Dead Deceiver

by Victoria Houston

  “Dr. Osborne,” said Rob, his eyes full of pain, “what do I do now? What the hell do I do now? How do I tell our children? Oh, my God,” he said, and wept.

  Osborne put an arm around his shoulders. He had no idea how to answer.

  Two years earlier, after the trauma team had taken Mary Lee off life support at three a.m. that winter morning, he had asked himself the same question: What the hell do I do now?

  He had been fortunate not to be alone. In spite of knowing that Mary Lee Osborne was the “anonymous party” lodging complaints with the town board in hopes of forcing him off his property, Ray Pradt had not hesitated for an instant when he got Osborne’s call.

  “It’s my wife, Ray,” Osborne had said in a voice quivering with panic. “She’s having trouble breathing and the fever has spiked. I’ve got to get her to the hospital but the ambulance can’t—” That was all Osborne had to say.

  Though it was after midnight at the height of a raging blizzard with sub-zero temps and winds gusting forty miles an hour, Ray had stopped him before he could say more. “It’ll take me five to bolt the plow on the truck. Wrap her up real warm. Be sure to cover her face and I’ll be right there, Doc. You call the hospital and tell ‘em we’re on our way.”

  He had waited with Osborne while the emergency team worked. He was still there when Osborne got the news. Even as Osborne sat silent and stunned for a good half hour, gathering the strength to call his daughters—Ray stayed with him. Quiet. Ready to help in any way he could.

  “Do you have a close friend we can reach by cell phone? Someone who might be able to help you out tonight?” said Osborne. “I’ll make the call for you.”

  Rob was silent for a few beats then said, “Yes, I do know someone I would like to call. One of my colleagues in our engineering office. He and his wife are close friends of ours … I think I can make that call.” Looking down, he patted his jacket pockets. “Looks like I left my cell phone in my car.”

  Peering over Rob’s shoulder, Osborne noticed that the EMTs had begun their preparations to move the body. This he really did not want Rob to see.

  “You are welcome to use mine,” said Osborne, handing over his cell phone, “but I suggest you stand close to the lake. You’re likely to get better reception.”

  Rob climbed out of the ATV and walked across the trail to stand on the bank of the small lake. As he placed the call to his friend, Osborne got out of the ATV and walked onto the bridge. He looked out over the ice towards the distant shore then turned to follow the sound of open water noisy in the night air.

  The lake was to the south of the bridge and its water spilled under the bridge to flow north, up and into the swamp. As he watched the current, it dawned on Osborne that the killer may have miscalculated when he was deciding where to hide his victim.

  Looking around to find Lew, he saw her observing the EMTs as they slipped protective bags over Kathy Beltner’s hands in order to preserve any debris under her fingernails that might indicate a struggle. Next they lifted the body with care and laid it on white sheets, which they folded over and around. Once they had strapped it onto the emergency toboggan, Osborne said, “Chief, do you have a minute?” He waved for her to join him.

  “Be right there,” she said as she climbed up the snow bank and walked his way. “I’m pooped, Doc. Ray’s got all the photos I need so we can head back shortly. How you doing?”

  “I’m fine but I think I know why we found our victim tucked under here.”

  “Because whoever it is thought they could hide the body under the lake ice only to discover it’s so shallow along the shoreline that there was no way they could hide it there?” asked Lew.

  “I don’t think they realized that the stream starts at the lake and runs north into the swamp. I’ll bet you anything they expected the water to be run under the bridge and out into the lake—strong enough to carry a body out, even if it took a while.”

  “You may be right, Doc. Ray and I were just saying it appears that some tools were carried in here, too. An axe and a saw at least.”

  “No ice auger?”

  “Not that we can see.”

  “In that case, we’re not looking for an ice fisherman who might have thought to drill a hole ten or twenty feet out from shore and drop the body into the lake …”

  “Or someone who didn’t want to risk being seen by skiers out here. Quite a few folks cross-country ski in the dark these days—especially these trails because they are so level and they run around this lake.

