Dead Tease

by Victoria Houston

  “No, Harry, I saw somebody,” said Beth. “You’d already gone by but I saw a guy standing a little ways off the trail. Saw him throw some garbage or something. But we should check it out ’cause that was an old truck. We could split the twenty bucks, right?”

  “Where was this that you saw the pickup?” asked Lew.

  “You know those new condos behind the clinic—we like to ride the trail back behind there because it’s so close to school. Easy to get there after practice,” said Beth.

  “And you were there yesterday?”

  “Yeah, right after basketball practice,” said Harry. “Me and Beth try to ride every day. To build our endurance.” He threw his line out as he talked.

  “What time was that—or about what time?”

  Harry looked over at Beth, “A little after six wasn’t it?”

  “I think so. Why, Chief Ferris? Did we do something wrong?”

  “No, not at all. But I—”

  “Oh my God!” screamed Harry as a huge fish leaped into the air about fifty feet from the boat. His line went slack as the fish charged the boat.

  “Keep the pressure on—set the hook! Set the hook!” cried Osborne.

  “Ohmygod!” Harry screamed again, rearing back as he threw his fishing rod at the fish. The fish stormed under the boat with Harry’s rod close behind. Minutes later the rod surfaced out in the middle of the bay. The Red RizzoTail was nowhere in sight. Harry sat stupefied on the boat cushion.

  “I can’t believe you did that, Harry,” said Beth.

  Harry gave her a baleful stare. “Oh, yeah? And what would you have done?”

  Beth was wise enough not to answer.

  “That was a trophy muskie, kid,” said Lew. “Minimum forty-five inches. I told you there are some big mothers suspended down there. Next time maybe the fish won’t charge the boat so you’ll have time to set the hook.”

  Osborne, who had been rowing in the direction of the floating muskie rod, plucked it out of the water, examined the fishing line where it had been bitten off, and handed the rod to Harry. “You’ll want to take that reel apart before the water ruins it.” He winked at Harry, “What happens on Loon Lake stays on Loon Lake.”

  Harry gave a sheepish laugh. For all his fifteen years, he looked five.

  Patting the boy’s shoulder, Lew said, “First thing in the morning, I want you and Beth to show me where you saw that pickup. Beth, tell me what the man looked like—the one you saw near the bike path. Did you see the direction he threw whatever it was?”

  “I saw him throw something but I didn’t see his face real good,” said Beth. “He was just some guy. He didn’t look weird or anything.”

  “Nothing distinctive?”

  “Umm,” Beth pondered. “Not really, Chief Ferris. I was too busy watching the trail.”

  They pulled up to Osborne’s dock just as the setting sun was firing the sky with a hazy orange-pink glow. Before his granddaughter clambered out of the boat, Osborne reached for her elbow saying, “Beth, I’d like you to wait here with me. Lew and Harry can carry the tackle up. We need to talk.”

  Beth gave him a serious look, then sat back down on her boat cushion. She waited quietly until she and Osborne were alone. “You know your mother has been concerned about how much you use your phone for texting, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’ve only used half of what you’re allowed.”

  “Really?” The girl looked pleased.

  “I’m worried that you’re spending too much time with this boy.” At the puzzled expression on Beth’s face, he added, “Harry—your boyfriend.”

  “Gramps,” said Beth in a firm tone. “Harry is my friend. Not my boyfriend. I mean we do sports together. Not other stuff. Jeepers, Gramps. Totally not.” She glanced away embarrassed.

  “Well, now, hold on there, young lady,” said Osborne, surprised to find himself on Harry’s side, “don’t discount friendship. The best person to fall in love with is a person you would think of as your best friend. I mean, it’s easy to be attracted to someone but to stay attracted you have to have more.”

  “Okay, Gramps,” said Beth, looking antsy. “Is that all? I should go help Harry and Chief Ferris.” She tried to stand up but Osborne reached again for her elbow and pressed her back down onto the boat cushion.

  He could see she wanted out of this conversation but he knew from experience with his daughters how rare the opportunity is to deliver hard-earned wisdom to a teenager. He decided to plow ahead—he wasn’t embarrassed.

