The Gray Drake

by Charles Cutter

  * * *

  Burr stewed over the stewed tomatoes on his clams with red sauce. He offered an angel hair noodle to Zeke, who sucked it in like he’d done it before. “Zeke, this is my own fault.” Burr swirled the wine in his glass. “I spent all my money on wine, women, and boats. The rest, I wasted.” He took a drink. “I know it’s a cliché, but there is a place in the world for clichés.” He finished the glass and stared out the window at MAC Avenue, the sidewalk empty, only the occasional car. Finals ended a week ago, and summer term hadn’t started yet. “East Lansing is just about as empty as my wallet.”

  Burr almost jumped out of his skin. Elizabeth Shepherd stood right in front of him.

  When he came to his senses, he stood, shook her hand and pulled out a chair for her. He sat back down.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” he said.

  “I started at your office. Jacob told me where you were.”

  The waitress came to their table.

  “Water for me,” Lizzie said.

  Burr switched to water, reluctantly.

  “Will you help me?” she said.

  “As much as I’d like to help you, I simply can’t work for free.”

  “There’s nothing free about that Sage.”

  “Your father owns the most famous fishing lodge on the most famous trout stream east of the Mississippi.”

  “That doesn’t mean he has any money.” She picked up her water. The glass shook in her hand, and she set it back down. “Will you please help me?” she said again.

  “There are many fine lawyers,” he said, although he didn’t really believe it.

  “I didn’t kill my husband. My son doesn’t have a father. I loved Quinn, and now he’s gone.” She reached for her water, but then she put her hands in her lap. “I’ll find a way to pay you.”

  Burr felt himself caving in. Jacob would be delighted. Eve would be furious, but Lizzie did say she’d pay him. Of course, they all said that.

  “You’ll help me then?”

  She has a little boy, like Zeke. I’ve come this far. I suppose I could help. Burr nodded. Heaven help me.

  Lizzie reached across the table and put her hand on top of Burr’s. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Now what do we do?”

  Burr retrieved his hand. “Now we wait.”

  “We wait?” Lizzie tried to pick up her glass again, but her hand was still shaking. “It’s been a year since Quinn died. Josh and I were just starting to get used to all this. And now I’ve been charged with murder.”

  “I need to know what evidence the prosecutor has. Until we know that, there is very little I can do.”

  “Don’t you even want to know what happened?” she said.

  “I read the coroner’s report and the transcript of the arraignment. If that’s all Cullen has, no jury will convict you.”

  Lizzie sat back in her chair. “Jury?”

  Burr looked up at her. “The standard for indictment is low. Very low. To try you for murder, all Cullen has to show is that there is probable cause that you murdered your husband. That it’s more likely than not that you killed him.”

  “I don’t care about the ins and outs. I need you to stop it.”

  “According to the transcript of the arraignment, Cullen says he has the murder weapon. He says you were seen fighting with Quinn at a bar.”

  “I didn’t kill my husband. I swear I didn’t.”

  “At the moment, it doesn’t matter if you did or didn’t.”

  Burr watched Lizzie’s cheeks turn red. She leaned in toward him.

  “I’m about to lose what’s left of my life, and all you care about are the rules.”

  “Unless someone can testify that you were with them the night Quinn was killed, it will be next to impossible to get the charges dropped at the preliminary exam.”

  Lizzie put her head in her hands.

  For a lawyer with a silver tongue, I have just done a remarkable job of putting my foot in my mouth, he thought. “I’ll do my best, but you need to be prepared for a trial.”

  She sat back up, put her hands on the table and studied them. She had long thin fingers and short fingernails, but the skin on her hands was dry and rough. She looked up at him. “I do all the cooking at the lodge. That’s why my hands look like this.”

  “They look fine to me.”

  “They’re dry and cracked. My fingernails are chipped. I love cooking. It’s what I do.”

  Burr couldn’t see where this was going.

  “My son needs me, and so does my father. I want you to wake me up from this nightmare.”

