Ray Elkins mystery - 02 - Color Tour (23 page)

“This leaving together, how long has this been going on?”

Jack took a moment to answer, “Most of the summer.”

“Interesting,” Ray responded, wondering if Sherry Reesma might be able to provide Jason Zelke with an alibi. “Jack, you didn’t see the shooting?”

“No, like I said, I was at the bar. But I ran out here as soon as I heard the shots.”

“Was Reesma still here?” Ray asked.

“He was driving away. Damn near ran me over as I came across the parking lot. Took off that way,” Jack pointed up the road to the left.

“What kind of car?”

“A black SUV of some sort,” he paused. “Maybe one of those foreign jobs.”

“And the wife?”

“Didn’t see her. How’s Jason?” asked Jack looking off at the crowd of paramedics surrounding him.

“He’s conscious. We’ll have him out of here in a few minutes,” said Sue. “Jack, we’ll want to talk to the people who were here at the time of the argument and shooting. And we want a statement from you. So, ask your customers to sit tight for a bit. We’ll get them on their way as quickly as possible.”

The percussive thumping of the blades pulled all their attention as the helicopter cleared the ridgeline. Ray watched as the craft briefly hovered and then gently settled on the thistle-covered field. The paramedics moved as a group toward the craft, and lifted the stretcher onto it. In a few minutes the helicopter lifted off again, its strobes pulsating in misty twilight. The pilot turned the craft 180 degrees, and it quickly disappeared from sight.

“Reesma,” said Sergeant Reilly, coming up to Ray’s side. “The state police got him.”

“What happened?” Ray asked.

“A trooper spotted his vehicle on Indian Hill Road and started to pursue. Another trooper was coming from the other direction. He blocked the road at an intersection. Reesma gave himself up without a struggle. They’re transporting him.”

“How about the wife?” asked Jamison, the department’s youngest officer, who had been standing on the edge of the circle.

“We can only hope she’s okay. Where’s their house?” Ray asked looking at Sergeant Reilly.

Reilly pointed, “That sub on the ridge, you can almost see the place from here. It’s supposed to be the only occupied house at the top of the sub.”

“Go up there and look around,” Ray said. “We’ll pull our notes together at the end of the shift.”

34
The large figure of John Tyrrell, the Cedar County prosecutor, filled the frame of Ray’s open office door. Responding to the scent of Brute tinged with cigar smoke, Ray looked up. “You working Saturdays now?” he asked, gesturing toward two light-tan steel chairs with gray-and-purple fabric-covered cushions. The furniture was purchased a few years before, when all the county offices moved to the new administrative center. At the time Ray had been impressed that the interior decorator—a tall, handsome, Nordic-looking woman who radiated an artsy style— found colors and materials that were in perfect harmony with the banal architecture of the complex.

Tyrrell settled into one of the chairs, his bulk filling it from armrest to armrest. “Yeah, it’s a bitch, isn’t it? Should be able to sleep in on the weekend. But, the way you keep finding casualties, it makes lots of work for us.” He chuckled at his joke and then took a long sip from a clunky glazed mug. “So, tell me what you got.”

Ray reviewed the events of the previous evening and the subsequent developments, stressing the actions his department and state police had taken to insure Reesma’s rights had been protected.

“Got the weapon?” Tyrrell asked

“The arresting officers found a 9-mm Glock under the

passenger’s seat. I’m confident that ballistics will establish it was the weapon used in the shooting.”

“So, was Ree… ”

“Reesma.”

“Yeah, Reesma. Was he hurt in the fight with Zelke?

“No. The witnesses said there was some pushing and shoving, but it wasn’t much of a fight. And then Reesma went to his car, reached in, got the gun, and shot Zelke.”

“Have you questioned him?”

“I attempted to, but he made it clear that he wasn’t going to say anything without his lawyer present. And he’s made his call.”

“Who did he ask for, someone from downstate?”

“No, Noah Johnson.”

“Johnson, Noah Johnson. He’s never tried a criminal case in his life. When he’s not defending loons and wetlands, he does real estate and contracts. Why the hell did… ?”

“Reesma,” offered Ray.

“Why the hell did Reesma want him?”

