Under the Ice

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  “Shelby’s taken off. She disappeared with her suitcase this morning while we were at the art gallery.”

  “Think she’s headed for Germany?” he asked, sounding skeptical.

  “I doubt it. She doesn’t have access to that kind of money. And she doesn’t have a passport.”

  “I’m sorry. I hope she turns up soon. If you need anything, let me know.”

  “Thanks, Lou. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

  Camille bent down and pulled a book out from under the couch, thumbing through it. It was the one Shelby had been reading on the ferry. A pamphlet fluttered to the floor. She picked it up, scrutinizing it. “Oh no.”

  I thumbed off the cell and rushed to her side. Siegfried beat me to her and took her hand.

  “Gus. It’s him.” She pointed to the pamphlet.

  Dread snaked through my heart.

  The New Dawn Church will deliver you.

  The tri-fold document featured a pristine church silhouette and faces of friendly people on the inside, with quotes of spiritual joy that had been bestowed on them since joining New Dawn. There was a number scrawled on the inside, a Toronto exchange.

  Somehow, some way, Greg had been in touch with Shelby. The truth flooded through my brain.

  Greg. Not Rolf.

  The late night phone calls could have been with Greg. Had it been Greg on the ferry? Was he the one who knocked me over? And what about those cramps this morning? Was she faking?

  We’d been set up. Greg had orchestrated this event, and Shelby had fallen for it.

  Camille jumped up, reaching for her cell in her purse. “We have to call the police,” she said. Before she reached it, my cell chirped.

  I answered it. “Hello?”

  Camille rushed her words. “Is it Shelby?”

  I shook my head. “Joe? What’s up?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t want to upset Camille. But I think you guys outta know what I found out today.”

  “I’m listening,” I said.

  “Remember Greg’s ‘wife’ Stan told us about? The one who visited Greg every Sunday for years?”

  “Right. What’d you find out?”

  “Well, according to Stan, Greg married her using forged papers. He changed his middle name and married her in a civil ceremony. The man was a bigamist.”

  “What?” I shifted the phone to my other ear and turned away from Camille. She didn’t need to hear this right now.

  “Yeah. But the woman broke it off with Greg in early December, told him she couldn’t take any more of the religious crap. At least that’s what another inmate reported who happened to be in the booth next to them that day.”

  “She dumped him?”

  “Apparently, and they said Greg was furious. Threw a fit in the visitor’s room, threatened to ‘take her out,’ I believe were his exact words. Got put in solitary for that one.”

  “Doesn’t sound very religious to me,” I said.

  “Ya think? Well, get this. Two weeks later, she went missing.”

  “His wife?” I whispered. “Was she murdered?”

  He hesitated. “Um, yeah. Actually, we were the ones who found her, Gus. You and me. She was the woman under the ice, Lisa May Albertson.”

  Chapter 51

  Lisa May Albertson.

  My brain reeled. Greg, the bigamist. Lisa May, under the ice. The shorn braid, neatly clipped from the corpse and mailed to Shelby.

  I paced in a fast circle, trying to make sense of it all.

  Greg had taken out a contract on Lisa May Albertson. Somehow, he arranged it from inside the prison. And then he sent Shelby the braid, so we’d connect him with the crime. To warn us of things to come. To scare the hell out of us.

  It had worked.

  And the most bizarre part of the whole scenario had to do with the chance encounter Joe and I had with the body under the ice.

  I knew coincidences happened. All the time. But this one seemed just too strange. Too pat.

  Had he planned to have the body placed in that pond because he knew our family friend’s wife died there? To make the message more eerie and ominous?

  It seemed a faint connection, and the fact that Joe’s obsession and anxiety over his wife’s demise had led us on a pilgrimage to that very location was an even more curious connection.

  Could Shelby have overhead Joe’s confession to me? Had she shared our plans with Greg? I hadn’t hidden the fact that we were headed up there to try to make things better for Joe; so the more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed.

  My heart slammed against my ribs.

  Now the monster had our daughter.

