“They’re rivals?”
“I guess.”
“So he’s definitely objective.”
“Just listen. You’ve seen the place. It’s down the highway just the other side of downtown. It’s called the Dangling Fisherman. I like the logo.”
Turner remembered that the front of the bar had four gigantic picture windows so that as many diners as possible could have views of the dilapidated buildings across the street as they ate. In the top half of the last window going north there was a three-by-six-foot picture of a fisherman caught on a giant hook. He was dangling above the mouth of a gigantic fish, which was about to devour him.
Turner sipped coffee while he listened. The lake water quietly lapped against the hull and the shore. He heard birds and insects. A distant motorboat thrummed for a moment.
Ian said, “Howard was holding court in his restaurant this morning. Seems there’s been political fights in the town as well and squabbling fishermen up and down the lake. You know how the conservationists and the resort owners are always fighting? And the loggers are pissed off at everybody since the plant closed?”
“I’m sort of peripherally aware of it. The one week I’m here I don’t usually attend political meetings in town. That may be what you go on vacation for, but it’s not my thing.”
“Well, this is serious. This kid who is dead is the son of the richest guy in town. You’ve heard of him, J. T. Krohn. That’s why this is such a big deal.”
“I don’t care if the corpses are rich or not.”
“But the community does. And I found out all kinds of inside dirt on the kid.” Ian clamped his fedora further down on his head. “What Kevin said yesterday was true. The kid was the town bully.”
“I didn’t doubt Kevin’s word.”
“No one ever dared lift a hand against Scarth. He was a big kid, six feet four, the star of every team at the local school for years. He was it for Mr. Stud Athlete. Remember yesterday Kevin said he had an injury?”
“Yeah.”
“My sources told me he was also a lazy-ass jerk who preferred to stay around here and sponge off his dad, screw as many of the local girls as he could, commit petty thefts, and live off ill-gotten gains.”
“Mr. Coates didn’t like him.”
“Mr. Coates knows everything about everybody.”
“And he confided all of this in you because?”
“We became good friends very quickly.”
“Do I hear wedding bells in an international relationship?”
“Right now we’re just friends.”
“I’ve got to meet this guy.”
“You will. He’s willing to talk to you. He wants to talk to you. Even if it does piss off the local police. I don’t care if it gets me in trouble. They may be pissed off already, but how would they know who I talked to? Or care?”
“It’s a small town. Everybody knows everything and the cops can get more pissed off. Why don’t you solve it? You know all this. You’ve got the contacts.”
Ian looked abashed. “I want to. I can’t. I tried going to the police station. They threw me out after demanding to know my name, address, country of origin.”
“They were suspicious and should have been.”
“They won’t be suspicious of you.”
“Probably they would be. Even more likely they would be irritated by what they would see as unnecessary interference from someone who has no standing.”
“You’re a cop.”
“Which is not a universal set of permissions to torture suspects in various countries or to conduct investigations even without torture. I have no access to files, to the usual suspects. These guys all drowned, Ian. There is no mystery here.”
“The whole community hated this guy.”
“You took a poll?”
“You should have heard how the people talked. Every single one said he was the classic bully.”
“A coward and an asshole. So what?”
“He tore up people’s property. He hurt people. He abused every girlfriend he ever had. On the hockey rink, he smashed into guys after the final buzzer. He was known as an enforcer. He took cheap shots. He ended a lot of kids’ careers or at least their interest in the game.”
“Don’t people cheer at hockey games the more violence there is?”
“People in this town hated him,” Ian reiterated.
“You talked to all of them?”
“Well, a few of them.”
“He probably did do all those terrible things, but that gets you nowhere close to a murder or a suspect. Unless someone confessed to killing him, you don’t have much of a case. Yes, many guys abuse wives and girlfriends, and sometimes it’s the other way around. But you still need witnesses and facts. You have anybody who saw him fall in? Hold him down? No. If you did you’d have told me. If he’s a big kid and athletic as you said, how’d they manage to hold him under? He must have fought back. Maybe it was a group? You have anybody, individuals or groups, confessing? No. You’d have probably told me that. Better yet, do you have anybody who saw him pushed? No. Do you have the slightest scintilla of concrete evidence?”
“Lack of concrete evidence doesn’t stop people from getting convicted.”
“In my police work I have yet to begin working on the theory that if somebody looks like a killer, they’re guilty. Juries in California can do that. I’m an intelligent cop or at least I try to act like one. Ian, he drowned. He got drunk. He slipped. He fell. He’s dead. He drowned. Period. The town bully is dead. You should be happy. Were all six of the others town bullies?”
“Not that anybody said.”
“Do you know anything about the other six?”
“No.”
“Do you have background on any of them? Some connection between all of them?”
“They all died by drowning.”
“A connection while they were living? Backgrounds, data, inside information?”
“They all went to St. Croix College, the local place.”
“Did they know each other? Have classes together? Come from the same town?”
“I don’t know.”
Turner sighed, then said, “We don’t have the resources here to find out. Why don’t you relax, get into the vacation? There’s nothing you can do.”
