Ray Elkins mystery - 04 - Shelf Ice

by Aaron Stander

  SHELF ICE

  AARON STANDER

  Writers & Editors

  Interlochen, Michigan

  Praise for Aaron Stander’s Mysteries:

  “An honest ear for dialog, a fine eye for the landscape and a storyteller’s sense of drama converged when author Aaron Stander wrote this compelling Up North mystery. A satisfying way to spend a winter’s weekend with hot cocoa and a blanket.” —Traverse, Northern Michigan’s Magazine

  “With a protagonist as deep and textured as Ray Elkins and a backdrop as varied as this resort community, Stander has created a high-quality mystery series.” —Foreword Magazine

  “Stander has a keen sense of what it takes to keep readers turning the pages of his books.” —Grand Traverse Insider

  “Stander has written a solid, entertaining tale.” —Lansing State Journal

  “Stander’s Cedar County with its haunting sand dunes, woodlands and Lake Michigan— alternately raging and serene—shape and shade every character on the canvas.” —Northern Express

  “A thriller of the first order. Stander evokes these north woods and Lake Michigan with a poet’s eye and the drama of the human heart with a detective’s wry, unflinching touch.” —New York Times bestseller Doug Stanton

  For Beachwalker, who helps this all happen.

  1.

  It was the cold—the biting, bitter arctic blast that hit him as he left the house and ran toward the waiting car—that finally jolted him fully awake. Twenty minutes before, Ray Elkins, the sheriff of Cedar County in Michigan’s rural north, had been in a deep, dreamless sleep when he was jarred into consciousness by a tinny, dissonant ringing from his cell phone. The noise stopped as the line cycled over to voicemail. Ray waited, half awake. Then the ring came again, and he fumbled in the dark to get the device in answer mode. “Hey, Ray,” came the voice of Ben Reilly, his second in command. “We’ve got a possible home invasion in progress. Should I pick you up on the way?”

  “Yes,” Ray answered, sitting up, his feet touching the cold floor.

  “Five minutes or less, dress warm,” Ben responded.

  • • •

  “How are the roads?” Ray asked as he settled into the passenger’s seat and secured his seatbelt.

  “The usual, snow covered, glazed over in places.” The lights from the dash gave Ben’s face a greenish cast.

  “I was half asleep when we talked and only have the gist of what you were telling me. Home invasion, hostages?” Ray asked, looking over at Ben.

  “It’s sort of unclear. We’ve got limited info. I hope this isn’t a wild goose chase.”

  “911 call?” asked Ray.

  “Indirectly. Molly, she’s the new 911 operator, got a text message from a friend, a Brenda Manton. It was something to the effect that, ‘Someone here, kicking in door.’ Molly called me, read me the message, provided a little background and asked what to do.”

  “And the background?”

  “Manton lives alone, deep in the woods. That’s all I know.”

  “What’s the location?” Ray asked.

  “Southwest corner of the county. Another mile or two and it would be out of our jurisdiction. I’ve plugged the address into the GPS.”

  “You totally trust that thing?”

  “I printed a close-up map of the area for that address and had Molly confirm the location. It’s on the clipboard between the seats,” Ben responded, with a small nod of his head, keeping his eyes glued to the road.

  Ray peered over at the blue screen of the GPS, noting that their destination was still 15 miles away. “Anyone on the scene?” he asked.

  “No, Brett is north. He’s rolling. We’ll be there before him. Sue’s been called in, but we’ve got to be way ahead of her. Molly is requesting backup from the State Police.”

  Ray sat in silence for many minutes as Ben carefully maneuvered the vehicle over the treacherous pavement of the winding, two-lane highway. He was still struggling to get fully awake and wishing he had a cup of coffee. He peered out the window. The blowing snow reflected in the beams of the headlights and the pulsating strobes on the overhead lightbar.

