Dead Loudmouth

by Victoria Houston

“I heard that,” Lew said in a whisper as she leaned over Osborne’s shoulder. “Tell Erin we’ll be right there.”

  Lew was up and pulling on sweatpants and a sweatshirt before Osborne was even out of bed. “We better take your car, Doc. This isn’t police business.”

  Ten minutes later they were on Erin and Mark’s front porch. Erin answered the door in her pajamas. “I can’t thank you enough for doing this,” she said as Lew and Osborne ran by her. “Mason’s in the family room with Mark.”

  Mason was sitting on the sofa with her father’s arm around her. The child was trembling. “Chief Ferris, she calmed down a bit when we told her you were coming,” said Mark.

  “Let me take over,” said Lew and sat down beside Mason. She put a hand on Mason’s knee. “Okay, young lady, start at the beginning and tell me what it is. But first, take a deep breath. We’re all here to listen and I’m sure we can fix it whatever it is.”

  “I saw the pictures of how they’re going to die,” said Mason. “See, when I was lost I found this cabin like Dad’s hunting shack and I pushed a door open. It wasn’t locked.” She took a broken breath.

  “That’s okay, I’m not worried about that,” said Lew.

  “So I was going to just sleep a little, then try to go home but it was so dark. I . . . um . . . turned on some lights and found this other room.” Lew could feel the child’s body shaking. “There were pictures on the wall of real people with knives and guns pointing at them.”

  “Those are posters people use for target practice, honey. Those aren’t real.”

  Mason turned frightened eyes up to Lew and said, “No, they aren’t for target practice. I saw the people in real life. I saw how it will happen. They are going to die if we don’t find them.

  “We have to tell them to be careful. I am so scared because . . .” She burst into tears, her breath catching. “. . . because the bad person will know what I saw and come after me too. Come after me so I won’t tell.”

  “Now, now, I don’t think so,” said Lew, patting Mason’s shoulder in an attempt to calm her down. It wasn’t working.

  “No one’s coming after you,” said Mason’s parents in unison.

  “You’re imagining things, honey,” said Erin. She glanced over at Lew and Osborne. “I wonder if what she saw was just some idiot’s porno collection. Snuff porno. Something like that.”

  Osborne had felt a chill when Mason was describing what she had seen. It didn’t make sense but still . . . Early as it was, he knew he had to make a phone call.

  “Ray, sorry to wake you up but we’ve got a problem. Maybe you can help.” After telling him of Mason’s terror, he said, “I’m afraid the only way we can help this child is to find that cabin. Find the damn place and show her there is nothing to be afraid of.”

  “We should do that right now,” said Ray. “I’ll grab my maps and plat book and be over in minutes. You’re at Erin’s?”

  Twenty minutes later, the adults and Mason gathered around the dining room table as Ray first laid out a fishing map of Loon Lake. They kept their voices low as the other two children were still sleeping soundly.

  “Problem I had when we were looking for her the other night,” said Ray as he moved a pointer across the map, “is all these inlets along here. I couldn’t figure out which was the one she was pulled into.”

  “The one I was in had a culvert,” said Mason. “That’s why I got out of the kayak.”

  “That helps,” said Ray. “Narrows our choice to one of three: here, here, and here.” Everyone stared at the snake-like lines marking the inlets. “What else do you remember, Mason?”

  “Telephone poles.”

  “Okay, more than likely they were utility poles for power lines,” said Ray, opening the plat book. “And you found your way through woods and potato fields to Herm Jensen’s place?”

  “Yes.” Mason had calmed though Osborne could see she was still experiencing bouts of trembling. Gosh, he hoped they could figure this out. Poor kid.

  Ray circled an area. “Has to be right in here. According to my plat book the last deed registered for this section indicates ownership by the Wright family trust. I’ll bet she found one of the Wright family’s old hunting shacks. Let’s go, folks.”

  “Ray, it’s four o’clock in the morning,” offered Erin. “Shouldn’t we wait for dawn at least?”

  “Hell, no, this is what adventure is all about, right, Mason?” Ray kidded Mason with a gentle elbow in her ribs, but the look he gave Lew was serious. “What do you think, Chief?”

