Turn to Stone

by Brian Freeman

  The sheriff’s desk was neatly organized. The folders in his inbox made corners as sharp as an army bed, and he kept four matching pens and four matching pencils in a coffee mug. His walls were adorned with community-oriented anti-drug posters and local historical photos dating back to the 1970s. The only personal items in the room were a handful of framed photos on the credenza behind his desk. Stride saw a wife, as stern and round as Weik himself, three teenage boys, and a collage of fishing and hunting pictures.

  That was life for a rural county sheriff.

  “What can I do for you?” Weik asked.

  “I was hoping you could tell me a little bit more about Percy Andrews.”

  “Why?”

  Stride ran a hand back through his own wavy hair. “Well, his wife Kelli is a good friend of my uncle’s. They’re neighbors. Naturally, she’s distraught about Percy’s death. She doesn’t understand why this happened.”

  “I agree, blowing your head off is not what you’d expect a hero to do,” Weik acknowledged, with a hint of cynical emphasis on the word hero. “I’m still not sure how this involves you.”

  “Kelli asked me to talk to some of the people who knew Percy. She doesn’t feel comfortable doing so herself. She wants to know if he said or did anything that might give her a clue as to why he did this. According to her, it was completely unexpected.” He paused and then added: “I have to admit, I’m curious about it myself. I was there. I feel like I have a personal stake in this.”

  Weik combed his mustache with his finger. “Don’t you have a job elsewhere, Lieutenant?”

  “I told Kelli I would take a day, maybe two. No more. I don’t want to get in your way, but this isn’t a criminal investigation anyway. I just want to give his wife a place to start to make sense of this.”

  He could see that Weik looking for a way to object. The man’s eyes were droopy but focused, like the stare of a bloodhound. He was a smart, serious man, but he was a politician, just as Neal Gandy had said. In this case, one of his cops had committed suicide. That looked bad to the public. And a stranger asking questions about it was a wrinkle he didn’t need.

  “I’ll be discreet,” Stride added.

  Weik nodded. “No press. You don’t talk to any reporters. This place will be crawling with media as soon as word gets out.”

  “Of course.”

  “You have no official capacity here whatsoever. You’re a private citizen. Someone doesn’t want to talk to you, you leave.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Don’t prolong this, Lieutenant.”

  “I won’t.” Stride leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Do you have any idea why Percy killed himself, Sheriff?”

  “None.”

  “You were his boss,” Stride said.

  “That’s right, I was his boss, not his shrink or his priest. Our relationship was professional. That’s all.”

  “I gather you didn’t like him.”

  “I neither liked nor disliked him,” Weik retorted. “I don’t know how you run things, but I make it a point not to get chummy with my officers. They’re my employees, not my friends.”

  “I get it. I just wondered if you’d had any feedback from colleagues about his performance lately. Or if you’d noticed changes in his behavior. Cops face a lot of stress. They don’t always deal with it well.”

  Weik shrugged. “If Percy had something on his mind, he didn’t tell me about it. This is a rural county, Lieutenant. My officers don’t have easy jobs, but they don’t face the extremes you’d find in an urban environment.”

  “Percy killed a man,” Stride pointed out. “That’s always traumatic for a cop.”

  “It was four years ago. He was doing his job. It put his face on the cover of national magazines, and he wound up with a pretty young wife as a result. He became our local hero and celebrity rolled into one. All in all, I’d say he came through the experience unscathed.”

  “There can still be guilt under the surface.”

  “If there was, I didn’t see it.”

  “What was Percy working on recently?” Stride asked. “Kelli mentioned a disappearance.”

  “Greg Hamlin,” Weik told him. His mustache twitched into something approximating a smile. “That was his wife in my office just now. Hope Hamlin. She figures if you have enough money, and you screech loudly enough, you can get whatever you want.”

  “Is there anything unusual about the case?”

