Funeral for a Friend

by Brian Freeman

  “Yes. The location also suggested to me a possible explanation for Ned’s disappearance. August 24 followed a period of heavy rain in the area. The currents were running high and fast, and the Deeps is extremely treacherous at times like that. We’ve lost swimmers there who didn’t understand the power of the undertow and drowned after jumping from the cliff. Most of the victims eventually turn up at the mouth of the Lester River or in Lake Superior, but not all, especially if no one knows they’re missing. So the most likely explanation to me was that Ned—who was a stranger to Duluth and unfamiliar with the risks—may have drowned in the river and his body was subsequently lost in the lake.”

  “You believed that was what had happened to him?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Was there any evidence of foul play?” Maggie asked.

  “No. Well, sorry, that’s not completely true. The passenger window on the Kia had been smashed, suggesting a break-in. However, we didn’t find any evidence to suggest that the break-in and Ned’s disappearance were connected. Vehicle smash-and-grabs aren’t uncommon during the summer.”

  Maggie said nothing for a long, long time. She had a pen in her hand that she tapped slowly on the table.

  “At that point in the investigation, did you share additional information with me about Ned Baer, based on your personal knowledge?”

  Stride stared back at Maggie. She was a cool one. “Yes, I did.”

  “What was that information?”

  “I told you that I had met with Ned Baer on the evening of Tuesday, August 24.”

  “In other words, on the night he disappeared,” Maggie concluded.

  “Apparently so.”

  “Where did this meeting take place?”

  “At the Deeps,” Stride said.

  “So you met with him on the night he disappeared, in the place where he disappeared.”

  “That seems likely, yes.”

  “Did our investigation uncover anyone else who had met with Ned or saw him alive after the time you did?”

  “No. We didn’t locate anyone who reported seeing Ned after the evening of Tuesday, August 24. However, just to be absolutely clear about this, Ned was alive when I left him. Also, at the time of our investigation, I had no reason to suspect foul play. In fact, based on seeing him there, I was able to provide confirming evidence that Ned’s disappearance was likely due to drowning.”

  “Namely?”

  “He was soaking wet, presumably because he’d been diving in the Deeps. He was also drinking. He had a six-pack of beer with him. I warned him that it was a foolish thing to do. He didn’t seem to take my warning seriously.”

  “And that’s why you thought he drowned,” Maggie said.

  “Yes. Until yesterday, that was still what I thought.”

  “Were you acquainted with Ned prior to his disappearance? Did the two of you know each other or have any history together?”

  “No, I met him that one time at the Deeps, and that was all. We had no other contact.”

  “You indicated to me at the time that you met with Ned to discuss his investigation into the allegations against Devin Card,” Maggie said. “Were the police also investigating those allegations?”

  “No. There was no basis to look into an anonymous claim of sexual assault from more than two decades earlier. Even if a victim had come forward, the accusation would have fallen outside the statute of limitations. Our hands were tied.”

  “So what did Ned want to know?” Maggie asked. “Why did he ask to meet with you?”

  Stride felt as if he were a teenager atop the cliffs at the Deeps. Ready to jump. Unsure of what would happen when he hit the water. He’d avoided this moment for the last seven years.

  “He didn’t,” Stride replied.

  Maggie knitted her brow with confusion. “What?”

  “Ned didn’t contact me for a meeting. I was the one who sought him out.”

  His answer froze her into silence. She reached for the button on the voice recorder again, but Stride shook his head and wagged a finger at her, directing her to keep going. He watched emotions whipping in quick succession across her face. Uncertainty. Anxiety. Betrayal.

  She reached into the folder in front of her and removed a single sheet of paper. She began talking faster and breathing hard.

  “Lieutenant Stride, didn’t you tell me seven years ago that Ned Baer contacted you about a meeting, because he wanted to discuss your personal memories of the time in which the alleged assault by Devin Card occurred? And didn’t you tell me that the two of you had a brief conversation at the Deeps, lasting no more than five minutes, during which time you told him that you had no recollection of being at a party with Devin Card twenty-two years earlier and had no recollection of any rumors in Duluth that Attorney General Card had been involved in a sexual assault that summer?”

  “Yes, I did tell you that.”

  “Are you saying that was not true?”

  “It’s true that I had no relationship with Devin Card and had no knowledge of any rumors about his behavior that summer. But that wasn’t why I met with Ned Baer.”

  “You lied to me?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Why did you meet with Ned Baer?” Maggie asked.

  Stride shook his head and didn’t answer.

  “Stride?” Maggie demanded sharply, leaning across the table. “What was the meeting about?”

  “I have nothing to say about that,” he replied. “Ned and I had a conversation, and when it was over, I left. He was alive. As I’ve already told you several times, I didn’t kill him. I also didn’t see Steve Garske anywhere near the Deeps, and he and I never talked about Ned then or ever. I had no knowledge that Ned had been shot and no knowledge that Steve had found the body and buried it on his property. That’s all I have to say.”

  “That’s all …?” Maggie sprang to her feet and pounded her fist on the recorder to shut it off. “Boss, are you out of your damned mind?”

