Ray Elkins mystery - 04 - Shelf Ice

by Aaron Stander

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Good for the heart and lots of antioxidants. That’s what my grandmother’s been doing for years, and she’s still going strong at ninety-three.” Sue was having fun, there was mirth in her tone and facial expressions.

  “And what are you having?” pursued Ray. “I’ve never seen you eat anything but donuts and coffee, or maybe a Danish and a Diet Coke.”

  “I’ll have what you’re having, even if it kills me. Role model and all that stuff.”

  “I was thinking about the case last night,” said Ray, sliding into a chair at the table and setting Simone back on the floor.

  “So was I,” she responded. “It looks like we both need to get a life. I took a laptop home with photos from the crime scene. I was going to review everything, and then let it perk during the night, see if anything new popped up. But I got home, took a long, hot bath—I needed to get the stink of the fire off me, especially my hair. Then I just crashed. I could barely make it from the tub to the bed. If I hadn’t set two alarms I’d still be out.”

  Sue set two bowls of oatmeal on the table, then brought coffee mugs and the pot. “What do you want on the oatmeal?”

  “What does your grandmother do?”

  “Lots of butter and maple syrup.”

  “I’m starting to understand your genetic pool,” said Ray. “I’ll take some maple syrup. That and the butter are in the fridge.”

  After Sue settled across the table from him, Ray asked, “What about the prunes?”

  “That was a joke. I was trying to totally gross you out. You’ve got some bananas that are almost too ripe. Want one of those?”

  “Sure,” Ray. “I was thinking about”…

  “Why don’t we see if we can have a meal together without talking about work?” Sue interrupted.

  “What would we talk about?” Ray asked.

  “What do people talk about when they can’t think about anything to talk about? How about the weather?”

  “That’s going to be a long conversation,” said Ray. “Snow today, snow tomorrow. The sun will appear again in April. Next topic.” He watched as Sue pushed slices of butter in her oatmeal and then cover the surface with syrup.

  “Did you make amends with your girlfriend for missing a date?” Sue questioned playfully.

  Ray explained Sarah’s sudden job change and her impending move to Chicago. His telling someone else about Sarah suddenly leaving made it more real. They ate in silence for several minutes.

  Finally Ray said, “So we’ll start with Molly, and then we’ll be able to spend time reviewing where we are and planning on what to do next.”

  “The morning, Ray, only the morning. Then I’m bringing you back here and you’re taking the rest of the weekend off. You’re to relax and take it easy.”

  12.

  Ray looked at Molly closely as she slid into a chair across from him in his office. This was his third contact with her. He had met her briefly during the hiring process, and he and Sue had questioned her the morning after the assault on Brenda Manton. Now he looked at Molly again with fresh eyes, and while it had been only three days since their first extended conversation, he noticed things he hadn’t seen on their first encounter. He wondered if he had been less than fully cognizant of everything that happened after the jarring collision with the plow. Perhaps he had been able to concentrate on the main events without being sensitive to the nuances.

  He carefully observed Molly as she poured a mug of coffee and added milk and sugar. She had the worn look of someone just coming off a night shift—her blouse less than crisp, her makeup in need of touching up. There was also a hint of stale cigarette smoke. Since the entire county complex became a smoke-free zone, the smokers had regressed to high-school like behaviors—smoking in their cars or in a wooded area at the far corner of the main parking area and so far no one had pressed for rigid enforcement of the ban.

  “You’re in contact with Brenda Manton’s family?”

  “Yes. I drove down to Grand Rapids on Thursday, and I’m going back today as soon as I get a couple of hours of sleep. I had a long conversation with one of her brothers last evening.” Her eyes flooded, and she wiped them with her hands. “You know what’s happening?” she asked.

  “Just reports on her condition, reports that were less than optimistic. Do you want to fill me in?”

  Molly pulled several tissues from a box on the table, blotting tears again and blowing her nose. “They’re going to pull her off the machines in a day or two. I guess they’ve been making whatever type of arrangement you have to do for that kind of stuff. Her brother Jeff, he’s the oldest, explained all that to me last night.”

  “You told me that both brothers were physicians?” Ray asked, checking on his memory of his first conversation with Molly.

  “Yes, Jeff is a surgeon and Robert is an internist. Jeff is also a medical ethicist; he did some kind of special degree or program after his residency. He explained the situation to me last night, all the medical stuff and all the other considerations. It was logical and made sense, and the thing about how other people will be able to have better lives because of the organs they’re able to harvest. That’s the term he used, harvest. Weird.”

  Molly sipped some coffee. Ray sensed that she was struggling to keep her grief in control. “It all makes sense. Brenda’s no longer there. Just turn off the fucking machine….” Molly collapsed in tears.

  Sue, who had been sitting silently at the table up to this point asked, “Molly, can I get you anything, water?”

  “I just need a few minutes.” More tears followed until Molly was able to regain control. “This wasn’t real in the beginning.” She paused, “Brenda was going to get better. Come home. Everything was going to be fine. That’s what I had convinced myself of. Now none of that is going to happen. She’s gone, her house is gone, the person that I’ve been closest to over lots of years, gone.”

