“You did and here we are. Now we take this a step at a time.” Cubiak kept his voice low and tone neutral.
“We need to find my father before something happens to him. You should have started earlier, when I told you to. Not now. Look at the time you’ve lost. But no, not you two”—he looked at them with disgust—“you’ve done exactly nothing. What a fucking joke.” Andrew was flushed and panting.
“There’s been nothing to indicate foul play. Even this note, as threatening as it sounds, may not mean anything. It’s not going to do your father any good if you get rattled by this. You need to listen to us and keep a level head.”
Andrew glared, defiant, and then he slowly folded, took a breath, and steadied himself. “How much do they want?”
“Doesn’t say.”
Andrew pulled at his neck. He was a big guy, built like a football player. “Jesus, who would do this to an old man?” He started to reach for the note and then pulled back.
“What do I do?” he said as he stood and shoved the chair into the wall. “Jesus. What do I do?” he said again as he paced toward the kitchen.
“Nothing yet.” Cubiak pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket. “Who else lives here?”
“The housekeeper and cook have rooms on the third floor. Sometimes they stay overnight but not always.”
“They’re locals?”
“Two women from town.”
“Where are they now?”
“They have the day off when my father goes out of town for a game.”
“I’ll need their names and phone numbers.” He turned to Rowe. “You checked those rooms when you were upstairs?”
“I didn’t know there was another floor. You want me to do it now?”
“No, we’ll get that later.” He said to Andrew, “First thing tomorrow, you contact them and tell them they’re not needed for the next couple of days. Don’t let on that anything’s wrong. Just make a plausible excuse for your father’s absence. Tell them he decided to spend a few days with friends or that he’s away on business.”
Cubiak wanted Andrew closer. He needed to see the man’s face as they talked.
“That your father’s ring?” he said.
Andrew circled back to the table and studied the ring. “Could be. Looks like it. He had a couple two three.”
“Two or three? How’d he get them?” Rowe asked.
“One was a gift from the Packers. Later, he bought one at a charity auction. It had been donated by a linebacker Dad always liked. And there was one, he found on eBay, if you can believe it. He keeps them in a safe back in his little football museum.”
“You know the combination?”
Andrew shook his head and then hesitated as he realized the implication of the situation.
“It’s not that my father doesn’t trust me. I know everything that’s going on with his financial and business holdings. He’s just, well, used to being in charge and you know how it is when people get older and have to start letting go of things. It’s hard. I figured if he needs the satisfaction of having the safe under his control, well, what’s the harm?”
Andrew had regained a bit of color and calmed considerably. What he said made a certain amount of sense to Cubiak. “What besides the rings does he keep in it?” he said.
“The deed to the house, car title. The kind of stuff most people keep in a safety deposit box.”
“Any cash?”
“Probably but generally not much. I’ve seen him take a couple hundred out when he needed to. But he pays the staff in cash, so if it’s coming up on payday there’d be more, maybe a thousand or so.”
Working in an impoverished Chicago neighborhood, Cubiak had seen a man killed for a pair of shoes. He couldn’t imagine something like that happening here. But Door County was moving into winter, when the tourist trade dropped off and many of the residents went on welfare. For someone with bills to pay and no income, a thousand dollars—even a couple hundred—could be very tempting. Would Sneider open the safe or give the combination to the kidnappers? he wondered. Probably not, unless he was threatened with physical harm. The sheriff motioned to Rowe. “Go see if the safe’s been jimmied open.”
Cubiak looked at Andrew. “Do you live here with your father?”
The son huffed, as if insulted by the suggestion. “I have a house on the other side of Green Bay.”
“Married? Single?”
“Divorced.”
“Where’s your ex?”
Andrew laughed. “Exes. Four of them.”
“Children?”
“Four. One kid with each. Son, daughter, son, daughter, in that order.”
Four ex-wives and four kids could add up to a considerable chunk of alimony and child support over the years.