  Burr looked out the window, then back at her. “Lizzie, I’ll figure it out. Go back to the lodge. I’ll get started right away.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  Burr thought she looked relieved, but she was still scared. But who wouldn’t be?

  Lizzie left for The Gray Drake. Burr and Zeke took the stairs up to his office. He stopped at the landing on the fourth floor to catch his breath. “She said she didn’t kill her husband, and she promised to pay.” Burr looked down at Zeke. “That’s what they all say.”

  When he got to his office, Eve was nowhere in sight. Burr put the checkbook back behind the Bankruptcy Code. Then he peeked in the library and saw Jacob hunched over a book of Michigan appellate decisions. Keep up the good work. Burr snuck into his office, shut the door quietly and lay down on his couch. He took a deep breath and smelled the leather. He kicked off his shoes and, with Zeke asleep on the oriental throw rug in front of the couch, readied himself to digest the clams and red sauce and sleep off the wine.

  Burr woke up with Zeke licking his left cheek and Eve looking down at him, hands on her hips. He was groggy but awake enough to know that when Eve had her hands on her hips, things did not bode well. He scratched Zeke’s left ear, considered sitting up but decided against it.

  “It’s bad enough that you’re taking a nap on a Tuesday afternoon, but must you snore?”

  “I don’t snore,” Burr said, who did and knew it.

  “This cavalier attitude toward work and money will be the end of us.”

  “Jacob is hard at work on the Murphy appeal and I am about to bring in an important new case.”

  “You mean the fishing rod client?”

  Burr was afraid he was going to have to sit up to defend himself.

  “At the time, it seemed like a good idea to leave Fisher and Allen, but you don’t pay attention to anything except Zeke and duck hunting. And I suspect you have another leaky sailboat,” Eve said.

  Burr sat up and swung his legs to the floor. Zeke retrieved one of his shoes, then the other.

  “There is nothing better than a well-trained dog.”

  “You simply aren’t paying attention to anything that matters.”

  “I am attentive to Zeke-the-Boy.”

  “It was lunacy to name your son after a dog. Why Grace went along with it is beyond me.”

  “Zeke is the finest retriever I’ve ever had.”

  “That’s no reason to name your son after him.”

  “I thought it would be an honor to name my son after Zeke.”

  “I will never understand,” Eve said.

  Burr walked to his desk and looked out the window. “A fine spring day,” he said. “All the leaves are out except the oaks.” He turned to Eve. “They’re always the last.”

  “Thank you, Aldo Leopold.”

  Burr sat down and studied the pile of papers stacked on a corner of his desk. It wasn’t quite tall enough to hide behind.

  “That stack of papers is about to fall over and you have no idea what’s in there,” Eve said.

  “This is an archeological filing system. Bottom to top in chronological order.”

  “It’s going to fall on you.”

  “We�
�ll take care of it when I can’t see over it.” Burr studied the pile. “Where is the transcript of Lizzie’s arraignment?”

  Eve pulled a file from the stack. The pile swayed but didn’t collapse. She handed the file to Burr.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, Burr slipped a padlock on the door to Michelangelo’s on the way out of his building. Then, he and Zeke drove to Jacob’s house. Jacob opened the passenger door of Burr’s Jeep, and Zeke, riding shotgun as always, licked Jacob’s cheek.

  “There he is again.” Zeke licked Jacob’s cheek again.

  “Zeke, back seat,” Burr said.

  The dog licked Jacob squarely on the lips and jumped into the back.

  “That is the most disgusting thing that has ever happened to me.” Jacob took a white linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiped off his face. He wiped off the seat. “There is dog hair everywhere.”

  “It’s shedding season.”

  “He is a cur, and this is an abomination of a vehicle.”

  “It’s perfect except for the back window.” This one didn’t work any better than the back window on his last Jeep, and it had the added disadvantage of having a windshield wiper. Rather than fix it when it broke, Burr had seized the initiative and broken it off before it could break. “And it’s better than that silly Peugeot you drive.”

  “It’s a Renault.”