Ian’s jaw set, and he gave Turner a steely glance. “Perhaps I’ll nose around.”
Turner said, “You’re not interested in this because Coates and you got acquainted?”
Ian said, “Does it make a difference?”
“Might.”
Ian said, “When it does, ask me again.” The reporter wasn’t ready to relent just yet. “What if the murder has something to do with you or your family?” he asked.
“I don’t see how,” Turner said.
“Those other things did Sunday. The kids in the car. The break-in.”
“Murder is different.”
“You hope so.”
“Ian.” Turner’s voice was stern. “I don’t need you stirring up the kids.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Turner gave it up. When his friend was in reporter mode, there wasn’t much to be done. He hoped he didn’t get himself into trouble.
12
That afternoon the fishing was quiet. No bodies. No storms. No sabotage. He and Ben took out their powerboat. The two of them always spent some time together alone on the trips. It wasn’t as much as they liked, but when you’ve got kids, supervision happens.
As the sun was setting, the cigarette boat with Mrs. Talucci sitting in magisterial splendor arrived at the dock. Her visiting between arrival and departure was unprecedented.
Paul caught the line from the elegantly slender young man who drove. Paul helped make the boat secure. He offered Mrs. Talucci his hand. She moved more slowly these days.
After she stepped onto the dock, she touched the side of his face. “Are you all right? The boys and Ben?”
“We’re okay. You heard about the body?”
/>
“Of course. I had to come. Is there anything I can do?”
Paul said, “It’s been a strain. Ian thinks it was murder.”
Mrs. Talucci smiled. “Doesn’t he always?” She bustled to their houseboat. In minutes Mrs. Talucci and Madge Fenwick were creating a dessert for the whole crew. Both families gathered on the Turners’ boat. There were even a few tentative smiles as they devoured cake, chocolate sauce, and vanilla ice cream. Paul noted that Mrs. Talucci made sure to pat each of his boys on the shoulder and ask if they were all right. They had each nodded and smiled. At some point when each boy had a modicum of privacy, she had leaned down close to their ear and whispered something. Each boy had whispered back. It was a brief exchange. Turner guessed Mrs. Talucci was telling each boy that she loved them. Turner smiled to himself.
An hour later Mrs. Talucci and Paul were on the dock again. Mrs. Talucci pulled a sweater close over her shoulders. She said, “If I can be of any help, contact me.” She gave him a card. All it had on it was a phone number.
Paul said, “Are you going to be safe at night on the water?”
“Yes, even I have learned to navigate by the GPS, and I’m not driving the boat.”
Paul accompanied Mrs. Talucci as she walked back down the pier to her boat. She had taken his arm. At the end of the dock she said, “I love you and your family.” She kissed his cheek and stepped with surprising dexterity onto the deck of the boat. They motored away.
Paul was still restless as the others settled down for the night. He said to Ben, “You want to try a little late-night fishing?”
Ben got a gleam in his eye. The Fenwicks agreed to keep an eye on the boys. Fenwick nudged Madge and winked. She patted his arm. “Not tonight, dear,” she said.
The night was cool and they huddled in sweatshirts as they fished. They took out downriggers and trolled the depths trying to keep the bait close to the bottom. After half an hour, they went ashore, cleared some brush, slathered on more bug spray, spread a blanket under them and a blanket over them, and under the stars and with the pine trees as witnesses, they talked about fear and the kids and what could be done. They held each other, which led to more. Under the stars and the moon and the trees and with the wind and the bugs around them, they made love.
13
The Cathura police chief, Schreppel, was at the marina when they returned. A police cruiser was docked at the pier. The cop was talking to several of the locals. When Turner was ashore, Schreppel approached him and said, “Can I speak with you, Mr. Turner?”
“Sure,” Paul said. He turned to Ben. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
The cop began to walk away. Turner followed.
“Something’s come up,” the cop said. Turner said nothing. He’d learned to use silence as an interrogation tool a long time ago. As they neared the path into the woods, the cop turned and faced the shore. Finally, he resumed. “We have at least two witnesses who saw Scarth in town away from the shore after he was done drinking.”
“What was he doing?”
“Cruising in his Austin Healy Sprite.”
“No Mustang?”
“He has several cars. His dad has plenty more.”
“Isn’t that kind of an expensive car for a kid in Cathura?”
“For the kid, maybe; for his dad, no. His dad drives a Porsche. Either of your kids off the boat that night?”
Turner swallowed cracks he wanted to make about his kid in the wheelchair. This guy was a fellow cop trying to do his job. Sarcasm wasn’t appropriate. He evaded the question. “So, somebody had to get him, with or without his car, back to the water. He was big. It wouldn’t be easy. How drunk was he?”
“Very.”
“Was there anything suspicious about any of the other six deaths?”
“No.”
“Have you looked back into them?”
“Looking back into other deaths would make it less likely that your kids had anything to do with it.”
“They didn’t—”
“You’d protect your own. So would I. In this town J. T. Krohn has a lot to say. He’s the richest man around. He has influence.”
“With you?”
“Yes. He knows his boy was seen around town. He’s pressing hard for an investigation. Very hard. He wants to know what happened. He wants to know why his son died.”