  He looked out his side window; the woods and fields were held in an inky darkness by dense cloud cover. An occasional yard light at the side of a house or barn provided a break in the gloom. At a few minutes after three in the morning the road was completely empty of traffic, not even a road commission truck clearing snow and spreading sand or salt.

  Wearily, Ray found himself resonating with the bleak winter landscape. There was a time when he’d liked these late-night runs, the tension and adrenalin rush produced by the drama of a situation that required the assistance from or intervention by law enforcement.

  But in the months since he had been seriously wounded—an attempt by a murderer to eliminate his pursuer—Ray felt his fervor for police work had lessened. He pushed these thoughts back as he dialed his cell phone.

  “Central Dispatch, this is Molly,” came the response.

  “Molly, Elkins here. Anything more?”

  “Nothing. I’ve been sending a text every few minutes. No response.”

  “Molly, tell me about this person, I’d like to know what we might be walking into,” said Ray.

  “She’s a longtime friend, going back to when we were in high school. We talk everyday, occasional text messages.”

  “Does she have a pattern of getting in difficulty?”

  “Never.”

  “Husband, boyfriends?

  “Divorce, long ago. And not in a relationship.”

  “Children?”

  “No.”

  “Work, what does Brenda do?”

  “She’s an artist. Works out of her home.”

  “So you can’t think of anyone who might…?” Ray pressed.

  “That’s all I know, Sheriff, sorry.”

  “Let us know if you hear from her.”

  “Will do. Please hurry.”

  “What did you learn?” Ben asked as Ray switched off the phone.

  “Nothing useful.”

  “Well good, now we know exactly what to prepare for,” Ben responded with a chuckle. Ben was someone he counted on for his knowledge and skillful leadership. And Ray was constantly buoyed by Ben’s cheerful disposition and wry sense of humor.

  Ray picked up the clipboard and briefly switched the reading light on and studied the map. “It looks like the road into that house is a seasonal road, half a mile or so off the highway. Must take a lot of plowing to keep that open.”

  “We’re almost there. Less than a mile,” Ben said. He slowed as they started around a long, sweeping curve, stopping at a mailbox at the end of a narrow road that disappeared into woods. Ben put a spotlight on the mailbox and then the access road. “Looks passable. Do you want to wait for backup?”

  “Let’s go in,” said Ray.

  Ben started down the road, bottoming out occasionally in the deep snow. He rounded a sharp corner and dropped down a steep incline. As they started up the other side, headlights came over the crest of the hill headed in their direction.

  “What the hell’s this?” asked Ben, hitting the high beams and switching on the siren.

  The lights continued rushing toward them, rectangular beams mounted high on the vehicle. Ben put the car in reverse and tried to back out of the path of the oncoming vehicle, only to be quickly lodged against high-banked snow.

  Ray saw the towering curved blade of the massive plow bearing down on them. And then felt the concussion from the violent impact—the exploding surround of airbags and the sound of breaking glass and collapsing steel. He became disoriented as the demolished vehicle was tossed on its roof and hurled off t
he road, out of the way of the plow.

  Ray, stunned, hung paralyzed in his seatbelt for seconds listening to the howl of the powerful diesel recede into the background. Then he became aware of the fire, a small yellow flicker in the pitch-black night.

  2.

  Ray pushed at the door. It didn’t budge. He pulled the handle again, this time driving his shoulder into the door with all his might. The door held fast. He brought his knees up and kicked at the windshield. On his second attempt, he was able to kick the blanket of shards clinging to the plastic laminate free from the side of the deformed frame, opening an escape route.

  As he attempted to climb out, Ray found that he was still held by his seatbelt. Freeing himself, he crawled through the opening into the snow. He looked back at Ben, hanging upside down and not moving. Ray ran around to the driver’s side of the car and pulled on the door handle. It didn’t budge. Flames were starting to shoot up from the engine bay.

  Ray pulled his radio from a jacket pocket and toggled the transmit button. “Central, on location. Dispatch ambulance and fire. Injured officer at scene.” He waited for a second or two to get a response and went back to work on the door.