  “If you’re going to drive a small car, why don’t you at least drive an American car? Like a Corvair,” Burr said.

  “A Corvair is a deathtrap.”

  “At least it’s an American deathtrap,” Burr said.

  “The last Corvair was made twenty years ago.”

  Burr and Jacob didn’t say another word until they arrived at The Gray Drake.

  * * *

  Burr and Jacob met Wes Goodspeed on the riverbank in front of the lodge. The river hurried by, cloudy from last night’s rain. The sun was well over the trees. There was a clear blue sky, but raindrops still dripped from the leaves.

  “The river’s not fishable now, but it will clear up pretty quick.” Wes kicked a stick into the river. “Thank you for helping us. We’re very grateful.”

  “We’re glad to help,” Jacob said.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  “Lizzie can’t be the one to take you down the river,” Wes said.

  “Mr. Goodspeed, Lizzie has to take me. I need her to show me where she was that night.”

  “She can’t go,” Wes said. He turned to Jacob. “You do agree.”

  “I’m afraid I agree with Burr,” Jacob said. He was dressed like he had just stepped out of the Orvis catalog.

  “Mr. Goodspeed….” Burr said.

  “Call me Wes.”

  “Wes, there is nothing in the inquest that remotely hints that your son-in-law was murdered. And certainly not by Lizzie.”

  “That’s because he drowned.”

  Burr looked over at Zeke, who had his eye on a chipmunk running in and out of a hole in the foundation of the lodge. “Zeke, stay.” Burr looked back at Wes. “But that’s not what the transcript of the arraignment says.”

  “None of it’s true, and there’s no reason to put her through this,” Wes said.

  “I need to know what happened, so I know what questions to ask at the preliminary exam.”

  “I’ll take you. She’s been through enough.” Wes headed toward the parking lot. Burr and Jacob followed him.

  “Zeke, heel,” Burr said. The dog walked beside Burr. He looked back at the chipmunk but didn’t break.

  Wes climbed in a Suburban and backed it up to an Au Sable riverboat on a trailer. It had a forest-green bottom and three white seats, varnish everywhere else.

  If this boat were a woman, she’d be a ten.

  Lizzie came out from the lodge with a small boy, who didn’t look a bit like his mother. He was dressed just like his grandfather, from his boots all the way up to his Patagonia fishing hat.

  “I’ll take them, Dad. You watch Josh.” She dropped the trailer hitch on the ball, locked it down, and hooked the chains.

  “I don’t want to stay with Grandpa,” Joshua said. “I want to go in the boat with you.”

  “I’m the one who was there that night. I’m the one who needs to go.” She took her son by the hand over to Wes, who put his hands in his pockets. “Take him. I’m the one who’s accused.” She stopped herself.

  “Is this about Dad?” Josh said.

  “No,” Wes said.

  “Yes, Joshua, it’s about Dad,” Lizzie said.

  “Then I want to go.”

  Lizzie got down on one knee and hugged him. “I have to do this for Dad.” Josh hugged her around her neck. She kissed him, then took his hand and put it in his grandfather’s hand. “The pies need to come out in ten minutes.” She kissed Josh one more time, then climbed into the Suburban. “Follow me,” she said to Burr.

  Burr and Zeke climbed into the Jeep. Seeing Lizzie with her son made Burr wish he was with his son.

  Burr followed Lizzie through the woods, then past a scruffy-looking bar called the Two Track. That must be the bar where Lizzie had the fight with Quinn that night. About eight miles later, she turned into a gravel parking lot next to the river. Lizzie backed the trailer into the river and launched the boat. Just as Burr reached the boat, she climbed back into the Suburban.

  “Follow me. We’re going to drop off the trailer at Smith Bridge, then bring your Jeep back here.”

  When they got back to the Chase Bridge launch, Lizzie pushed the stern into the current, then pulled it to the bank, the bow facing downstream.

  “Jacob, you take the middle seat. Burr, you take the bow. There really isn’t room for Zeke but he can sit between you.”

