Murder Lake

by Dan Ames

  Ellen nodded. She absentmindedly spun the stem of her wineglass.

  Suddenly, she stopped.

  Her jaw popped open slightly.

  “What?” he asked.

  A small smile formed on Ellen’s face.

  “He’s here, all right,” she said.

  Dawkins turned in his chair and looked around the bar. “Here?”

  Ellen shook her head. “No, not here.”

  “Then where?”

  Ellen smiled a little bit wider.

  “He’s banging the dry cleaner’s wife.”

  14

  After filling Dawkins in on my conversation with George Heartley, we finished our drinks, and he finished his food. He invited me back to his place, but I declined.

  Back home, I checked the time and realized there was an opportunity to work on the fireplace before I settled in for the night.

  The person who’d owned this house last had covered up much of the original tile.

  It was a shame.

  Now my job was removing the stone veneer, adhesive and paint to expose the original tile in all its glory.

  Doing restoration work soothed me. It gave me time to collect my thoughts while doing something with my hands. Plus, I would have something to show for the effort, a fact that couldn’t always be stated about police work.

  First, I changed into an old pair of jeans and an old University of Detroit sweatshirt. I used them both specifically for work like this and they were both splattered with paint, wood stain, and God knew what else. I put on some John Mayer and got to work.

  As I worked on the fireplace, I was starting to get an idea of what might have gone on in the Holloway murder.

  It wasn’t anything definite, but a few scenarios were growing more concrete as I pondered them.

  During a pause between songs, I thought I heard a noise outside the main window in the living room.

  I glanced up and immediately stopped.

  Someone was outside my window.

  With a gun.

  15

  It was Maddie Burfict.

  She must have come straight from work since her gun was still on her hip. She waved at me, holding up a bottle of wine.

  I laughed and waved for her to come to the front door and I let her in.

  “Good way to get shot,” I pointed out.

  “With your caulking gun?” she answered.

  “I’m deadly accurate with it.”

  “No doubt,” she said, following me back to the kitchen. “Sorry about that. You weren’t answering the door so I thought I’d go around back and check there.”

  “Yeah, the music was pretty loud. So what brings you here?” I asked.

  Once the wine was open, I poured a glass for each of us.

  “I wanted to warn you, I guess,” she said.

  “Warn me? About what?”

  Maddie sighed and leaned back against the counter. She swirled the wine in her glass. “Fred Donovan.”

  I laughed. “No surprise there.”

  She shook her head. “He’s been in the station a long time. I think he thought that he was going to get the promotion to chief. He’s put a lot of people away, kept the peace. And he knows pretty much everyone.”

  “Sometimes an outsider’s perspective is better. Less biased. Less history.”

  “I agree.” Maddie took a sip. “I think it was good that the council chose you. You’re a good cop. You’re not biased, like you said, and you’ve got no history here. But Donovan doesn’t feel that way. He’s been pretty vocal about how he thinks he should’ve gotten the job instead.”

  “And let me guess, the entire station knows about it.”

  Maddie looked guilty. “Yeah. I’ve thought about not saying anything. It felt like tattling, y’know? But I didn’t want you blindsided and I figured you needed to hear it from someone you knew was a friend.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.” I sighed. Of course not even a picturesque place like Good Isle would be devoid of its politics. “I’m not too worried though.”

  Grosse Pointe was much more sophisticated than Good Isle, plus, it was a community that dealt with being right next to Detroit proper. If I could handle a big staff of cops over at Grosse Pointe, then I could handle the small crew here at Good Isle. There was no reason to get myself worried about something that would probably go nowhere.

  “You should be worried,” Maddie replied. “People hold onto things. If it’s important enough, you remember it. Like I had this sweetheart in high school. The nicest person I ever knew. I never got over it and it’s been ages.”

  “Those are good memories, though. Of course, you’re going to hold onto those.”

  “I’d argue that people hold onto bad memories longer than good memories.”

  I took a drink of wine. “Maybe,” I said. “But that’s pretty pessimistic, which is usually my job.”

  Maddie laughed. “This is why I like you, Ellen. You’ve got a sense of humor. We need more of that around here.”

  “Thanks for the warning, but I’ll put Donovan in his place if I have to.”

  “I hope that you’re right.” Maddie took another sip of her wine. “So what were you doing in that room, anyway?”

  “Renovation.” I led her back over to the fireplace. “See this? Some idiot covered it up.”

  “That’s a shame, it’s beautiful. What I can see of it.”

  “I’ve just got to finish removing the bricks, and then I can start fixing whatever he did to the wood. Cleaning it properly.”

  “I had no idea you did this sort of thing,” Maddie admitted.

  “I’m your boss, I think I’m allowed to have some secrets,” I replied, smiling. “Gotta maintain my air of mystery and all that. I don’t get as much time to do this stuff as I’d like but I got off early today so…”

  My phone rang, and it was one of my officers at the station. I listened as he filled me in.

  After I disconnected, I looked at Maddie. “I’m heading in.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  I drank the last of my wine in one big gulp.