  “Take, for instance, your grandmother and me,” he said. “She was a fine woman, and we got married thinking we would get along great. But we never figured out how to have fun together. Doing the same things—together. So keep that in mind, Beth, sweetie.” The child looked stricken. Osborne was sure she was wondering what on earth she had done to deserve this.

  “In five or six years, maybe Harry will be your boyfriend. Think about it—you enjoy biking together, playing basketball—”

  “No, Gramps, he’s on the boys team, I’m on the girls. Really, he is just a friend. And he’s goofy.”

  “I was goofy at sixteen,” said Osborne. He winked, “I’m still goofy.”

  “Grandpa, really, really—he is only a friend.”

  “Beth, if you are strictly friends, then why aren’t you texting like your mom expected?”

  “That has nothing to do with Harry—my friend Katie’s phone is broken. She dropped it in the school parking lot and her mom won’t buy her a new one.” Beth looked ready to cry.

  “Oh…. Is Katie the person you text most of the time?”

  “We used to but not right now. Her mom is making her pay for a new phone—or get straight A’s next semester—and that’s not going to happen.” Beth grimaced. “Katie doesn’t have much money and, well, she’s not that smart.”

  “So the texting has nothing to do with Harry?”

  “Harry doesn’t even have a phone … yet. He wants one but—”

  “It’s okay, you run on up now. I’ll get the rest of the tackle.”

  “And I got the boat cushions,” said Beth, jumping up and grabbing her cushion. With a helping hand from Osborne, she clambered out of the boat. She stopped and smiled down at him, “Grandpa, I cannot believe Harry threw that rod in the water.”

  “Well, hon—here’s one final tip from an old man who learned the hard way: Let Harry be the one to tell that story.”

  “I will,” said Beth as she turned to dash up the stone stairway to the house.

  So Harry is just a friend. Wow, is that a relief! Osborne followed her up the stairs, humming.

  They were in bed before ten. “I’ll be out of here by six,” said Lew, propping herself on an elbow and leaning into him. “Have to see the mayor first thing—can’t believe he’s demanding a budget report. It’s not even the end of the month. Afterward, I’ll give you a call. I’d like Beth to show us where she saw that guy throw something. That had to be Alvin and I can’t help wondering what he was up to.”

  “Okay, I’ll make sure she waits here. But you’re working all day?”

  “Planning to take Monday off if all goes well.”

  “You must be exhausted, Lewellyn.”

  “If Lewellyn was that tired, she would be in her own bed.”

  “Oh.” Osborne’s heart lifted. He knew what she liked and he went there.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Most people take it easy on Saturdays. Not Chet Tillman. He had left a message that he would be in Lew’s face by eight A.M. that morning and, by God, he was five minutes early.

  “Coffee, Chet?” Lew asked, standing up to pour herself another cup. She resisted calling him “Mr. Mayor” on principle: she didn’t like how he used his office to keep his booze-sodden brother-in-law in the coroner’s office—plus she found him to be a pompous ass who only got elected because no one else wanted the job.

  “No, Chief,” said Chet, leaning back in his chair and spreading his wide,
heavy legs. Lew noticed that his summer shirt gaped slightly just above his belt where the belly hung over. She averted her eyes. Chet Tillman’s flesh was not appetizing.

  “So, budget update?” She found it curious he was staring at his shoes rather than picking up the spreadsheet pages she had printed that morning. Chet had a huge head with graying light brown hair falling over his forehead: the classic fifties male comb-over. His wide, flat face was a pasty shade of pale, and the nosepiece of his rimless glasses was held in place by a wart just above the veined bulb anchoring his nose.

  However, beyond having to work around Pecore, Chet didn’t give her much grief, so she told herself to tame her critical eye and get on with the budget discussion.

  “Hard to estimate the final cost of our investigation of the death of Jennifer Williams, Chet. I’ve got one of the Wausau boys up here working through the weekend—he’s gathering evidence and taking care of DNA analysis for us—”

  “I’m not here about the budget, Lewellyn.” The unexpected use of her name rather than her title surprised Lew. “I’ve talked to the law enforcement committee and we want you to take an early retirement. End December.”

