The rumor in recent months was that his addictions had extended beyond the casino, the booze, and the women: two regulars in Osborne’s coffee crowd, which met weekday mornings at six around the table at McDonald’s, had learned from their wives, who had heard from their hairdressers, that cocaine was Chet’s new mistress.
Could be that was the final blow to the Wright marriage, which now appeared so strained that news of divorce proceedings caught no one by surprise. Nor did anyone in the coffee crowd disagree with Herb Anderson when he intoned over his third cup, “Had to happen. That fellow was given too much too soon. Makes a man susceptible to the underside of life, y’know.” The caffeinated philosophers around the table nodded in agreement tempered with schadenfreude.
Chapter Ten
“Chief Ferris, is there anything I can help with?” asked Ty Wallis from where he was standing behind Karen Wright. A tall, thin middle-aged man, he was dressed in dark slacks and a white long-sleeved shirt: a uniform that passed for business attire in the Northwoods. Both hands thrust deep in his pockets, he cleared his throat so often Osborne was tempted to ask if he needed a glass of water.
“Over many, many years Wright family members have been significant benefactors to our Deer Creek Preserve so anything I—”
“Please, tell her the truth, Ty,” interrupted Karen. “If you won’t, I’ll have to.” She spoke with a quiet forcefulness that reminded Osborne how even as a teenager she had impressed him with her thoughtful, serious ways. Not unlike Chet Wright’s mother, as a matter of fact.
“Are you sure?” Ty asked. A guttural clearing of the throat this time.
“Very sure. It’s going to come out one way or another. You know that, Ty.”
The man studied the floor for a long moment, then coughed and cleared before saying, “Okay . . . I expect I’ll lose my job over this . . . but Karen is right.”
Eyes closed, he clamped his lips tight together and stood silent as if deliberating where to start. Everyone waited. Finally he said, “I have been trying to broker—not sure if that’s the right word—let’s say ‘reach an agreement’ between Chet and three members of the preserve who have accused him of credit card theft. And because of that and related incidents I have had to fire two of our employees.”
“Credit card theft involving Deer Creek or Buddy’s Place?” asked Lew.
“Both,” said Ty. “I think it’s fair to say the situation started at Deer Creek. We serve a limited breakfast and lunch daily in the main lodge and I did not know until several weeks ago that two of our waitresses had been hired by Chet to be hostesses here at Buddy’s Place.”
“You mean tend bar?” asked Lew.
“No, they hosted,” said Ty, putting an emphasis on the word hosted. “I’m told they worked from nine in the evening until whenever their patrons went home.” He paused before saying, “Or when they went home with the patron.”
“Home being the men’s rooms or cottages at the preserve?” asked Lew. Ty nodded and coughed. Karen crossed her arms as she listened, her eyes calm. Osborne could see she had heard all this before.
“I get the picture,” said Lew. “And how long has this been going on?”
“I’m told it started right after Chet opened the club nine months ago. From noon to nine he ran videos for customers. You can imagine the nature of those. And after nine? Live action.”
“Wait,” said Lew, “how is Buddy’s Place connected to Deer Creek? Does the Deer Creek Preserve own this property?”
“No, no,” said Wallis. “Gosh, no. But there is a history of Deer Creek members having owned this building in the past. Years ago the grandson of one of our founding members bought the land and built the Long Lake Supper Club, which offered entertainment. That was in the heyday of supper clubs in the Northwoods. But it’s been closed for years.
“My understanding is Chet and a couple of his hunting buddies at Deer Creek talked over the possibility of renovating the building and turning it into a high-class gentlemen’s club.”
“There’s an oxymoron for you,” said Lew with a snort. Osborne had to turn away so no one could see the grin he couldn’t resist.
“I can understand their thinking,” said Ty. “Use of Deer Creek is ninety percent male. We don’t have many ladies anxious to spend weeks up north fishing and hunting. In fact, during deer season there is an unwritten rule that women are not allowed.”
