Dead Water (32 page)

“What’s the deal with all those guns, Hank?” said Lew. “Why so many? You can’t take ‘em all with you.”

“Cream of the crop I can,” he said. “Found some fine collectibles up here, too. You know, you backwoods people, you don’t know what you got in your own backyard. I picked up some real classics at the auctions for pennies compared to what I would pay on the open market. And the registration system is ridiculous. If it hadn’t been for Gina butting in, you would never have tracked—”

“Any Italian shotguns?” asked Osborne, feeling stupid as he spoke. Nothing like making small talk when you’ve got a 270 about to take out your skull. But small talk could stretch time.

“Brownings,” said Hank. “I collect Brownings. The old ones … beautiful guns. The carving on some of those stocks can’t be duplicated. I’d show you, but I’ve got the best ones all packed and ready to roll.”

He grinned, raised the rifle, and peered through the scope at Osborne. “This is a piece of shit in comparison, but a nice scope.” Lowering the rifle slightly but keeping it aimed at the four of them, he walked over to the far window and pushed it open with one arm.

Osborne prayed he wouldn’t look up. If he did, he might see Nick. But he didn’t. Instead, he backed his way back into the room. When he felt his desk behind him, he stopped. “It’s like this,” he said, raising the scope to his eye, “Sitting at my desk and shooting out that window, I’ve nailed four bucks, six does and—”

“And two women?” asked Lew.

“Yes, Lewellyn, two women. Good for you.”

“Hell on screens,” said a voice from the floor. Ray shook his head as he raised himself up onto his elbows. He looked around at the four of them. A small wave of relief hit Osborne. If Ray was okay, they still had a chance. It might be a small chance but that’s all you need for hope.

“Hey, smartass,” said Hank, “get up and join your friends.” He kept his eye to the scope as Ray struggled up. “And no heroics, you. As much as I love shotguns, I’m partial to rifles for business. ”

An arrogance had crept into his voice. Hank was pleased. He had everything under control.

“So you’re headed for Canada?” said Lew. “Saskatchewan?”

Hank sneered, “Yes, indeed I am. Canada’s Club Med for guys like me. Easiest place in the world to get yourself a new identity, transfer money. I may have time to run my little stock scam once more. Damn! I still can’t believe you got onto that. Hey, Pradt … hurry up.” He waved the rifle at Ray, who was taking his time finding his feet, holding on to the table for balance.

“So you’ll stay in Canada?” asked Osborne.

“That’s none of your damn business, Doc.”

Hank watched warily as Ray, woozy and weaving, tried to remain upright. Hank shifted the barrel slightly, centering his scope on Gina from across the room.

“Miss
Gina,” he said, relishing the words. “You are conspicuous in your silence, my dear. Why so quiet all of a sudden? Does dying bother you?” He oozed fake concern. Hank leaned back against his desk. One thing Osborne knew for sure; a 270 is not a light gun. If Hank’s arms got tired, that might not be to anyone’s benefit. “Step up front, woman.”

Gina, who had been standing quietly alongside Lew, started forward. As she edged past Ray, he sagged against her, knocking her back against the wall. She must have slipped on her heel because she fell, causing Ray to stagger, nearly landing on top of her. Simultaneously, Osborne and Lew reached out to break Ray’s fall. In the sudden confusion, Hank jumped up, gun leveled.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Ray pushed himself back and up. Bracing himself against the table, he swayed forward. “I think … I … ah … broke a couple of ribs,” he said between rapid, shallow breaths as if he was afraid to inhale too deeply.

“Get out here in front of me, Gina,” Hank ordered. “Right now.”

Gina stood up. Her face was whiter than ever against the black of her hair and the black of her T-shirt. She was wearing a pair of close-fitting black jeans that made her look so tiny and doll-like that Osborne nearly jumped at the strength in her voice when she spoke.

“Screw you, Michael,” she said. “The only person in this room with whom you have a quarrel is me. Chief Ferris, Doc Osborne, Ray here … they were just doing their jobs. They wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. You and I can settle our score, but let them go.”

As she spoke, she lowered herself into the nearest chair. Resting her elbows on the armrests, sitting up straight, she crossed her right leg over her left. Osborne was amazed that she could seem so calm. Then he understood why. The base of the long table obscured a view of her legs from Hank. What Hank could not see—but Osborne, Lew, and Ray could—was her right ankle. Peeking out from below the cuff of her right pant leg was a black leather strap, the strap to the holster for her Airweight .38.

