by Lyn Cote
“The FBI?” This must be for real. He leaned forward. “Did this assistant professor recall the name of this particular crazy?”
Sylvie reached in her sweater pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “I wrote it down for you. I thought you could get more information through official channels.” She handed it to him.
His fingers brushed hers. Had he done that on purpose? Or had she? He read the paper, but the name meant nothing to him. Still, he would definitely investigate it. “Exactly what research was Ginger doing in Alaska?”
“I don’t understand all of it. But she was investigating transient killer whales in the waters around Alaska.” She leaned back and folded her arms as if preparing to defend herself. “The most famous of these are six that are called the Kodiak Killers.”
Again, if anyone other than Sylvie had been telling him this, he would have doubted her veracity. He couldn’t keep doubt from entering his voice. “The Kodiak Killers?”
“Yes, there is a band of six killer whales that spend part of their winters around the city of Kodiak.” She took up her mug for another sip. “They’re unusual because they seem to specialize in hunting a certain type of sea lion, Stellar sea lions, and eating them. Very successfully, I hear.”
“The Kodiak Killers?” Ridge repeated, watching her sip the hot cocoa. Her every move was elegant and graceful, even this everyday act.
“Yes. Ginger, along with other scientists, was studying why they pick on Stellar sea lions and if the depredations of these particular sea lions will seriously endanger the sea lions’ numbers.”
Ridge suddenly felt his respect for Ginger Johnson increasing. And also regret that her work had been cut short. “So Ginger’s boyfriend thinks this fanatic might have followed her here?”
“He says it might be him or someone else like him.” She glanced into Ridge’s eyes. “The ELF group is disorganized but is active on the Internet. So some deranged environmentalist here might have picked up the same incorrect information and targeted Ginger.”
“But,” Ridge asked, “what would he be ransacking her apartment and other homes for?”
“Perhaps he wanted to destroy her research on her computer. And also computer CDs that might contain her records and her research?” Sylvie offered. “When I asked her assistant professor what someone would be looking for among Ginger’s possessions, that’s the only thing he could think of. He was surprised by all the break-ins. He said it really didn’t make any sense. But I suppose if we are dealing with irrational people that we could expect them to do irrational acts.”
“Even irrational people make sense on some level.” Still he shook his head. He was baffled and he might as well admit it. “I don’t know where this will all end up.”
The wall phone near her head rang. Sylvie reached out and lifted the receiver to her ear. Shock and dismay flashed over her features. She stood up. “I’ll be right over. And I’ll bring Ridge with me.”
“What is it?” he demanded, standing.
“Doyle Keski, Chad’s dad, has burst into Shirley’s house uninvited. Chad, Shirley and Rae-Jean are there alone.” She was already pulling on her long coat and opening the door.
“I’ll call the police,” Ridge said, following her and reaching for his cell phone.
“No,” Sylvie said, running down the steps. “Shirley called here for Milo. Tom’s out gathering food for the local food pantry. She wanted Milo to come and run Keski off. She doesn’t want to call the police unless absolutely necessary. She doesn’t want Chad embarrassed by having his father’s name in the paper under Local Arrests. Again.”
FIVE
Instead of running the few blocks, Ridge insisted that he drive Sylvie in his vehicle. If Doyle Keski had assaulted someone at Shirley and Tom’s house and needed to be arrested, it would make it so much easier just to drag him out and drive him to the sheriff’s office. When he pulled to a halt in front of Shirley’s Victorian, Sylvie leaped out ahead of him and ran awkwardly, painfully, toward the house. Ridge charged after her, gaining on her, pushing in front of her at the door to protect her. Didn’t she have enough sense to stay out of a violent confrontation? “Stay back,” he ordered.
The front door flew open and there stood Shirley, a sweater around her shoulders. Up the front staircase, Rae-Jean, with the baby in her arms, waited, huddled against the foyer wall. “Thank heavens, you’ve come!” Shirley exclaimed. “Chad’s father just barged in and he won’t leave. He’s cornered Chad in the kitchen.”