  “A wealthy man in his late fifties vanishes in a small town. That’s uncommon, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say unusual. He’s gone. His car’s gone. His credit cards and accounts haven’t been touched. Percy had two theories. Either Greg drove into a lake one night, in which case we’ll find him sooner or later. Or he got tired of listening to Hope jabber into his ear, and he ran away for good. In which case he’s probably on some beach in Mexico, where he never wants to be found. Either way, our hero didn’t make headway solving the case, but I don’t imagine that’s enough to make a cop decide to kill himself.”

  “Did Percy have close friends on the force?” Stride asked.

  “Not that I know of. His best friend was Tom Bruin, but Tom’s dead.”

  “Bruin was the last coroner?”

  “That’s right. You could talk to his wife Anna. Percy spent a lot of time with her after Tom died. A lot of time.”

  Stride heard something in the sheriff’s voice. “Do you think there was something more between them?”

  “I’m the sheriff, not the gossip columnist,” Weik replied dismissively. “People talk in small towns. Rumors spread. Who knows whether any of it is true?”

  Stride knew all about small towns. If there was a businessman with dirty laundry, or a marriage on the rocks, the local police were typically the first to hear about it. And if it involved a potential rival, he was sure that a shrewd politician like Weik would find a way to make sure that tongues kept wagging.

  He stood up and extended a hand. “Well, I appreciate your time, Sheriff.”

  Weik shook his hand, and his grip was like a bear’s. “Remember the boundaries, Lieutenant. This is personal, not professional. Wrap it up fast and go home. Nothing good comes from a tragedy like this.”

  “You’re right about that,” Stride replied.

  He didn’t make it back to his Ford Expedition, which was parked on Main Street, before Hope Hamlin pounced on him. The feisty blond woman got between him and his truck and jabbed a ruby-nailed finger at his chest. It was like having a hawk plummet from the sky with claws extended.

  “I know who you are!” she snapped.

  “Do you?”

  “I asked around. You’re Richard Heling’s nephew. You’re an investigator from Duluth.”

  “That’s true,” Stride replied. “I know who you are, too, Mrs. Hamlin. I’m very sorry about your husband.”

  Hope unfolded a newspaper article and shoved it in his face. The cold breeze caught it and made the paper flap. “See? This is Greg. He’s been missing for weeks, but the police here couldn’t care less.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “Like hell it’s not! I want to hire you. I need somebody to do something. You investigate things. Investigate this!”

  Stride smiled politely. “I’m really sorry. I can’t help you.”

  “I’ve got money. I’ll pay whatever it takes.”

  “It’s not about money.”

  Hope crumpled the paper into a tight ball and shoved it inside her purse. Her face was flushed, which matched her lipstick. “Sure, you cops all stick together. I get it. Brush it under a rug. Percy Andrews didn’t care. He didn’t spend ten minutes finding out what happened to Greg. He practically hung up on me whenever I called. Now Weik is doing the same thing.”

  “I sympathize with you,” Stride told her. “Investigations often don’t move as fast as families want. That doesn’t mean nothing’s happening.”

  “You think I don’t know what people are saying? Everybody says G
reg left me. He disappeared because he wanted to get away from me. Well, trust me, my husband would never do that.”

  Stride slid his sunglasses over his face and unzipped his leather jacket as he swung open the door of his truck. His breath made a fog. “I really hope you find him, Mrs. Hamlin. Believe me, I do.”

  “Then help me figure out where he is. I already told you I’d pay. I’m sure it’s more than a cop like you makes.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s a job for the local police, not an outsider like me. If you do want to hire your own investigator, you can find a list of state-licensed private detectives online. I’m sure one of them would be happy to work for you.”

  Hope Hamlin, who wasn’t even wearing a coat to battle the cold morning, turned on her high heels and stamped away toward the county courthouse building with her elbows flying. Stride watched her go. He understood her frustration, no matter how annoying she was. People who had lost loved ones didn’t want to be patient. They wanted answers. Now.

  Just like Kelli Andrews.