  “Now, we go right now,” said Lew. She didn’t add that Mason’s story had worried her, too. “But, Ray, how old is your plat book?”

  “’Bout five years. I don’t know that there’s been an update published since.”

  “All right, here’s what we do,” said Lew. “I want Doc to drive me back to his place so I can change clothes and get my cruiser. We’ll meet everyone back here in half an hour. Mason, you’re coming, too, so you need to get dressed. Is that okay with everyone?”

  “Someone needs to stay here with Beth and Cody,” said Mark. “That’ll be me. The rest of you go.”

  Soon there was a caravan driving along the town road that ran between Loon Lake and the potato fields. Ray and Osborne in Ray’s pickup led the group, followed by Lew in her cruiser. Erin and Mason in their family Jeep took up the rear.

  Twice Ray turned down roads with fire numbers that turned out to be dead ends: one ended in an empty lot where someone was storing firewood; another at an ancient brick house with its windows boarded up and a fallen-down barn. The third road wound deep into a heavily wooded area before emerging into a clearing with a stack of firewood on one side and a cabin so old its logs had turned black.

  Ray pulled up and parked. He and Osborne got out and waited for the others to arrive. The sky was lightening and the air cool and crisp as the other vehicles pulled into the clearing.

  “What do you think, Mason? Could this be it?”

  “Not sure,” said Mason. “I know I left the front door unlocked when I left. But I don’t want to go in there.” She cowered against her mother.

  “I’ll go first,” said Lew, one hand resting on the SIG Sauer at her hip. Ray and Osborne followed several feet behind. The door pushed open easily. It was unlocked.

  “Hello?” Lew called. No answer. She walked into the cabin.

  Based on what Mason had said earlier, Lew was pretty sure this had to be the one: a small living area with a beat-up old sofa and a wooden rocking chair in front of a fireplace built of river rock. An ancient floor lamp with a stained lampshade stood behind the sofa.

  Lew pulled a chain and the lamp turned on. “Got electricity,” she said.

  Ray walked into the kitchen area, looked around, opened the refrigerator, and came out. “Nothing much here,” he said, “but the fridge is on and there’s a couple beers in there.” He turned on the kitchen tap and water came out. “Whoever it is has the water pump running. I’d say somebody’s been in the place recently.”

  Osborne walked over to a closed door next to a small bathroom and turned the knob. The door opened. He reached in, hoping for a wall switch just inside the door and found one. He flicked it on. To his right, plastered across the wall were the images that had frightened his granddaughter.

  They were not pornographic; they were worse. And he recognized the victims.

  Lew took one look and grabbed her cell phone. “What did you say the fire number is on this road?” she asked Ray.

  “Four-two-one-five.”

  She repeated the number to the dispatch operator. “I need the name, address, and phone number for the owner of this property ASAP,” she said and clicked off.

  The three of them studied the five-by-seven-inch color photos on the wall. The subject was familiar: Tiffany Niedermeier. The subject was clothed in some photos, unclothed in others.

  Above each was pinned a handwritten note detailing what Osborne assumed were statements made to the p
hotographer by the subject. Each note contained a nasty remark highlighted with quote marks, though each was different. The responses from the photographer were visceral.

  Alongside each photo and note was pinned an identical photo but this time a weapon had been taped onto the subject. There were seven original photos, seven duplicates. Most often the weapons taped to scenes were knives or guns, except for the last two photos.

  The last photo featured two people: Tiffany and a partner on a piano. No note. The duplicate photo held no weapon: just a large black X.

  “Whoever took these was stalking Tiffany,” said Lew. “They had cameras rigged in the women’s dressing room and bathroom at Buddy’s Place, the Deer Creek fitness center, even her bedroom and bath in Deer Creek’s barracks for summer employees.

  “That last photo must have been taken from that back stairway in the Entertainment Center at Buddy’s Place. Tiffany and her partner were so engaged, not to mention drunk—they never knew they were being watched.”