“I heard Scarth was the town bully. You ever do anything about that? Any schoolteacher, school principal?”
“He came within my radar a few times. Nothing serious. Kid stuff.”
“What kind of kid stuff?”
“I can’t help you with that,” the cop said. “The reason I stopped by was that your kid was seen in town that night.”
“What significance does that have? So were all the several thousand people who live in town.”
“You know this reporter, Ian Hume?”
“Yes.”
“Come on, I’m a cop. I’d think you’d be willing to help. Short, snappy answers aren’t going to help.”
“Earlier I was an annoying interferer from the evil big city. Now I’m supposed to be cooperative and friendly. Which way do you want it? You’re not going to get it both ways.”
“Your boy old enough to be in a drinking establishment?”
“Was he somewhere he didn’t belong? If he was, why don’t you just say so? Where was he? What was he doing?”
“I’m just asking questions.”
“No, that isn’t all that you’re doing. You’re using innuendo to suggest something. Are you accusing him of murder?”
“No.”
Turner was annoyed. One, at himself for getting annoyed and cutting off a conversation. Two, at the cop. What did the guy know? He wanted to try and get a few answers himself. He held his emotions in check and said, “Is there any indication of what time he went into the lake?”
“Not yet. I’m not answering your questions. You have no inherent protection here just because you’re cops. This isn’t Chicago.”
“And this isn’t Baghdad,” Turner retorted.
“You and your group sticking around all week?”
“That’s the current plan.”
“Good.” The implication was clear: don’t leave town. Turner was determined to find the killer if only to spite this asshole.
The cop left.
Turner strode over to the Fenwicks’ houseboat. Fenwick was in baggy jeans shorts and a navy blue sweatshirt.
“What’s up?” Fenwick asked.
Turner told him about the cop conversation. Fenwick said, “We need to talk to Ian and his buddy.”
Turner said, “He asked about Ian and Brian. Something is up. We’ve got to find Ian. He’s probably in bed with any number of hot local men.”
“Pissing off the local police is not a good idea,” Fenwick said.
“We’re going to be doing that if we start investigating.”
“Yeah, but we’re saints,” said Fenwick.
“Cop saints?” Turner asked.
“There’s got to be cop saints.”
“We’ll probably find Ian before we find any cop saints.”
Ian was nowhere to be found. Turner and Fenwick vowed to hunt for the local reporter, one of Ian’s sources, after the next morning’s fishing.
Before he retired for the night, Paul knocked on Brian’s door and stepped into his bedroom.
“Are you okay?” Paul asked.
“Pretty much. I think so.” He glanced up at his dad.
Brian sat on his bed. Paul leaned against the wall. Brian said, “What I remember most was how cold the water was, and how cold the body was. When I think about it, I get weird goose bumps.”
Paul said, “It’s okay to think about it. Talking about it is okay, too. With any of us. Burying the experience won’t make it go away.”
“Yeah, I know. I talked with Mrs. Fenwick today. She was really helpful. It’s like this really adult thing happened.”
“You handled yourself mostly right. Next time
please try to remember a life jacket. Even this close to shore there can be problems.”
“I know. I won’t forget. I’ll never forget any instant of it.”
“It’ll fade. You did right. Your brother was frightened. You make good decisions. You have for a long time now.”
“Thanks,” Brian said.
“The police chief Schreppel was just here. He said you were in town last night. You didn’t go to the movies in Kenora?”
“Nah, Kevin and his friends wanted to stay in town. We just hung around.”
Or was he out necking with Kevin for a second night in a row?
“Did you see Scarth Krohn at any time?” Paul asked.
“If he was around, I didn’t notice him.”
Turner let it go. He wasn’t going to bring up the scene in the forest from the first night.
Paul said, “Fenwick and I may need to do some investigating. Unless you want to spend a father/son day tomorrow.”
“Nah. I want you to catch the son of a bitch who did this. I’d feel better. I’m not sure why, though. This Krohn guy was a shit.”
“That he seems to have been,” Paul said. “Language?”
“Sorry.”
Strong language was discouraged in the home especially around Jeff, who’d gone through a stage two years ago of testing the house’s language limits.
Paul checked on Jeff. He was asleep. He crawled into bed next to Ben, who rolled close. Ben said, “The boys seemed pretty okay today. At dinner Jeff talked a blue streak about anything but the body.”
“He’s asleep. I’ll check with him tomorrow morning.” They cuddled and then slept.
14
Fishing at five the next morning was difficult for Paul. He’d have suggested canceling if he hadn’t wanted to keep things as close to normal as possible and to check on how Jeff was. The younger boy did burble continuously as they motored out to the nearest fishing ground.
Paul took him out in the rowboat. Jeff continued to burble until Paul said, “What’s wrong?”
Jeff stopped. Water lapped against the boat. Paul knelt next to his specially arranged chair in the middle of the boat. They were on the same eye level.
Jeff got teary eyed. “It was weird and sick, and I got scared last night. I had a nightmare.”
Hook, Line, and Homicide Page 8