“Excuse me, Ty,” said Osborne, interrupting, “if it’s okay with Chief Ferris, I have a question before you go any further.”
Lew nodded as she said, “Karen, Mr. Wallis—I’ve deputized Dr. Osborne to help with the coroner’s report and with this investigation. With his background in dental forensics he has been very helpful in the past with victim identification. Our official Loon Lake coroner, Irv Pecore, is being treated at St. Mary’s Emergency Room after hitting a deer on his way here. I’m fortunate that Dr. Osborne could get here as soon as he has.
“I have two forensic experts from the Wausau Crime Lab on their way to help out as well. I expect them in an hour or so. One of those gentlemen will be taking the victims down to the crime lab facilities where autopsies will be performed. In the meantime, Dr. Osborne has authority from me to make any inquiries he thinks might help determine what has happened here.”
“So that’s why you’re here, Dr. Osborne,” said Karen. “I was wondering.”
What Lew didn’t add was that ever since the first time she had asked Osborne to step in as deputy coroner when Pecore was unavailable (most often due to being overserved and still under the influence), she had found his listening skills to be invaluable. Listening with ears and eyes was a talent Osborne had honed over thirty years of practicing dentistry and trying to deduce which toothaches were real, which were the peeves of hypochondriacs, and which might be better treated by an ear, nose, and throat specialist.
Comparing notes after the first time they had conducted an interrogation together she had found herself saying, “But, Doc, I didn’t hear that.”
“Lew,” he had said that day, “you heard the answers to your questions. I listened between the lines. Not just to what they said but what I could see in their eyes and body language.”
No longer hesitating to deputize Osborne when she anticipated difficulty getting information from witnesses or people under suspicion of having committed a crime, she had grown to appreciate the difference between what a man hears and what a woman hears: they made a good team in the interrogation room.
“My question, Ty,” said Osborne, “is this: Are you saying that Chet Wright has been running an after-hours private club for certain well-to-do members of the Deer Creek Fishing and Hunting Preserve?”
“Not exactly,” said Ty. “Initially, the members who encouraged Chet to open Buddy’s Place wanted a place nearby where they could drink as much as they want and not have to drive afterward. So as far as I know Buddy’s Place has been open to the general public. The problem is what started to happen after several of Chet’s friends became regulars and certain promises were made.”
“Promises that might include more intimate surroundings?” asked Lew.
“Yes,” said Wallis. “Took a couple months before the three members in question started seeing charges on their credit cards that they couldn’t recall making. To the tune of hundreds, even thousands of dollars.
“Before they came to me to complain, they approached Chet. He had photos that one of the women had taken while the men were inebriated. Chet tried to say that it wasn’t his fault if they drank too much or used drugs when they were with the women. They were responsible for the charges and if they made any noise about it, he would call their wives.”
“Pete Kretzler was robbed of over a hundred thousand dollars,” said Karen.
“Kretzler, the surgeon from Milwaukee?” asked Osborne.
“Then there’s Jud Westerman from Chicago. He’s in commodities. Chet got him for sixty grand and, of course, there’s Bert Bronk, whose family started
one of the drugstore chains you see all over the Midwest,” said Ty.
“That jerk hasn’t ever been able to keep his pants on,” said Karen. “His wife told me that’s been going on for years.
“Chief Ferris,” said Karen, “the long and short of it is Chet has been trying to defraud three of his best friends.” She glanced at Wallis as she said, “Correct me if I’m wrong, Ty, but the way it worked is the two women would get them drunk—or drugged—then take compromising photos while charging their credit cards for alcohol and food.”
“And threatening to tell their wives if they complained? Sounds like blackmail to me,” said Lew.
“Call it what you will but Chet has been desperate these last few months,” said Karen. “He lost all our money gambling and thought he could cover it up if he made more here. ’Course his plan was to take the profits from the club, then double and triple them at the casino. You can imagine how well that worked.”
