“Don’t you ever lock your doors?”
“God’s country. Nothing bad happens up here,” he fired back.
“Do you need coffee?” she asked. “We’re hitting the road.”
“Yes, coffee, please. My need is desperate. A hospital is a poor place to get any sleep. There were people bothering me all night, making sure I hadn’t died on them.” As he sat and pulled on his socks, Sue started the coffee, putting water on to boil, grinding the beans, and preparing the French press.
“What’s the urgency?” he asked, as he started lacing on a pair of boots.
“There’s no urgency,” she said, “not now.”
Ray waited for her to explain.
“When I got back to the office this morning after dropping you off, I got a call from Central. They had dispatched the Lake Township Fire Department to a house fire. It’s Brenda Manton’s house. I just talked to the fire chief on my way over here. The building was fully engulfed and starting to collapse when they arrived. They’ve just been protecting the scene and waiting on us for instructions. I’ve called the State Police for an arson investigator. Mike Ogden is on his way.” Sue paused briefly. “He should get here in a couple of hours, hopefully before the next storm rolls in.”
“I’ve lost track,” said Ray. “What’s?…”
“An Alberta clipper is on the way. We’re looking at a lot of lake-effect snow.”
“Who called in the fire?”
“It was a conservation officer. He had spent most of the night looking for a poacher, someone had been reported shining in the area. He noticed a glow on the horizon and went to investigate, found the fire, and called it in.”
“You had finished processing the scene?”
“Yes, but I like to know that I can go back a second or a third time.”
“The road had been closed off?”
“After we secured the building, I had Brett string police lines around the exterior and put some barriers at the end of the access road.”
“You should talk to the man who called this in. See if he saw anything.”
“I’ve arranged to meet him later this afternoon. He’s going to stop by the office on his way home.” Sue paused for a few moments, “That’s the first piece of bad news.”
“Okay, give me the rest.”
I talked to a doctor at Spectrum about Brenda. He’s not optimistic, says there’s just too much brain damage. It looks like Brenda is going to die without ever regaining consciousness.”
Sue set Ray’s travel mug on the table in front of him and carefully filled it.
“Why don’t you go out and look at the scene, and I’ll go to the office,” said Ray. “This whole investigation is spinning out of control. We’ve got to get some focus before things start getting cold.”
“Have you had any breakfast?
“I’ll get something later. We’ll meet when you get back from the crime scene,” Ray said as he started to pull himself out of his chair.
“Stay for a minute,” said Sue. “We need to talk.”
Ray settled back into his chair.
“I had a conversation with your doctor this morning on my way in.”
“Which one?”
“Feldman. He said he would have preferred to keep you hospitalized for a day or two longer for observation, but he knew that was impossible. He doesn’t want you to drive, and he directed me to make sure you had regular meals and get some sleep.”
“So what’s he thinking, you’re my keeper?”
“He said he told you the same thing.”
“I don’t remember the driving bit.”
“Ray, I’m not used to you being a grump,” Sue paused briefly. “I’m sure we can find something for you to eat here in one of the best-stocked larders in the north. Then we will be on our way.”
8.
Ray carefully cleaned the large whiteboard in his office, using a spray bottle and special cloth. He moved slowly, thinking more about how to organize the investigation than the task at hand. After his initial pass, he wiped the board a second time, removing all traces of pigment.
He eyed the collection of markers, finally settling on a dark blue. Moving to the top center he penned Brenda Manton. Then he moved to the left side of the board and started listing categories of people who might provide information that would lead them to Manton’s assailant: friends, family, neighbors, professional contacts, community (yoga, coffee shop, church, organization, medical, hair). After he had finished the list, Ray moved up to friends and wrote Molly Birchard and Tristan Laird.
Moving to the left, he jotted snowplow and scene evidence.
Sue entered the office, carrying Simone, the terrier, under her left arm, and stood at Ray’s side and viewed the board.
“What have we got?” she asked taking in the information.
“An early draft, just a sketch,” said Ray. “I’m not sure my brain is really here yet.” He looked at the dog, “Are you sure you shouldn’t drop her off at animal control?”
“She’s no problem. I think that would be one more trauma. Are you okay with my keeping her around until we find a suitable place for her?”
“Sure. We’ll make you our K-9 officer.”
They settled at the conference table, the dog in Sue’s lap.
“What’s happening with the press?” Ray asked.
“I put out a brief statement that an area woman had been assaulted in a possible home invasion. I noted that the woman had sustained injuries and had been hospitalized. I also reported that a sheriff’s deputy had been injured near the scene and a department vehicle damaged by the likely assailant.”
“You didn’t give away much.”
“We hadn’t had a chance to talk about a media strategy. I didn’t know what you wanted out there. And at that point I hadn’t even confirmed that the victim we removed from the house was Brenda Manton.”
“And you have?”
