Dead Man's Lake (The Braddock & Gray Case Files Book 5)

by H. P. Bayne

  Sully drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he thought it through. “Still, there would have been people from Dunsmore Developments sniffing around the lake back then, checking it out. From what we know of Walter McCrory, he would have hated the fact the seclusion he enjoyed up there might be about to go out the window. What if he had a run-in with someone from your father’s company and it went bad?”

  “Huh,” Paul said. “I can’t rule it out, I guess. Tell you what. If you’d like a meeting, I can see about arranging something.”

  A nod passed between Sully and Dez.

  “Yeah,” Dez said. “On second thought, it might be a good idea, after all.”

  19

  The case involving Greg Waterford had changed, and Lachlan’s plans for handling it changed too. Dez was pleased to learn, first thing in the morning, that Lachlan was calling an end to their round-the-clock surveillance detail.

  “If I had one or two more associates, we could retool things,” Lachlan said via phone. “As it stands, we’ve got more important things to do. I’ve arranged meetings with both Calypso’s CEO, Harrison Craig, and with Peter Brinks for eleven this morning. I’d hoped for something sooner, but scheduling made it impossible. Both men told me they’ve got a ten o’clock meeting.”

  “How much you want to bet it’s with each other?”

  “Put it this way. If I were a betting man, no way in hell I’d play the odds on that one.”

  Dez checked the clock on his bedside table. Shortly after eight. “Need me to pick you up?”

  “Nah, I’m on my way to you now. Just wanted to make sure you’d gotten your ass out of bed. Sully called me a few minutes ago. Paul Dunsmore arranged a meeting with his father for nine.”

  Dez leapt out of bed and dashed to his and Eva’s bathroom, relieved to find he’d remembered to plug in his electric shaver after his last use. “He could have let me know,” Dez grumbled en route.

  “He said he sent you a text.”

  Dez checked. There it was—a text from Sully, sent ten minutes ago, just before Dez had been awoken by Lachlan’s call. Ray Dunsmore 9 a.m.

  Dez thumbed the switch on the side of his shaver and started to pass the business end of the device over his left cheek. “I’ll be ready when you get here,” he told Lachlan.

  “Counting on it.”

  Lachlan hung up, leaving Dez to finish getting ready in peace. He sent a quick thumbs-up back to Sully to let him know he’d gotten the text, at which point his phone rang. Sully’s name showed on the call display.

  “Hey,” Dez greeted. “Kind of last minute, isn’t it?”

  “Sorry, couldn’t be helped. I let you guys know as soon as Paul called me this morning. His father’s got a few things on the go today, and this was the only time he had to spare. Honestly, Ray’s probably hoping we won’t be able to make it.”

  “Are you coming with us?” Dez asked.

  He suspected Sully was shaking his head in the negative even before the audible reply came. “Lachlan doesn’t think it’s a good idea. Ray won’t like any of us after what happened with his business, but he’ll particularly blame me. If we want answers out of him, far better chance of him sharing with you guys than with me.”

  “Hey, I burned him too,” Dez said.

  “Yeah, but what he put you through with his involvement in the Circle was far worse than anything you did to him. Lachlan figures you can use that to your advantage.”

  It made sense, Dez thought as he headed downstairs for a quick breakfast. “Guess you get to stay in bed an extra hour.”

  “Guess again. I’m going to meet up with Forbes early. I got ahold of him last night. He’s coming with me to the meeting with Harrison Craig but is going to wait outside. We need to try to sort something out so he can listen in.”

  Dez would have preferred Sully have backup at his elbow, though all things considered, knowing Forbes would be nearby came as a tremendous relief. “Good plan. But for my money, having a Krav Maga-trained woman at your side would have been awesome.”

  “Better than a trained and armed cop?”

  Dez smirked. “Hey, from personal experience, having a woman in your life who can kick some ass is pretty damn hot.”

  “Goodbye, Dez.”

  Dez was still chuckling as Sully hung up.

