“Who made you do what? Tiffany?” Nina continued to make the annoying sounds.
“Come on now, let’s cut the baloney. Nina, if you will cooperate with this investigation, I’m sure we can work out something to keep you out of jail but I need to know you are telling the truth. Right now I don’t believe a word you’re saying. Want to start over?”
Nina took a deep breath, then spoke in a voice hard and clear. “Here’s the truth. I met Tiffany last summer in a club in Minneapolis where she was dancing. Chet Wright came in often. He had a thing for her. They talked me into coming here to help with the new place and I thought it might be a good way to start over, y’know.
“And I kind of had to, see. Tiffany knew I’d had a little dustup with some boys running coke a couple years back. She threatened to tell them where I was if I didn’t help her. I couldn’t let that happen—they might kill me. Beat me up for sure and you know . . .”
Lew nodded in sympathy. “I can only imagine. I can see you had no choice.”
“Then she stole from me, too. Yes, I got paid fifteen hundred but I had to give her half, which is not fair. She took stuff from me, too. My good jewelry, a new sweater. That bitch just helped herself. But thing is—what I want you to know—is all I ever did was get those boys real drunk . . .”
“You mean the men from Deer Creek who patronized Buddy’s Place?”
“Yeah. All I did was get them drunk and stoned enough that me and Tiffany could take pictures that looked like they did more than they ever did. Frankly, they weren’t capable of doing anything.
“Then Chet would drive ’em over to where they were staying and roll ’em into bed. He’s the one who ran the charges for drinks and entertainment. I never touched a credit card machine. Never, I swear.
“Later he and Tiffany would fool around at the club. On that piano and stuff. But, see, thing is Tiffany was mean as hell. You want to know who all might want to kill her? It’s a long list.
“Start with old Joyce. It wasn’t just the way Tiffany talked to her. Tiff left filth all over the place that Joyce had to clean up. Joyce could do it, too, see.”
“What do you mean?” asked Lew. “Joyce could clean up?”
“No, no, she could be the killer.” The coy look. “She knows how to run that piano up and down. I think she’s the one got those two crushed to death.”
“How do you know about the piano and what’s happened?”
“Everyone in Loon Lake knows. I heard yesterday afternoon.”
“She’s right, Chief,” said Osborne. “I got quizzed by the boys at McDonald’s this morning. It may not be on TV but it’s all over town.”
“Let’s go back for a minute, Nina,” said Lew. “What makes you so sure Joyce could be involved?”
“Two things,” said Nina. “First, she kept that piano so well oiled it barely made noise when it was raised and lowered. Then you have that antique jukebox goin’ full blast. Trust me, Tiffany and Chet wouldn’t have heard anything if they were . . . you know, not paying attention, shall we say.” The coy look again. This time with a glint of malice.
“I didn’t notice the jukebox,” said Lew.
“You didn’t? It’s over in the corner. Probably turned off when you were there, otherwise all the lights are on so you can’t miss it. Chet paid a fortune to have it restored. The jukebox and the piano, those were his toys. He was very proud of how well they worked.”
“Who else hated Tiffany? Besides you and Joyce?” Nina threw Lew a quick look like she was going to argue but thought better of it.
“God, how many fingers do you have? Most are people over in the cities. ’Course, then there’s squinty little Fred. Tiffany loved making fun of him, too. At first I think he had a crush on her. You know, Tiffany was not a bad-looking woman and she has a body that never stops so you can’t blame a guy.
“Here’s a good example of how wonderful Tiffany could be. One day right after Fred did something nice like let her borrow his golf cart to go for a ride around the preserve, she says to him in front of all of us, ‘Hey, Fred, anyone ever tell you you’re concrete up to your neck and shit the rest of the way?’ Then she laughed so hard.
“I thought the poor guy was going to cry. And there was no reason for her to say that. He never did nothing bad to her.” Nina shook her head, remembering.
“You had good reason to hate her,” said Lew in an understanding tone of voice.
“I did. I surely did. But I didn’t kill her if that’s what you think.”