  How did he reel her in? What did he say to convince her to go with him? She wasn’t stupid.

  “Gus?” Camille frowned, rummaging frantically through the top drawer in the bureau.

  I hurried to her side, glancing down at the empty drawer. “What’d you find?”

  Her eyes flared with fear. “It’s what I didn’t find. She took her border crossing papers. They’re gone.”

  Siegfried bolted upright.

  Camille spun around to stare at him, her eyes full of dread. “What is it, Sig?”

  His eyes shone electric blue. “He is taking her home. Back to New York.”

  “We have to call the cops,” Camille said, rushing her words. “We’ve got to find her.”

  “I’m on it,” I said. I was about to pick up my cell to make the call when it rang again, startling me. “Hello?”

  Camille and Siegfried crowded beside me. I put it on speaker.

  “It’s me, Dad. I’m okay. I’m just calling to tell you we’re back in the States. We just got off the ferry.”

  “Are you with Greg?” Camille shrieked.

  Shelby didn’t skip a beat. “I am. He’s my father, Mom. My blood. And he needs my help.”

  “You scared the hell out of us. You can’t just take off like that. You’re only sixteen,” I said.

  “I know, D…Gus.”

  So, we were back to “Gus” again. I assumed she didn’t want to upset Greg by calling another man “Dad.” He was probably lurking beside her, listening.

  “Where are you?” I said through gritted teeth.

  “I’ll tell you later. But, listen. I love you guys. I do. But right now I need to do this. I’m going to live with Dad for a while. I’m going to help him start up his church. He needs me.”

  Camille leaned closer. “Shelby? Where are you?”

  “Mom? I’m okay, honest. I’m with Dad. He’s fine. He’s been great.”

  “Honey, I told you what he did to me…I told you…” Camille’s voice faltered.

  “Mom, that was five years ago. He’s not like that anymore. He’s changed. He’s been touched by the Holy Spirit. There are bunches of people who believe in him now. They’re financing his new church. Honest, Mom. It’ll be okay. He won’t hurt me, I promise. I’m sorry you’re so upset, but… I have to do this.”

  Camille’s voice was brittle with emotion. “No! You need to come home immediately, young lady. And if you don’t, we’re calling the police.”

  “Mom, I’m sorry you’re upset. I love you. But, Dad has this lawyer who says I can file for independence. I don’t know all the details, but I can decide who I wanna live with and everything.”

  “Shelby, that only applies to cases of abuse.”

  “I guess.”

  “What do you mean?” Camille sputtered.

  “Well, you haven’t abused me, but you’ve kept me under lock and key… like a jailbird,” she said, her voice tight with anger.

  I sensed those were Greg’s words shooting from her mouth.

  “Shelby! Are you kidding?”

  “No, Mom. I’m serious. I want to try this for a while. And Dad needs me.”

  “How? Why? You’re a high school student. How could you help him?”

  “He’s sick, Mom. Real sick. He’s got cancer.”

  “What?” Camille paled and slumped in her seat.


  “He’s sick. He needs help getting to and from the hospital. I’m gonna help him with that while we build up the congregation.”

  Siegfried and I exchanged glances. Could it be true?

  Camille tried for the next fifteen minutes to convince Shelby that she was in danger. She cajoled, she pleaded, she threatened. Nothing worked. When she hung up, she burst into tears and fell face down onto the couch pillows.

  Chapter 52

  The trip home was torture. Camille slumped into a deep depression, unable to hold a conversation. The flash of anger she’d shown on the phone quickly dulled into despair, matched only by the dreary gray waters swelling around the ferry. She’d pulled away from me, her muttered responses monosyllabic.

  Siegfried sat with Johnny at a table, playing cards and eating candy bars and French fries.

  Keeping Johnny on a healthy diet was the least of my worries today. I checked on them a few times to be sure they had what they needed. Siegfried looked worried, but covered it in front of the boy.

  Camille had dropped into one of the tall-backed seats running along the port side, mid-ship. We sat side by side, worlds apart.

  “Honey?” I asked gently. “Would you like some coffee?”