  With his heavy boots, he kicked at the window, his foot bouncing off several times before his toe punched through and the tempered glass fractured into bits. Ray scooped the glass out and reached in and unlocked the door. Then he started pulling at the door. At first he was only able to pry it open a few inches. Putting his hands low on the window frame, he desperately worked the door open a bit wider. He stepped back for a few seconds and thought about other ways of extracting Ben, then returned to the door, wishing he had a long, steel pry bar.

  The fire increased, a pillar of flames rising up from the engine. Ray’s actions became more frenzied. Finally, the gap was wide enough that he could put his back against the side of the car and push the door with his feet, forcing it open.

  “Ben,” he shouted, reaching in and shaking the inanimate body. The intensifying fire at the mangled front of the car pulled his attention away briefly.

  “Ben, we’ve got to get you out of here,” Ray yelled. He thrust his way through the remains of the airbags searching for the buckle on Ben’s seatbelt. As the belt was released, Ben’s body collapsed against the roof of the vehicle’s interior, momentarily trapping Ray’s arms and upper torso. He freed himself and carefully maneuvered Ben’s body so he could pull it out of the vehicle. With his arms under Ben’s shoulders, Ray dragged Ben’s limp body through the waist deep snow, getting clear of the vehicle just seconds before it was engulfed in flames.

  Once Ray moved Ben a safe distance down the road, he began to check him for injuries, the scene now lit by the roaring inferno. With his hands cradling Ben’s head, Ray pulled the skull and cervical vertebrae into alignment. He put his ear close to Ben’s nose and mouth and listened for breathing. The respiration was shallow and rapid. Then Ray slid his hands into Ben’s jacket along his neck searching for the carotid artery. It took a while to find the rapid, weak pulse.

  Ray was so intent on checking on Ben’s condition that he was startled when Brett Carty rushed to his side.

  “What can I do?” asked Brett.

  “Get an ambulance in here and bring some blankets.”

  Brett Carty, the youngest member of the department, was quickly back at Ray’s side. They covered Ben’s body with blankets, tucking them under his legs and upper torso.

  Within minutes the township volunteer fire department and an ambulance arrived. Ray and Brett stayed close as the two EMTs, a young woman and a middle-aged man, carefully placed Ben on a backboard. While the EMTs were securing Ben to the board, three firefighters were killing the remaining flames in the now burned-out hulk of the car with blasts from handheld fire extinguishers. And then they helped the EMTs carry the backboard to the ambulance.

  Ray followed them and climbed in, standing off to the side as they cut open Ben’s jacket and inserted an IV in his right arm. In a few moments the tubing and bag were attached. One of the EMTs, the young woman, was on the radio to the trauma center as the other one continued to work at Ben’s side.

  Ray moved forward when Ben opened his eyes. He blinked several times and looked toward Ray, only his eyes moving, his head tightly secured against the board.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Ben asked Ray, a weak smile on his face.

  “Beats me. Probably an attitude problem,” Ray responded. “How are you feeling?”

  “Got one hell of a headache and an arm that hurts like…,” he rolled his eyes toward his left arm.

  Ray looked over at the EMT. The man carefully palpated Ben’s left arm, starting at the shoulder and working his way down to the wrist. He looked over at Ray briefly and down at Ben.

  “Pain’s in here, isn’t it?” he said, running his hands over the central part of Ben’s upper arm. “We’ll get a splint on that, buddy. Have you a lot more comfortable in a few minutes. Then we’ll run to the hospital. They’re standing around waiting for you.”

  Ben looked over at Ray. “Will you call Maureen and let her know that I’m okay.”

  “I’ll phone her and send someone to pick her up. Just make sure they don’t release you before she gets there.” Ray squeezed Ben’s fingers and then pushed one of the doors open and gingerly climbed out of the back of the ambulance. He found Sue Lawrence waiting for him. Sue, young and intense, worked with Ray on most of the department’s major investigations and did crime scene investigations. Ray looked on Ben and Sue as the core of his leadership team.

