Dead Rapunzel (7 page)

“Yes, it is. But much as I had hoped that fish was a record—it wasn't. What happened was . . . ” said Ray, raising an instructive index finger, “I was casting when a family of ducklings swam near my boat and whomp! One disappeared . . . Sure sign of a monster lunker down below.”

“Poor little duck,” said Judith, hooked. Osborne threw a glance at Lew, who gave a shrug of resignation and motioned for the two of them to keep quiet.

“Well . . . yes and no,” said Ray. “But I knew what to do next . . . I reached into my tackle box for a lure that looked just like a duckling—one with treble hooks on it—and cast it in the direction of the lunker . . . Wham! That fish hit hard. Gotta tell ya . . . I was sure I had a record.”

“My gosh, I'll bet,” said Judith, her eyes wide with admiration.

“But when I weighed that big girl . . . ” longer pause now, “she came in at . . . four pounds.”

“What on earth?” asked Judith. “How could that be?”

“She was full of feathers.”

A moment of silence then Judith shook her head with a rueful laugh. “Okay, what else can you sell me?”

With a smile of satisfaction at having bamboozled his new friend, Ray crossed his arms and, looking straight at Judith, wriggled his ears. She looked down at the stuffed trout sitting on the table, then back at Ray. He wriggled his ears again.

“Give me a break—how do you do that?” she asked, sounding as delighted as a five-year-old at Christmas.

Before he could answer, Lew, anxious to get down to business, interrupted saying, “Ray, you called to say that you have something for me?”

“Yes, I do,” said Ray, slipping out of his snowmobile parka and reaching into the top pocket of the insulated overalls he wore under the heavy jacket. He pulled out a long white envelope.

“Photos already?” said Lew. “Great, thank you.”

As she opened the envelope, she said to Judith, “He may tell ridiculous jokes, but I don't know what I would do if I didn't have Ray—and Doc—to help out when unpleasant things happen. Between a three-man police force and the Wausau boys, who run a dysfunctional crime lab, I would be stuck. I doubt I'd ever solve a crime.”

“Now, Chief, I appreciate the compliment, but don't forget our man Bruce” said Ray. “There's one of the Wausau boys I think you're going to need ASAP.”

“Really?” asked Lew, sounding preoccupied as she slid the series of black-and-white photos from the envelope and leaned over to study the first.

What Lew did not mention was that Ray, aside from being an excellent photographer and fishing guide, was also a skilled tracker whom she would deputize when a crime scene needed the eye of an eagle—deputize in spite of his active misdemeanor file. While Ray was faithful in joining Osborne at the weekly AA meetings behind the door with the coffee pot etched on the window, he refused to give up one remaining vice: He was unequalled in his ability to track down inexpensive sources of marijuana.

But Lew had learned early on that there was a good reason to ignore that misdemeanor file: Ray's history of bad behavior enhanced his standing among other bad actors in the region. Enough so to give him a pipeline into the activities of the questionable characters who lived down logging lanes with no fire numbers. Ray could harvest information from sources neither she nor Officers Adamczak nor Donovan could tap.

As Lew continued to sort through the photos, Ray placed a zip-top bag onto the empty salad plate to her right. The zip-top held three cigarette butts. Lew raised her eyes to Ray's. “Yes,” he said, “you can forget the rest of those Wausau boys, but you do need Bruce.”

He looked over at Judith. “He's the best forensic tech they have down there. Plus,” he grinned, “he loves to ice fish. You give him a call this evening and I guarantee he'll turn on a dime and give you nine cents back—he'll be here by morning.”

Osborne, realizing how hungry he was and seeing no sign that Ray was likely leave soon, said, “Would you join us for dinner?”

“I would be as happy as the flowers in the field,” said Ray.

“After you explain the cigarette butts,” said Lew.

“Sure, but first the photos.” As he spoke, Ray tipped his head with a questioning look toward Judith.

“It's all right,” said Lew. “Not only is Judith a close friend of the victim's, she was driving up from Madison for a meeting with Rudd when Doc reached her by phone with the bad news.