“Do you feel bad she’s gone?”
Nina’s eyes swung from Lew to Osborne. No longer coy, the expression in them was flat: flat and dead. She didn’t answer.
“The good news, Nina,” said Lew, “is I believe you; the bad news is you cannot leave Loon Lake until I say you can.”
“Guess I sorta figured that. Okay. I’ll stay here though if that’s all right.”
“Yes. I’m interrogating the gentlemen from the Deer Creek Preserve this morning and I may have more questions for you after that session.”
Nina snorted. “Gentlemen?” Her monkey face gave a sardonic grin.
• • •
“Lewellyn,” said Osborne, hitting the button to lower the passenger side window in the cruiser, “hope this isn’t too much wind. I need fresh air.”
“Me, too,” said Lew and put her window down. “What do you think, Doc?”
“Nina? I think she feels trapped. Tiffany stealing from her, probably putting her down in front of the customers, threatening to expose her to the drug dealers if she didn’t do what she was told.
“Wouldn’t surprise me if she tried to sabotage Tiffany in some way. Now she worries we’ll find out and wonder if she isn’t the one who pulled the lever. Yep, that’s why she’s so quick to place the blame on someone else. What else would you do if you felt the facts closing in on you?”
“Same thing an animal does,” said Lew. “You fight your way out.
“Doc, that woman had no intention of showing up for the interrogation. I’ll have Dani run a criminal background check and I’ll bet you anything we’ll find Nina Krezminski’s run out on more than that. If that is her real name.”
Chapter Fifteen
Lew’s office felt cramped and stuffy when Osborne walked in behind her. Three men sat waiting in chairs under the windows. Two wore tan dress pants and button-down shirts open at the collar.
The third man, corpulent, was dressed in a faded gray pullover that hung loose over a pair of wrinkled black shorts in serious need of a washing machine. Bulbous knees and battered flip-flops completed a picture Osborne saw too often during the tourist season.
All except the fat man stood when Lew walked into the room. Introducing herself and Osborne, she said, “Gentlemen, thank you for coming in this morning, and I apologize if we are a few minutes late. I am Lewellyn Ferris, chief of the Loon Lake Police.” She gestured toward Osborne as he pulled a chair closer to where the men were sitting.
“Dr. Paul Osborne here is one of my deputies. He often assists my department and the Wausau Crime Lab as an odontologist. As you might imagine it is very helpful to have an expert in dental forensics standing by when we need him. Dr. Osborne also assists with other elements of investigations since I have only two full-time officers to help with law enforcement here in Loon Lake.”
“Ya got the sheriff’s department, don’t ya,” said black shorts, still sitting with one chubby leg crossed over the other, his left foot bouncing.
“They have the county to cover, Mr. . . . ?”
“Bronk, Bert Bronk. Oak Park, Illinois. My old man owned every Walgreens north of Chicago and all the way to goddamn North Pole. Been coming to Deer Creek since I was born and I never saw a Loon Lake cop ever.” He gave a laugh that ended with a loud hacking. Too many cigars, thought Osborne as the sound from the man’s throat turned his stomach.
“Well, that surprises me,” said Lew calmly. “The Loon Lake Police Department has been in existence
at least seventy-five years. Our jurisdiction is the Loon Lake Township, which is why you’re here this morning. Buddy’s Place is located just inside the township line—”
“The Deer Creek Preserve sure as hell isn’t. It’s in the next county,” barked black shorts.
“True.” Osborne thought Lew was remaining remarkably genial in light of the man’s borderline rudeness. “The crimes we are here to discuss happened in Loon Lake so—”
“I got nothin’ to say about that. These fellas don’t either so let’s just wind this up. We all got business to do.”
“Certainly. Please follow me down to our conference room.”
As if to distance themselves from their heavy-set compatriot, the other two men who had been standing in silence now extended their hands to Lew first and then to Osborne.
“Good morning,” said the man closest to Lew, “I’m Jud Westerman, also from Chicago. Retired commodities trader and my great-grandfather was one of the founders of Deer Creek.” A tall hawk-faced man, Westerman had a booming voice and a shock of white hair over a well-tanned face.