  By the time Lachlan rolled up, Dez was fed, watered, cleaned up and clothed in pressed slacks and a wool coat over a sport jacket. He pointed to his own SUV, insisting on Lachlan climbing in with him rather than the other way around. Lachlan’s car wasn’t huge, and Dez always felt like a pretzel as he folded himself into the passenger seat—even after pushing it all the way back.

  “Good to see you still clean up nice, Braddock,” Lachlan said, the usual sarcasm in the tone leaving Dez to wonder whether he meant it or not.

  Dez opted to play it safe and not ask. “Do we have enough time between the meet with Dunsmore and the one with Brinks?”

  “We should. Paul told Sully that Ray only has half an hour at most before he needs to run. What a man his age with a ruined company and reputation would have to run off to, I have no idea, but we’ll need to get our questions in quick.”

  Dez frowned. “I’d be willing to bet he’s invented an excuse to get us out of his hair early.”

  “No doubt. By the way, address is in Wiltmore Terrace, gated community there.”

  “Not downtown anymore?”

  “Nope. Sold the old digs—both the mansion out of town and the downtown place. No sense sitting on a penthouse condo in the most exclusive building in town while your lifestyle suffers elsewhere.”

  The community in which Dunsmore now lived was nowhere near as opulent as the condo tower he’d lived in before, but it was nice enough. For the average Kimotan Rapids resident, the gated community on the city’s west end was plenty out of reach enough, boasting a round-the-clock security team at the front entrance, a clubhouse with a pool, sauna and exercise room and a full eighteen-hole golf course round the back.

  But Reynold Dunsmore wasn’t your average KR resident. For him, this was a significant downgrade. Dez could only imagine the shame the former business magnate felt each day as he awoke in this new world he’d created for himself. Gone were the marble floors, sweeping staircases and classical statues in the foyer. Gone were the limos, crew of staff for his various homes and the glittering who’s-who parties in the centre of town. This new Ray Dunsmore would have to be content with swinging a golf club on the back nine in between coffee and snacks in his postage stamp-sized backyard.

  Dez supposed he should think of this as sufficient punishment for a man like Dunsmore.

  It was clear Paul had indeed made the arrangements when security waved them through with no questions and even directed them on how to reach the Dunsmore property within the rabbit warren that was the Wiltmore Terrace gated community. The Dunsmore place was located at the rear, overlooking the golf course. Not a green or a sand trap, naturally, but an incredible water feature complete with fountain—or so the security guard at the window told them. Dez counted this, too, as a win. It said something that the only water feature Dunsmore could enjoy lay on the opposite side of a fence.

  They located the property in question with little problem, their biggest challenge watching the numbers on the front of the various townhouses so they could locate the right one. The homes, though attractive, seemed crammed together and very much the same. No room for character or individualism here. Complimenting someone on their home meant complimenting each of the neighbouring residences, effectively diluting every positive remark.

  Dez wasn’t surprised by the image of the man who greeted them at the door, nor the fact Dunsmore met them there without the aid of a staff member to vet the callers. Dunsmore seemed a shrunken man, thinner than before—and he’d been thin enough the last time Dez had seen him—and possibly even shorter. Dez wondered briefly whether he was imagining the difference in height before it dawned on him. Dunsmore wasn’t shorter, he just
carried himself that way. He’d once moved like the biggest man in town, and he’d given off the air of height where he wasn’t any taller than the average man. This Ray Dunsmore appeared slumped and defeated. Dez had heard the expression multiple times, but never had he seen a more fitting use of the term “shadow of his former self.”

  He offered his hand without thinking, and only remembered himself once Dunsmore had taken it, brows raised in surprise. Dez had been so impacted by the change in the man’s deportment, he’d momentarily severed the connection between the Ray Dunsmore standing here and the one he’d known a few years ago.

  Dez snatched his hand back as if electrocuted.

  Lachlan gave his own without reluctance. “Mr. Dunsmore. Thank you for meeting us.”