“Get up, I said.” Hank’s voice tightened. “Get out of that chair.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Gina. “I like it here. Time you and I had a talk, anyway. That’s quite the disguise you got, Michael. I could kick myself for not recognizing you the other day. But that beard, the bleached hair, your colored contact lenses or maybe it’s the extra fifty pounds—”

“Extreme, maybe, but effective. Got you in my sights, didn’t it.”

“It’s the face, Michael, the shape is so weird. You got more than a nose job, didn’t you. Might be kind of a turnoff for those trophy babes you like.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not going to shut up. Why should I? I’m going to die anyway. All I ask before you kill me is this,” said Gina, her words coming fast and hard. “Help me understand you, Michael. You are a brilliant man. You are a gifted businessman. So before I die, will you tell me just one thing?” She leaned across the table, “Who … or what … made you what you are? What twisted you?”

A look of uncertainty crossed Hank’s face. Osborne worried he would answer the question with a bullet.

Gina pressed on: “You had a good thing going with Ashley. What made you steal from her? But you escape and find your way into a legitimate business here. A new life. This is beautiful country. Why muck this up? Why kill two women? Why kill these decent people? Why, Hank? Why?”

“I stole from Ashley because she was an easy mark. Like candy from a kid. But as for killing her? One simple reason.” Hank slipped the safety on his gun. “Same reason you’ll die. Same reason that kid sister of hers had to die. No one takes from me, no one tracks me down, no one boxes me in. I still can’t believe that idiot woman found me. If it weren’t for her, you know you wouldn’t be here.

“Gina, you are right about one thing; this is beautiful country. And stocked with suckers. Too damn bad you and Ashley had to get in the way of that. But you, Gina,” Hank spat, eyes narrowed, “you’re special, aren’t you. You play a tough game. Humiliation. Exposure. You enjoyed making a fool of me. I’m sorry, but no one does that to me.” His face flushed and his voice deepened. He wasn’t sorry, he was excited. He was ready.

Osborne braced himself. He recognized the signs. It was why he was very careful with whom he hunted: What makes some men happy isn’t the hunt but the kill.

“Okay, all right. But why kill people who haven’t hurt you? Like Ray?”

Hank said nothing. He looked through the scope at Gina.

Osborne knew exactly why his friend would die. Take the blond in the boat the day Hank hired him to guide. She wasn’t interested in Hank and his money and his stock market acumen. Guys like that are a dime a dozen in her world. No, she was charmed by the man who had everything money
can’t
buy: a tanned and healthy body, a sense of humor, a friendly way of teasing, and a wizardly talent for fishing. That was Ray, goofy hat and all. Yep, thought Osborne, Hank would find Ray real easy to hate.

“And why on earth would you kill Lewellyn Ferris?” Gina motored on.

“Gina, don’t …” Lew tried to interrupt.

“Why?” she demanded. “For God’s sake, Michael, look at the hours she put in teaching you to fly-fish. Treat her as she treated you—as a friend.”

“She knows too much,” said Hank. “Hell, she set me up. She made me look good.” He glanced at Lew. “I opened six accounts off that crew from Minneapolis that we fished with last month. I’ll be stripping those accounts later today. Probably clear a good million or more. You’re right, Gina, Lewellyn doesn’t deserve it; but, like I said, she knows too much.” A sly, cunning grin crossed his face.

And that’s when Osborne understood exactly what Lew had meant to this man. She was the bait. Her presence in the trout stream, fishing alongside him, gave Hank the credibility he needed. Her being there was more than an endorsement of his prowess as a fly-fisherman. Fly-fishing is a sport where an excellent cast and a choice of the perfect trout fly to match the hatch implies an expertise in all things sporting, particularly business. And if you fish with the head of local law enforcement, even better. Who would ever suspect the police chief’s fishing partner of theft or stock fraud, much less murder?

It struck Osborne then that Hank’s eyes no longer avoided theirs. He was focused, watching each dead on.

thirty-six

“The best chum I ever had in fishing was a girl, and she tramped just as hard and fished quite as patiently as any man I ever knew.”

Theodore Gordon, 1890

“Michael,
Michael, Michael,” said Gina, wheedling. “C’mon, let’s keep this between you and me. I’ll help you tie these folks up, we’ll lock them in that other room or in a closet where they can’t get out for a day or more. You take care of me and get out of Dodge. You’re happy, they’re happy. How ‘bout it?”