Ridge shouldered past the women. Following the sound of an agitated male voice, he found his way to the kitchen toward the rear. In spite of all his years away from Winfield, he recognized Doyle Keski immediately. The short, wiry troublemaker was wearing a dirty flannel shirt, an ancient CPO jacket and ragged jeans. He reeked of liquor. He was shouting at a teenager whom he’d backed against the wall. Ridge recognized the kid as Shirley’s foster son, Chad Keski.
“You’re still my kid!” Doyle yelled.
How like this bully to attack a house of women and children. Ridge clamped his hand on Keski’s shoulder. “You were not invited to enter this private home—” Ridge began.
Keski turned, his fist drawn back.
Ridge expected this. He was ready. He grabbed Keski’s wrist and twisted it hard, halting the punch. He increased pressure around the shorter man’s wrist, forcing a gasp from Keski. Ridge then grasped Keski’s shoulder, pinching the man’s trapezius muscle, exerting painful pressure there. This made it impossible for Keski to raise his other fist. And gave Ridge a great deal of satisfaction.
Keski bent forward with the pain; his face twisted into an agonized grimace. “Let…go…of me.”
Instead, Ridge increased his pressure on Keski’s wrist and trapezius. “As soon as you join me outside in the backyard, I’ll release you.”
Keski struggled to end Ridge’s hold on him. He grunted with exertion. But he couldn’t break free.
Inexorably Ridge began to propel the resisting, cursing man toward the back door out of Shirley’s kitchen.
The back door burst open in front of them and Chaney Franklin, Rae-Jean’s estranged husband, filled the doorway. He was a mountain of a man—literally. “What’s the trouble here?”
Ridge did not get a chance to answer. Neither did Keski.
“You!” Chaney boomed. He grabbed Keski from Ridge’s grasp by the scruff of the neck. Yanked him like a whimpering puppy out onto the back porch.
Not to be left behind, Ridge clung to Keski’s wrist and hurried forward, staying on his feet. Outside, the three of them reached the bottom of the back steps onto the narrow shoveled walk. There, Ridge asserted his authority. “I’m a law officer, Chaney. I’ll handle this.”
Chaney looked disgruntled. But he released Keski, who staggered with his sudden release. Chaney took a step back.
“Keski, I don’t know why you are here bothering these people,” Ridge growled. “But you’re guilty of trespassing and disturbing the peace. Leave now and don’t return without an invitation.” Then with a shove, he released Keski from his grasp.
Stumbling, Doyle cursed him and then shoulder-bumped Chaney on his way to the back alley.
Ridge and Chaney stood, watching as the man climbed into his old rust bucket truck and roared away down the alley. Ridge found himself breathing hard. He looked up at the tall man opposite him. “Where did you come from?”
“On my way to work. Just stopped to say hi to my kid. He stays with Florence after school.” Chaney nodded toward Florence Lévesque’s house next door. “Heard the commotion. Glad I did, although I guess you had everything under control.”
Ridge shook off his leftover antagonism and offered his hand. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem.” Chaney shook his hand.
“Are you two all right?” Sylvie called from the back door. She’d followed Ridge but had kept her distance. Not wanting to get in his way. She’d been so afraid that there would be violence. And was so gratefu
l Ridge had handled it.
“Is that you, Chaney?” Her cousin Rae-Jean stood right behind Sylvie with little Hope in her arms.
“You get back inside, Rae-Jean,” Chaney instructed her. “You two have been sick.” The large man with reddish hair hurried up the steps.
Sylvie stepped out of the way to let him go in. The protective tone in Chaney Franklin’s voice warmed her heart.
Ridge followed Chaney up the steps. She didn’t move out of his way. There was so much she wanted to say. Couldn’t say.
He paused abreast of her, his gaze linked to hers. She understood the question in his eyes without his asking it. Everyone in town knew that Rae-Jean’s baby had been conceived during a troubled time in her marriage to Chaney and that, though separated, they were legally still married. Everyone also knew that Rae-Jean didn’t know whether Hope’s father was Chaney or not. “We need to let the sheriff know that Doyle Keski is back in town,” she said as Ridge escorted her through the enclosed back porch.