  “How is Ben?” she asked.

  Before responding Ray led Sue down the road, away from the noise of the diesel. “He’s got a broken arm and probably a concussion. Who knows what else they’ll find.”

  “Fill me in.”

  “Ben’s car got smashed by a plow coming down the driveway away from the house. He was knocked unconscious and trapped in the wreckage. I had a hell-of-a-time getting him out. We’ve got to get in there and find out what happened,” said Ray, motioning down the road.

  “I need to get my jeep out of the way of the ambulance,” said Sue.

  “I’ll call Ben’s wife. Pick me up on the way in.” As a parting thought, Ray added, “Have central dispatch call for another ambulance. Who knows what we will find when we get in there.” He paused for a moment. “Also have them put out a bulletin on the plow. The driver should be considered extremely dangerous.”

  “What’s the description of the vehicle? Pickup truck with plow?”

  “No. It’s a big truck, like one of our county jobs. Diesel with a big curved plow. Can’t tell you anything more. That was all I could see.”

  Sue disappeared into the swirl of snow, pulsating lights, and throbbing engines. Ray moved up the road, away from the noise, and retrieved his cell phone from an inner pocket. He found Ben’s home number, pushed the dialer, and waited uncomfortably for Ben’s wife to answer.

  3.

  Ray’s conversation with Ben’s wife, Maureen, was short and as reassuring as possible. Fortunately, one of Ben’s children was home from college and would drive Maureen to the hospital.

  Ray wandered up the road toward the house, passed the burned-out hulk of the police car, the smell of burnt rubber and plastic fouling the crisp winter air. He walked 40 or 50 yards more. Sue brought her Jeep up the road behind him and flashed her high beams.

  “Who’s behind us?” Ray asked as he climbed into the passenger seat.

  “Brett Carty is in the first car. State cop in the second. Young guy, Charles something, didn’t get his last name.”

  They snaked up the road between the high banks of snow, finally rolling into a plowed clearing in front of a small log building. Sue rolled to a stop, leaving room for the other two cars to move to her right and left. She switched on the high beams, clearly illuminating the house. A small, shaggy terrier stood on the porch glaring at them. Smoke curled from the chimney, and light from the brightly lit interior flooded o
ut of the windows and reflected off the snow-covered landscape.

  Before starting toward the house, the four officers paused briefly in front of Sue’s Jeep. Ray quickly introduced himself and the others to the state trooper, Charles Lagonni.

  “Sue and I will go to the front porch, see what we can see through the windows, and enter if it appears safe. I think the assailant has left the area, but let’s be cautious. Brett, I want you to cover the rear of the building, and Charles, I want you to provide back up and cover from here. Any questions?”

  The three other officers nodded their heads, indicating that they were clear on what to do next. As Ray and Sue approached the porch, the dog took a menacing stance at the front door, the hair on the back of his head standing stiff, his mouth open, and his lips pulled back displaying his teeth. A low growl became a sharp, hostile bark.

  “Just what we need,” said Ray, looking over at Sue. “What do we do now?”

  Sue holstered her weapon and approached the dog, talking in a low, quiet voice. With her right hand she gestured, moving an open hand from shoulder height down toward the ground. The dog, quiet now, attending to her voice and actions, stood for a long moment, peering directly into her eyes then dropped to his haunches. She slowly climbed the three steps to the porch, and approached the dog. Carefully reaching out with a heavily gloved hand, she allowed the dog to sniff at it as she continued talking in a comforting tone. She extended a hand farther, softly touching the muzzle of the frightened animal. Cautiously she brought her left hand forward and began to pet the dog.

  As she stroked the dog’s head with one hand, she moved to its side, slid her other hand behind his front legs, and cautiously lifted him as she came to her feet. Holding the dog under her arm, she carried it to the state trooper.

  “Put him in the back of my car,” she said, passing him the dog.