been one. A dark green VW van, kinda beat-up. I’ve seen it parked a little ways down the highway from the entrance to our road off and on this summer. Down near the Christmas tree farm. I just assumed it was one of those guys Irv hires to trim his trees. But late yesterday I looked out my kitchen window and saw a van sort of like the VW parked over in Jane’s driveway. Didn’t think too much about it, ’cause she’s always getting deliveries when she’s home. It was a van, but it was after dark, so I couldn’t say if it was the same one.”

“Be sure to let us know if you see it again, will you? I’m going to write down two numbers for you; one is my cell phone, and the other is the cell phone number for Chief Ferris.”

“She won’t mind?”

“Kaye, don’t be silly,” said Osborne, his voice stern. “We need all the help you can give us on this.”

With that he reached for her hand and held it tight as he turned off the main road to head down Rolf Ericsson Drive. As they approached the new house, he saw there was a second black Jeep parked next to Jane’s.

“Whose car is that?”

“That belongs to Lauren, the campaign manager. She stays at Jane’s when they’re in town.”

“She certainly should not be in there right now. Chief Ferris wants no one in that house until she and Bruce from the crime lab are finished with their work.”

“Good luck telling that broad anything,” said Kaye as Osborne pulled up to the front door of the old caretaker’s house. She sighed as she opened the car door. “What a morning. At least I have Ray’s hat to work on.”

Kaye looked so sad Osborne couldn’t resist leaning forward to give her a hug. “I’m sure he’ll understand if you don’t, Kaye.”

“Heavens, it’s a good way to take my mind off things. Finish the hat, and then I guess I better start making funeral arrangements. No one else around to do it.”

“Hold on, Kaye,” said Osborne, putting his car in park as he reached for his phone to call Lew. “I want to give you those phone numbers, but first I need to let Chief Ferris know we’ve got someone in Jane’s house.”

“Doc, do whatever it takes,” said Lew, answering his call immediately. “Get that person out of there. Are they nuts?”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Osborne.

After making sure that Kaye made it into her house okay, Osborne tried to call Mallory, concerned that she and Kenton might be waiting on him to plan the day. No answer. He wasn’t surprised. Likely they were still sleeping or Mallory had a reason (none of his business) to have her phone turned off. He left a voicemail.

He backed up and swung the car around to drive the short loop between the houses, then parked alongside the second Jeep. Approaching the side entrance to the house, he could see the door was ajar. Through the screen a voice could be heard talking so loudly that he assumed the person must be on a phone call with a bad connection—either that, or she was talking to someone hard of hearing.

He paused outside the door, eyes on the ground as he listened to a voice that was low and husky, more masculine than female. “I can’t imagine where she is,” said the voice with more than a trace of irritation. “The car is here but no sign of Jane … yes, her purse is right here on the counter—” If Kaye hadn’t said that the second Jeep belonged to a woman, he would have assumed he was listening to a man.

Before he could raise his hand to knock, the figure of a woman appeared at the top of the short staircase just inside the door. She was still holding the phone to her ear as she waved at him saying, “Call you back—got someone here.

“Doctor Osborne, please come in.” The woman bounded down the stairs toward him. “I recognize you from your photo, and I know you live nearby. Did Erin ask you to stop in?” She spoke fast and with such enthusiasm that Osborne found it difficult to get a word in edgewise.

Tall, wide-shouldered, and slender, the woman was dressed all in black. She had straight black hair tucked tight behind her ears and a precisely cut fringe of bangs across her wide forehead. The blackness of her hair against a pale complexion, lively black eyes, and bright red lips reminded Osborne of a childhood toy of Mallory’s, a Japanese storybook doll elegant in a black and white kimono, its geisha face chalk white and painted. He was thinking of the doll as she thrust out a hand that grabbed his with a hearty shake.

“Lauren Crowell, Jane Ericsson’s campaign manager, and your daughter Erin and I were just talking about you yesterday morning. Ha, ha.” Her words ran into the brittle laugh without a breath. Before Osborne could jump in with his news, she was talking again: “Erin has agreed to manage Jane’s campaign office here and we’re hoping you might host an event for some of the professional people we want to encourage to donate—”

“Miss Crowell, please,” said Osborne, desperate to halt the rush of words, “I am so sorry but I’m here to deliver some disturbing news—”

“Nope,” she said, pulling her hand away and holding it up as though stopping traffic, “Lauren. Call me Lauren. None of that ‘Miss Crowell’ baloney. Come on in, please.” She held the screen door open for him.

Before he could answer, she was back up the stairs two at a time, saying, “And, Dr. Osborne, not to worry, it’s okay. I already heard—the paper mill is refusing to let Jane speak to their employees. I told Erin no big deal. Screw ’em. That’s something we can work around.”

He followed, trusting she had to take a breath sometime.
One thing for sure
, thought Osborne,
this woman’s determination is impressive
. She might remind him of a doll, but she certainly filled the room. He sensed a toughness that would make her very good at her job—not unlike the edge that drew him to Lewellyn Ferris.