“Haven’t I seen you on the golf course over in Rhinelander?” asked Osborne as he shook his hand.
“Wouldn’t be surprised. I’m there three mornings a week when I’m up north. That is one premier golf course you folks got there.”
“And I’m Pete Kretzler,” said the third man, giving Osborne’s hand an extra squeeze: a silent signal. “Hand surgeon from Milwaukee. It’s my wife’s family has the membership. We just built a lake home in Minocqua for when I retire. Chief Ferris, Dr. Osborne, certainly happy to help out any way I can.”
Jowly with a wide, full mouth and a big head, Kretzler had a nose that threatened to take over his face unless he cut back on the whiskey. Osborne nodded as he shook the man’s hand and looked briefly into his eyes. He had seen Kretzler several times in the room behind the glass door with the coffeepot on it: the AA meeting place. But that was confidential and to be shared with no one, not even the Loon Lake chief of police.
Once in the conference room, Lew directed the men to sit in specific chairs then pointed to the young woman standing at the back of the room.
“Dani, our intern back there, is also our IT guru. She’ll be helping us this morning. Like Dr. Osborne and myself, she knows to keep everything said in this room confidential.” The three men glanced quickly at Dani and the video camera.
“Dani,” asked Lew, “are we ready to videotape this session?”
“Yes, Chief, but let me give you and Dr. Osborne some directions on how to operate the equipment in case I have to leave.”
Dani motioned for them to join her out in the hallway. Closing the door softly behind her, Dani whispered, “I did what you asked. Got two extra video setups from the sheriff’s department and now I’ll adjust the cameras so you get full face on each of the men. I think I should stay in case they move around, turn away, whatever. I’ll be in the back where they probably won’t notice me. Does that work for you?”
“That will be very helpful,” said Lew. “Are we ready to start then?”
“Yes.”
After Lew described the scene she had come upon at the club, she told the three that she was aware that they had been patronizing the club and alleged they had had bogus charges applied to their credit cards.
“Am I correct in the details so far?” she asked after describing what she had learned from Ty Wallis.
“Oh yeah. The total on mine might even be more than a hundred sixty grand,” said Bert Bronk, hocking another wad of phlegm as he tried to adjust his shorts. “Got my office manager checking with my bank today. We think more charges went in over the weekend.”
“I assume you three know that I know about the alleged compromising positions in which you were photographed. Depending on what transpires during our investigation, I may need you to share some of those photos.” All three men studied the floor.
Pete, the hand surgeon, was the first to respond. “Can you do that in a way that I don’t have to tell my wife? I . . . it would not be good for my marriage.”
Osborne was not surprised to hear that. During the few AA meetings he had attended, Pete had admitted that his drinking was threatening his marriage, not to mention his career in medicine. Pete was struggling and Osborne felt for him.
He remembered his own dark days and said a quick prayer of thanks for his life today. He stole a glance at Lew. But for his closest friends—Lew, Ray Pradt, and the support of his daughters who forced an intervention—he might be just another whiskey-sodden drunk like Pete.
“Won’t help mine either,” said Jud, referring to his marriage.
“Hell, I don’t care what the hell you do. Just find who killed that idiot Wright so we can put this behind us. Goddammit,” said Bronk. “For the record, Chief Ferris, I did not solicit any females—I was solicited. Got that? Solicited. No crime in listening is there?”
“I am not here to serve warrants for soliciting prostitutes or for hiding credit card fraud,” said Lew. “I am conducting a homicide investigation.”
“Oh, for Chrissake, you keep saying ‘homicide,’” said Bronk. “What makes you think it wasn’t just some dumb accident? Chet was all excited and he hit the damn lever with his foot. That’s what I think.” Bronk thrust his chin into the air with the air of a man used to giving orders.
“Mr. Bronk, I hear you but I assure you that we have found evidence, which information I am not at liberty to share at this time, that a double homicide did take place.”
