Lost Lake

by Emily Littlejohn

  “Finn, just because Mac and Ally were screwing around does not make them murderers. There may have been someone else up there that night. The Bookkeeper. Or Kent Starbuck. Or Patrick Crabbe. Or maybe Larry Bornstein’s full of crap and he was up there.”

  Finn stood up and headed back to his desk. I followed him. He said, “Hell, for all we know the Bookkeeper character is a figment of the girl’s imagination. You said it yourself, her diaries may not be trustworthy. Or maybe Sam’s the killer and he made up the Bookkeeper to throw you off his scent.”

  “Woman.”

  “What?”

  “Woman. Sari Chesney was a grown woman. Stop calling her a girl, it’s insulting.”

  Finn reddened. “Sure. Let’s start with Mac.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Twenty minutes later, after having taken separate cars to the hospital, Finn and I stood behind Mac Stephens. He sat at a desk on the third floor, in green scrubs, with his head down, studying a medical chart. A row of computer monitors, each with a series of colorful valleys and peaks running across it, beeped steadily.

  The irony was not lost on me that two floors above us, Patrick Crabbe continued to recover from his heart attack and subsequent surgery.

  “Mac,” I said in a low voice.

  The big man jumped.

  “Dude! You almost gave me a heart attack. Seriously, not a good idea to sneak up on people like that,” Mac said. He rearranged himself on the stool. “Do you have new information on the case?”

  “Well, yes,” I said. “This is my partner, Finn Nowlin. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

  Mac looked around with a shrug. The corridor was empty. “I’m on duty, so I’ve got to stay by the terminals. Anyway, here’s as good as anywhere else. We’ve got a light schedule today.”

  I nodded. Best to get right to it. “Mac, are you having an affair with Allison Chang?”

  Gripping the arm of his chair, he turned pale, then flushed bright red. “I … I don’t see how … No. No, I’m not. And I resent you asking.”

  Finn pulled an empty stool from behind Mac. He took a seat, then swiveled around once, twice, whistling a nameless tune.

  Mac stared at him, perplexed. “What are you doing?”

  “Playing with myself.” Finn stopped swiveling. “Like you’re playing with us. Stop wasting our time. Your girlfriend’s dead. We pulled her decomposing body from a half-frozen lake. Her eyeballs were gone, dude. If that isn’t enough to compel you to tell us the fucking truth, then you’re a harder man than most.”

  I leaned back against the counter and waited. After a moment, Mac let out a choked sob and started shaking. Finn leaned over and patted him on the back. “Calm down, kid. That’s it, big breaths.”

  After he’d composed himself, Mac said in a rush, “Ally and I started seeing each other about six months ago. But we broke it off in February. We were sick of the lies, sick of keeping things from Sari. I loved Sari with my whole heart. I always will.”

  “How did the affair start?” I asked, curious.

  I’m always curious how affairs start.

  Mac wiped his eyes and shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t really recall.”

  “Sure you do,” Finn said with another encouraging pat on Mac’s back. “You don’t forget that sort of thing.”

  “I think … yeah, it was a Friday. We were at a bar and Sari got sick. She went home early. But she insisted we stay out and celebrate. It was Ally’s birthday, and Sari felt terrible for ruining the party. So we stayed downtown. Ally and me. And, well, we drank. A lot. One thing led to another,” Mac said. He raked his fingers through his red hair.

  “How long did the affair last?” Finn asked.

  “About three months.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “So one thing led to another for three months?”

  Finn stared at me, warning me.

  Don’t make this personal. Don’t make this about you and Brody.

  Mac hung his head. “No. It all became quite intentional, quite quickly. Things were different with Ally. Sari and I had a lot of struggles, just like any other couple. With Ally … I was free.”

  “Free. Uh-huh.” I nodded. “Okay. Well, that’s very commendable that you ended things in February. Was that the last time you and Ally hooked up?”