  After reading the quotes pinned over the photos, Ray asked, “Do you think that woman really said those things? I can’t imagine anyone being so downright mean. I wouldn’t talk that way to a rock.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” said Lew. “Based on what Doc and I’ve been told, she was a master of cruelty and perceptive when it came to choosing her targets. The woman had a sixth sense for picking on people who had been abused before.

  “Both Joyce and Nina said they experienced abusive behavior from her but they pushed back. Whoever took these photos seems to be someone Tiffany was torturing. Verbally, that is. But that can be dangerous. You can push a person too far. Just . . . too . . . far.”

  Lew heaved a sigh. “Mason’s instinct was right: someone was going to die. The hard part will be trying to explain to her why and why her warning has come too late. Doc, I think you and Erin need to handle that right now. I do not want that child feeling guilty over this—”

  Her cell phone rang. “Yes, we have an owner? Thank you, good work.”

  Lew looked at Osborne and Ray. “Fred Smith. He’s owned this property for a year. Bought it from the family trust. I imagine it was Chet who sold it to him.”

  “Doc, Ray, you stay with Erin and Mason, please. No reason for anyone to remain out here. Meantime, I want to arrest Fred Smith as soon as possible. I’ll have Officer Adamczak meet me at Deer Creek for backup. We know Fred has been living in the caretaker cottage there.”

  “Wait, Chief Ferris—” Ray started to protest.

  “Lewellyn—”Osborne joined him.

  “No, you two stay out of this,” said Lew. “I don’t need anyone else getting hurt.” She checked the time. “The sooner Roger and I get there, the better. We can catch him by surprise.”

  Walking outside where the morning sun was peeking over the pines to the east, Lew strode over to the car where Erin and Mason were waiting. “Mason, this has been very, very helpful. We know who put those pictures up and I am on my way now to arrest him. He cannot hurt you.”

  Mason raised questioning eyes to Lew. “I’m safe?”

  “Very safe. You do not have to worry.”

  “But those people—are they safe?”

  “I have to check on that,” said Lew, catching Erin’s eye with a silent warning. “I will tell you later. Feel better now, okay?”

  Mason nodded as she whispered, “Yes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lew pulled into the parking lot in front of the lodge at the Deer Creek Preserve. It was a few minutes before six A.M. She waited until Roger’s squad car arrived to park alongside. Climbing out of her cruiser, she motioned for him to follow her.

  The front door was open, which surprised Lew, but once inside she saw lights on in Ty Wallis’ office. “Good morning, Ty,” she said after rapping her knuckles on his open door. “What are you doing here so early?”

  Ty looked up from his desk. He did a double-take then grinned. “Hey, if I don’t start at six, Chief Ferris, I can’t get anything done. All the excitement over at Buddy’s Place hasn’t made my job easier either.” He paused with a sheepish expression on his face. “Truth is I don’t sleep that great these days, so might as well get something done.

  “Might I ask you the same question? Awfully early for a visit isn’t it?”

  “I’m here on police business, Ty. Where will I find the caretaker’s cottage? That’s where Fred Smith is living, correct?”

  “He was. Fact is, you are just in time. He’s moving out this morning. I fired him last night. He walked in here demanding I let Joyce go but, hell, that woman is the one who does all the heavy lifting around here. Only reason Fred had his job is the Wrights insisted I hire him, but with Chet gone . . .”

  Ty stood with a wave of his hand saying, “You don’t need to hear all this. I promised the guy a good reference, though. Hell, an excellent recommendation—can’t get him out of here fast enough.”

  “So which way to . . . ?”

  “Take a right out the front door and around the building. You’ll see a storage shed and the caretaker cottage is right behind that. Holler if you need any help.”

  Minutes later, Lew and Roger walked past a white golf cart parked in front of the cottage and up to the front door. Lew knocked, saying, “Loon Lake Police, Fred. Please open up.”

  “Hold on, be right there,” said a voice from inside. Lew and Roger stood back, hands on their holstered weapons, ready.

  The door opened and Fred stood there half-dressed as he tried stuffing a green work shirt into his pants. “Chief Ferris? Officer Adamczak?”