Lew turned to Ty Wallis. “Why haven’t you reported this to me or to the county sheriff? This is blatant criminal activity; who are the women involved? I want names and contact information. I want the same information on the Deer Creek members, too.”
“Of course,” said Ty, shoulders slumping as he thrust his fists deeper into his pants pockets and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Guess I knew this was going to happen. I know I should have blown the whistle weeks ago when the whole nasty business came out. But . . .”
“But what?” asked Lew. “You better have a good ‘but.’”
Chapter Eleven
“Maybe I made a wrong decision,” said Ty in a rueful voice. “But as more details came out and the worse it got, I thought it best to keep the whole business as quiet as possible. I mean, these are family men. Think how this would look in the press.”
“Now, Ty,” said Karen, her eyebrows raised as she spoke with a soft urgency, “if I were you I’d tell Chief Ferris the real reason you didn’t report Chet to the police.”
Flashing Karen a look of annoyance, Ty grimaced. “All right, all right, I’m getting there, okay?” Another long pause, then a shrug of surrender: “I don’t call the shots. I just work for these people—”
“These people? What people exactly?” asked Lew.
“Chet, the membership of the Deer Creek Preserve, the three guys who got bilked—all of ’em. I take orders. I hire who they tell me to hire.” He shot a quick look at Karen before adding, “I do what they tell me and the three guys whose cards were overbilled told me in no uncertain way to ‘take care of it and keep my goddamn mouth shut.’ In exactly those words. And believe you me these are men who have gotten away with a lot worse than this.”
At the sight of Lew’s questioning eyes, he added, “Not while I’ve been working here, but there are things I’ve been told that happened in the past.”
He paused then, coughed, cleared his throat, and said, “Something else I need you to know. Right or wrong, I need this job. My real-estate business over in Three Lakes went bust two years ago, I got two kids in high school, my wife left me . . .” Osborne could see the poor guy was on the verge of tears. “I don’t have to tell you, Chief Ferris, it can be real hard to make a living up here . . . sorry. But if I’ve broken any laws it’s just . . . I’m just trying to keep it together, y’know?”
“I see,” said Lew. “Thank you for being honest, Ty, and you haven’t broken any laws that I can see. But that’s enough for right now. We can talk more about this later. At the moment I need you to tell me about the women. Who are they and how can I reach them?”
“Well,” Ty said with a heavy exhale as he pointed up at the piano, “you’ve got one right there. Tiffany Niedermeier. The other woman who has been in on the scam is Nina Krezminski. I can give you an address and phone number for her. But if you need next of kin information on Tiffany, her mother lives in Rhinelander. At least that’s what my secretary told me before Karen and I walked over here.
“As far as I know Tiffany isn’t married. No children. Again, not that I’m aware anyway. Niedermeier is her maiden name if that helps.”
“I’ll check on the mother, Chief Ferris,” said Osborne.
“Thank you, Doc,” said Lew. “Once you find her address and as soon as Bruce gets here, you and I better drive over to inform her of her daughter’s death. I hate to deliver news like that by myself and I would hate to have her hear the news from the media.”
Turning back to Ty Wallis, Lew said, “What is the status right now of the credit card billings? Do the banks know about this?”
“No. The men involved wanted to keep the banks out of it. They hoped that if Chet paid everyone back that it wouldn’t have to go any further than my office.”
“And has that happened?” asked Lew. “Has Chet paid back the money? What’s the total owed to all three men?”
“One hundred seventy-eight thousand and thirty-two cents. He was supposed to have three checks here today. I have a meeting scheduled at three o’clock and—”
Lew cut him off. “So the three of you—I mean four including you—thought you could sweep all this under the table with no questions asked? And what about the two ladies? Was that action going to continue? There is a word for that, you know: prostitution. It’s a criminal offense.”
“May I answer that?” asked Karen, raising her right hand like a schoolgirl. “Men like Chet and his friends think their money entitles them to do whatever they wish, whenever they wish, and to whomever they wish.
