Osborne looked at Ray. “Sit down,” he said. “Let me put the gun in the cabinet. We need to talk. Lew’s gone?”
“Yep. She’ll call you in the morning.”
“Nick, tell Ray what you told me about those bite marks on your shoulders. We need to settle on some things before we all try to get some sleep.”
Nick nodded. Osborne handed him a Kleenex. He wiped at his eyes and blew his nose. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said to Ray.
Ray nodded and sank into the chair next to Nick. His eyes were as grave as Osborne had ever seen them.
twenty-nine
“Ratty! Please, I want to row, now!” “Not yet my young friend … wait till you’ve had a few lessons. It’s not so easy as it looks.”
Mole and Water Rat, The Wind in the Willows
A lukewarm, half-full mug of coffee in his left hand, Osborne banged twice on the screen door to Ray’s trailer early the next morning. It was two minutes before seven. He peered in. Nick, sitting with his back to the door and hunched over the kitchen table, turned around. Ray, caught in the act of slurping his own coffee, waved Osborne in.
“You two look as bleary as I do,” said Osborne. Half grins greeted him. It was clear they all felt equally unsettled. As if to mock the anxiety level in the little trailer, the morning was sunny, light, and delicious with the aroma of frying bacon.
“Pancakes?” said Ray, managing to make his offer sound like a grunt. From the dirty dishes crowding the counter, it was obvious breakfast had been served.
“No, thanks,” said Osborne. “I’m surprised you can eat.” He had barely managed to choke down a bowl of dry cereal and skim milk. Even then, he ate only because he knew he was already on his way to consuming too much caffeine.
“How’s that coffee?” He thrust his cup toward Ray, who reached back for the pot sitting in the coffeemaker.
“Jeez, I hate this,” said Osborne. “I couldn’t sleep I’m so worried about this whole situation. Do you think Joel has any idea what his kid is up to?”
It had crossed Osborne’s mind that if Zenner was as troubled as it appeared he might be, the family might have to leave Loon Lake. That would put Joel in a very tough financial bind. Somewhere around five a.m., Osborne decided he would be willing to step back into the dental practice if it meant easing a tragic situation facing the parents. He would certainly do the same if the boy were killed in a car accident. This could be worse.
“Nick,” said Ray, his voice weary as he poured, “tell the good dentist what’s new and exciting in your life this morning.”
“Zenner called a few minutes ago.” Nick pushed his fork at a half-eaten pancake on his plate. “He wants me to skip school and go out to Wildwood with him. He said Mr. Kendrickson has a lot of work he has to have done today, and I could help out. He’ll pay us overtime.”
“I want him to go,” said Ray as he set the coffeepot back on the burner. He clicked off the coffeemaker. “I want him to get Zenner to talk about those guns.”
“Ray,” said Osborne, “you’re not serious. Not only does Zenner have some serious questions to answer on those bite marks, but this is a kid who’s been stockpiling shotguns and high-powered rifles … rifles like the ones used to kill two women.”
“Doc, with no bullets to trace, how can you be sure Zenner’s guns are anything like the ones used? You don’t know that.”
“You’re right,” said Osborne, “but I don’t like the connection with the bite marks, even if they are tattoos. I told you that at four this morning, and I’m telling you again.”
Ray looked at Nick and Nick looked at Osborne.
“I think it’s a good idea,” said Nick firmly. “I don’t believe what you guys are saying about Zenner. You’re wrong, and I’m gonna prove it.” The look on his face convinced Osborne that he was indeed Ray’s son: To be that obstinate in the face of logic required a passion born of blood, not intellect.
“No.” Osborne made his opposition unequivocal. “Lew will never stand for it.”
“Lew won’t know,” said Ray. He raised a hand as Osborne opened his mouth to protest. “Listen to me, Doc. I’m with Nick. Something is w-a-a-y out of kilter here. We have got to hear Zenner’s side of all this before we blow the whistle. It’s one thing for me to sit in the clink; some folks expect it. But a young kid like Zenner? Jeez, just being suspected of something as horrible as these murders … that could affect his reputation for life. You know it will hit the papers statewide, not to mention TV….”