  Dunsmore led them inside a townhouse that somehow managed to appear both comfortable and cold. Done up in tasteful, plush furnishings and decor, it bore the look of a spread from a house and garden magazine. And yet, it gave the feel of being barely lived in, as if entire rooms were never touched. Dez wouldn’t have been surprised to learn Dunsmore spent most of his time in his bedroom or a single den or study. This wasn’t the sort of house in which a man like him would ever find comfort.

  He led them through a spacious sitting room and into the kitchen. Dez thought it strange for Dunsmore to entertain guests in the kitchen until he noticed the large windows overlooking the expanse of the golf course out the back. This was Dunsmore posturing as much as he could.

  Lachlan bit anyway, likely for no other reason than to appease the man. “A lovely view. Eighteen holes, I understand?”

  Dunsmore peered out the window as if he’d never before seen the place. “It is indeed. I don’t get out there much, but it’s lovely to be near it.” He turned back to them a moment later, expression all-business. “I understand you have some questions for me. Perhaps you could get to them. I have a number of things on my schedule today.”

  Dez was tempted to ask for details if only to catch Dunsmore in a lie. Thankfully, Lachlan took over.

  “We’re involved in an investigation which has come to involve talk of development at Crystal Lake—or Dead Man’s Lake as most seem to call it these days. We understand you once sought to develop it.”

  “Sought and failed. Outdone by the great unwashed on that one. People have no vision, and rarely are they willing to listen. It could have been a great thing, what I’d envisioned.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Public outcry happened. Unnecessary anxiety happened. Greed happened. The then-owner, Morestead, backed out of the proposed deal, and that was that. Shortly after, he handed it over to the government and they’ve owned it ever since. Fast forward to present day, and the government seems to have grown the set Morestead couldn’t. Sounds like they’re eager to press ahead with or without public say-so.”

  Lachlan leaned back in his chair at the kitchen table. “It might not be quite so simple. As I said, we’re undertaking an investigation, and we’ve been led to a sudden death that occurred at the lake in the mid-eighties.”

  Dunsmore’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And you believe I had something to do with it?”

  Lachlan shook his head. “Not what I was suggesting.”

  Dunsmore nodded with his chin toward Dez. “It’s what he’s thinking.”

  Dez allowed one corner of his mouth to lift into a half-smile he didn’t feel. “I didn’t say anything of the kind. But, hey, I’m open to all sorts of possibilities.”

  Lachlan gave his throat a quiet clear, a sign for Dez to shut up. “We’re here for one reason only: to learn what we can about the proposed deal from the eighties. How much time did you spend out there back then?”

  “Enough. I was heavily involved in the planning and the proposal, and part of that was to be there with our planners to plot out what we might do with the lakefront. We crawled through plenty of bush to make it happen.”

  “Did you have occasion to meet a man named Walter McCrory?”

  “You’ll have to do better than a name. It was a long time ago, and I met a lot of people on a regular basis over the years.”

  “He was a maintenance man at the lake. Fairly tall and well built, would have had a heavy beard and a rather scruffy appearance.”

  Dunsmore seemed to think on this for a moment. “No, no one like that. A fellow was working around there at the time, but he was a short, fat, little man. Clean-shaven, balding and well-past retirement from what I could tell. Name of Tim or Tom or something like that. Don’t recall a last name.”

  Dez wondered about this for a moment until it occurred to him Dunsmore’s proposed deal might have occurred prior to McCrory’s arrival at the lake. He hadn’t been there all that long, after all.

  Even so …

  “Did you hear anything about his disappearance?” Dez asked.

  Dunsmore’s eyes snapped to Dez’s. “Disappearance? No.” His eyes returned to narrowed. “You are here to try to nail me on this.”

  “Only if we have reason to,” Dez said.