  “Everything will be fine. It’s okay, Mags.”

  “Okay? No. It is not okay. You do not sit here and tell me you lied to my face and then shut up when I ask you a question. That is not how you and I work. You do not hide shit from me. You tell me what’s going on and then we figure out what to do about it. And if we need to smash this recorder into a million little pieces and start over, then that’s what we do. Don’t you get it? I’m trying to protect you.”

  He reached out and put a hand over hers. “I know you are. And you can’t do that, Mags. I won’t let you. This is my problem, not yours. Right now, your job is to figure out who murdered Ned Baer, and I can’t help you with that. Now why don’t you call the chief and get him down here? Because we both know that what happens next is me getting suspended from the department.”

  5

  Peter Stanhope swirled Courvoisier in a bell-shaped glass and waited as the warmth of his hand raised the temperature of the brandy. Then he took a sip—the first sip was always the best—and tasted toffee on his lips and felt the glow spread throughout his chest. Afternoon brandy was one of the finest rituals of his day. He had another glass already poured and ready for Devin Card, but Card was usually late for their meetings. That was life in politics. Even the biggest donors had to wait.

  Rain tapped against the glass of the top-floor windows in his downtown law office. Gray clouds stretched over Lake Superior like a circus big top, and he could see whitecaps dotting the vast expanse of water. The dark Duluth weather matched his mood. As a lawyer, he had a sixth sense for trouble, and trouble was definitely coming.

  He tugged on the collar of his starched dress shirt. His office was warm. The air in the century-old stone building was always a little hot in the summer and a little cold in the winter. He could have moved to one of the modern bank buildings on Superior Street, but he liked sharing space with the ghosts
of previous generations of his family. It kept him connected to his past.

  The Stanhopes were Duluth royalty, alongside legendary names like Congdon, Merritt, and Cooke. Peter’s great-grandfather had built Stanhope Industries, one of the original companies on which Duluth’s fortunes had been founded. That empire had made the family rich. But Peter had seen the writing on the wall when it came to the future of the steel business, and the writing was in Chinese. He sold off his interest in the family company when he was still in his twenties and opened a law firm instead, which would have horrified his father. Thirty years later, Peter had built an empire of his own. His litigation firm was one of the most successful and feared in Minnesota.

  His money had also made him a kingmaker in the state’s Democrat-Farmer-Labor party, and Peter had spent the last decade fitting a crown for his college roommate, Devin Card. The trouble with kings was that they had a nasty habit of getting their heads cut off. Peter had invested a lot of time and money getting Card into the US House of Representatives, and now his old friend was in the middle of a hotly contested campaign for the US Senate.

  This was a bad time for old rumors to come back to life.

  Peter had never craved the limelight of politics for himself. He liked power, not people, and he had no interest in worrying about how his personal life would look in the headlines. He bought what he wanted, traveled where he chose, and slept with women without caring who they would tell. He didn’t apologize for his lifestyle or for being one of the richest men in the state. People called him cocky, which was true. He’d been comfortable with his privileges since he was a boy.

  He wasn’t tall, but he worked out daily and maintained a muscular physique, even at the age of fifty-one. He had Lasik surgery a few years back to correct his eyes, so he no longer wore glasses. His face was freckled, with a large nose and pronounced chin. His hair had gone prematurely silver at a young age, and he now kept it swept back so it wasn’t readily apparent that he didn’t have much of it left.

  The intercom on Peter’s desk buzzed. He heard the brittle voice of his assistant, Louise. “The Congressman is here for you, Mr. Stanhope.”

  Peter grabbed his suit coat off a hook and put it back on. He crossed the plush brown carpet and opened the office door. Devin Card leaned against Louise’s desk as he flirted with the sixty-one-year-old assistant. Two Congressional aides hovered nervously behind him. Card saw Peter, and his face lit up with a snow-white smile.

  “There he is! Peter, how long has it been?”

  “Almost a year, Congressman.”

  “Damn right. Way too long. I miss you! Phone calls aren’t the same, you know. I’m in town all week. We need to squeeze in eighteen and have dinner at the Kitch.”

  “I’d like that. Louise will set it up.”

  “So what’s the emergency?” Card asked. “What couldn’t wait?”

  Peter waved his old friend toward his office. “Let’s talk in here. One-on-one today if you don’t mind. No aides.”

  “Of course.” Card added with a wink, “Mysterious.”

  The two of them went inside. Peter closed the door behind him, shooting a glance at Louise that meant there should be no interruptions. Card saw the brandy on the walnut conference table and didn’t ask if it was for him; he picked it up and finished half with a single swallow. He went to the window and shook his head at the view over the lake and the lift bridge.

  “Shit, Peter, you know how to live. Best view in the city up here. I’d never get anything done.”

  “It’s not Capitol Hill,” Peter replied diplomatically.

  Card dismissed the comparison with a wave of his hand. “Ah, until you’re in the White House, the view is the same. No, I’d rather be here than in Rayburn, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Washington has other benefits. Another drink?”

  “Definitely.”

  Peter retrieved the bottle of Courvoisier and topped off the Congressman’s snifter. Card took another oversized swallow.