“Took me a few years to understand that and you can call me stupid. But just so you know Chet never said a word to me about any of this. If he had I might have saved everyone from a big surprise.
“You see, it didn’t matter what Chet said he would do because he couldn’t. There is no one hundred seventy-eight thousand dollars and thirty-two cents. Chet has lost every dime we ever had. He’s been lying to everyone.”
“It can’t be that bad, Karen,” said Osborne, stunned. “You can’t mean everything is gone? Your house alone is worth over a million dollars—”
“Nine point five to be exact, Dr. Osborne.”
“And the lake property that Chet inherited. It’s all gone?”
“House, land, vehicles—mortgaged to the hilt. Until this morning when Ty called to tell me Chet was dead, I’ve been trying to salvage enough money to live on. And I’ve been in meetings myself with two lawyers: one for my divorce and another for bankruptcy.” She gave a weak smile.
“At least Chet’s dying will save me having to pay the divorce lawyer more than what I owe him so far.” After a brief pause, she said, “And unless someone else steps up there won’t even be a funeral. I can’t pay for one.”
“Boy oh boy, I find this hard to believe,” said Osborne, shaking his head as he spoke. He pursed his lips before saying, “Karen, I’m sorry to ask a personal question but since I know both your folks are gone, how are you managing?”
Good question, thought Lew. She was wondering if the woman could afford to buy food.
“Right now I am doing okay. Hidden away in our attic was an antique doll collection that Chet’s mother left to me. Chet had forgotten all about that collection, thank heavens, or he would have pawned that, too. I was able to sell it on an antiques website for enough money to go back to school.
“I have a degree in education and quite a few of the photos I’ve taken over the years have won awards. So this fall I’m starting work on an MFA while teaching photography at the tech college in Rhinelander. It isn’t much but enough to live on. Once I finish graduate school, I’m pretty sure I can get a tenured teaching position . . . somewhere . . . I hope.”
“It’s that bad?” asked Osborne. Karen’s eyes glimmered with tears and all she could do was nod.
From the table near the entrance where he had been sitting with Joyce, the head of maintenance for Deer Creek stood up. It was obvious he had been listening. He walked over and put an arm around Karen’s shoulders. A slender man of modest height,
he couldn’t be more than an inch taller than Karen. Aside from the lines in their faces, standing side by side, they resembled two teenagers.
“KayKay, want me to drive you home? We’re old friends,” explained Fred Smith to the questioning eyes around him. “We grew up next door to each other. Karen’s known me since I was this high”—he held his free hand at knee level—“before kindergarten even. Come on, KayKay,” he said with a squeeze of her shoulders, “one of these days it’ll all be okay. Like it used to be, right?”
“Thanks, Fred,” said Karen, patting the hand he had placed on her right shoulder and raising grateful eyes to his. “Certainly can’t get worse, can it? Or . . . ,” she said after a pause, “maybe it can.”
“Chief Ferris,” said Fred, “just so you know, I kept warning Chet that piano was a hazard. Now we got this accident. I can’t tell you how many times I told him something like this would happen. It’s a shame, just a shame.” Osborne couldn’t decide if Smith had the mannerisms of an old biddy or a sad-eyed golden retriever.
“Thank you, Mr. Smith. I appreciate your input and I’ll be talking to you later,” said Lew, anxious to get him out of the way.
“Karen,” said Osborne, “I’m sure Chief Ferris will have more questions for you but right now I need specifics for the death certificate for your husband. Do you mind taking a chair and going over a few details with me?” He pulled out a chair from a nearby table. “Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes and I’m sorry, but it has to be done and the sooner the better.”
“Of course, Dr. Osborne, but first I do have one last question for Ty.” Looking at the manager, she asked, “With Chet dead do you think Pete and Jud and Bert will be expecting me to pay them the money Chet owes? I mean, I know legally I have just inherited Chet’s problems but weren’t they close friends of his? Each one has more money than God and once they know I’m nearly bankrupt?”
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