Bear Bones
Page 7
“What could possibly go wrong today?” Jacob said.
Burr handed Jacob the piece of paper.
Jacob studied it, then looked at Burr. “This is terrible.”
Eve read over Jacob’s shoulder. “Now you’ve done it.”
“How could you possibly manage to have a warrant out for your arrest?” Jacob said.
“Child support?” Eve said.
“I’ve never missed a payment for Zeke-the-Boy.”
“Alimony,” Eve said.
“That hardly warrants a warrant,” Jacob said.
“Maury isn’t the sharpest tack in the box, but he’s a bulldog.” Burr ran his hands through his hair. “He never gives up.”
“Just like someone else I know,” Eve said.
“Why, thank you, Eve.”
Zeke walked over to Jacob and licked his hand. Jacob jerked it away.
“We’re still going to get paid,” Eve said.
“Not if Burr’s in jail.” Zeke rubbed against Jacob. “Stop it, you cur.” He stood and walked out the door. “Another day ruined.”
* * *
It was still raining when Burr parked his Grand Wagoneer in Suttons Bay at noon the next day. The low had stalled somewhere over Wisconsin, and until something pushed it through, it was going to keep raining. Not that Burr minded. He quite liked the rain. He found it soothing, washing the balefulness out of his world. At least he hoped it would.
Burr let Zeke out of the Jeep, cracked the windows and put him back in. The Jeep was going to smell like wet dog.
Zeke loved the rain. He would sit in the rain all day, which had upset Grace. It didn’t matter to a lab whether he got wet from the feet up or the head down. Burr thought sitting in the rain was a perfect use of Zeke’s time.
I have bigger problems than a car that smells like a wet dog.
Burr made his way into the county building, past the 86th District courtroom where Tommy had been arraigned. Two hallways later, he found Peter Brooks’ office. Brooks was looking out his window, his back to Burr. “It’s too wet to get the cherries off,” Brooks said.
“I thought they were all in.”
“The sweets. Not all the tarts.” Brooks turned around and took a step toward Burr. “I thought you were someone else.” He walked over to Burr and shook his hand.
“Please sit down,” Brooks said.
Burr took a side chair. Brooks turned the matching chair toward Burr and sat. “Yes?”
“I’d like the names and addresses of the people you interviewed before you charged Tommy at the arraignment,” Burr said.
“At the arraignment,” Brooks said.
“And your witness list for the preliminary exam.”
“Preliminary exam,” Brooks said.
Is he deaf or just slow?
Burr looked over Brooks’ shoulder at the framed University of Michigan Law School diploma. He can’t be slow. A Kalamazoo College diploma hung underneath. Definitely not slow. Burr looked around the office. A walnut desk, much like Burr’s. Leather side chairs, parquet floor with oriental rugs.
This is like the office of a senior partner in Detroit. Brooks must have paid for it out of his own pocket. He’s no slouch.
“Mr. Lafayette?”
Burr jumped in his seat.
“You were saying?”
“I’d like the list of the people you interviewed for the arraignment and your witness list for the preliminary exam.”
“Tommy Lockwood should not be out on bail. He committed a horrific crime and he’s dangerous.”
“The judge didn’t agree with you,” Burr said.
“Lockwood should be in jail.”
“What does that have to do with the lists?”
“Mr. Lafayette, you are not a criminal lawyer by trade, are you?” Brooks grinned.
He’s looked me up.
“Criminal law is part of my practice.”
“Not a big part and only since you…” he paused, “left Fisher and Allen.”
Definitely not a slouch. Ten years younger than me and no slouch. “I’d like the lists.”
“You are aware that the court rules do not require me to provide you any further information until the preliminary exam.”
“I am not so aware.”
Burr stood. Brooks stood. “Mr. Lafayette, I suggest you read the court rules.”
“What exactly is your problem?” Burr said. “I can get the names from the transcript of the arraignment.”
Brooks walked back to the window. “It’s going to rain for another week.” He turned back to Burr. “Mr. Lafayette, there is a piece of paper on my desk. I think you will find it to be of interest to you.”
Maybe I won’t have to ask the judge.
Brooks looked down his long nose at Burr. “It’s a warrant for your arrest. Something about child support and alimony.”
Damn it all.
“As an officer of the court, I have no choice but arrest to you.”
Burr got to his feet. “I’ve never been late on child support.”
Brooks walked back to his desk and picked up the warrant. “That’s not what Maury Litzenburger says.”
“He is overzealous.”
“You can discuss that with Judge Conway. Perhaps you’ll be out of jail by the time the transcript is ready.” Brooks picked up his phone. “Sherry, would you please send a deputy in here. Holcomb, if he’s around.”
* * *
As it turned out, Judge Conway was in his chambers. Brooks wanted Burr locked up, but Burr persuaded them to call Maury, who agreed to back off if Burr sent a check that very day. He said the check didn’t resolve the custody issue. Burr wrote the check and then asked the judge for the transcript of the arraignment.
* * *
The transcript showed up a week later. Eve came into his office and sat in her chair. Burr thought he’d try Brooks’ strategy and sat next to her.
“Why are you sitting there?”