And suddenly she wondered how long Doyle Keski had been back in town. Could it possibly be Doyle who was responsible for the break-ins? Now, however, was not the time to bring this up to Ridge in front of everyone.
She shivered from being out in the cold. Or perhaps it was residual reaction to violence. The narrow, brightly lit kitchen was crowded with family and friends. So Sylvie stood in the background next to Ridge.
“I still think someone should have called the sheriff,” Ridge muttered from his place by her side.
Shirley was standing near Chad, who had slumped onto a chair at the narrow kitchen table. As if she’d heard him, Shirley looked to Ridge and then to Chad and then back to Ridge.
Sylvie touched Ridge’s sleeve and whispered, “I don’t think Shirley wants to cause a complete breach between Doyle and Chad. Doyle is Chad’s father.”
Frowning, Ridge shook his head at her and took a step forward. “Chad—” Ridge’s expression became austere and his tone gritty “—your father should not be allowed to just barge in here whenever he feels like it and threaten people.”
Chad looked at Ridge. The room got very quiet. “We should call the sheriff,” Chad said. “Tom told me not to fight with my dad. But I don’t want him coming around here and upsetting everybody. And he just does it to be mean. He doesn’t care about me.”
Sylvie looked to her aunt Shirley and saw that Chad’s words were a huge relief to her in one way. And heartbreaking in another.
“I’ll call the sheriff, then,” Ridge offered. “I think you should get a restraining order, too, Shirley. That should keep Keski away.”
“And maybe with everything that’s been going on around Winfield,” Chaney added darkly, “I think we should discuss getting a security system installed here. After all, Rae-Jean and the baby are staying here and sometimes our boy. I’d be happy to chip in.”
“I think Tom would agree,” Shirley said.
Rae-Jean gave a weak smile and then sat down at the table with the baby in her arms. “It’s all so scary.” Her faint voice shook.
Over the phone, Ridge explained to the sheriff’s dispatch about Doyle Keski’s trespass and the dispatcher said someone would be coming soon to take down their information about the incident. The woman also suggested that Shirley and Tom take out a restraining order against Doyle Keski.
From Rae-Jean’s arms, Chaney had lifted the baby girl, maybe his baby girl, and was talking to her in a gentle voice. Seeing such a large man holding such a tiny child with such care brought a wave of tenderness, which threatened to overwhelm Sylvie. And Chaney didn’t even know for sure this was his child. Would she ever have a baby who was loved by the father like this?
“I think that both a restraining order and security system,” Ridge commented, “might be very good ideas.”
Sylvie felt him rest his hand on her shoulder. His wordless comfort caught her around the heart. She glanced at her aunt Shirley’s face and caught from her a look of caution.
Moving from Ridge’s touch, Sylvie drifted to the stove and began making a fresh pot of coffee. Her aunt was right. She couldn’t get comfortable having Ridge protecting her. Safeguarding others was just his nature. And she shouldn’t read anything more into it.
March 13
Two days later in the gloomy late-winter afternoon, Ridge sat beside the sheriff in his Jeep. They were on their way to Jim Leahy’s summer house, east of town along the shore of Superior. They were going to either find Leahy in residence or if not, execute a search warrant to see what was going on in the house, the house that should have been quiet and empty at this time of the year.
“Tom came in and applied for a restraining order against Doyle Keski yesterday,” Keir said.
“Glad to hear it.” Ridge’s mind returned to the memory of Sylvie gracefully and quietly moving around Shirley’s kitchen, serving coffee and tea. And it prompted another line of inquiry he’d planned to discuss today. “Did Sylvie call you about speaking to the assistant professor who was dating Ginger?”
“No, I haven’t heard from her. What’s this about?” Keir glanced sideways.
“Maybe she felt funny about telling you since her information was pretty ambiguous. But I contacted the FBI and talked to one of their Midwest experts on ecoterrorism.”
“Ecoterrorism?” Keir’s tone was incredulous. “In Winfield?”