“Yes,” said Sue, shifting the dog around on her lap. “Manton’s personal physician provided a positive identification before she was transported to Grand Rapids. I also notified the receiving hospital that Manton should be provided extra security. I didn’t know whether or not you would be available, so I told the TV reporters that I’d try to give them an update this afternoon, something they could run on the evening news. Do you want to do the interview?”
“No, go ahead. You’ve done a good job developing your role as the department spokesperson.”
“What more should I tell them?”
“I think we disclose the victim’s name, that she’s been transported to a down-state hospital for treatment, and that we are pursuing a number of leads. And then the usual community appeal, anyone who might have information relevant to this case should contact us immediately. Have them put our phone number, the silent witness number, and our email address on screen. Think that will be enough to keep them satisfied?”
“Yes. They’re so lightly staffed these days that there’s no one with the extra time to really birddog us for more info.”
“How about the paper?”
“Since they laid off their crime reporter in the fall, they just run what we give them.”
“It makes our life a bit easier, but long term it’s not a good thing. It lets our local politicos muck about without any accountability. And speaking of accountability, we need to start with Richard Kinver.”
“Do you want me to get him in here?”
“No, I want to go out to his place. Talk to him and get a list and talk to anyone who had access to the truck. And I’d like to do that this afternoon. I’ll call him as soon as we finish.”
Ray stood and walked toward the board. “When you worked the scene, what did you get?”
“No smoking gun, but I think I can tell you what probably happened. The assailant kicked in the door. She had locks and deadbolts, and unlike you, she used them. But everything around the door was shattered. It was a clear case of improperly installed locks. All they were doi
ng was catching the trim board. A small woman could have kicked them in. Not that it mattered much. If the assailant had too much trouble with the door, he would have smashed through a window.”
“So, do you have a scenario?…”
“I think this all happened really fast. I think the assailant arrived, kicked in the door, and attacked her. I think he probably left her for dead. It went down in just a minute or two.”
“So this is what the assailant knew,” he said, starting to add categories and notes: location, victim lived alone. Ray paused for a minute, poured some more coffee into his mug, and took several long sips, setting the mug back on the table. “Put yourself in the assailant’s head. Three in the morning. The woman lives in an isolated spot. No landline, no cable. Her cell is her only contact to the outside. Obviously, this wasn’t random. The person knew she was there and alone. It wasn’t a stealth attack, they’d have come on skis or snowshoes if they had wanted that.”
“And the attacker might not have anticipated that she was awake,” said Sue, “or that she was texting when he arrived.”
“How could she send the last message that fast?” Ray asked.
“You don’t text.”
“I’ve tried. My fingers are too big. All I do is back up and try to fix mistakes.”
“Watch a tenth grader. She was probably real fast and connected at the time someone was smashing their way in.”
“You didn’t find the cell phone?”
“No, but I’ll order the records once I establish the carrier.”
“The assailant didn’t leave the scene right away. What was he doing, was he looking for something?”
“You saw the interior. It didn’t seem torn apart except for a scuffle.”
“How about a computer?” asked Ray.
“There was a tower and a big display and a large format printer. There was also a lot of high-end digital camera equipment. She probably used those in her artwork.”
Ray’s cell sounded. He switched it on and Sarah James’ face appeared on the screen.
“You need to take a call?” Sue asked, glancing over at the phone.
“I’ll get back to them,” Ray said. “Maybe the assailant was going through computer files.”
“Why would you spend the time; just take it with you or figure out a way to destroy it.” Sue paused briefly. “Maybe the TV-CSI guys have convinced the public that everything is recoverable. And he probably didn’t think there was any reason to hurry.”
“True. Was there a laptop?”
“No. I didn’t see one.”
“How about a charger for a laptop?”
“Ray, the whole computer issue was something that I was going to come back to. We’ve never had a crime scene destroyed before. I did photograph everything in detail. Maybe we can find a charger or cord.”
Ray’s cell phone beeped.
“You’ve got voicemail,” said Sue.
“So when you’re texting, you get a beep like that when you get a message?”
“Yes.”
“So try this out. The assailant is doing whatever. Then he notices the phone beeping. He looks at the messages, sees something like ‘help’s on the way.’ Suddenly he’s in a panic.”
“And when you guys come up the road, he’s meeting and greeting.”
“Yes. So we need to start with the truck and Richard Kinver. He reported it stolen. We need to start with him and then move to anyone who had access to the vehicle. This is not just a plow from anywhere. This is the truck that kept her road open.”
“Okay, let’s work on developing the rest of the list,” suggested Sue.
9.
Ray was in the passenger seat of Sue’s jeep. “Why are you going this way?” he asked.
“How would you go?” she responded.
“Straight down 22, then across.”
“Why?”
“That’s the way I have always gone,” Ray responded.
“My way is faster. Instead of watching my driving, why don’t you do something. Don’t you have some phone calls to return?”