  Devin Card was a big man in every way, tall and broad-shouldered, with a booming voice and a habit of gesticulating when he talked, as if every conversation were part of a campaign rally. He and Peter were the same age, but Card’s hair was wavy and blond without a single gray strand anywhere. Peter was handsome in a refined, rich man’s way, but Card was the college quarterback, chiseled and unforgettable, with a boyish smile and Paul Newman eyes. He had charisma. People were drawn to him as soon as he entered a room.

  The two of them went back many years. They’d both grown up in Duluth, but in very different neighborhoods, Peter among the mansions along Congdon Parkway, Devin on the grittier streets of West Duluth. They hadn’t met until they became freshman roommates at Minnesota’s elite liberal arts school, Carleton College. The rich kid and the jock found that they clicked together. Card melded effortlessly into Peter’s moneyed circle, and the two young men became a fixture at the trendiest parties in Minneapolis and Duluth. Throughout college and then law school at the University of Minnesota, they were inseparable.

  Peter knew from his student days that he would open his own law firm. Card knew that he was destined for politics. It was the perfect strategic partnership, and Peter had been the silent navigator behind Card’s steady rise for the past quarter-century, first as state auditor, then Attorney General, then US Representative.

  In November, he’d add US Senator to his resume. And from there? There were no limits.

  Unless it all came crashing down.

  “Everything’s set for the town hall at the DECC on Thursday,” Card announced, wandering over to the large conference table and lowering his big frame into one of the leather chairs. “Polls are looking solid, too. We’ve been holding steady at four up for the past month.”

  Peter took a seat opposite Card. “I know. That’s good news.”

  Card’s bushy eyebrows did a little dance. “Maybe so, Peter, but you don’t look like a man who’s swayed by good news. Today you look like a lawyer. What’s going on?”

  “You’re about to get hit,” Peter replied.

  “By what?”

  “I have a police source who tells me that a dead body has been found. It hasn’t broken in the media yet, but it will soon. And when it does, you’ll be getting questions.”

  “A body?” Card asked, looking puzzled. “Who is it?”

  “Positive identification will probably take a day or so, but the suspicion among the police is that it’s Ned Baer.”

  Card tapped a finger against his lips as he processed the information. Then he said, “Drowned? Was he drowned? I remember everybody thought he went into the Deeps.”

  “No. If it really is Baer, he was murdered. Shot in the head.”

  Card closed his eyes. “Shit.”

  “Needless to say, this is going to unleash a lot of crazy conspiracy theories. Everybody knows Baer was looking into the allegations against you when he disappeared. This is going to bring it all back.”

  Card finished his brandy and shoved his big body out of the chair again. He paced like a tiger. “No way the timing is coincidental. In the middle of the campaign? The GOP is orchestrating this.”

  “Normally I’d agree with you, but it sounds like the circumstances behind this coming to light are pretty random. Some doc on the Point confessed on his death bed to burying the body. Police dug it up earlier today.”

  “Why are they so sure it’s Baer?”

  “I gather this doctor said he found the body at the Deeps. That narrows it down, in terms of missing persons. There’s more, but the cops are keeping the details close. Nobody’s saying much.”

  “Did this doctor kill him?”

  “No, it’s not that neat and easy. Anyway, the timing of this discovery couldn’t be worse.”

  “No shit. Who’s investigating? Stride?”

  “Actually, no. Word is, Stride
has recused himself from the case, which I don’t understand. His number two, Maggie Bei, is leading the investigation, but I hear the chief may bring in an outsider.”

  “Is there still bad blood between you and Stride?” Card asked.

  “We’re not exactly on good terms, but I’m hoping that time heals all wounds. His wife, Serena, did some work for me a few years ago. Stride was actually an ally for us on the Ned Baer case. When Baer disappeared, there was all sorts of online shit about you and me taking out a hit on him. Stride was the one who shut that down. He said the only evidence they had pointed to Baer taking a dive in the Deeps.”

  “Except now it looks like Baer really did get hit,” Card said.

  “Apparently.”

  “And Stride is off the case?”

  “Officially, yes. I’ve got a call in to the chief to learn more.”

  Card shook his head. “I really thought we’d put all of this in the past.”

  “Nothing is ever past in politics,” Peter replied.

  The Congressman folded his arms over his chest. “Ned Baer murdered. I’d like to say I’m sorry, but the man was a prick. Whoever put a bullet in his head was doing a public service.”

  “I know.”

  Card stared down at Peter with his laser-like blue eyes. “Is there anything you and I need to talk about?”

  “I think the less either of us says about this, the better.”

  “I agree,” Card replied. He sat down again and picked up his empty glass. “Got any more of that brandy?”

  “Of course.”

  “Think I should cancel the town hall?” Card asked.

  Peter waited to answer while he went to his desk to get the bottle. He filled both of their glasses. “No. Doing that will make it look like you have something to hide. But you need to be prepared for uncomfortable questions.”

  “Yeah.” Card stared into the amber liquid as if he were reading tea leaves. “It’s not going to end with Baer, is it?”

  “No.”

  “All of the other shit is coming back, too.”

  “Definitely.”