“Now, Judith,” said Lew, her voice lifting in warning, “you have got to keep what you are about to hear in confidence, especially if you're talking to any Tomlinson family members. Agreed?”

“No question—you can count on me to do whatever I can to help out.” The intensity in Judith's eyes convinced Osborne that she was as determined to find the person behind Rudd's death as they were.

Pushing his chair closer to the table, Ray leaned forward over the photos. The auburn curls released from under his hat glistened in the glow of the votive candle near his plate. He was wearing a cream-colored Irish fisherman's sweater, which highlighted his ruddy cheeks above the curly beard that matched his hair, though streaks of grey were sneaking in. His eyes were so lively as he explained the photos to Lew that even Osborne had to admit his neighbor looked handsome.

“Now, Chief,” said Ray, eyes on Lew, “remember you told me that young kid, the dishwasher, was looking out a window toward the driveway when he saw an old man go by?”

“Right . . . ”

“Well, after photographing the victim and the logging truck, I took a walk back along that side of the building. That area isn't a driveway but a snow-covered patio that the café uses for summer dining, which means it isn't used in the winter—
but it was this morning
.”

“You found something,” said Lew, her arms folded as she listened.

“Yes, I did. I found these footprints, which could only have been made this morning because they broke through the surface of the snowfall that we got last night.” Ray passed the photo around so everyone could see.

“I followed the footprints through the snow all the way back to a snow bank along the street behind the parking lot. And there they stopped. Disappeared. The snow on the street is so packed down by the plows that boots don't leave an impression unless you're an elephant.”

“Oh,” Lew slumped back in her chair. “Damn. For a minute there . . . ”

“Hold on,” said Ray, raising his index finger. “The footprints stopped in a snow bank right in front of a house where a guy was out shoveling his walk. I asked if he might have seen anyone parked there earlier and he said he had. A red Honda sedan was parked there from about seven-thirty to shortly after nine this morning.

“He said he kept an eye on it, since the car didn't belong to any of his neighbors and he couldn't imagine why a visitor wouldn't use the parking lot that's right across the street instead of blocking the way for snowplows. Anyway, he said that watching from his living room window he could see that the person sitting in the car was some old guy ‘with a real craggy face'—those are his words—who sat there smoking a couple cigarettes before he got out of the car and was gone for a while.

“So I walked over to where the guy said the car had been parked and found these three cigarette butts that might have been tossed out the window.” Ray pointed to the zip-top on the salad plate. “Could be nothing, of course.”

“Or, smoked by the old guy who pushed Rudd Tomlinson,” said Lew. “Did you touch these yourself, I hope not?”

“Chief, how well do you know me? Of course not—and I did not use my fish glove either. I keep that box of nitrile gloves you gave me in my glove compartment, so I went back and got those before I picked these up. I was very careful.”

“Good work, Ray. Anything else show up in the photos?”

“Not that I can see. You had a few bystanders come and go up until the truck was moved and the ambulance left. I did my best to get shots of everyone, but they looked to me like the people we know who work along Main Street: Jean from the gift store, Stan and Gert, who run the dry cleaner's, the waitresses from the Grizzly, and the gals from the Chamber office. Oh, and our favorite blowhard, Vern Steidl, who said his firm is doing some renovations on Dan Kelly's law office. He hung around for a while pontificating as usual, then talked up the kid who was washing dishes. Guess he fished with the kid's dad. That's all.”

“Excuse me, folks,” said Judith, rising from her chair. “Which way is the ladies room?” After she walked away, Lew turned to Ray. “What were you thinking, telling jokes to that poor woman? You know she just lost her best friend.”

“I know, Chief,” Ray raised serious eyes to Lew. Guess I just wanted to take some of the pain out of her face—for a few minutes. I was watching her this morning . . . ” He shook his head in sympathy. “Maybe I did the wrong thing?”

“It worked,” said Osborne, chiming in from the sidelines. “She's perked up for the moment, anyway. Really, Lewellyn, you know it can't hurt to help her take her mind off that awful scene this morning.”

“I guess you're right,” said Lew.