  “Wednesday night,” started Ray, trying to move the interview forward, “why were you texting? Why weren’t you having a conversation? I can’t imagine much was going on in dispatch at that time of morning.”

  “You’re right. Nothing was going on. Brenda had no landline. You probably know that. It was just the cell, and the coverage down in her area is lousy, the way it’s tucked back in those little hills. If Brenda walked halfway down her road to the highway, she could have a conversation, but in her house the cell phone didn’t work too well, some days not at all, like the weather or clouds did something. But texting always seemed to work. So we’d stay in contact that way.”

  “Molly, we’ve talked about this briefly, but tell me again. Why was Brenda up at that time of the morning? What was going on?”

  “She was working feverishly. I remember her saying, ‘I’m on a roll.’ She had a major show coming up in the late spring at one of the universities down state, and she was working feverishly to get things done. Brenda said her art was going in a whole new direction.

  “Sheriff, what you have to understand is that Brenda was a workaholic. When she was working on something, nights and days didn’t matter. She’d work. When she was tired, she’d sleep. When she was hungry, she’d eat. But the focus was always on the work. And when a project was done, she’d take time off and life would go back to normal for a while. After a few weeks or months she’d start getting antsy. She needed to focus, she needed to be productive, she needed to do art.”

  “You’ve talked about your friendship. Did you spend time together when she was in one of these intensive work phases?” asked Sue.

  “We talked every day. I’d visit three or four times a week, usually bringing whatever groceries she needed. When she had completed a project, we’d spend more time together. She described her life as having two phases, in cave and out of cave. When she was working, she was in cave. She was absolutely driven when she was working on a project. She didn’t socialize or do anything else until she was done.”

  “So you were a close fr
iend of Brenda’s. Who were her other close friends?” asked Sue.

  “We were more than just close friends,” said Molly. “We have been best friends since ninth grade. I think we were more like sisters.”

  “I understand,” said Sue. “But Brenda did have other friends, perhaps not as close as the two of you.”

  “I told you about Tristan Laird.”

  “Yes. Have you been in touch with him in the last few days?”

  “He doesn’t have a phone or anything. I did go looking for him yesterday. The road into his trailer is blocked with snow, and I didn’t have the energy to try to hike in.”

  “So you haven’t talked to him?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think he knows what’s happened to Brenda?”

  “Hard to say. He doesn’t have any electronic stuff, not even a radio. Like I think I told you, he’s in his own universe. But he does have a sense of things.”

  “If Tristan found Brenda’s house destroyed, what would he do?” Ray questioned.

  “Think about what a normal person would do, and that won’t be it. My guess is that he would just disappear for a while. He’s really paranoid. Eventually he’d get his fear under control and try to figure out what happened.”

  “We need your help in finding him so we can talk to him,” said Sue.

  “You don’t suspect?…”

  “We don’t suspect anything. We need to talk to everyone who knew Brenda. We’re at an early stage in this investigation. We’re just beginning to collect information. We’re gathering pieces of a puzzle that we hope will lead us to Brenda’s assailant,” Ray said, speaking slowly, stressing the message of each sentence. “We need you to take a map and pinpoint places where we might find Tristan.”

  “What I’m telling you is that it won’t be easy,” Molly responded. “Like I said, he’s got this trailer he uses, but I didn’t see any signs that he was there. And if he’s spooked, there’s no telling where he might be. Sometimes he sleeps in a canoe that he ties up in a remote spot on one of the streams like the Betsie or the Platte. And this time of year he likes to spend time out on the shelf ice. If the lake is calm, he will paddle out in a kayak and find an ice cave to sleep in. He says he can hear voices in the wind and waves.”

  Ray was moving his head from side to side. “That would be so dangerous, given how fast the weather changes.”

  “He’s had some close calls, Tristan has. He laughs about them.” Molly paused briefly, “And, yes, I will mark out a map for you, but I’m not sure how much help it will be. I don’t know many of his secret places.”

  “Tell us about other friends,” pressed Sue.

  “Brenda had lots of friends, but we were the close friends, Tristan and me. Work came first, socializing came later. That said, she was very active in the arts community here and across the state.”

  “Let’s talk about people around here, anyone she might be in contact with on a regular basis?”

  Molly took a few moments to reflect on the question before responding. “Well, probably Elise Lovell. That’s the woman she’s been buying most of her yarn from recently. There was a lot of back and forth between them, you know. Brenda was always looking for special colors and textures, and Elise was willing to experiment and produce lots of samples until Brenda found just the right thing.”

  “How often would they have had contact?”

  “Just guessing, I don’t know for sure, but probably once a week or something like that.”

  “Are there other people in the community that Brenda had contact with?”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Molly, we’re looking for motive. Why was she attacked? What was going on in her life that prompted this violence? People often share things with those they come in contact with. They might talk to a hairdresser, or physician, minister, perhaps someone they do yoga with. See where I’m going? We’re looking for the bits and pieces, so we can begin to connect the dots.”

  “She got her hair cut by the guys at the Third Wave, but not often. And she did a lot of yoga classes, but that was years ago. Recently she’s just been using DVDs. As far as religion, she didn’t go to church.”