  Lew was speechless.

  “The State provides for law enforcement professionals to qualify for full benefits at age fifty.” He managed an insincere smile. “I believe you turn fifty shortly. Correct?”

  “In October. But I’ve only worked in the department for seven years and I don’t think I—”

  Chet shuffled a clutch of papers he had pulled from a flat briefcase. “I took care of that. You’ve done a super, super job, and the city council is going to vote you a full retirement package—health benefits and all. The details are here.” He slapped the papers on the desk in front of her. “Pretty nice, huh?”

  “Thank you but no thank you,” said Lew, pushing the papers back toward him. “I like this job. I have no intention to retire, but thank you anyway.” She stood up from where she was sitting across from him at the conference table and extended her hand to shake his.

  “Sit down,” he said. Chet hadn’t moved and now he leaned forward, “I want you to retire.”

  “But why? You just said that I’ve done a ‘super, super job.’”

  Chet looked down at his shoes again and took a deep breath before saying, “Okay, here’s the deal. My son wants to move back to Loon Lake. He’s got five years in as a cop over in St. Paul, Minnesota while picking up some graduate credits in criminal forensics and city management.

  “He Twitters and he’s on Facebook. Lewellyn, he is the new generation of law enforcement, and Loon Lake needs his social media skills.”

  “Well, I agree with some of what you say,” said Lew, “but that is why Dani Spencer has been interning with us until she graduates from the tech college next spring. She Twitters and Facebooks—all those things. Chet, she is a terrific computer geek, and I plan to bring her on board—”

  “It’s settled, sweetheart,” said Chet. “The committee voted last night. I’ve already told Chet Junior he starts January first.”

  “Do you want me to leave today?”

  Chet gave her a calculating look. “No-o-o, but my son is available as early as November. If we haven’t found the person who murdered the Williams woman, might be wise to bring him on. I’ll bet with his skills, he could wrap this case in a few days.”

  Now Chet raised his heavy body from the chair. He shoved the chair in and thrust a beefy hand at Lew. “I knew this would catch you off guard, Chief, but once you think it over you’ll be pleased. Heck, I’d like to be in your shoes—full retirement and health benefits at fifty. Wow.” He shook her hand and gave a cheery wave as he left the room.

  Lew sat at the conference table, thinking. She stood up, walked over to her desk, and hit speed dial on the phone console.

  “Dani? Am I waking you? Oh, good. Say, I have an assignment for you to handle when you’ve got the time. I’d like a full background check on a police officer named Chester Tillman Junior…. Right, the mayor’s son. I believe he’s working somewhere around the cities—his dad didn’t say exactly where…. Who knows why, the old man’s got something up his sleeve.

  “Anyway, this is on your own time, and I will pay you for it. This is not official business…. Well, I’m being urged to hire him and I want to know more…. If you don’t have the time please say so…. Great.

  “And, Dani, this is highly confidential—just between you and me…. Good. Thanks, Dani.” She speed dialed again: “Doc? Is Beth up yet?”

  “She is. We’re just finishing breakfast,” said Osborne. “I’ll drive her into town and we’ll meet you out on that logging road where the kids saw the pickup. Be there in ten minutes.”

  Lew hung up. She stared at the desktop. She felt like she did when someone she loved died: flat.

  Doc and Beth were waiting by his car where the logging lane turned off the county road. The turn-off was less than five hundred yards from the drive leading to the condos where Jennifer Williams had been murdered. It was another perfect August morning: the sun bright through the leaves of the aspen crowding the trail, the humidity low, and the sound of birds happy in the brush.

  “How far down? Should we drive or park here?” asked Lew through the window of her police cruiser.

  “I asked Beth the same question and she thinks we should walk it. She’s hoping to recognize the spot where she saw the pickup,” said Osborne.

  “Good morning, Beth … Doc,” said Lew, getting out of the car. “Let’s go.”

  They walked in silence, Lew and Doc following Beth. Doc glanced over at Lew. “Hey, you look worried. Something wrong?”