Ray took the hint. He retrieved his phone from an upper left-hand pocket and opened his voicemail. There was only one message. He listened to Sarah’s voice asking how he was. He touched the pointer on the right side of the screen activating a return call, and brought the phone to his ear. After five rings the line switched to voice mail. Ray listened to Sarah’s message, and said, “Just returning your call. Will I see you this weekend?” He switched off the display and dropped the phone back into his pocket.
The sun broke through the clouds and reflected off the glistening blanket of snow.
“What’s that yellow ball in the sky?” asked Sue, fishing for sunglasses with her right hand.
“It’s been awhile,” said Ray, squinting at the glare coming off the snow. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“The general area, yes, and I’ve keyed the address into the GPS. I figured when we got close you would guide us in if the lady in the machine got confused. Tell me about Richard Kinver, some history.”
“The family has been in the county for decades. I think his great-grandparents were among the early settlers who came in and cleared the land for farming after the lumber had been cut. And if their history is like a history of so many farmers from that time, they grew crops that quickly depleted the fragile soil, things like potatoes. Eventually they learned what crops worked and what didn’t. Cherries and apples replaced potatoes. Somehow the Kinvers got into the sand and gravel business. And with time they expanded into trucking, bulldozing, and road building. When I was in high school, they were a very prosperous family. Richard’s father and grandfather were into local politics.” Ray interrupted his history to give Sue some directions. “You are going to want to make a left, there’s a road just beyond that blue mailbox.”
“That’s not what the GPS is telling me.”
“Trust me on this. The machine wants you to stay on main roads. This is faster. You will be turning right again in about a half mile; I think it’s the prettiest little piece of road in the county.”
“Still prosperous?” Sue asked.
“I don’t think so. I’ve heard that Richard has run the business into the ground.” Ray paused, “You’re going to need to slow down so we don’t miss the turn. It’s just up there.” He pointed with his right hand.
“Sure we can get through?” Sue asked. “Doesn’t look like it’s been plowed recently.”
“You will be okay. Put it in four-wheel drive.”
As they started winding up the road through deep snow and heavy drifts, Ray said, “I always wondered what the glaciers were doing when they formed this area. Look at these wonderful steep hills. It’s only a couple of square miles, and there’s no other place quite like this in the whole county.”
“And it’s clearly faster than following the main roads,” said Sue as she struggled to control the Jeep on the twisting, deeply rutted, snow-covered road. Just before they intersected with a highway, the landscape started to flatten.
“Turn left, and there will be an entry just ahead on the right.”
“That’s what the lady is saying,” said Sue, talking over the female voice emitted by the GPS.
Sue followed a plowed drive into a large open area, bordered on three sides by hardwood forests. On the fourth side was a huge crater from where sand and gravel had been quarried by the Kinver family for generations.
Sue parked at the side of a rusting pickup in front of a large steel building; the land surrounding the structure was littered with snow-covered carcasses of rusting and derelict equipment: bulldozers, dump trucks, backhoes, loaders, and assorted pickups.
As they climbed out and approached the building she observed, “They don’t bury their dead, do they?”
Ray pounded on a steel entry door next to the main overhead door. After knocking a second time, he pushed the door open and yelled, “Anyone here?” as they entered, their eyes struggling to adjust to
the dimly lit interior. Eventually a figure emerged from the back of a front loader at the far end of the building.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” said the elderly man as he approached, wiping the grease from his hands with a soiled rag. “I don’t bother to put my hearing aids in when I’m working on these diesels. You’re going to have to shout at me.”
“Dell, what are you doing here?” asked Ray.
“I gotta be somewhere. You think I died?”
“I thought you had finally retired.”
“I did retire after the kids insisted that I sell off the garage. But after the Missus passed, there wasn’t nothing to do but look at four walls. Richard asked if I could give him a lift on some of the heavy equipment.”
Ray introduced Sue and said, “We actually came by to talk to Richard.”
“Ain’t seen him yet. S’pose you wanna talk about that plow.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact”…
“A real piece of junk. Twenty, twenty-five years ago when it was new that would have been a good rig, big old Oshkosh. High-dollar, too. But Ray, it was just used up.”
“Where did it come from?”
“He got it at an auction in Wisconsin, gave ten grand for it. Bragged to me how he stole it. Hell, it might be worth a thousand in scrap. Tires are bald, most of the hydraulics are gone, tranny is shot, and the engine don’t have much left.”
“How did he get it home?” Ray asked.
Dell just chuckled.
“Did you hear my question?”
“I still got a license. You wanna see it?”
“I’m sure you do, Dell.”
“Yeah, I drove that piece of shit from central Wisconsin, across the U.P. and down to here. ‘Cept for the bridge, and I came across that round four in the morning to be sure there wasn’t anyone around, I stayed on secondary roads, didn’t want no hassles.”
Ray Elkins mystery - 04 - Shelf Ice Page 4