  “Zeke can take my spot,” Jacob said.

  “How are you going to see where everything happened?” Lizzie said.

  “Jacob, you look like you just stepped out of the Orvis catalog. Get in the boat,” Burr said.

  “I get deathly ill on all boats.”

  “How do you fish without being in a boat?” Burr said.

  “I fish from the bank.”

  Jacob walked back to the Jeep. Lizzie sat in the stern, Zeke midships, Burr in the bow. Lizzie nosed the boat into the river. The current caught it and carried them through the runout. “The auction was over by ten-thirty. I dropped Quinn off here about midnight. I drove the trailer to Smith Bridge, picked up the Suburban and went home.”

  The river bent to the east. They floated over a sandbar, then past a marsh. After that, tag alders grew down to the river. Then the river took a sharp bend north. There was a thirty-foot bank on the east side, snags where the river ate away the bank, and the trees tipped over, their roots like so many snakes tangled up in each other. There were hardwoods and white pines on top of the bank.

  “There’s fish in this bend,” Lizzie said. “It’s deep here, maybe ten feet, but no Hex. There’s not enough silt.”

  They floated on through riffles, runs, and holes. A beaver lodge on their left. A bald eagle, coasting in the wind, followed them downstream. There was a cabin every now and then, but it was mostly wild, river country.

  Lizzie pointed with her paddle. “Over there. On the right. You can put a boat in there, but you’ve got to push it the last hundred feet. It’s nothing you’d want to do in the dark.”

  Burr looked at his watch. They’d been in the river for a half hour.

  “We’re coming out of state land,” Lizzie said. “Now it’s mostly private. There are a couple holes here, but Quinn would have kept going. The best Hex hatch is up ahead.”

  There were a few more cabins now, mostly old, mostly rundown. But here and there, a well-kept log home.

  “Do you know anything about the Hexagenia limbata?”

  “What?” Burr said.
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  “The Hex.” She pointed in about twenty feet in front of the boat.

  “There’s a hole in front of us. Some current but not too much, and the bottom is muddy. The Hex nymphs bury themselves in the mud. When the water temperature is right, they dig their way out and float to the surface. Those are the emergers. They drift a little in the current. Then they fly off. They’re huge, especially for a mayfly. They swarm over the river and mate in the air. Then they die and fall back into the river. Those are the spinners. The trout get them as nymphs, emergers, and spinners.”

  Burr had no idea what she was talking about.

  “They hatch at night. In the dead of night. That’s why Quinn was here. The Hex hatch on the South Branch made The Gray Drake famous. That’s how Wes got his Orvis fly shop. And all the sports wanted to fish with Quinn.”

  This seems like a lot of trouble just to catch a fish. I’d rather be sleeping in the dead of night. Burr turned and looked back at her. “If Quinn was murdered, someone must have met up with him on the river.”

  “Quinn drowned.” She steered them around a deadhead in the current, then over to the bank. “There’s at least twenty places you could walk in from the road. Four or five where you could bring a boat in on a two-track. But you’d have to drag the boat at least part of the way.”

  They passed a row of cabins on the west bank.

  “Anyone from one of these cabins could have stopped him.”

  She nodded. “But no one did.”

  Burr thought she was awfully sure of herself. “Did Quinn have any enemies?”

  Lizzie steered around a rock. “Quinn had rivals.”

  “Rivals?”

  “He was the best guide on the river.” Lizzie slipped the anchor chain over the side. The boat dragged downstream about ten feet, then the chain took hold. She pointed just past the bow. “See that? The dark water? That’s Deadman’s Hole, where Quinn drowned. The best Hex hatch on the South Branch comes off here. If you time it right.”

  How could Quinn have possibly drowned at a place called Dead Man’s Hole?

  “This hole’s deep, maybe ten feet. And the current is tricky.” She pointed with the paddle again. “And right there, that’s where the riffles start. The hole ends just before there and the water shoals. That’s where they found him. Cassie must have jumped out of the boat and swam to shore. Somehow she found her way back to the lodge.”