  A quick check of the man in the doorway and Lew was confident he was unarmed. “Fred Smith, I have probable cause to arrest you for the murders of Chet Wright and Tiffany Niedermeier.” She started to read him his rights but Fred stopped her. “No need for that.”

  He backed into the cottage and Lew followed with Roger standing behind her. The room was small but comfortable with knotty pine paneling and cheerful red-and-white curtains at the windows. “Before you handcuff me, can I ask how you know it was me?”

  “We found the photos in that hunting shack of yours. Someone got in there by accident the other day, saw them, and alerted us.”

  “I see.”

  Lew was struck by how resigned the man seemed. “You did push the lever to raise that piano, didn’t you?” Fred nodded.

  “Yep. Kind of weird, I guess, but I felt so bad for Karen. She’s a beautiful person and she didn’t deserve what those two were up to.” If a grown man could pout, Fred did as he spat out, “She sure didn’t deserve Chet and all that horrible man’s BS. Good riddance is what I say.”

  “Did Karen ask you to . . . take care of things?”

  “KayKay? God, no. She’s an angel. My angel.” Fred’s eyes took on a distant look. His voice was calm, soft even. Though he stood in front of her, Lew had the sense he’d left the room. “My guardian angel,” he whispered.

  “KayKay would never do something like that. Never. But Chet, he hurt her in so many ways, someone had to do something. If it had to be me, I’m all right with that. I am all right with that. She saved my life, see—and I’ve had the chance to save hers. Right?”

  He smiled.

  Lew was struck by how calm he was. So calm she wondered if he thought he was going to get away with it. She tensed, ready for him to rush her. But he just kept talking.

  “No, no, no. KayKay had no idea what I was planning. But I knew that Chet had a thing about being on the piano with that witch of a woman so I decided it would be a good way for both of them to go. She’s the one I really wanted to, um, finish off. At least I hoped that’s how it would work.”

  Watching him as he spoke, Lew saw no remorse in the man’s eyes. “Problem was I couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t see what was happening and stop the piano.”

  “But you did plan ahead?”

  “I guess you can say that. I knew they got together a couple nights a week after hours. Drinking, fooling around
, silly jukebox blaring. Couple times I walked in on ’em, they never noticed. The other night I forgot my toolkit and went back late to get it. One of the bathrooms had backed up that afternoon, see, so I had been there earlier. When I saw what they were up to—figured it was good a time as any and pushed the lever.”

  “What if they hadn’t been killed?”

  “They would have thought one of them had pulled it. Chet did it once for a prank. You can stop it at the top if you aren’t drunk out of your mind, see. Kinda their own fault, is my thinking.”

  “Well, we’ll talk more at the station. Officer Adamczak, would you please cuff Mr. Smith?”

  “Excuse me, Chief Ferris, before he does that may I get my wallet out of my dresser in the bedroom? And my medications?”

  “Yes, but I have to watch you,” said Lew, following him through the door to the bedroom. A black duffel bag stood open on the carefully made bed and she could see he had begun to pack items of clothing.

  Fred walked over to an old wooden dresser and pulled open the top drawer. He reached in for a small wooden box and set it on top of the dresser. His back to Lew, he tipped up the lid and reached into the box.

  She never saw the gun. He kept his head still and arm movement to a minimum while pulling it from the box and pressing the barrel against the roof of his mouth before pulling the trigger.

  • • •

  The box—a balsa wood cigar box onto which had been burned the words Baccarat Havana Selection—wasn’t all that Fred had stolen. Checking its contents later that day, Lew found it held a tube of lipstick, one rhinestone drop earring, a black lace thong, a small pipe used for smoking dope, and, of course, the handgun.

  The gun was a Charter Arms Cougar Undercover Lite registered to a Tiffany Niedermeier. It had cost its owner $400.

  Tiffany had been right on one count: someone had indeed been riffling through her stuff. But she was wrong on the others: the culprit was neither Joyce nor Nina.

  • • •

  Late that afternoon Lew was deep into the paperwork required by the circumstances surrounding Fred Smith’s death when her phone rang. She looked up from the computer screen, relieved to have a break for whatever reason.