Before Osborne could say a word, Ray continued. “So here’s the plan….”
Osborne stared at the tabletop, listening even as he knew it was the last thing he should be doing.
Ray caught the look on his face and shook a finger at his friend. “Now you hear this out before you say a word, Doc. It’s a good, safe plan. Nick will go out to Wildwood with Zenner. He’s picking him up in about fifteen minutes. They’ll get there right around eight. At nine-thirty, you and I will drop in on the boys. That’s when you and I have a little talk with the Z-man about the bite marks. By that time, Nick will have checked out this gun situation.”
“I’m afraid to ask how you plan to do that,“ said Osborne, giving Nick a dim eye. “If you ask me, you two are suffering from sleep deprivation.”
“I can do it easy,” said Nick. He spoke with a firm confidence that surprised Osborne. “We’re always giving each other advice about computers, so I’ll just change the subject to guns. I’ll bring it up real casual, like now that I know I like to fish, the next thing I want to try is deer hunting, maybe bird hunting. I’ll ask Zenner what guns he uses and if he would teach me how to shoot.”
“Yeah,” said Ray. “Then he’ll ask Zenner why he likes certain guns, etc., etc., and will he show Nick a couple? Just like you and me, Doc.”
“Well …” Osborne had to admit it did sound like a typical Northwoods conversation. “Throw in bow hunting, Nick. If you ask about bows, then he won’t think you’re too focused on guns.”
“Great idea,” said Ray. “I like that. So, Doc, what we do then—when we know the story behind these guns—that’s when we go to Lew. Maybe even with Zenner along. See, I think we’ll find out he’s been buying for his dad or a friend of his dad’s. Maybe some collector who doesn’t want everyone to know what he’s looking for. That kind of thing. So now we’ll have an explanation, and we’re basically doing the job she’s asked us to do.”
Osborne relaxed slightly. This was sounding a little more controlled than it had appeared at first. Still, it bothered him. The fact remained that Zenner’s name was on a lot of guns. And it was the high-powered rifles more than the shotguns that made him wonder.
“So, Doc,” continued Ray persuasively, “all we’re really doing is letting Nick skip a couple hours of school, help out on a computer project, and try to get his friend to talk about his hunting—”
“Cut the crap, Ray,” said Osborne. “We’re still talking a hell of a risk here. On the one hand what you say makes perfect sense, but you’re assuming Zenner is innocent. What if the boy is a nut? A maniac? We don’t know that he didn’t murder those two women. And not knowing anything for sure, we are putting Nick at risk.” Osborne looked hard at the one man he would trust with his own life. “Ray, you really think this is wise?”
“He’s not a killer,” said Nick. “I know he’s not.”
“You’ve only known Zenner for a couple of days, Nick,” said Osborne, exasperated. “And you’re a city kid. You have no idea—”
“I’m with Nick,” Ray jumped in. “Zenner’s innocent. I can tell by looking the kid in the eye, Doc. He’s not a killer. He might be a little weird, but he’s not full of hate, he’s not twisted. Nick would have spotted that in the first five minutes. He’s a city kid, all right.” Ray pounded his hand heartily on Nick’s right shoulder. “This boy’s got street smarts.” Nick sat up a little straighter.
Osborne let his eyes rest on the two men. He wasn’t stupid; he knew what
was at stake here.
“You win.” Osborne threw up his hands. “But the only reason I’m agreeing is because I know Lew is swamped. Too much has happened in the last couple days, and I know she needs all the help she can get. Even so, I’ll agree on one condition: Nick gets only two hours with Zenner, and we must tell Lew everything by noon today.”
“I have no problem with that,” said Ray. “All I’m asking is that Nick has a chance to talk to Zenner first.”
thirty
Inspired by the beauty of trout, Franz Schubert composed the “Trout Quintet.”