“I'm wondering why you're letting her sit in on this discussion,” said Ray. “I hate to say it, but you don't know that she didn't hire someone—I mean, the Tomlinsons are a very wealthy family. I'll bet there's a hell of a lot of money involved here.”

Lew glanced over her shoulder to be sure Judith wasn't on her way back to the table. “Something I learned when I was studying criminal psych was that the person guilty of committing a premeditated murder will tend to be content, even relaxed, after the crime. And for good reason: they just got the person bugging them off their back.

“Do either of you have the sense that Judith Fordham is anything but devastated by her friend's death?” When neither Ray nor Osborne contradicted her, she said, “I'm not saying I'm a hundred percent right, but I'm willing to go with my intuition on this. Plus, she's not hesitant to share her opinions of the Tomlinson family members. I'm anxious to hear what she can tell us.”

Judith returned to the table just as the waitress showed up to take their order. After ordering and requesting that all their dinners be put on one bill, Lew said, “My turn to be excused. I have Bruce Peters's home number in my phone and I'd like to see if I can't get him up here tomorrow. If not, I'll have Roger run these butts down to him. The sooner I can get a good DNA sample, the better. Back in a sec.”

Lew was back within two minutes. “Had to leave Bruce a voicemail. Told him I could use his help tomorrow if at all possible. Oh, and I promised Bruce some ice fishing, so I'm pretty sure we'll hear from him. That work for you, Ray?”

“Yep,” said Ray. “Why . . . don't we see . . . how the day . . . goes. Miss Judith, here, has probably never . . . ice fished . . . in her life. Have you?”

“No. I fly-fish,” said Judith. “No ice fishing. Why?”

“Well, I'm thinking . . . you might like to join us . . . me and Mr. Peters.”

“Oh.” Judith looked taken aback but not unhappy at the thought. “But I don't have the right clothes. Don't I need warmer clothing like what you're wearing?”

Before anyone could answer her question, Judith said, “Wait, I almost forgot something that might get in the way of going fishing. While I was waiting for Chief Ferris to pick me up, I had a call from Philip's daughter, Kenzie, who said her brother, Tim, is visiting this week before he leaves for two months in Bonaire, and she wants to have a family meeting at her home in the morning to plan some sort of memorial for Rudd.”

“The
family
wants to plan a memorial? How do
you
feel about that?” asked Osborne, remembering Sloane's hostile response to Judith and the news of Rudd's death.

Judith tipped her head sideways and pressed her fingers against her eyelids before taking a deep breath and saying, “This isn't kind of me, but those people . . . well, when I'm around them I feel like I'm in a roomful of spiders.”

Lew stared at her. “Then don't do it—especially if you're not comfortable with those people.”

“Believe me, when they learn that I am the executor of Rudd's will, there will be fireworks. It won't be pleasant and I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet.”

“I have a suggestion,” said Lew. “Let's figure out a way for Doc and me to be there with you. Not only do I have to search your friend's home before any family members can have access, but I need to speak with each one in private. I want to know where they were at the time that Rudd was hit and if they have any idea how and why this might have happened to their stepmother.

“The way I work, I like Doc to sit in on the interviews with me. He's my backup in case something goes wrong when I'm taping: He takes good notes.” Lew grinned over at Osborne.

“I see,” said Judith, her voice thoughtful. “What if I say that I've invited you to come in order to give the family all the details and see if they have questions for you, Chief Ferris? That opens it up for you to arrange the interviews and, maybe, deflect their attention from me. Frankly, I'll feel better having you as my backup.” She gave a soft, sad smile.

“What about me?” asked Ray. “Spiders make great bait.”

“That is not true,” said Lew.

“So? I tried. Seriously, if you want me there, let me know.”

“I do want you there,” said Lew, “but outdoors. If you and Bruce can check any outer buildings as well as walk the Tomlinson property in case someone was stalking the victim, that would save me time. Doc will help me investigate Rudd's house, which we'll start first thing in the morning before taking a break to go with Judith to meet the family. Does that work for everyone?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” said their waitress, who had walked up just as Lew asked her question. “Does anyone want coffee? Dessert?” All four hands went up.