  “Not sure,” she said. “Tell you later. I want to focus on this right now.”

  “Okay.” Osborne gave her a hard look. In the three years he had known her, she had never responded so curtly. Something was very wrong.

  “Right around here, I think,” said Beth, pausing to examine the brush and trees along the lane. “Yes, I’m pretty sure….” She walked to the right, turned around to see behind her, and pointing said, “I was riding in this direction when the man had just thrown something that way. His arm was pretty high like this.” She mimicked throwing something.

  “Had to have some weight to it, I imagine,” said Osborne. “Not like he was throwing paper trash.”

  “Right,” said Beth. “Could have been a rock.”

  “Let’s take a look,” said Lew as she contemplated a plunge into the wall of young aspen. “Beth, you wait here. Your grandfather and I will check to see if we can find anything. Oh, one more thing—I know I asked you this before but tell me again—what did this person look like? Anything unusual come to mind since we talked last night?”

  “Not really,” said Beth. “I didn’t see his face, and he was dressed normal. Not like he was homeless. Just … normal, I guess.”

  “Good bird hunting in here, I’ll bet,” said Osborne scanning the woods before picking a spot twenty feet down the road. “I’ll start here in order to cover more territory. Don’t be surprised if I flush a grouse or two.” He hoped his light tone might help to lift the gloom from Lew’s face.

  The two of them scoured the forest floor, pushing aside clumps of fern and blackberry bushes that managed to grow among the spindly aspens. Twenty feet out from the lane, Osborne spotted something metallic glinting in the sunlight.

  “Lewellyn,” Osborne raised his voice as he held back the branches of a large shrub. “Come over here, I found something. Not sure what it is. Got nitrile gloves on you?”

  “In the cruiser,” said Lew, crashing through the brush. She knelt to take a look at the object then got to her feet. “Not a bread knife.”

  “A scalpel is my guess,” said Osborne. “Or a fillet knife.”

  “Long enough to be the weapon that killed Jennifer,” said Lew. “Let me get my evidence kit before we destroy any trace evidence. Doc, you hold the spot, please.”

  “Right.” He waited as she ran down
the lane to the cruiser, spoke briefly to Beth who was leaning against his car, and hurried back. “Slow down,” said Osborne as she got close.

  Gloves on, Lew reached for the knife. “Got it,” she said. She grasped the knife by its handle and held it high. “I want to rush this to Bruce. Keep your fingers crossed there’s enough tissue or blood on this handle or the blade that he can run a DNA analysis.”

  Her eyes met Osborne’s as she said, “Starting to look like our friend, Alvin Marski, did more than run off with his buddy’s truck, doesn’t it? But, Doc, even if this knife is the one used on Jennifer Williams, we found no connection between those two. Not yet anyway.” Lew shook her head, mystified.

  “Could it be a random killing?” asked Osborne. “The kid’s been hooked on drugs of some kind. Maybe he was looking for someone to rob and it got out of hand? Or Jennifer was mistaken for someone else?” His questions hung in the air.

  “Lewellyn,” said Osborne as they headed back toward their cars, “are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  “I’m being forced out of the department.”

  “Fired?” Osborne was astounded.

  “No. Chet Tillman said the law enforcement committee wants me to take early retirement in December.”

  “I don’t believe this.”

  She turned sad eyes to his: “It’s true.”

  “Are you—can you—fight it?”

  “Not sure yet. Appears they have already offered the position to Tillman’s son, Chet Junior.”

  “Are you kidding?” said Osborne. “I can see bringing him in as a junior officer but to replace you as chief? Doesn’t make sense.”

  “Doc,” said Lew, “this is Loon Lake. What else is new?”

  Driving Beth back to his house, Osborne puzzled over the knife they had found. He felt he had seen one like that before. A scalpel. Similar to knives used by oral surgeons. Then it dawned on him: taxidermy.

  He remembered the wonderful set of knives that Marv Daniels had been given by his colleagues as a retirement gift. Much as he hated to think of talking to Gladys one more time, it might be helpful to ask her to show Lew the set.