  Mac nodded vigorously, stared up at me. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am, I like that. Don’t you think that’s sweet, Finn?” I leaned forward and put my hands on the table in front of Mac. “You know what’s not sweet, Mac? The fact that you continue to lie to our faces. I have a witness who puts you and Ally at Lost Lake the weekend before Sari disappeared. The weekend before she died. This witness, he watched you argue. He saw you make up.”

  Mac fidgeted, stood up. He paced between Finn and me. He picked at the hem of his top, rubbed his hand over his beard.

  We waited patiently.

  Finally, he sat back down and laughed.

  Finn raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t funny.”

  “Sure it is.” Mac laughed again. “My life is one big fuckup after another. Ally is pregnant. We were at Lost Lake to, ah, discuss options.”

  It wasn’t the answer I was expecting. “Let me guess. She wants to keep the baby and you’re pushing for an abortion.”

  Mac shook his head. “No, actually it was the opposite. It’s not the baby’s fault any of this happened. I think Ally should keep the baby. I thought we could co-parent and I could still have my relationship with Sari.”

  “Wow, talk about having your cake and eating it, too. Good for you. I mean that,” Finn said. “No, seriously. Way to believe in happy endings.”

  I asked, “Were you planning to tell Sari about the affair? The baby?”

  “Of course. I did tell her, I told her the night she disappeared. She was furious, but she forgave me. We decided to try to make things work. She is—was—the one I want to be with. Now she’s gone. And I can’t help but think that I’m being punished for my sins.”

  Mac jumped as a loud beep sounded from one of the monitors behind him. He swiveled on the stool and punched in a few keystrokes on the computer.

  “I need to check on a patient,” he announced, and stood up. He put his hands out. “Relax. Mrs. Dunleavy needs another dose of morphine. Room three one six. I’ll be back in literally one minute.”

  Mac slowly backed away, then turned around and quickly walked down the corridor.

  “Think he’s going to run?”

  I shook my head. “No. Where would he go?”

  “What do you think about his story?” Finn asked.

  “I think he’s telling us the truth. We’ll confirm the affair and pregnancy with Ally. What we can’t confirm is whether or not Mac in fact told Sari all about it the night she disappeared.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It might. Let’s say she took the news badly.… Maybe Mac killed her. Or maybe Sari attacked Mac, or Ally, and they fought back a little too hard.… Maybe they’re both in on it together.”

  “I’m going to get a soda. Do you want one?” Finn stood. I was surprised he’d offered, and I could tell by the way that he glanced off into the distance that he’d made the gesture out of habit, nothing more.

  He fished for change in his pocket. “You got a quarter?”

  I found a handful of loose coins in the bottom of my purse. “Nothing diet.”

  “Be right back.”

  While he was gone, Mac returned and sat down. “Where’s your partner?”

  “Getting a soda. Did Sari ever mention a man she called the Bookkeeper to you?”

  Mac thought a moment, then, “No, I don’t think so. Who is he? Is he a suspect?”

  “His name has come up as part of the investigation, that’s all. Obviously the Bookkeeper is an alias for someone. Mac, I want to ask you something else. When we searched Sari’s apartment, it became obvious that she carried a lot of credit card debt. As I understand it, she also had debt from a g
ambling addiction. Do you know anything about that?”

  Mac sighed. “I’m not surprised. I know she liked to hit the casinos. I didn’t know it was that bad, though. She was very private about her finances.”

  Another beep on the monitor, and I waited while Mac checked it out. “False reading.”

  “Mac, is there any chance Ally could have hurt Sari?”

  “No way. They were best friends. Nearly sisters.”

  Finn returned with three cold cans of cola. He handed me one, then offered Mac a can. Surprised, Mac took it and murmured thanks.

  I snapped my fingers. “I almost forgot. Do you have Sari’s diary? We found previous years’ journals but nothing for this year.”

  “No, I don’t have it. I’m surprised it wasn’t in her apartment.”

  “Could she have brought it camping? Maybe it’s in her backpack,” Finn said.

  Both Mac and I shook our heads. I said, “It’s not there, either. I searched her backpack at the lake.”