  Another throat noise from Lachlan. “We aren’t here to accuse you, sir. We’re only trying to find some answers to a puzzle with far too many questions. Walter McCrory vanished without anyone reporting it at the time, and we now have reason to believe he met with foul play. We are also given to understand he was using the area around the lake as a refuge of sorts. He had some anxieties about being around people. We hoped, as someone who spent time up there, you might have some recollections that might help us.”

  “Well, I don’t. The project wasn’t exactly what I’d call long-lived. Someone caught wind of it and went to the news. Within months, the project was dead in the water—so to speak.”

  Lachlan raised a brow. “What made you choose those words? Dead in the water?”

  Dunsmore gave a dry laugh. “Oh, come now. It’s a lake. The plan died. It’s not because I killed the man or something. No doubt that’s what you’re getting at.”

  It was certainly what Dez wanted to get at, but he wasn’t risking another throat-clearing episode with Lachlan.

  “Just a question, sir,” Lachlan said. “Changing the subject slightly, you must have been annoyed to hear plans seem to be in the works now to develop the lake.”

  “Annoyed is a good way to put it, though it’s not entirely unexpected. The government is desperate for different streams of income given the current economic climate. It’s been selling off Crown land left, right and centre. Unsurprising for Crystal Lake to come on the market. They never did bother to develop it properly as a park. Too close to Winteredge, I’d imagine.”

  “So you weren’t far ahead with the project?”

  “Far enough, in a manner of speaking. We were in the process of securing a contractor to level the lake’s east shore.”

  Dez caught on this. “What about competition for the project? Were you up against anyone else?”

  “Not for the overall project, no. No one else was in a position to take on that level of work at the time.”

  Dez leaned forward a little, then hoped the position didn’t come across as too eager. “How about the contract you were looking to put out for the work? Who did you have lined up for the job?”

  “No one yet. As I said, we hadn’t officially signed anything with Morestead. It’s bad practice to sign something until you know the deal’s secure. But I wanted someone lined up to sign just as soon as I got what I needed. I had two companies duking it out for the contract, and the plan was to award it to one of them as soon as I got word. I went out to the site with each of them to get an idea as to how capable they’d be at doing the work. They both seemed ready and able.”

  “Who were they?”

  “One of them was Cramill Construction, now defunct. Partners had a falling out somewhere along the way. Other company’s still around, although the son’s fully taken it over now from his father, who’s since passed. Was a father and son venture at the time. Name of that one was Brinks Construction.”

&nb
sp; Dez raised his eyebrows at Lachlan.

  Lachlan gave another heavy throat-clear, although this one was likely just as much for his own benefit, to stifle any shows of surprise. “How about this other company, Cramill? Who was in charge of it?”

  “Two fellows, one older, one younger. Older fellow was Jim Miller. He’d owned it for a while and had initially been in partnership with the younger fellow’s late father. Younger partner was Harry Craig.”

  The name twigged something in Dez’s brain. “Harry Craig? As in Harrison Craig?”

  “I believe that’s his full given name, yes. They had a disagreement over something to do with the project. Shortly after the whole thing fell apart, so did they. Miller later told me he’d given Craig the boot, telling him to go off on his own or risk being sued and publicly shamed.”

  Dez sat forward, far enough to touch the table separating him from Dunsmore. “For what?”

  Dunsmore said nothing, his sudden clam-up suggesting he’d reached a detail he wished to hold onto.

  Dez gave it a shot anyway. “A man is dead, Mr. Dunsmore, and we believe he was murdered. It’s possible it has something to do with events that occurred around then. Whatever you know, we need you to share it.”

  Dunsmore’s fixed glare at Dez ended in a sigh. “The only reason I’m telling you this is because I don’t want the two of you or anyone else coming back at me, claiming I had something to do with this. I didn’t know. Not at the time, anyway. I didn’t learn about these shenanigans until afterward.”

  “What shenanigans?” Lachlan asked.

  “Miller was a decent man and an honest one. He forced Harry out after he learned he’d been paying someone inside Brinks Construction to ferret out their plans for the lake or any conversations they’d had with me.”

  “An inside man,” Dez said. “Any idea who?”