  “One of Holloway’s kids came in. Reported that some new evidence has been found.”

  “What?”

  “A letter. Blackmail.”

  16

  You think you’re untouchable? I know what you did. Pay up or suffer.

  That was it. I looked at the note. A plain sheet of paper. Black ink.

  The crime scene techs would take it from here, dust it for prints and look for anything else of value.

  For now, that’s all it told me.

  Holloway had been excited. That’s what his children had told me. He’d been planning a celebration. Not a wedding to Maura, if she was to be believed when she said it was a fling. But something. Why would he be cheerful if he had someone blackmailing him?

  There was only one group of people who might shed more light on this: his kids.

  I drove out to the Holloway house and found Junior and Leslie still there. The place was a mess. There were boxes everywhere. Furniture was all gathered into the center of the rooms. Rugs were rolled up. I stepped gingerly around everything and hoped I wouldn’t knock over the stacks of fine china.

  “Chief Rockne,” Leslie said. She had on a pair of old khakis and a Black Crowes T-shirt. She was a lot more athletic than I’d previously seen. Her arms were firm with muscle. She was in great shape, and strikingly beautiful. “What do you have for us?”

  “I’m pursuing a couple of leads,” I said. Best to leave it vague.

  “We really appreciate all that you’re doing,” Junior said. He was carrying some books from the bookshelf and putting them into boxes. “We want you to find out who did this.”

  “He wasn’t always the warmest person, but he was our father,” Leslie said. “If there’s anything we can do to help, just say the word.”

  “I actually wanted to ask you about the note that you brought to the station yesterday,” I said. “Where did you fin
d it?”

  “Wallace found it,” Leslie said. “I’m sorry he’s not here right now. He went to get us all lunch. It was in my father’s desk drawer. There were other papers in there too but it was all legal stuff. Car insurance, things like that.”

  “So there were no other notes like that one?”

  Leslie and Junior shook their heads. “And we definitely looked,” Junior assured me.

  I glanced around at the piles of furniture and boxes, seeing if there was anything I could use to continue the conversation and get more information. “You said that your dad was excited about something. But this note would suggest that he was being threatened. Not really something to get excited about.”

  There were some family photos sitting on top of one of the boxes. There were several. A few of them included an older woman with blue eyes. She must have been Holloway’s deceased wife. Most of them had to do with the kids though. There was one of Junior during his Little League years. Another showed a young Leslie around high school age with her arms around a friend. Leslie looked bright and happy.

  “I know, that’s why finding the letter was such a shock,” Leslie said.

  Her words jolted me back to the conversation. “So there was no sign that your dad was receiving threats?”

  “None. I’d have thought he’d have raised a fuss,” Junior said.

  “Not if it was—” Leslie suddenly stopped herself.

  “Not if it was what,” I said, pressing.

  Leslie and Junior looked at each other. “Wallace is more the type to tell you,” Junior admitted. “He and Dad never got along. He was always convinced that Dad was guilty.”

  “Some people said that Dad was taking bribes,” Leslie said. “But there was never any proof, it was all rumors.”

  “It was enough to run him out of office though,” Junior grumbled. “He wasn’t planning on retiring yet. But what are you going to do when everyone thinks you’re a crook?”

  “If someone had proof that he had taken bribes then he wouldn’t have let on,” Leslie added. “He was always telling us that he was innocent and that he never did it.”

  “Sounds like from this blackmail that he actually did do it,” I pointed out.

  Leslie looked crestfallen. Junior just seemed resigned.

  “We’ve no proof of anything,” I added. That seemed to lift Leslie’s spirits a little. “I’m just trying to get at every angle here. I’ll let you know when I have something more solid.”

  “Of course,” Leslie said, but her words rang hollow.

  17

  Back at the station, I downloaded a Google image of Dr. Khatri, and sent it over to our property tax office in City Hall, stamped with an urgent request. I also cc’d everyone I could think of in the department.

  By the time I’d gotten a fresh cup of coffee and was back at my desk, so was the answer.

  It turned out that a man matching the image had been a fairly regular visitor to the tax office in Good Isle. There had been issues with his property tax and a dispute over a property border with a neighbor.

  The tax assessor had answered my email with the above information and an address in Eden’s Grove.

  As if the name wasn’t a bit of a giveaway, the town was pretty exclusive. I’d swung through there once, and it was much smaller than Good Isle, but much more exclusive. Entry point in terms of real estate was at least two million.

  In my squad car, I swung by and picked up Dawkins, figuring it might throw the doctor off if I showed up with someone who knew him from his past.

  “You up for some more sidekick work?” I asked.

  “You caught me at a great time, I was just wondering what to do today.”

  “Tough life,” I said.

  “It is, actually,” he responded and I was caught a bit off-guard by the tone of his voice.

  On the way, I filled him in on what I’d learned, and then I thought about which angle might be best to take with Dr. Khatri.

  The Maura approach didn’t seem likely. She’d said the thing with Holloway was just a fling. She was separated from her husband. And she was making pet hats to support herself.