  Her eyes flicked to mine, and then she shook her head, ever so slightly. It was barely enough movement to convey her meaning. Even her hair seemed dull and lifeless. It hung limp on her shoulders, as if in defeat. She turned away again to face the dreary waterscape.

  “You sure?”

  I thought she would ignore me again, but she turned her haunted eyes to mine. Tears welled in the corners. She clenched her teeth, growling her words. “NO. I’m not sure of anything any more.” She gulped for air and then buried her head in her arms.

  I stroked her hair. “I am so sorry, honey.”

  It was all I could manage. My throat felt tight as I fought the emotions surging inside me. In spite of Shelby’s recent teenage tantrums, she was a sweet girl, full of love and compassion who just needed a balanced hormonal environment to flourish. In a year or two, she’d settle down and become—

  How could I think of the future? Did Shelby have one? Was she being hit or kicked or screamed at as I romanticized her life and steamrolled over the facts?

  Was it my fault?

  Had my super-strict parenting skills driven her into the arms of a demon?

  The safe place in my life had disappeared. There was no comfort, no one with whom to share hope. My wife had been swallowed whole into this dark abyss.

  I stewed in self-recrimination as the boat swayed and rumbled.

  Camille pulled away from me and leaned against the window. She drew her jacket up over her shoulders and burrowed down inside. After a few minutes, her breathing regulated and a soft snore escaped her lips. The sound was oddly comforting, as if a tiny part of her had slipped through a crack in the veneer to remind me, comfort me, entreat me to understand.

  She hadn’t slept last night. Nor had Siegfried and I. We made phone calls that went nowhere and were turned down flat by authorities in both countries. We were laughed at by some, consoled by others. But the result had been the same.

  “We have no jurisdiction,” they patiently explained. “And there’s been no crime committed. Your daughter willingly went with her biological father.”

  I shifted on the seat and looked out over the lake. It was endless, with no shore in sight. Gray fog billowed, obscuring our visibility.

  Just like my life, I thought. No foresight. No vision.

  As if slapped by a spinster, I suddenly sat up.

  I’m not thinking straight.

  Come on, man, think!

  The ideas hit me hard and fast. I needed to uncover everything I could about Greg, about his time in prison.

  Who did he confide in? Who sat with him at lunch? Who were these so-called supporters who offered money for his new church?

  There was much to be done and little time to do it.

  One of these contacts might know where to find Greg’s apartment. He’d mentioned Rochester. If he had a landline, I could call each phone company and ask for new listings for Robinson. I’d see if Adam or Joe could get into the records of the electric company or Internet providers. How many new clients could have signed up in the past week or two? A hundred? I’d check them all out, if need be. One of them had to be Greg.

  I’d find him, and camp on his doorstep if I had to. I’d see Shelby and somehow, some way, convince her to return home. And if she wouldn’t come, I’d hang out there all day long and offer to drive him to his chemo treatments. I’d smother him in good intentions.

  If he really had cancer.

  Was there a way to find out? With all the new laws about confidentiality, I doubted if even Joe could hack into a physician’s private patient records. But maybe there was a doctor at the prison. Maybe he’d talk if he knew how dangerous Greg was.

  Especially if he knew our daughter was at his mercy.

  Someone must have seen the demonic glint in his eyes, heard the sinister tone in his voice. When Greg had spoken to me, an icy chill passed through me. As hackneyed as it sounded, wickedness lurked in his voice. And someone else must have heard it at the prison. I just had to…

  Exhausted, I fell asleep. Crazy dreams filled my fevered brain, and I slept until we docked at the port in Charlotte.

  Chapter 53

  On the ride home, Camille held her emotions in check for Johnny’s sake, and the boy chattered all the way, asking about Shelby four times. We diverted his questions and tried not to worry him, but every time he brought up her name, Camille’s chest heaved.

  When we reached the backyard, I pulled up beside Maddy’s car. She opened the kitchen door, hopping from foot-to-foot when we approached. Mrs. Pierce peered around her shoulder, wringing her hands.