  “Love relationships?” asked Sue.

  “Not now, not recently.”

  “How about a bad breakup in the past?”

  “No.”

  “She owe anyone money, or was anyone in her debt?”

  “No. She was self-sustaining, and I don’t think anyone owed her.”

  “Family problems?”

  “No. I wouldn’t say she was close to her family, but they all seem to like and respect each other.”

  “How about Richard Kinver?”

  “Kinver, the creep. Brenda told me he’d come sniffing around like he was wanting to offer some kind of trade-out in exchange for plowing service.”

  “What are you suggesting?” asked Ray.

  “You know what I’m suggesting,” Molly replied. “But I think he finally got the message.”

  “Did she ever feel threatened by Kinver?”

  “No, just irritated,” She paused briefly, “Sheriff, I’m exhausted. I need some sleep. Then I have to get on the road. Can I go now?”

  “Yes. You know what we’re looking for?”

  “Yes.”

  • • •

  “What do you think?” asked Ray, turning to Sue as the door closed.

  “Just like our first conversation, she’s not giving much. We need to find out why.” “What’s next?”

  “I’m going to drop you home. And then I’m going to run down to Grand Rapids, too. See if I can learn anything more from her family. And don’t even ask. You’re not going.”

  13.

  Ray was irritated at being dropped off to rest while Sue was going to Grand Rapids to continue the investigation. Distracted, he rattled through the refrigerator looking for something to eat.

  Standing at the chopping block next to the stove, he cut two slices from a loaf of peasant bread. Ray poured some olive oil into the pan, adding one slice of bread. Then he added slabs of a local raclette cheese and topped it with the second piece of bread. He carefully tended to the sandwich, turning it often to toast it perfectly on both sides.

  Settling at the kitchen table, Ray turned his attention to an article in the New Yorker, his lunch beginning to cool. The sound of a slamming car door was followed by a vigorous knock at his front entrance. Ray waited, accustomed to his friends just pushing the door open and walking in. With the second round of knocking, Ray went to the door.

  Hannah Jeffers confronted him; he could see a yellow and white kayak strapped to the top of a Subaru wagon on the drive.

  “You busy this afternoon?” Jeffers asked, sliding past him into the great room. “Looks like you’re having lunch.”

  “Just about. Do you want a cheese sandwich?” Ray asked pointing to the one on his plate.

  “That’s way too big. How about half?”

  “You got a deal. It was more than I should eat,” he said, getting a second plate. “Want an apple? I’ve got some Honey Crisps.”

  Hannah nodded to the affirmative. “I just came by to ask you if you would go kayaking with me on Lake Michigan. I wasn’t expecting to get fed.”

  “How did you find me?” Ray asked, sitting at the table again.

  “Real hard, Google, then Google Maps. You’re on my way to the big lake.”

  “So according to you medical types I shouldn’t drive, but you think that I’m competent to kayak?”

  “Can’t drive? I don’t understand,” said Jeffers.

  Ray explained.

  “That’s your internist, Feldman. I never said anything about a possible stroke. Saul is a lovely man, but he’s overly cautious. Is there the possibility that you had a stroke-like episode? Yes, but a stroke, extremely remote. He was probably trying to find a way to get you to slow down. And from his point of view, that’s good medicine.”

  “So I’m clear to paddle?”
asked Ray, knowing that he was still sore, but that he would happily endure some pain to get on the big lake on a sunny winter afternoon. This would also give him the opportunity to search many miles of shelf ice on the off chance of stumbling onto Tristan Laird.

  “Trust me. I’m a doctor. If anything does happen to you, well, I’ll do what I can. And if that fails, I’ll give you absolution.”

  “Are you a….”

  “No, but when I started college, I was a drama major. I’ll give a convincing performance.”

  “You’ve got your drysuit?” asked Ray.

  “Everything is in the car. Just point me in the direction of some place I can change.”

  “There’s a bathroom and a guest room through there. Take your choice,” said Ray. “I need to check the weather on NOAA and local radar. Then I’ll get changed.”

  “Go ahead, I’ll clear up the dishes and get my things,” she said.

  • • •

  Thirty minutes later, dressed in drysuits and mukluks, they were off-loading the kayaks—long, slender boats designed for use in big waves and rough water—and carrying them to the snow-covered bank of a small stream. Then they donned thick neoprene spray skirts, stepping into tunnels and doing a little dance as they struggled to pull the skirts to their waists. Next they added bright yellow life vests, the pockets on each stuffed with gear.

  “Looks like we’ll have the lake to ourselves. No other kayakers.”

  “Not many people venture out in these conditions,” said Ray.

  “What are you going to do about a hat?” Jeffers asked.

  “When the water is this temperature, I always wear this neoprene hood. You never know when you’re going to get capsized,” said Ray. He pulled his on, centering the opening, exposing little more than his eyes, nose, and mouth.

  “You’ve persuaded me to do the same, I’ll just have to live with helmet-head hair,” she said. She pulled off a black stocking cap and retrieved a heavy neoprene hood from her gear bag. “Are you going to wear a tow rope or put it on your deck?” she asked.