“What is it you do for a living?” Cubiak said.
“I’m an entrepreneur.”
Cubiak waited while Andrew decided how to expand on that nebulous title.
“I’ve bankrolled a number of start-ups—everything from basic manufacturing to high-tech ventures.”
“Sounds iffy.”
Andrew puffed out his cheeks. “Some have been more successful than others.”
Meaning, Cubiak thought, they’d all been pretty much flops. If Andrew needed money or had another motive for wishing to harm his father, he could be behind the kidnapping scheme. He’d know what it would take to get Gerald to leave the game early and could easily have arranged the mysterious phone call that lured the elderly man away from the skybox. But Andrew couldn’t be in two places at one time. He’d need an accomplice. Someone else would have had to waylay his father while he sat through the rest of the game. He couldn’t lie about having stayed to the end; there were too many potential witnesses in the skybox for him to leave early without being seen. Cubiak ran through the time-line. Sneider gets the call that prompts him to depart first; Andrew stays until the end and then races to Ellison Bay and leaves the note before circling back and making the manic drive into Sturgeon Bay that gets him stopped for speeding. Even that could have been part of the plan. By demanding to see the sheriff, Andrew is able to bring Cubiak onto the scene without drawing attention to himself.
“When we came in, the security alarm was on, correct?”
Andrew nodded. “It’s always on when we’re gone. You saw me turn it off.”
“Who else knows the code?”
“The housekeeper and the cook. Dad’s secretary, certainly. Me. And anyone else he accidentally shared it with.” As he talked, Andrew clenched his fists and paced.
“Earlier you said your father worried about the possibility of kidnapping. What you’re saying about the security code contradicts that.”
Andrew slumped against the wall. “He liked to be precise and was always writing notes to himself. Maybe he jotted down the number and then misplaced it or put it where someone else would see it. I don’t know. About the only place he went these past few years was to the games, whenever the team played at home or in Chicago. Usually he’d know the people in the skybox but not always. Anyone could have picked up the information, even one of the waiters.” Andrew straightened again and for a moment it looked as if he was going to start pacing again. Instead he sat down.
“What about security cameras?”
Andrew shook his head. “Father thought they were intrusive.”
Another contradiction, Cubiak thought.
“We need the names of everyone who was in the skybox Sunday. Any contact info, too, if you have it.”
“Why?”
“Someone could have overheard part of the phone call that prompted your father to leave. Or your dad let slip something that might prove helpful. You can pull together the list first thing in the morning. Make sure to include the secretary as well.”
“Him? Father hasn’t actually needed his services for ages.”
“Doesn’t matter. I also need a recent photo of your father.”
“Tonight?”
“Sooner the better.”<
br />
Andrew pushed to his feet. “I’m sure there’s one in the office.”
There were, in fact, dozens of photos—a few taken at charity events and others with the Green Bay Packers.
Cubiak selected two pictures.
“It’s late,” he said. “You should get some rest. I assume you have a room here?”
“I have a suite in the first guest house.” Andrew motioned toward the water.
“You’ll need to stay there, at least for the night. Don’t let anyone in. If the phone rings, answer it. We’ll put a trace on it as soon as possible.”
“You’re not leaving me here alone! What if there’s some crazy out there with a vendetta against the family?”
“Rowe will stay the night and I’ll send a relief deputy in the morning. Also the technicians will be here to dust for fingerprints.” He studied Andrew, who seemed suddenly overwhelmed. “Life will be very different until this is over. You need to accept that.”
“I understand,” he said but without conviction.
“Rowe will help you get settled in. If you need anything later, tell him. I don’t want you wandering around in the dark.” He rested his hand on Andrew’s arm. “I know this is difficult, but try not to worry. We’ll do our best to find your father.”