  Siegfried grabbed his suitcase and headed into the carriage house. Camille walked stiffly toward the porch, hand-in-hand with Johnny.

  I followed with our bags.

  Mrs. Pierce hugged the boy when he ran into the kitchen. “Be nice and quiet, sweetie. Your sisters are sleeping.” He nodded and clambered upstairs to check on his toys, without looking back.

  Maddy held her arms out to Camille. “Come here, honey.” She enfolded her daughter in a hug and drew her to the couch. Camille sighed, and laid her head against her mother’s chest. The woodstove crackled in the background.

  Joe pitched back and forth in the Boston rocker, looking a bit less anxious than the last time I saw him. “Hey, Gus.”

  I was grateful he’d made the trip from Maddy’s to support us.

  He flipped open his notebook and looked expectantly at me. “Glad you’re home.”

  “Me, too.” I leaned down to poke at the fire. “How’re you doing?”

  He shrugged. “It’s getting a little easier. I’m doing better outside. Not as sweaty and dizzy. Still not back at work yet, though. Doc says it’ll be a while till I can return to the force.”

  I laid two more logs on the fire. The scent of the wood smoke drifted on the warm air, circulated around the room, and almost soothed me, but didn’t quite work.

  “And you?” Joe asked. “Must’ve been a hell of a ride home.” He nodded toward Camille.

  “It was hard to come home without Shelby.”

  What if he gets mad at her? What if he punches her like he used to do to Camille? What if he hits her too hard, and she falls, and…

  Joe was watching me. I had to stop my crazed brain.

  I motioned toward his notebook. “What’ve you got there? Anything new?”

  “Yeah. We need to talk.”

  Mrs. Pierce trotted into the room bearing her favorite tray of compassion: hot glazed cranberry scones and cups of peppermint tea. Joe and I accepted gratefully. Muttering to herself, she briskly dried her hands on her apron and retreated to the kitchen.

  Maddy smoothed Camille’s hair. “Darling, you’re coming upstairs with me. You need some sleep. Let’s let the men talk turkey. You k
now they’ll come up with something. And who knows, maybe Shelby will call again. You’ll need your wits about you when she does, won’t you?”

  Camille looked at me for approval. “Gus?”

  “Go up with your mom, honey. Get some rest. Joe and I will review the options. And don’t worry. We won’t relax, not for a minute. Not until we get our little girl home again.”

  “Okay,” she said with a long, drawn-out sigh, stumbling up the stairs in front of Camille, who held supportive arms behind her.

  I turned back to Joe. “What have you got?”

  Joe finished the last bite of his scone and wiped his mouth with his fingers. He sat up straighter and studied his notebook. “Got more information on Greg’s buddies, like you suggested yesterday. First of all, there’s this guy named Gilmer. Gilmer Saltzmann. Cell mate and former lunch buddy. They were together a lot, but Saltzmann wasn’t into the church thing. Never went to the service. He was released early November last year. Age sixty-two. White hair, black eyes. Served thirty years for murdering his brother. Not a pretty character, that’s for sure. We’re trying to find out where he’s living. Adam’s working on it right now.”

  “He might know where Greg’s keeping Shelby. Especially if they’ve been in touch since Greg got out.”

  Joe nodded. “There’s a good chance of that. Now, we’ve got another one here. This guy’s on the outside, name’s George Martinelli. He’s got money. Used to be affiliated with the Catholic Church, but now he’s the pastoral associate for the New Dawn Church. His cousin is incarcerated, and he used to go to the services in the jail. That’s how Martinelli met up with Greg. He’s been looking at church properties for sale. Been contacting realtors all over the southern tier. He lives in York, but there’s been no answer at his house all day. We’re still trying to find him.”

  The phone rang and I jumped to grab it, but Camille reached it first on the upstairs line. I listened in.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Oscar, here. Camille, my dear, so sorry to hear about your, er, situation. How are you holding up?”

  “Thanks, Oscar. I’m a wreck, but we’ll get through it. We’ll get her back. I know we will.”