The parking lot at the new jail was clogged with vehicles of all sizes. Taking up at least six parking spaces were two trailers whose equipment and cables were strewn every which way. After five minutes of circling the lot in Ray’s truck, they decided to park half on the lawn and risk a ticket. Otherwise, they would have to park over a block away.
“More construction?” said Ray. Closer inspection showed the two trailers belonged to television crews from out of town. “Oho,” said Ray. “In that case …” He paused to look in the side mirror of his truck. Carefully, he set his fish hat on his head, then tipped it ever so slightly to the left, giving it a particularly jaunty angle. He saw the look Osborne gave him. “Hey, you never know, Doc. Letterman has to retire someday.”
Striding through the automatic doors into the anteroom for the county offices, they were brought to a complete halt by the crowd in the lobby. The place was packed with people Osborne had never seen before. They all looked to be about Erin’s age, around thirty or so. Osborne and Ray pushed their way through to the glass panel in front of the receptionist’s desk. Recognizing them with a frantic smile, she buzzed open the door that led to the police department.
Lew’s office was down at the end of the hall. Another cluster of young adults was milling right in front of her door, their video cameras, lights, and cables festooning the hallway. Osborne and Ray ducked into a room off to their right, where Lucy sat at the switchboard.
She was a hefty woman, the type who always ordered more at the all-you-can-eat fish fry. Shoulder-length auburn curls framed her generous cheeks and added to a general effect of impressive size. But big as she was, her heart was bigger. It took a lot to upset Lucy. Nor did she make many mistakes. For as much grief as she had caused the night before, Osborne knew it would be hard for Lew to stay angry at such a good-hearted, energetic soul who could balance a steady stream of incoming complaints with consummate ease.
And she thrived on social contact, which was reflected in the impish twinkle to her eye and her own admission that she was an inveterate busybody, the reason she gave for refusing to retire: “The day I stop talking is the day I die.” The bustle of this particular morning suited her just fine. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes happy.
“Dateline is here,” she announced on spotting Osborne and Ray. She shoved the headphone off one ear. “And CBS Evening News. Do you believe it? They all flew into Wausau this morning. Got those vans from Channel Nine. Ray, that woman you were guiding? Her dead boyfriend was some big time builder from Chicago … real famous and rich. When Dick Richards over at the paper called the news in to AP last night, the newspapers and television reporters started calling here. They even called Lew at home … five o’clock this morning!”
“Lucy, you owe me an apology,” said Ray gently.
Lucy dropped her eyes. “Yes, I do. I am so sorry, Ray. I completely forgot to leave the number where Lew could be reached. She gave it to me; it was my fault. You would never have been incarcerated if they had been able to reach her. I know, and I apologize. Chief Ferris sent Roger over to the Loon Lake News first thing this morning to be sure you won’t be listed in the daily police report.” She raised her eyebrows, obviously hoping the lack of press would offset the insult. “She told him he was fired if he didn’t stop that at least. That man is on a real short leash right now, doncha know.”
“He better be,” said Osborne, still irritated with Roger’s performance.
“Oops! Got a call.” Lucy’s eyes widened as her switchboard lit up. “Oh, gosh, excuse me. I guess you two need to see the chief?”
“Just checking in,” said Osborne. “She’s expecting us—”
“I don’t know, Doc, the TV people are setting up to tape her, but let me call back there and see what the story is.”
Lucy rang Lew’s office. “Chief, Doc and Ray are here…. Sure, okay.” Lucy waved them down the hall. “Excuse me….” Lucy took a moment to concentrate on one call coming in and another going out. Then she shoved the headphone off one ear again. “I’m sorry. Chief’s been trying to reach that Gina person. I keep redialing but no answer. You two go on in.”
Lew was on the phone when Ray and Osborne were finally able to push through the crowd outside her door and slip into her office. One TV crew was wrapping while another set up. Lew motioned for Ray and Osborne to come in and sit down.
“People, people,” she said to a group of three, one woman and two cameramen, who appeared to be doing their best to move around every piece of furniture in her office. “You will just have to wait a few more minutes. I run a police department here, and right now I have a meeting that has to take place.”