While Rowe escorted Andrew to his quarters, Cubiak had time to search the grounds for intruders or signs of forced entry. A switch by the patio door lit up several acres of the estate. For someone who preferred darkness, Sneider had installed an impressive battery of floodlights on the property. But perhaps the outdoor lights, like the elaborate furnishings inside, were remnants from a time long gone. In the fog, they did little but cast eerie shadows among the trees and buildings that dotted the grounds.
During those times in his life when he’d had to invent ways to make ends meet, the sheriff had sometimes wondered what people with money did with their wealth. Walking through the mist that blanketed the estate, he saw firsthand how people like Sneider spent their fortunes. They tamed the forest with pruning shears and leveled the unwelcome bumps and contours of the land to accommodate clay tennis courts and an Olympic swimming pool. Beyond that they built a small community of guest houses—each larger than his own modest rental at the other end of the peninsula.
Cubiak was circling back to the main house when Rowe emerged from a swirl of fog.
“Everything okay?” the sheriff asked.
“Yeah, all shipshape and ready to roll, as my father would say. What about out here?”
“No sign of intruders. But difficult to see much, and the ground’s too hard and dry for footprints. Where are you staying?”
“In the suite next to Andrew’s. He gave me the key and told me I’d find everything I needed inside. Can you believe how some people live?”
“Takes all kinds, Mike. When you’re in this business long enough you’ll learn that those who live like this aren’t necessarily any happier than the rest of us.”
Rowe snorted. “Wait until you go upstairs and see what money can buy. Pretty weird. Especially the master bedroom. The old man’s got it outfitted like a hunting lodge. There’s even taxidermied trophy heads on the walls. I’m used to seeing dead deer but this place gave me the creeps.”
Cubiak laughed. “Is that what you were trying to tell me before, in the kitchen?”
“Yeah.”
“The world’s full of weird shit. I’m only concerned with the stuff that’s not legal,” the sheriff said as they stepped onto the patio. He looked at his deputy. “Did you notice anything odd about the kidnappers’ demands?”
“They didn’t specify how much money they wanted.”
“That’s one thing, but there’s more, too. The kidnappers said nothing about not contacting the police. Usually that’s one of the first demands: don’t bring in the authorities.”
“Amateurs? Or someone who wants Sneider to be found? You think maybe Andrew could be behind this whole thing?”
Cubiak smiled, pleased that Rowe had the same suspicion. “It’s certainly possible. But he couldn’t have pulled it off alone,” the sheriff said.
“There’s the cook and the housekeeper. The secretary, as well. They can’t be ruled out.” Rowe looked around. “Think about it. All this fucking money. Might be tough working somewhere like this, surrounded by the kind of stuff you don’t have a chance in hell of ever owning yourself.” The deputy hesitated. “You think someone’s really grabbed him? That they might harm him?”
“I don’t know,” Cubiak said. “You go in and bag up all that stuff with the ransom note.”
While he waited, Cubiak made two phone calls, the first to the Wisconsin crime lab requesting a priority for the tech wagon Monday morning and the second to the Illinois State Police asking for video from the two toll booths between Chicago and the Illinois–Wisconsin state line starting at 4 p.m. Sunday afternoon.
He was still on the line when the yard lights went dark. Rowe must have switched them off, leaving only the perimeter lamps on the patio to shimmer in the fog. A door sprang shut and Rowe stepped up with the evidence bag.
“If you want, I’ll get the word out to the department,” he said as he handed the material to Cubiak.
“Good. Tell them to be in by eight, everyone except you. At this stage, you know as much as I do about the situation and I need you here to get the evidence technicians started as soon as they arrive. Once I’ve briefed the staff, I’ll send up your relief.”
Cubiak glanced at his deputy. “It’s a good thing you got that vacation in when you did. What’d you end up doing down there in Mexico?”
“Mostly water stuff. A little snorkeling. Some scuba diving. Even swam into a shark cave.” Rowe thrust his hand down toward a patch of light. “Look at that, I’ve been back barely a week and my tan’s nearly gone already.”