Hank squeezed. Everyone jumped as the window behind Gina’s head shattered.

“Shit!” screamed Gina as she ducked, banging her head on the table. Suddenly she looked very small and very frightened.

“You can be sure of one thing,” said Hank, strutting into the center of the room, “I’m not going to let you ruin this deal, too. Now get over here. I have plans for you.”

The expression on Hank’s face told Osborne the man was feeding on their terror. He loved it. He didn’t want Gina dead quite yet. Her fear was delicious. His control was ultimate. He wanted to prolong the moment. Chances were good Hank would kill them one by one, saving Gina for last. He would be disappointed when she was dead. He might love the con; he sure savored the kill.

The change in Gina was remarkable. Before the gunshot, she had been tough, confrontational. Now she was pulp. Terrified. She stumbled around the table, her hands high.

“I don’t understand. What do you want me to do?” Her voice was so soft, Osborne could barely hear her.

“That barrel in the corner, Gina, get the corn scoop.”

Gina lifted the lid from a large barrel and reached in. “Like this?” she asked, bringing up a scoopful of corn. Her arm was shaking so badly, half the corn spilled from the scoop, pouring onto the floor with a clatter. The terror was working; she had Hank’s full attention.

“You help her.” Hank waved the gun at Ray.

“Sure thing.” Ray lurched forward. “C’mon, Gina. We’ll feed the deer together. That’s what you want, Hank? So you can blast us just like you did those two women. That’s what you did, isn’t it? Shot ‘em as they fed the deer. Unsuspecting. Doing what you asked. Being good girls.”

“Right on, Ray,” said Hank. “What a bright guy. But you are neglecting to credit my marksmanship. Need I point out I’ve used only two bullets so far.”

“Why did you kill Sandy Herre, Hank?” Lew spoke suddenly from where she stood behind the table, opening her hands in a pleading gesture. “What could that young woman have possibly done to you?”

“Yeah, why Sandy?” urged Ray. “I don’t need to know why flowers bloom but I sure would like to know why a good soul like Sandy Herre has to die?”

“It’s a long story and I don’t have time for it,” said Hank.

“She got onto your shenanigans with the stock market,” said Ray.

“She certainly did not,” said Hank, irritated. “No one knew about that until you people sent that crap-ass kid in here. No, I’m afraid Sandy was too much the busybody for her own good.”

“Please, Hank …” Lew’s voice was soft and clear. “We’re in your way, I understand that. But Sandy. Why?”

As she spoke, she looked at Osborne. She was buying time. For a fleeting moment she held his eyes. He hoped that she could see what he was feeling. The fear was gone, like the absence of pain, even though a cut is deep and serious. Why, he didn’t know. What he did know was that if they somehow got through this alive, he would hold her closer than he ever thought he could hold a woman.

“All right, all right,” said Hank. “Sandy forced me. I had the perfect setup for Ashley. My plan was to take her up Pickerel Creek in a canoe, get her in the water, and arrange for her to slip away. That’s a nice remote spot. No one knew she was here to see me, so who would ever go looking for her? I would have a good twenty-four hours to empty her accounts before any alerts were posted.

“At the last minute, I remembered I needed a pair of waders for her. I was looking for a way to lay hands on some with no one knowing, when the perfect opportunity came up. After our Trout Unlimited meeting last Monday, Ralph had an emergency dental appointment and asked several of us to help out in the store. The minute he left, I boxed up some waders, planning to put the box in my car. The mistake I made was writing Ashley’s name and mine on a gift tag that I also taped to the box.

“It so happened that was Sandy’s day to work with their bookkeeper. Ralph got back while I was out in the alley helping a woman load a new bike into her car. Sandy thought I’d left. She saw the box with my name on the tag, put it in her car, then she drove out here later that day.”

“Up to that point, no one could connect you to the woman staying at the Timber Lodge B & B. Is that it?” asked Lew.

“Right. My only mistake.”

“Not exactly,” said Lew. “You made a several mistakes. You left the box in Sandy’s trunk. If you hadn’t done that, I might have tied the two deaths together strictly on the basis of the bite marks. That would have set up young Zenner. Although, Hank, you did put your own driver’s license down on one of those first gun purchases.”