  “Doc, Ray said you two are parked in the lot at the trailhead so I am going to have Terry drive you two out the snowshoe trail here so he can cordon it off at the trailhead. I’ve told Rob that he can drive his car but he has to leave his wife’s in the parking lot until I can get the Wausau boys up to take a good look at it.”

  She shook her head, “I just can’t figure out how Kathy Beltner got down here since we don’t see any sign of someone snowshoeing in to this area. At this point it appears that she was carried in by the individual who walked in from the access road—but how did she get there? We have boot prints but no sign of snowshoes.”

  As she spoke, Ray walked over to the ATV with his gear and set it down. “All set, Chief, I’ll load these into the computer tonight and send them your way.”

  “Ray, I’m trying to figure out one thing,” said Lew, and repeated her mystification over the lack of snowshoe tracks. “I know it’s late but will you keep an eye out in case you see something as you drive back with Terry?”

  Minutes later as Terry maneuvered the ATV down the trail through the overhanging branches loaded with fresh snow, Ray raised a hand for him to stop. “Hold on, let me check something.” He got out of the ATV and walked along the trail a few feet, then came back. “Nothing, just a deer trail is all.”

  As he got back into the ATV, Osborne asked Terry, “how much snow have we gotten anyway?”

  “I was told it’s been falling at the rate of two inches an hour,” said Terry.

  “So between four this afternoon and right now, we’ve gotten anywhere from ten to sixteen inches of new snow?”

  “Something like that.”

  “That’s a bitch,” said Ray. “Only saving grace might be that precip we got earlier. If that stays frozen, I might be able to scout tomorrow in the daylight.”

  “I know Lew is hoping you’ll find the snowshoes. Locating where they were dropped might tell us more about what happened out here.”

  “Unless the killer kept them—as a trophy.”

  Osborne stared at Ray as the ATV bounced along the trail. “That’s an unpleasant thought.”

  As Osborne gazed at her across the kitchen table, Lew wolfed down the rest of her dinner. It was past two in the morning and he had been pleasantly surprised when she said she would follow him home: “I have to, Doc, I left all my clothes for tomorrow at your place—oh, it is tomorrow. Oh well.”

  Soon after they slipped into bed. Osborne was careful to take his side, knowing she had to be exhausted. He turned out the light on bed table beside him. Outdoors, the snow had finally stopped. A haze of moonlight lit the room.

  Lew moved against him in the dark.

  “Are you sure?” he said.

  “Doc,” her voice was soft, “it’s one way to remind ourselves that every minute counts.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Sitting at the conference table in front of the west windows in Lew’s office, Osborne sipped from his coffee mug as he checked through his notes from the night before. He wanted to be sure he had covered everything that he had observed from arriving at the trailhead to leaving three hours later.

  This afternoon, he and Lew would compare notes. It wasn’t unusual for each of them to see or hear different things. More than once observations that seemed insignificant at the time grew in importance as an investigation progressed.

  Setting aside his notebook, he opened the folder holding the death certificate for Kathy Beltner, then checked his watch and consider
ed whether or not to call Rob. Osborne needed Rob to find his wife’s birth certificate in order to confirm the name of the hospital where she had been born. It was shortly after nine and while it might be early to call, Osborne doubted the poor guy had slept much anyway. Sympathy for the younger man swept over Osborne: he knew too well that for Rob Beltner, life would never be the same. For his two children, news of their mother’s death must still seem like a bad dream.

  “More coffee, Doc?” asked Lew, glancing over from where she sat at her desk working on the computer.

  “Sure. I’ll give Rob Beltner a call in a minute. This death certificate is almost complete—then I’ll get out of your hair.” After handing Lew his mug, he scanned the document one last time, making a mental note to put the name and address of the hospital where he had been born somewhere easy for his daughters to find when it was his turn to go—naturally or otherwise.

  “You are not in my hair,” said Lew, giving his shoulder an affectionate squeeze and setting the refilled mug down on the conference table. “Take your time, Doc, I like having you around.”