THE INCIDENT ROOM
Cubiak woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of music, classical guitar, floating in from the hall. He was groggy and lay still, imagining himself somewhere far from his little house on the Lake Michigan shore. Mexico, perhaps. Or Belize, even. He’d never been to either but after listening to Rowe’s chatter about his vacation the sheriff couldn’t help but fantasize about palm trees and water sports, the kind that didn’t include swimming into shark caves.
Maybe last night’s business with Andrew Sneider had been a dream, and in reality he and Cate had flown to the tropics as they’d so often planned. Or they were starting another morning at home in Door County with Cate in the kitchen fixing breakfast. When he’d returned from Ellison Bay, Cubiak had expected to find her sound asleep, with Butch curled up at the foot of the bed. But at a quarter past three, when he finally got in, the house was empty. Had Cate come in later or had she spent the night at her condo? He ran a hand over her side of the bed. The sheet was smooth and cool.
In the shower, Cubiak faced up to the real truth about why he’d been fishing the day before. Yesterday was the day his daughter should have turned eleven. He’d spent the afternoon away from home to avoid seeing reminders of Chicago flashed on the TV screen during the game and being reminded of Alexis’s birthday, but sitting on the rock ledge, all he could think of was the cake lit with candles, the party, and her gleeful delight as she ripped the wrappings off her gifts. This was the nature of grief and its litany of perpetual reminders.
He was still learning what it meant to forfeit one reality, to lose those he loved, and still trying to understand what it meant to try to create a different and separate existence. How to be faithful to what had been, while being true to what was now. His friend Evelyn Bathard had found a way forward following the death of his wife. Could Cubiak do the same? And how did Cate fit in?
Like him, she was carving out a new life on the peninsula. Cate had spent her childhood summers in Door County with her aunt Ruby and uncle Dutch, but after witnessing her aunt’s tragic death, she’d fled and gone back to Milwaukee. Cubiak differed from Cate in many ways and had been surprised to slowly
find himself attracted to her that first summer they met. When she left, he resigned himself to never seeing her again. Since her return two years ago, they’d grown closer: To the point where they were more or less living together and more or less a couple. More than less, really. To the point where Cubiak had started imagining a future for them. Was it even possible, he wondered, considering what had happened with Ruby? Cate said she didn’t blame him. But Cate didn’t know her aunt’s whole story, and Cubiak did.
He’d kept quiet about Ruby’s secret for four years, but he knew that eventually he’d have to tell Cate everything. He’d have to take the chance that the truth wouldn’t jeopardize their relationship.
Cubiak was toweling off when his phone dinged. A text from Rowe gave the names and numbers of Sneider’s cook and housekeeper. So the nightmare was real. Andrew’s father was missing, possibly kidnapped. He had work to do and once again his personal life had to be put on hold.
The sheriff dressed quickly and called Rowe. The deputy reported a quiet night at Sneider’s homestead. No calls, e-mails, or visitors. The staff had been given the day off, as the sheriff had directed, and Andrew was on his fourth cup of coffee.
“You get any sleep?” the sheriff asked.
“Enough.”
Cate had the coffee poured and the bacon on when Cubiak reached the kitchen.
Despite lingering fatigue, he was cheered by the sight of Cate—a woman born to money and privilege—standing in his kitchen like a short-order cook with a cast iron skillet in one hand and a spatula in the other. Seeing her, Cubiak felt his heart lurch. In the morning light she was beautiful. To him, Cate was always beautiful: tall and streamlined, with long brown hair so naturally dark it looked black.
“I got into town late and didn’t want to disturb you, so I went to my place to sleep,” she said.
For Cate, at least temporarily, home was a rented condo at a nearby lakefront development. For the time being, at least, she chose to avoid both her grandfather’s estate and the homestead she’d inherited from her aunt and uncle.
Death in Cold Water Page 3