  George’s description of an Arab terrorist had been outlandish at first, but what if he’d been right?

  If Khatri had killed Holloway for Maura, then why wasn’t he with her? Why hadn’t he swooped in to sweep her off her feet?

  It was looking to me like the bribery angle was more likely. But why would Khatri kill Holloway? Perhaps Khatri and the blackmailer were two different people and Khatri had killed Holloway to keep him from talking to the blackmailer.

  I punched the address into my phone’s map app. “We’re heading up to see Khatri. I want you there since you’ve met him before.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I was kind of hoping for a stakeout or something.”

  “Some guys wear diapers because you can’t leave to take a leak. Are you wearing one?”

  “Ah, I forgot. Next time,” Dawkins said. He started fiddling with the radio, singing along to a snippet of a song. He was off key, but I had a sneaking suspicion that it was on purpose. I told him about John and my two lovely nieces, and admitted how I missed getting to see them all the time. We discussed sports and why I wanted to become a cop. When we reached Eden’s Grove and Dr. Khatri’s place, it felt like no time had passed.

  The town, by the way, was as extravagant as I’d remembered. Huge waterfront homes the size of three houses put together. Enormous boats parked at the marina. Main Street was a cobblestone lane with high-end boutique shops on either side.

  The navigation app directed us to one of the most impressive of the waterfront homes. It was newer but done in the French colonial style. A touch on the gaudy side, but not as bad as some of the others I’d seen.

  “I always wanted to build myself a house like this when I was younger,” Dawkins said, gesturing at the house. “Never got around to it, though.”

  “A McMansion?” I asked. “Why would you ever want one? No character.”

  We got out of the squad car and I rang the doorbell.

  There was no answer.

  “Maybe he’s with a patient?” Dawkins suggested.

  “At home? This guy doesn’t work from home.”

  “His car’s in the garage there,” Dawkins pointed out, leaning back to look around to the side. There was a very nice BMW parked in the garage.

  “Let’s go around and check out back,” I said.

  Dawkins looked excited.

  We picked our way through the lovingly tended bushes and garden and got up to the back porch. I stared at the pool in the backyard. “He has a lake right here. Why does he need a pool?”

  “You get to be a certain level of rich,” Dawkins said, “and you just keep finding excuses to spend the money.”

  I stepped up to the door and was about to knock, but stopped.

  The door was already slightly open.

  The chill at the back of my neck worked its way down my spine. I pulled my gun. “Dawkins, get behind me,” I ordered in a whisper.

  To his credit, Dawkins didn’t flinch. He simply did as instructed.

  I took a deep breath and eased the door open. The house was dark inside.

  “Dr. Khatri?” I called out.

  There was no answer.

  The house was pretty dark as we entered. My gun was in my hand, pointed down at the floor.

  Maybe the doctor wasn’t home and I was simply doing a breaking and entering, with a witness. The kitchen was enormous, with two sections and several doors leading most likely to walk-in coolers.

  “What’s that smell?” I asked.

  “I showered after my workout,” Dawkins said. “Don’t blame me.”

  It was an oddly sweet scent. I could have sworn I’d smelled it before. And underneath that, something else. Something very familiar.

  “That’s not good, whatever the hell it is,” Dawkins whispered.

  “Dr. Khatri?” I called one more time, just as we rounded the
corner into the dining room.

  Dawkins tensed behind me as we both saw something sprawled across the massive dining room table. There were oil paintings on the walls and an elaborate chandelier.

  Underneath the chandelier, I could see Dr. Khatri.

  “Holy shit,” Dawkins said. “That’s him.”

  I moved in to take a closer look.

  He had been dead for about a day, I’d guess.

  Tied to the table.

  His wrists slit.

  Empty eye sockets looked back at me.

  18

  As a civilian Dawkins couldn’t be part of an active crime scene. He wasn’t even a civilian consultant, although he tried that one on me. I pointed out that this wasn’t television and he wasn’t Sherlock Holmes.

  I let the guys from the lab do their thing. I’ve found there’s no point in asking a ton of questions right off the bat. The answer is usually, “Don’t know yet.”

  From what the medical examiner could tell me, Khatri had been dead for just over a day. It was like I’d thought. So Khatri had been killed after Holloway, but not by much. That didn’t jive with a few of my current theories.

  There was something about that crime scene that kept bugging me. I stood in the dining room as the crime lab did their work and I tried to think. What was it? It felt like there was something I was missing. Something right in front of me, too. That’s the worst.

  Once it became clear that I wasn’t going to get anything more from the scene or the technicians, I drove Dawkins back to Good Isle.

  The drive back was quiet.

  I pulled into the police station parking lot after I’d dropped off Dawkins.

  Donovan came running out of the station, yelling. “Chief!”

  I didn’t think he’d called me that in the entire time I’d been stationed in Good Isle.

  “Donovan, what the hell?” I asked.

  “You have to come see this.” Donovan looked pale. “You have to come and see this now.”