“Yes, to cut to the chase, some fringe extremist-environmentalist harassed and threatened Ginger at a research lab in the Northwest. Seems he confused her with another G. Johnson who was testing animals or something.”
“And you think this fanatic may have followed her here?” Keir’s skeptical tone hadn’t changed.
Ridge tried not to get defensive. “Either that or maybe some other unbalanced activist got the same misinformation and maybe went a little too far.”
“And killed Ginger by accident?” The sheriff shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible,” he finished, still sounding unconvinced.
“The FBI ecoterrorism expert seemed to think it could explain what happened to Ginger, especially since her computer was taken,” Ridge continued, presenting what he and the FBI had put together. “When the fanatic didn’t find the evidence of Ginger’s suspect research in the laptop files, he might still be looking for CDs with her research on them.”
“But why?” Keir lifted a palm.
“So no one else can use her research. To hurt innocent animals.” Keir’s continued skepticism was getting on Ridge’s nerves. He loosened his neck muscles by stretching forward and to each side.
“So killing a research scientist is okay if it’s to protect animals. It is a strange world we live in today,” Keir observed drily.
“I won’t disagree with you. I can’t.” Ridge kept his eyes looking ahead. He was glad to drop Ginger’s complicated case for a simpler one. “We’re just about there, aren’t we?”
“Yes, I wanted to come myself and bring you along because it’s very touchy entering the house of a summer resident—even with a search warrant. Having a state detective with me puts me in a stronger position legally. Plus two deputies will meet us before we go onto the property. We don’t know exactly what we will find. We could find nothing. Or we could stumble onto a meth lab.” The sheriff’s tone was ominous.
“From what you told me,” Ridge said as they drove between mounds of brown-tinged snow, piled up on both sides of the highway, “it sounds as if something has changed at this place. You said Leahy rarely comes to his seasonal house except for four months in the summer.”
“Yes, a neighbor who lives here year-round called in that he kept seeing car lights, driving onto and off the property at all times of the day and night. That sounds suspicious. We couldn’t just call Leahy to check on him because his phone’s disconnected for the winter. I’ve sent deputies out here twice to knock on the door. But no one has answered them. So I had no choice. I have to look into it.”
“Or you’d be culpable for not checking out something suspicious
,” Ridge agreed.
Keir inhaled deeply. “Yes, especially with all these home break-ins and Ginger’s death. I just can’t take anything lightly.”
The sheriff slowed on the two-lane highway, approaching the house in question. “Well, someone has plowed his drive recently. But many homeowners pay to have this done throughout the winter just in case they come up.” The sheriff turned and drove up the narrow lane, carved through the deep, pristine white snow.
Behind them, another sheriff’s Jeep turned off the highway and followed them in to the cleared turnaround near the garage of an impressive two-story log home.
Keir, Ridge, Trish and another younger deputy, Josh, got out with their sidearms ready. Keir nodded to Trish and Josh, who circled through the deep snow around to the front of the house, which faced Lake Superior. Ridge followed Keir to the back door, which opened toward the highway they’d just traveled. Keir knocked on the door with his search warrant in one hand.
No one answered. Keir knocked louder. And then louder. And then he shouted, “Mr. Leahy! Jim Leahy, this is the sheriff! Please open up! I have a search warrant!”
The sound of a dog barking inside was disconcerting. Someone must be staying in the house. But convinced no one was going to answer, Ridge was sizing up the knob and dead bolt locks, so they would know what to tell the locksmith.
Then the door opened. “What do you want?” a disheveled man shouted at them. A small white dog frisking around the man’s ankles continued yapping at them.
Instinctively Ridge tensed and gripped the Glock in his hand.
The sheriff replied calmly, “I am Keir Harding, Winfield County Sheriff, and I have a search warrant to inspect your house.”
“Search warrant?” the man snarled. And then he looked down. “Shut up!” he shouted at the dog. The dog looked insulted and then flopped down.
“This is the Leahy home, isn’t it?” Keir asked. “Are you Jim Leahy, the owner?”
“Yeah,” the man replied belligerently. “So what?”