Lew gave Bert a long, level look. “I’m hoping one of you or all of you might help us generate a lead on who might have wanted Chet Wright dead.”
“That’s a tough one,” said Jud. “Chet may have been irritating at times but he was a pretty entertaining fellow. Easy to have a good time with the guy.” Jud looked at each of his friends. “You agree Bert, Pete?”
“Yeah, he was fun,” said Pete ruefully. “Maybe not the best kind of fun . . . obviously.”
“Now, gentlemen,” said Lew as she opened a manila file on the table in front of her, “there is good reason to cooperate by sharing everything you may know about the goings on at Buddy’s Place. You do realize you did not do yourselves any favors by trying to sweep the credit card fraud under the carpet and not alerting authorities. Under the circumstances you might be considered accessories to the crime.”
Lew sat back and waited. Osborne kept quiet.
“Yeah, I just want my money back,” said Bronk. He leaned forward. “Every goddamn penny. You tell Wright’s widow that. He might be dead but she owes me.”
“Karen Wright may have to declare bankruptcy,” said Osborne. “Chet appears to have gambled away all their assets. Even Buddy’s Place is mortgaged.”
“Oh yeah?” Bronk leaned back, looking even fatter as he did so. “Then you tell me what the hell she’s going to do when she gets that five-million-dollar payout on Chet’s life insurance. You tell me that.”
“How do you know there’s life insurance?” asked Lew.
The other two men looked on in surprise. This was news to them.
“Chet told me. Two years ago she made him take it out before she would give the okay for him to sit at the baccarat table in Vegas. If he didn’t take it out, she was going to divorce him, which at that time would have been a financial disaster for the guy.
“See,” Bert wriggled in his chair before saying, “Chet’s problem was he liked to think he wore the big pants. Y’know what I mean? But he could never shake off that wife of his. She ran the show.
“So trust me. I know there’s five million buckaroos sitting out there and she does too.” As he spoke, Pete Kretzler picked at an invisible spot on his slacks. Osborne, watching him, wondered what the man was thinking.
Fifteen minutes later, as the men were about to leave, Osborne said, “Chief Ferris, I’ll be back in half an hour. I need to drive home and check on my granddaughter.”
But that was not where he went fi
rst. After hurrying to the parking lot, he watched Pete climb into a black BMW and head out on County C in the direction of the Wright mansion. Osborne stayed a discreet distance behind Pete’s car, pleased for once that he drove a light-colored Subaru that looked like a hundred others on the streets of Loon Lake.
The BMW turned off at Tall Timbers Drive and drove east half a mile before taking another right into the circular drive that swept up to the Wright residence. Osborne drove past two houses then turned around as quick as he could. He pulled over across the street, a few hundred feet from the Wright driveway.
Through a screen of arbor vitae, he watched as Pete stood waiting before the massive front doors to the mansion. He must have rung the doorbell twice because he stood there for a minute or two before one of the doors swung open and Karen stepped out. Pete opened his arms wide and she folded herself into his embrace. Then she pulled him by the arm into the house.
Osborne put his car in gear and drove home to check on Mason.
Chapter Sixteen
Mason scarfed down her wild rice soup and two peanut butter sandwiches so fast Osborne worried she might choke to death. Between sandwich bites, she gave a breathless update: “Yeah, Gramps, the boys got two small muskies this morning but not big enough to qualify. Ray’s not worried. He said tonight’s fishing will be better—something about the moon, I’m not sure.
“But the good news is he told me while they’re gone, I can use his fishing kayak. Have you seen that, Gramps? It is so cool.”
“Honey, slow down and eat your lunch. I’m afraid you’re going to choke on that peanut butter.” He resisted the urge to remind her to chew with her mouth closed.
“No, no, I’m fine. So anyway, I’m gonna go for that Buster—you know that big muskie Ray said hides in the reeds out in front of his dock?”
“Yes, I do,” said Osborne absent-mindedly. Now that it appeared Mason would survive lunch he was thinking back to the events of the morning.
“Gramps,” said Mason, “you aren’t listening.”
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