“I thought it was more collegial.”
“Collegial.” She laughed. “I’m your legal assistant. Go sit behind your desk.”
Burr didn’t budge. “I have an idea. Let me buy you dinner tonight.”
Eve laughed again.
Burr looked out the window. He had a much better view from Jacob’s chair.
“What is it that you want?” Eve said.
“I need the phone numbers and addresses of the names in the transcript.”
“Can’t you wait for the preliminary exam?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“As I recall, you’re the legal assistant.”
“Touché.”
Burr took his usual seat. He thought Eve looked more comfortable.
“We’re out of money again,” Eve said.
“I’m about to bring in an appellate case.”
“Goody. What are we going to do until then?” She got up to leave. “Why did Brooks do that? With Maury? And the transcript?”
“No quarter asked and none given. A man after my own heart.”
* * *
Burr drove up the west shore of Lake Leelanau, bright blue in the sunshine, darker when the puffy white clouds covered the sun. It was seventy-five and crisp, wind from the northwest at fifteen. Burr had his window down. The passenger window was halfway down. Zeke had his head mostly out of the window, sniffing, ears flapping.
“Zeke, old friend, this would be a great day to be on the water.”
Burr drummed the fingers of his left hand on the outside of the door. “If I don’t get fired again, we’ll have to see about getting Spindrift over here.”
Zeke looked over at him but didn’t say anything. Burr turned north on M-22 and cruised into Leland. He parked under yet another old sugar maple in fro
nt of the Riverside Inn, a two-story bed and breakfast with white siding. He walked past the clay pots of impatiens – red, white, pink, purple, orange – and up to the screen door. He could smell the fresh paint on the siding and see the scars where it had peeled, been scraped and painted over.
He checked in, then sat by a parlor window overlooking the river. The lawn ran down to the lazy, green river, cottages on the other side.
A comely young waitress smiled at him. He smiled back. “I’d like a very dry, very dirty Bombay martini on the rocks with four olives.”
She nodded. “And your dog?”
“Water. Straight up.” He handed her the keys to the Jeep.
Two martinis later, Burr ordered planked whitefish and a glass of Tall Ships Chardonnay. He didn’t expect much from a local wine, but he was mistaken. It wasn’t too sweet and it wasn’t too oaky. “We are at the forty-fifth parallel,” he said. After dinner, he fed Zeke, took him for a walk, then climbed the two flights to their room overlooking the river. Zeke jumped on the bed. “Nothing like a hotel that takes dogs. That and a twenty.”
* * *
Burr found Tommy in the orchard not too early the next morning. He was a bit fuzzy after last night. The chardonnay had gone a little too well with his whitefish.
“Last year for these trees,” Tommy said. “They only last so long. Bearing fruit is hard on them.” Tommy broke off a dead branch.
No matter how this turned out, Burr was sure he’d be able to teach a course in cherry farming by the time this was all over. Tommy looked up
at Burr.
“How are you going to get this dismissed?”
“There is a way. A very easy way.”
“Really?”
“If you have someone or someones who can testify they were with you from the time Helen left for South Manitou until the time her boat was found. That would do it.”
“You mean an alibi?”
“That’s right.”
Tommy bit his cheek, then he looked down at his boots.
“Someone must have seen you.” Tommy kept his eyes on his boots. “How about your housekeeper?”
“She had the day off.”
“Why?”
“Helen always gave her time off when she went off on one of her adventures.”
“How about your farmhands?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. They were out in the trees.”
“Where were you?”
“I was in the shop. I ran some errands. I don’t really remember.”
His memory is a bit too fuzzy.
“Tommy, where were you and what did you do when Helen left?”
“I told you. I was in the shop. Then I ran some errands.” There was edge to his voice.
“Who were you with?”
“No one.”
“You didn’t see anyone for three days?”
“I went down to the Betsie. Fly fishing.”
I don’t want anything to do with fly fishing, rivers, or whatever the hatch du jour is.
“Where did you go?”
“On the Betsie. Upstream from the Homestead dam. There’s brookies up there.”
“I’m sure there are. And who were you with?”
“I went by myself.”
“Where did you stay?”
“I camped.”
“By yourself?”
Tommy nodded.
“You must have seen someone. Bought some gas. A six-pack. Maybe some worms.”
“I use a fly rod.”
“For God’s sake, Tommy, you’ve been accused of murder. Brooks has witnesses who say they saw you get on the ferry at South Manitou the day after Helen anchored in the bay. She was killed with your pistol, and right after her body was found, you do a one-eighty and want to make a deal with the feds.” Burr broke a dead branch off one of the trees. “And there’s nobody who can say you were with them?”
“I wasn’t on South Manitou. I always made sure Helen had the pistol when she went by herself on Achilles.” Tommy grabbed the branch from Burr. “I don’t have any family. Helen was the only family I had. There’s no reason to keep this place without her.”
Burr walked away from Tommy.
Why is this always so difficult? Couldn’t he just have an alibi?
Burr grabbed another branch, then let it go. That would be too easy. I could never get involved in something that easy. He turned around and walked back to Tommy.
“Why did you pick that time to disappear from the face of the earth?”