  He also realized that something was bothering him. Hope Hamlin had said that Percy Andrews could barely find time in his day to search for her missing husband. He didn’t care about the case. He’d brushed it under a rug. He’d ducked her calls. Maybe it was just his way of dealing with a difficult, demanding crime victim, but it still didn’t make sense.

  Kelli Andrews had said the opposite was true.

  She’d said Percy was obsessed with finding out what happened to Greg Hamlin.

  6

  The baby monitor squawked from the bookshelf. Stride had heard a child playing happily for half an hour—and the off-key voice of a teenage girl singing Lady Gaga songs—but the baby was crying for her mother now. Anna Bruin put down her cup of tea with a smile and apologized as she left the room.

  Seconds later, Stride heard Anna through the speaker as she took her child from the babysitter and comforted her. The baby’s cries immediately quieted.

  Stride got up and wandered to the patio doors. The rear of the Bruin house overlooked a snowy back yard and the half-frozen Wolf River. He saw a fishing boat mounted on a trailer and a boat dock waiting for the spring thaw. This was a doctor’s house, large and comfortable, with the best view in the area. The lot was situated on the western riverbank, on a long dead end street lined with similar luxury homes. On the far shore, he saw the industrial section of town, where lumber mill workers could eat their lunches by the river and stare at the waterside mansions.

  Shawano was like most Wisconsin small towns. It had a tiny professional upper crust and a much larger population of hourly workers and farmers. Beyond the cluster of city streets on the river, the quiet roads led into vast swaths of rural fields and densely forested land. The town was located on Highway 29 between Wausau and Green Bay, but the expanded four-lane highway no longer crawled through the center of town as it had for decades. The highway diversion had cost Shawano tourist dollars, but the nearby lakes and woods still attracted campers and fishermen during the summer and hunters and snowmobilers during the frozen months. The cold spring, after winter and before summer, was the quiet time.

  Stride felt something familiar about the Bruin house. He recognized it with a sense of claustrophobia as a place of sadness and loss. The house was too big for a widow and baby. It was cluttered by memories. He could still feel the missing presence of Tom Bruin. The late doctor had obviously been a sportsman, because the wood paneling on the walls and the deer heads mounted over the field stone fireplace all reflected a man’s touch. He saw a line of framed photographs perched on the mantle. Bruin, who had been only 47 when he died, had full straw-colored hair and beet-red cheeks. He was stocky and tall, with a beer belly and a big smile. The photographs showed him at play, wearing a Packers cheesehead at Lambeau, toasting with a bottle of Leinie’s at a Brewers game, and crouching in head to toe camouflage with a rifle in his hands. It was easy to imagine him bursting in the front door, telling a joke, but all that was left now was a ghost. His own house had felt the same way for a long time after Cindy died.

  He saw Percy Andrews in two of the pictures on the Bruin mantle. Percy was younger than Tom by several years, and he looked shyer and quieter than the doctor, who had his arm around the other man like a bear paw. Percy wasn’t frowning, but he wasn’t really smiling. He looked like a man who thought that the world was a serious place.

  “I’m so sorry,” Anna Bruin announced as she returned to the living room. “Sophie is wonderful with Mya, but sometimes she needs rescue when the crying starts.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you have children, Mr. Stride?” she asked him.

  “No, my wife and I wanted kids, but it didn’t happen before she passed away.”

  Anna nodded in sympathy. It was the unspoken bond between people who had lost their spouses. They were both part of the cancer club. “Mya is a blessing,” she told him. “As hard as it is without Tom, I have her as a reminder. I’m sorry that you weren’t so fortunate.”

  “That’s kind of you,” he said.

  “Others who haven’t been through it don’t really understand, do they?”

  He shook his head. “No, they don’t.”

  The two of them sat down again. Anna was tall and bird-like, with thin bones and a long neck. She wore glasses, and her face was narrow and pointed. She had brunette hair cut in a simple style that hung straight down and swished in broad curls at her shoulders. He assumed she had money, but she wasn’t showy about it. Her clothes were plain. She wore no jewelry, other than her wedding ring and a gold chain with a cross around her neck. She was obviously younger than her husband had been, and Stride guessed she was about the same age as Kelli Andrews, in her early thirties.