  Mac drank down the soda in three long swallows. “Thanks, I needed that. I can’t sleep. I keep seeing Sari’s face everywhere I turn. It’s like she’s watching me.”

  “Well, you know what they say, Mac,” Finn said.

  Mac smiled at Finn, eager to be in his good graces. The soda had gone a long way toward building amity. “No, I don’t know. What do they say?”

  “They say that innocent men are rarely haunted. I think you had motive and opportunity for murder, Mac Stephens. I can’t prove it, not yet, but I promise you, if you killed Sari Chesney, we will find out. We will find out and prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law.”

  We left Mac slumped on his stool, his face pale, his limbs limp, a rag doll whose stuffing has been sucked out.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Back at the station, I had a message from one of my favorite techs in the Crime Scene Unit. I returned her call and as usual she cut right to the chase. “I’ve got findings for you from the Starbuck homicide. Chavez has been breathing down my neck for me to rush these. Like I told him, you can’t hurry greatness.”

  “Of course not,” I said.

  She ignored me and continued. “I was specifically asked to compare the fibers found on Starbuck with fibers from a sample of Sari Chesney’s shirt. It’s not a match.”

  I exhaled. Chesney wasn’t Betty Starbuck’s killer.

  “I didn’t think it would be.” I jotted down a note, nearly missing what the tech said next. “Say again?”

  “The fibers are a match to soil from Lost Lake.”

  Confused, I said, “Of course they are. That’s where we found Chesney’s body. She was dragged across the ground before going in the water.”

  “No. I’m talking about Starbuck’s body.”

  I stood up so fast I knocked an empty coffee cup to the floor. “Are you saying that the fibers on Betty Starbuck came from someone who had been at Lost Lake?”

  “Someone or something. We’ve been working the evidence from the Chesney homicide, and a routine aspect of that is of course environmental analysis. I won’t bore you with the technical details, but we analyzed the composition of the sand trapped in her clothes and matched it to Lost Lake. Routine procedure to prove she wasn’t dragged in from some other location. I dabble in petrology here and there, you know. Anyhoo, Lost Lake is a unique region because of the glaciers and the mineral concentrations,” the tech said. “So, naturally I noticed it right away under the scope when I looked at the Starbuck fibers. I’ll send over the report if you want the specifics.”

  My mind was racing. “You said ‘someone or something’ … What did you mean by that?”

  “Transfers. Think of a towel on the beach. You shake it out at the end of the day and you throw it in the trunk. A week later, you’re loading groceries and there’s sand everywhere. It’s the same concept. Maybe Starbuck camped at the lake or picnicked up there. Awfully cold to do either, though. What I’m saying is, don’t get hung up on thinking these fibers came from someone’s clothes,” the tech explained. “Because maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. We’re still analyzing exactly what kind of fibers they are. I got a backlog a mile long.”

  “Got it.”

  She continued. “There’s more. We recovered a large number of prints from the Starbuck scene but none from her body. Her killer wore gloves. The prints in her office have all been matched to Starbuck, Sari Chesney, a Lawrence Bornstein, and the cleaner. There are dozens of others that we’ll just have to assume are the cost of doing business in a public space.”

  “Of course. How about any other physical evidence, hair or blood?”

  “We did recover hair. If you get a suspect, we can sample for DNA and make a comparison. At this point, all I can tell you is that it is male hair. And I can’t tell you if it’s from the killer or not. It was found just outside the office, against the door frame.”

  I pictured the crime scene. “Almost as though someone slid into the room? Hugging the door?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Anything else?”

  The tech said no. She explained that while they were nearly finished with the Starbuck scene, they were still working through the evidence on the Chesney homicide. Things were made more difficult by the fact that the body had been in the water. She promised to send over the Starbuck report via courier, and we ended the call. I shot an email to Finn and copied the chief, updating them with the information from the tech.

  I ended the message with a final thought that I couldn’t yet prove but that felt as true as anything else I’d come across in the investigation thus far: We’re looking for one perp. It’s always been one person.