“But we have a deadline to meet for the five o’clock news,” said the woman, not a little belligerent. Skinny in tight black jeans and square-faced under a black baseball cap crammed over straight blond hair, she tried to wave Osborne and Ray away with the clipboard in her hand. Her eyes went to Ray’s head. “Wait—” She thrust her face at him. “Hey, you’re Ray Pradt. I need you next.”
“Me? Why me?”
“You were there, just before they were shot, right? We need to do an interview. Do you always wear that hat? Were you wearing it yesterday? This is great. God, you’ll be great B-roll.” She stepped back to gaze at Ray’s full six feet five inches in amazement. Osborne couldn’t get over it; the woman talked faster than Gina.
“Ray, shut that door,” said Lew from her desk. Her voice was loud and firm and had absolutely no effect on the blond now blocking the doorway with her hips and shoulders.
“This afternoon, okay?” said Ray, obviously flattered. “Can’t do it right now.” He pushed the door against the woman’s body. As Lew rose threateningly from her chair, the producer got the message and stepped back. The door shut with a slam, and Lew sat down heavily. She looked like she hadn’t had much sleep either.
“I’ve been trying Gina at the motel. She isn’t answering. I don’t know if she’s sleeping in or if she’s out for breakfast somewhere. The front desk said her car is still there—”
“I’ll bet she’s out with that real estate broker,” said Osborne. “He would have picked her up, y’know.”
“I figured that. I tried calling the realty office, but no one’s answering. Must be the monthly Kiwanis breakfast. But this package came for her this morning, and I’m anxious to see what we got.”
“Go ahead and open it,” said Osborne. “She got it for you, didn’t she?”
“O-o-h, I hate to do that,” said Lew. “Common courtesy means I should wait for her to open her own Federal Express package. But it is from her newspaper, and I’ll bet you anything, it’s photos of that Michael Winston.” Lew picked up the large, flat envelope and tapped it on her desk as if considering ripping it open right then. “Oh heck.” She set it back down. “I have that damn taping. If Gina isn’t here by the time that’s finished, I’ll go ahead and open this.”
Just then the phone rang and Lew picked it up. “Oh, okay, Lucy, put her through.” She listened for a minute or two, then said, “Excuse me, before you go any further, let me say something. I have two deputies here in my office, and I’d like to put you on speakerphone so they can hear, too. Also, I want to switch this call onto a line that will be taped. Do you have a problem with that?”
The caller seemed to have no problems with either request. Lew put the call on hold and notified Lucy that she wanted one of the emergenc
y lines that automatically tape incoming calls.
Lew covered the mouth of the receiver. “This is Gina’s source from NASD. She can’t reach her either and wants to leave a message for her with me. It sounds very interesting.”
“Good morning.” A woman’s voice suddenly filled the room. “I’m Nora Daniels with the NASD.”
“Good morning,” said Ray and Osborne together.
“I got Gina Palmer’s message yesterday,” she continued. “I have some information for her, but since I’ll be in meetings all day today, I hope you don’t mind if we talk instead.”
“Not at all,” said Lew.
“I had my assistant touch base with our surveillance team for your region late yesterday afternoon,” she said. “They examined any activity of note between Detroit and Minneapolis and from Quebec down to Chicago, the grid that includes your region.
“They saw no evidence of penny stock activity per se, but something else did crop up. A situation they have been monitoring for a while. Someone in your area has been spoofing stocks at irregular intervals over the last three months. The activity is coming from a series of different phone numbers, all within a hundred fifty-mile radius of Rhinelander, Wisconsin, which, I believe, includes your community.”
“That’s correct,” said Lew.
“Late last night—and this may not be the first time it happened but it’s the first time we caught it—a series of electronic money transfers were made to a Canadian financial institution. We have not been able to track the transfers beyond that point. We’re waiting on cooperation from the Canadian authorities, which may or may not be forthcoming. Because Canada is notoriously lax on monitoring this type of activity, I won’t be surprised to see more balances leave the continent before we can take action.
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