  “I have to tell you, I’m in shock about Percy,” Anna said.

  “Of course.”

  “Kelli must be devastated.”

  “She is.”

  “I truly can’t understand it. This was so unlike Percy. He was a man of faith, and he was so devoted to Kelli. I simply can’t conceive what would have driven him to something like this. You were there? You saw it?”

  Stride nodded.

  “And he gave no clue?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Well, I’m at a loss,” Anna said.

  “It sounds like you knew him pretty well.”

  “Oh, yes, he was like an older brother. Percy and Tom were thick as thieves when I first met Tom ten years ago. I joined the hospital fresh out of nursing school, and Tom and I started dating shortly thereafter. Even then, I knew it was a package deal. Tom and Percy came joined at the hip. They were both sports fanatics. Hunting and fishing, too. Tom has a camper on some land we own near Richmond, and the two of them used to solve all the problems of the world out there.”

  “Nice.”

  “Yes, we cried together when Tom passed away. It was as hard on Percy as it was on me. Honestly, this is like dealing with Tom’s death all over again to lose Percy. I don’t know what I would have done without him this past year. I’ve had Mya to care for, and Tom used to do everything around the house for us. Percy was kind enough to help me whenever he could.” Her face darkened, and her mouth pinched together. “By the way, I know what people say about us. The rumors aren’t true. There was no affair. Percy wasn’t that kind of man, and I’m not that kind of woman.”

  Stride waited without saying anything. Anna put down her tea and smoothed her skirt. She got up from the sofa and went and picked up a photograph of her husband. Her mouth bent into a sad smile.

  “You look for someone to blame when cancer strikes,” she murmured.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “God, yourself, the universe.”

  “Absolutely,” he said.

  “It happened so quickly. In a few months, Tom went from this strong man, full of life, to a skeleton, a fraction of what he was. He was so weak. We had to move him to the first floor, because he couldn’t go up the stairs anymore. I’d listen to
him on the baby monitor, and I would hear him labor to breathe. I don’t know if it’s more agonizing on the victim or the survivor.”

  “It’s awful for both,” Stride said.

  Anna stared at her husband’s smiling face in the photograph. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Tom thought the cancer was a curse. Like he’d sold his soul or something. Like he was being punished.”

  “For what?”

  “He wouldn’t say, but I think he felt guilty about his relationship with Percy. There was kind of a shadow between them in the last few years. They still hung out together, but it wasn’t the same. I think when Tom got sick, it helped the two of them get past some things. You know, you get pretty focused on what really matters when you’re staring death in the face.”

  “What was the problem between them?” Stride asked.

  Anna hesitated. “Kelli.”

  “How so?”

  “Tom—well, I’m not sure Tom approved of Percy marrying her.”

  “Why not?” Stride asked.

  “Kelli’s very pretty, very sweet, but Tom wasn’t sure if her feelings for Percy were genuine. A terrible experience can bond people together, but I don’t know if you can build a lifetime on it. Percy and Tom argued, and they agreed to put it aside, but I don’t think Percy ever completely forgave Tom for how he felt.”

  “What about you? How did you feel about it?”

  “Me? Well, I like Kelli, but I don’t know her very well. We’re not exactly cut from the same cloth. She’s much bolder, more out there, more New Age. I have to say, I’m not keen on the work she does with abusers, either. If it were up to me, we’d string them all up, but I guess we need people like Kelli who can try to help them. Which is frankly amazing to me, after what happened to her. I couldn’t be alone with men like that after what she experienced. Percy didn’t like it, either.”

  “Did Percy and Tom reconcile before he died?” Stride asked.

  “I think so,” Anna said. “Percy was there on Tom’s last day. I went for a walk and gave them space. Tom seemed more at peace after that. He was gone a few hours later. I was holding his hand right to the end.”