“From what Reesma said, Johnson had handled the legal work connected with buying his house. He is probably the only lawyer Reesma knows.”

“That’s pretty damn silly,” said Tyrrell. “On the other hand, if Noah chooses to defend this turkey, well, it will be interesting to see how it plays out. He’s damn smart, too smart, and very resourceful. But I don’t imagine he’ll stay on the case very long. This Reesma, do you have any history?”

“No, they seem to be new to the area. This department has never had any contact with him or his wife. And I haven’t found any priors.”

“And Zelke, how’s he doing?”

“His injuries are serious. But his surgeon, I talked to him early this morning, said Jason was lucky as hell. The bullet went through his intestine with some damage, but an inch or two one way or the other, and it could have been fatal. It’s going to take some time, but he should make a full recovery.”

“And this was all over a woman?” asked Tyrrell in a dismissive tone.

“Yes, that’s the way it appears.”

“What a dumb shit. Jason should have known better.” Tyrrell paused again and sipped some coffee.

“How about the wife? She okay?”

“Yes. We were worried about her, afraid that her husband might have harmed her before he come looking for Jason And it took us awhile to locate her.”

“Where did you find her?”

“At Munson Hospital. Sue interviewed her last night. Turns out she’s a surgical nurse there. And one of her close friends, aware of the situation, tipped her off when Jason was rushed in for surgery.”

“What did Sue learn?”

“The relationship started in early summer and had quickly become serious. Sherry told Sue that she wanted a divorce and was struggling with how to tell her husband. She thinks that he was either tipped off about Jason, or she did something that made him suspicious; for the last few days she thought she was being watched. Sherry said she moved in with a girlfriend last weekend and was going to stay there until he was served with divorce papers, and the whole thing was out in the open.”

“So, there was something that made her cautious?” Tyrrell said.

“Yes, her husband had told her that if he ever caught her cheating he would kill her and her lover. She believed him and wanted to protect both herself and Jason.”

“Ain’t love grand,” Tyrrell observed in a cynical tone. “And the other murder investigation?”

Ray’s face suggested his frustration, “Nothing solid. We have one less suspect. Jason Zelke was once a love interest of Ashleigh Allen, and he had a rather weak alibi for the night of the murders. Sherry has provided him with a solid one that has been collaborated by several other witnesses.”

“He gave you false alibi to cover his illicit relationship?” chuckled Tyrrell.

“Yes.”

“And just when we thought chivalry was dead.” He raised his coffee mug. “Here’s to Jason, the loyal friend of comely damsels.”

Ray did not respond.

“Any other possible suspects?” Tyrrell asked.

“We’ve got an interesting cast of characters, but no firm leads, not yet.”

“How about the Vedder kid, anything more there?”

“He’s still in the ICU. He’s semi-conscious part of the time and can take some basic instructions, things like squeezing a hand when directed. But there’s still no one home; he’s not anyone we can question.”

“Are you sure, Ray, you didn’t discount the possibility that he was your killer too early?”

“No.”

“The man who was killed?”

“David Dowd,” responded Ray.

“Have you checked on him? Might he have been the target?”

“We’ve been making inquiries. He was a graduate student at Michigan, and we haven’t found anything in his background that might lead to something like this.”

“How about the Allen woman?” probed Tyrrell.

“Nothing yet,” Ray responded.

“Random event? Some psychopath?”

“Always a possibility,” said Ray, doubt in his voice.

“Well, with the Reesma case, keep things tight,” said Tyrrell, using his arms to hoist himself out of the chair. “We don’t want to give some fucking defense lawyer anything to hit us with.” He stooped, picked up his cup, and moved out of the door and down the corridor.

35
The next afternoon, Ray drove up the steep hill and parked on the apron of the four-door garage. Alan Quertermous, in a pair of clean, pressed gray coveralls, was stretched out on a creeper, his upper torso under a small, diesel tractor. He slid out from under the machine, using his right hand for shade as he looked up at his visitor.

“Getting ready for winter?” Ray asked.