  * * *

  It had been a hell of a day.

  When Finn intercepted me in the parking lot, I figured it was about to get a whole lot worse.

  But he surprised me.

  “I know you’re not the source of the leak, Gemma.” He’d changed into jeans and a black sweater. As the sunlight began to wane, he toyed with his car keys, clearly uncomfortable.

  I stared at him. “You sounded pretty sure of yourself on Saturday.”

  “I was wrong.” He shrugged. “You’re much too straight and narrow to leak confidential information to a two-bit hack like Bryce Ventura. It’s not your style.”

  Funny, hadn’t I said the same to Chief Chavez about Finn?

  “Yeah, well, you’re right. I’m not the source of the leak.”

  Finn nodded. To my shock, he looked like he was about to cry.

  “What is it?”

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t, uh, have the best track record with partners, Gem. I’m so sorry I accused you. You didn’t deserve that. I was an asshole.”

  “That’s nothing new.”

  This got a surprised laugh from him. “Friends?”

  I stuck out my hand. “Friends. Got any plans for the evening? How about a pint at O’Toole’s?”

  “Actually, I was considering camping at Lost Lake tonight,” Finn replied. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, about Ruby Cellars’s theories. We’ve only been up there in the daytime. But everything seems to happen at night. Want to come with me?”

  “You’re joking. You think her theories are insane.”

  Finn shrugged, then casually tossed his keys high in the air and caught them. “You scared?”

  “Of course not.” The truth was that the lake did scare me, but I’ve never been one to back away from a challenge. What if Ruby Cellars was onto something; what if there was a supernatural force operating at the lake? It was ridiculous … wasn’t it? But if we spent the night there, maybe we would see something. Or hear something. Didn’t we owe it to Sari Chesney to exhaust all leads?

  I realized Finn was grinning at me. “I dare you.”

  This was crazy. I bit my lip, considering, then said, “I’m in if Clementine can care for Grace. Unless you hear otherwise, I’ll meet you at the trailhead in an hour. I’ll bring dinner.”

  Finn nodded.
“It’ll be dark by then. Make sure you’ve got a few extra flashlights.”

  At home, I talked with Clementine. She was comfortable staying alone with the baby, and I realized as I packed that this would be the first full night I’d spend away from Grace. I was both excited at the prospect of making progress in the case and nervous about leaving her, but I trusted Clementine implicitly.

  I packed quickly but, by the time I reached the parking lot and met Finn at the trailhead, it was dark. A full moon provided some light. Finn howled up at the sky, then grinned, and his even, white teeth glowed in the darkness.

  “Scared?”

  “No. Just chilly. Let’s get a move on.”

  We hiked in silence, listening to the noises of the forest as our flashlights lit the ground in front of us. Part of me wondered just what the hell we were doing. We’d be lucky not to break our legs.

  Finn set a face pace, and we reached Lost Lake forty-five minutes after we’d left the trailhead. As I’d expected, the campgrounds were deserted. The surface of the lake was black save for the places where the moonlight touched it. The forest was quiet, as though our sudden arrival had sent creatures scurrying for shelter. Then a strong gust of wind blew through and suddenly there were noises everywhere: the leaves rustling in the trees, the wind itself whistling a steady tune.

  We set up our tents and then, starving, got going on dinner preparations. Finn built a fire in the pit, and soon the night was alive with the glow of red flames and the sound of logs burning and shifting against one another. In the meantime, I put together a bear bag and, after a few attempts, got a rope over the thin branch of a tree two hundred feet downwind of our campsite.

  The fire provided a sense of normalcy. I boiled water and then poured it into pouches of dehydrated beef stew. Finn and I ate side by side, the fire between us and the lake. Somewhere, a loon cried out, its eerie scream sharply piercing the night and then slowly fading away.

  Finn scraped the last bite of stew from his pouch and set it aside. “This is heaven on earth.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I agreed. “Though I’m a little disappointed that I haven’t seen or felt anything suspicious. Have you?”