  No sooner had she settled back into her chair when the phone on her desk rang. “Yes, Marlaine,” said Lew to the switchboard operator, stationed at the department’s front desk. “Oh? Oh … sure, send her in. And I’m expecting Ray Pradt to arrive sometime soon as well. Please send him right in when he gets here, okay? Thank you.”

  Rolling her eyes, she put the phone down and said, “Doctor Patience Schumacher is here and demanding to see me ASAP.”

  “Doctor, hmm,” said Osborne, the title warring with his memories of a much younger Patience Schumacher. Well, Lew, you’ve been expecting this.”

  “Yeah, well, nice of her to call ahead.”

  “Time for me to skedaddle,” said Osborne getting to his feet. “If the daughter is anything like her old man this won’t be fun. That gentleman was one demanding sonofabitch. He’d be up from Chicago for the summer, have a toothache all day but not call the office until after I’d left and then torture my poor receptionist until she would give him my home number.

  “Twice I opened the office after hours for him. And wouldn’t you know—that jerk would take a year to pay. In fact,” said Osborne tilting his chin up in thought, “there was one year he never did pay. And the man was worth millions. I got so tired of that razzbonya, I sicced him on poor Doc Metternich.”

  “Ha!” said Lew with a snort, “that is exactly why you are going to sit right back down, Deputy Osborne. I need someone who has some history here. And given how well you know Ray, it may be that between the two of us we can smooth some feathers and keep this issue from escalating.”

  “I have an idea,” said Osborne. “We could offer a plea bargain of sorts. Make Ray guide them fishing for a day to make up for the drive-by scattering. They, in turn, have to listen to his jokes. Payback for their lack of basic human kindness.”

  Lew gave him the dim eye. “And one sure recipe for disaster.”

  Osborne shrugged. If the daughter was as arrogant as the father, Ray just may have the potential to drive her out of her mind. He grinned at the thought.

  On hearing a loud knocking on the closed door of her office, Lew sighed and got to her feet.

  Patience Schumacher was one of those unfortunate women who inherited her father’s looks. If Osborne’s estimate was even close, she stood a good six foot two. But where the old man had been a star basketball player in his youth—long, tall and lanky—Patience was long, tall and just plain big. Big-boned and big-breasted, with legs the diameter of an oak all wrapped in a charcoal grey business suit. The tailoring was good but optical fashion illusions can only go so far

  Her hair, a tweedy mix of brown and grey, was cut so close to her skull that Osborne wondered if she trimmed it herself with an electric razor. Squirrel cheeks emphasized the massiveness of her Schumacher head and intense brown eyes darted around the room like a rodent searching for acorns.

  Her cheeks were flushed with emotion and her voice was low, husky and loud as she pumped Lew’s hand saying, “Good morning, Officer,” then turned on her heel to stride across the room towards Osborne with a hand extended. She threw a black fur coat over the chair beside him and said, “Sheriff, so good of you to see us this morning.” The husky voice came with a purr both ingratiating and seductive. Osborne wondered if she spoke to women that way.

  Clearing his throat, he stood up from behind the conference table and placing both hands on the back of his chair, he said, “Sorry, I’m just a deputy and Chief Ferris there,” he nodded towards Lew, “runs the Loon Lake Police Department.”

  “Oh.” Patience swung back around to face Lew. “I just assumed …” She had dropped the purr. “Of course, I should have known. But you look so familiar,” she said looking back at Osborne. She paused a beat then said, “Oh, now I remember. You’re Dr. Paul Osborne. You used to be our family’s summer dentist years ago—right?”

  “Yes, but I am retired from my practice and assist Chief Ferris when there are forensic matters such as dental records that require analysis.”

  “Dr. Osborne helps in other ways too when my department is shorthanded,” said Lew, interrupting in a brisk tone as she beckoned for Patience to take one of the two chairs in front of her desk. “I’m Chief Lewellyn Ferris, and I am a police officer, not the county sheriff. Because it is located within the Loon Lake Township, your property is under our jurisdiction. So, please, have a seat.”