“Lauren,” said Osborne, raising his voice as he walked into a large, open kitchen filled with sunlight. He went for the tone he’d perfected with six-year-olds who would not open their mouths. “Stop right where you are and listen to me:
Jane Ericsson won’t be speaking with anyone
.”

Lauren stared at him. She backed against the kitchen counter, bracing herself with the palms of both hands. “Car accident.” She hit the words so hard Osborne knew she had been expecting such news. “Did she kill anyone? I told her the drinking was out of control.” Lauren set her jaw. “Where is she? What jail? What’s the bond? Any chance I can keep this out of the papers?”

“No car accident. She’s dead. She’s been murdered.”

Lauren stared at him. “I don’t believe this.” She raised her right hand to her forehead then dropped it. “I don’t believe this,” she said again.

The kitchen area in which they were standing opened directly into a high-ceilinged living room. Across the room was a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, which ran the length of the room and overlooked Cranberry Lake. On another day, it was a view Osborne would pause to appreciate. But at the moment, all he wanted was for the stunned woman in front of him to sit down and pull herself together.

In the middle of the kitchen was an island with six high-backed cushioned stools on three sides. Taking her by the elbow, Osborne guided Lauren onto one of the stools. He pulled a notebook from his back pocket and sat down beside her.

“Here’s what we know so far,” he said, and gave her the details. As he spoke, Lauren’s eyes never left his face. When he had finished, she continued to stare at him.

“You’re saying … you are sure that … that was, I mean,
is
Jane?”

“We know that for a fact.”

She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, sat tall in the stool and closed her eyes. “Give me a minute for this to sink in?” She spoke with her eyes closed.

“Of course.”

Lauren sat still for a long moment, then opened her eyes to look at Osborne. No tears. “I feel so … flat,” she said. “Just flat. And, like, wow, has my life just changed.”

Osborne resisted the urge to say: “
Your
life? How about Jane Ericsson’s?”

But he didn’t say it. Instead, he said, “I’m very sorry but I need to help you leave this house. We can’t have anyone in here until after the police and the crime lab have completed their inspection of the property, in case Jane was abducted from here. There could be evidence that will help us find the person who killed her.”

“I’ll move down to the boathouse—”

“No, we need you off the property, and by that I mean the house, the buildings near the water, and the grounds around the buildings. Chief Ferris and the forensic team from the Wausau Crime Lab will be here any moment.”

“You’re
sure
the … what they found is Jane?” asked Lauren as she let herself down from the stool.

“Yes. Kaye Lund, her old friend who lives next door,” Osborne gestured in the direction of Kaye’s house as she spoke, “she identified the remains for me. Plus I have early dental records, which will be helpful—”

“You believed that old frog?” Something mean flashed across Lauren’s face. The sunlight streaming in the living room windows caught flecks of yellow in the irises of her dark eyes. Lauren Crowell might have the face of a seductress, but she had the eyes of a wolf.

“Kaye and Jane grew up together—” Osborne started to say, when his cell phone rang. “Excuse me, it’s Chief Ferris.”

“I’ll get my things together. “Lauren started to walk away.

“Wait,” said Osborne, holding the phone away from his ear as he grabbed her arm. “I need to come with you to be sure we enter and leave the rooms on the same path. That goes for this kitchen and the stairway, too. So please wait.”

Lauren nodded. Osborne gave a silent sigh of relief, then said, “Chief Ferris, are you there?”

“Doc,” asked Lew, “is that someone at the Ericsson house?”

“Yes, I just informed Lauren Crowell, the Ericsson campaign manager, of the situation. She said that during their campaign layovers she has been staying here but she’s aware of why she has to leave. I was just about to help her get her things—”

“No, Doc. Not yet. Please have her wait for me to get there. Should be there in less than ten minutes—and do your best to keep the site as pristine as possible.”

“Will do. There is a side entry from the driveway, which is all I’ve used. I’ll see that nothing more is disturbed.”

“I’m trying to get there before any media show up. I can’t keep a lid on the news of Jane’s death much longer. You know this is going to be a helluva circus.

By the way, how’s she handling it?”

“Pretty well. So far.” Osborne glanced at Lauren. “Taking some time to sink in.”

“Think she’s capable of answering a few questions before we move her?”

“My guess is yes, but that could change.”

“We’ll give it a try. And, Doc, you don’t mind staying to help with the interrogation, I hope. I know Mallory and her friend need—”

“Not a problem, Lew. I’ll be here.” During Osborne’s first stint as the deputy coroner for the Loon Lake Police Department, Lew had discovered he could be an unexpected asset during the questioning of suspects. The reason? Men and women hear differently. Depending on the listener—emotions, facts, even words can have ambiguous meanings. More than once each had surprised the other with an interpretation of a response that changed the direction of the investigation.

Osborne checked his phone and saw a text from Mallory. “Excuse me,” he said to Lauren, who had sat back down on her stool. “I need to make one more call.”

“Obviously I’m not moving until you say so,” said Lauren. Her snide tone made it clear she was not used to taking orders.