“Something I’d been planning to get done for weeks,” said Quertermous, getting to his feet. “Time to get the mower deck off and the snow blower on.” Using a red rag, he wiped the grease from his hands and extended his right hand to Ray. “I usually do this earlier, but given the unusually late fall, I’ve kept the mower attached. But it’s time. A little more Indian summer, and then the gales of November will blow down from Canada. We always seem to get clobbered by the first snowstorm. And given my drive… ” Without bothering to complete the sentence, he pointed to the blacktop ribbon that snaked down the hill to the county road. “Wish your county boys would keep that road as clear as I keep this drive.”

“Much of a job putting that on?” Ray asked.

“No, damn good engineering on this machine.” Quertermous bent over and retrieved the wrench he had been using. “Got to hand it to Kubota; they know how to make these things. It took three men and a boy to install the snow blower on the last tractor I had. I can put this baby on myself in less than fifteen minutes.”

“New toy?” asked Ray, pointing to an ATV with a camouflage paint job that stood in the third bay of the garage.

“I’ve had it about a year.”

“How does it do in sand?”

“It’s pretty unstoppable. I’ve been all over the dunes with it, and I’ve never gotten stuck.” He paused. His tone became guarded. “What brings you up here on this beautiful Saturday afternoon?”

“Yes, the third season is magical, isn’t it,” Ray said. He looked off at the rolling hills, then slowly brought his attention back to Quertermous. “Still some color left—bits of reds and golds mixed in with the conifers. The autumn sun gives it all such a muted effect, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does,” agreed Quertermous, showing some impatience. “But I don’t think you came up here to share pastoral pleasantries. What business have you with me, sheriff.”

“I met Furman Gellhorn, Ashleigh’s lawyer, at the memorial service. He wanted an update on how the investigation was coming along. In passing he mentioned that you’ve contacted him regarding the estate.” Ray watched the anger pulse through Quertermous’ body, his face quickly turning crimson.

“Who I talk to is none of your concern. And Gellhorn’s telling you about this is clearly some sort of ethics violation.” Quertermous waved a wrench in Ray’s face, his fist tightly wrapped around the handle. Ray reached down and plucked the tool from his grasp.

“I’m interested, Mr. Quertermous,” Ray continued, slowly and calmly, “that you didn’t mention to me that you were related to Ashleigh when I interviewed you.”

“The topic was never approached, and it wasn’t germane to anything we discussed.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Ray stood and waited, letting his words sink in. “How are you and Ms. Allen related?”

“We are distant cousins,” Quertermous answered.

“And why do you think you might have a claim on the estate?”

“Sheriff, I am a very skilled genealogist. I’ve traced my father’s family back to the days of Richard II, my mother’s to the early eighteenth-century. In recent times our family has not been prolific, and wars and illness have taken their toll. I don’t think there is anyone living who has a better claim than I do. I have been researching this, and I’m fairly certain of my findings. Of course you know she was bastard child; there’s still the chance her good-for-nothing father might appear and try to lay claim to the estate.” Quertermous paused briefly and took a couple of long breaths, trying to control his agitation. “Sheriff, at this point I’m only looking at the possibility of contesting Ashleigh’s will. I’ve made no final decision.”

“It seems you’ve been talking to a number of lawyers in recent weeks,” Ray observed. “You’ve filed a damage suit against your broker… ”

“Does the whole world know my private business?” Quertermous yelled, his relative calm sliding into rage.

“Sir, when you file a suit, it’s public information. Here’s the article from this morning’s
Record-Eagle
.” Ray pulled a clipping from his shirt pocket and handed it to Quertermous.

“You allege your broker engaged in risky investments and under his guidance the value of your portfolio declined by sixty-some percent,” Ray continued as Quertermous perused the piece.

“Sixty-seven. He deceived me, told me to hang with certain investments, that I was in the right position for the next bull market. My savings, my inheritance, much of it is gone. And you probably think it’s a frivolous suit?”

“I have no opinion on that. I’m just curious about your possible claim on the Allen estate. And your lack of openness about your familial connection to Ms. Allen.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he screamed, small drops of spittle coming in Ray’s direction. “I know how you people think! Since I’ve got money problems, I’ve got a motive for murder. Well, your silly supposition is dreadfully erroneous. I didn’t know that she had any money until after she was dead. And I just did what anyone would do.”

“Really?” Ray responded, leaving the word hang.