  “Excuse me? Am I in the right place?” asked an unfamiliar male voice. A man Osborne had never seen before stood waiting in the doorway.

  “Charles, sweetheart, please, come in, come in,” said Patience, turning towards him. The purr again. “My husband. We drove two cars,” she said, looking back at Lew as if an explanation was needed for their separate arrivals. “Hurry, sweetie. Remember, I have to be at the college in half an hour.” She pointed to the other chair in front of Lew’s desk. “Here, hon, I saved you a place.”

  Osborne was struck by the woman’s voice—quite the opposite of her father’s, which could fill a room with booming commands. While Patience’s purr tempered her masculine appearance it didn’t soften the visual impact. Was it her voice that had attracted her husband? Or the money? Osborne’s daughters often kidded “an ugly rich man is not ugly.” Does the same hold true for a homely rich woman?

  Osborne struggled to reconcile his memories of Patience with the woman in front of him. As a teenager, she was so shy that on the few occasions her late mother brought her to his dental office, he had difficulty getting more than a mumble out of the kid. Perhaps because of the shyness, it came as no surprise that she entered the convent immediately after graduating from high school.

  It was maybe ten years after that that Osborne learned from her father that Patience had left the convent, gone on to graduate school in business administration and was, at that time, working in the family’s freight and warehousing business located in suburban Chicago. Osborne wondered if the officious tone and over-hearty mannerisms that she was exhibiting today might not be a mask for incredible shyness. Assuming she may have had to report to her father, that wouldn’t surprise him. He could just hear the old man badgering his daughter to “take command, girl! Speak up!”

  “And you are …?” asked Lew, leaning across her desk to shake hands with the man who was even taller than his wife. Later she would replay what occurred in the next few minutes: Was it his slim build or the athletic ease with which he crossed the room? The high cheekbones or the firm thrust to his chin? Maybe it was the soft grey eyes that met and held hers? Or the casual insouciance of the ponytail slung over one shoulder. ‘Cool’ is the word the registered as he approached.

  Whatever the source of the visual chemistry, Lew felt herself drawn in to his gaze. She wasn’t sure but he seemed to hold her hand just a touch too long. An unwelcome flush spread across her cheeks.

  From the opposite side of the desk, Osborne watched the man as he reached to shake Lew’s hand
. Winter pale skin, watery, red-rimmed eyes and a stubble of beard emphasized gaunt features. A ponytail of lank grey hair hung over one shoulder and he walked with a slump as if trying to minimize his height. Osborne wondered if he was well. Either that or the guy didn’t get outdoors much.

  In contrast to his wife’s executive appearance, the husband wore faded jeans that hung off his hip bones and a navy blue sweatshirt so old it was frayed at the cuffs and had long since lost its elasticity around the waist. Conspicuous down the front of the sweatshirt and the jeans were dark stains as if from grease. Random streaks and dabs of bright yellow, Irish green and orange intermingled with the grease spots. Over one arm, he carried a beige shearling coat that looked brand-new and expensive.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Patience, interrupting before the man could answer Lew, “this is my husband, Charles.” After a pause during which neither Lew nor Osborne said a word because they were so busy staring at the guy, she added, “Charles is an artist—he paints.”

  Ah, thought Osborne, recalling that he may have heard something along that line several months ago. Was it one of his McDonald’s buddies who had mentioned that Patience Schumacher had “finally found a husband”? He’d have to check it out.

  “Chief Lewellyn Ferris, Mr …?” said Lew, introducing herself.

  “Mason, Charles Mason,” said the man, answering her implied question.

  “I see. Please, both of you sit. Well, I have your complaint here,” said Lew, hoping against hope that she was no longer blushing. She made sure to look down as she opened the folder on her desk and clearing her throat, said, “I’ve asked Ray Pradt to join us this morning. He should be here any moment and I thought a full explanation of why he was on your property might help resolve—”