“When Helen went on one of her adventures, that’s what I did. It was a way to get away from this.”
“I thought you liked it.”
“Everybody needs a break.”
“You picked a great time to take a break.”
Tommy brushed the hair out of his eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“I suppose I’m going to have to find a suspect or two.” Burr reached for another branch. Tommy grabbed Burr’s wrist with one of his meaty hands, but he jerked free. Burr shook him off. He broke off the branch and walked off with it.
Back at his Jeep, Burr opened the passenger door and let Zeke out. The dog sat down and looked up at him.
“What do you want?”
The dog wagged his tail.
“What is it now?”
Zeke wagged his tail again. Burr shook his head. Then he remembered the branch he was holding. “Oh,” he said. Burr threw it. Zeke brought it back. He threw it again. Zeke brought it back again. And again. And again. Finally, “That’s enough. You’d bring this back until my arm fell off.” He gave Zeke the stick. “Let’s go.”
The brothers-in-arms drove off. Burr, for his part, felt better after the game of fetch but thought he might be defending a murderer. “Zeke, I’ll defend him until I’m sure he killed Helen. And until then … we need the money.”
They headed back north on M-22 toward Leland. The road opened up on Good Harbor Bay. Burr looked out at the big lake. The wind had swung around to the southwest and a soft, summer wind blew in off the lake. Another mile up the road, he turned inland. Seven roads later, three of which were wrong turns, he pulled into what he hoped was Karen Hansen’s home, a two-story white farmhouse with green shutters and a barn in back.
He could park in the shade of yet another big, old sugar maple, but he was tired of parking underneath big, old sugar maples. He drove past the house and parked in the shadow of the barn. He cracked the windows one more time. “I won’t be long.”
Burr walked around the side of the house and knocked on the front door. Karen Hansen opened the door and stepped out on the porch. She had on a blue sleeveless top, cutoffs and sandals. Her wavy, black hair was pulled back, no makeup, and a red splotch on her cheek. “I wasn’t expecting anyone. And certainly not you.”
Burr stared at Karen’s cheek. She scrunched her nose, then felt her cheek with her finger. She rubbed at the splotch, then sucked her finger.
“You can come in but I’m at a critical point.” She turned around and walked back into the house. Burr found her in the kitchen. A pot of raspberries cooked on the stove, bubbling ever so slightly. Burr stuck his nose over the pot and smelled the sweet, sticky, fruity smell. There were quarts of raspberries in boxes on the counter and canning jars everywhere. Karen stirred the pot. Burr walked over to the table and looked out the window. He could see Lake Michigan off in the distance.
“It’s not the typical view from a farm kitchen. My father bought it for us.” Karen dipped a spoon into the pot, blew on the hot jam, then carefully tasted it. “It’s almost ready.” She scratched her nose. She looked at Burr. Now there was a dab of jam on her nose. “What is it?” she said.
Burr touched the tip of his nose.
Karen wiped the jam off. “We’re not going to get very far this way.”
“It’s almost ready for the pectin. That’s what makes it set up.”
“Of course.” Burr had no idea what she was talking about.
“I’m the one who wanted to sell the orchards. Helen and Lauren didn’t.” She stirred something into the pot. “Here goes the pectin.”
“I’ve just been to see Tommy. He doesn’t have much of an explanation of where he was when Helen was killed.”
“I was sure he didn’t do it until I heard Peter at the courthouse.”
“Tommy said he was fishing.”
Karen stopped stirring and looked at Burr. “Really?”
“Does he fish?” Burr said.
“Not that I know of. But I suppose he might.”
“Do you think Tommy killed Helen?”
“No.” She turned back to the pot of gooey red jam and stirred. She turned back to Burr. “But I suppose he could have.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Burr and Zeke wound their way back to M-22, then turned north. Three miles up the road, they passed the Happy Hour Tavern, a modest, single-story, white building at a wide spot in the road. “Zeke, I’m told the Happy Hour has the finest hamburger in Leelanau County. Maybe the whole state.” Burr sighed. Another time. Another seven miles up the road, they stopped at the blinker, the only traffic signal they had seen all day.
Burr drove straight through the blinker into Northport, the northernmost village in the little finger. They fumbled around the village until he found 425 Maple, a white, three-story Victorian with red gingerbread trim and de rigeur maples in the yard. Burr cracked the windows again and left Zeke on guard. He smelled freshly mowed grass on his way up to a porch full of white wicker furniture. He knocked on the hardwood door.
Lauren’s husband, Curt, the boy next door, answered. “Why, Burr, what are you doing here?”
“I was in the area and thought I’d see if Lauren was around.”
“She’s almost out the door. Come on in.”
Curt disappeared into the house.
Burr waited in the foyer on a throw rug, the dining room to his left and old-fashioned parlor to his right.
The Ericksons know how to live.
Lauren rushed in. “I’m just on my way to work.” She had on scrubs, solid purple pants and a flowered purple top. She had her mostly blond hair pulled back, pink lipstick, and a tiny bit of eye makeup. She looked every bit a nurse, competent and not a bit fragile. Lauren led him out to the porch but they didn’t sit down. “I only have a few minutes.”