Ray Elkins mystery - 04 - Shelf Ice

by Aaron Stander

  “Give me a break.”

  “Look, Sue, if you drink, smoke, gamble, and have a messy personal life, and are reckless with your money and then suddenly you change your ways, you probably will have more money. It’s a very positive philosophy.”

  “Okay,” said Sue, “That’s all well and good, but he’s making a killing off something any fool should be able to figure out. And he’s invoking some weird theology he’s created to sell the product. I’ve never seen such a slick operation,” Sue concluded emphatically.

  “But as far as I can see, it’s all very legal. And one of the great things about our country is that you get to believe or not believe in anything you want.” Ray chuckled. “Gunne is living proof that if you follow his theology, you too can be rich. And he has figured out how to use technology to bring his message to a worldwide audience.”

  “I’m always amazed at how nonjudgmental you are, Ray. ”

  “It makes the job a lot easier. I just focus on what’s legal and what isn’t legal. Worrying about who’s a charlatan and who isn’t requires too much psychic energy.”

  “So much for Gunne, did you follow up on Richard Kinver?” asked Ray.

  “Yes. There is no record that he was ever involved in any arsons or suspicious fires, not even the one at his gravel pit.”

  “How about domestic runs?”

  “Same. Like Ben told us, Kinver was apparently protected under Orville’s friends and family policy,” said Sue. “No police reports were ever filed. His marriages and divorces are part of public records, he’s had three marriages, two divorces, and it looks like the third one is in process. His main residence is in foreclosure, and the property that the business sets on is also in the early stages of foreclosure.”

  “He probably inherited the business property free and clear, ” said Ray. “So he was obviously borrowing on that property to generate some money. But times are tough; I bet most of the contractors in the region are in great financial difficulty, so Kinver is hardly unique in that department. What do you do when your cash flow suddenly ends for a year or two or three?”

  “I don’t know, I can’t imagine,” said Sue. “It takes my whole income to cover my modest life style. But while we’re talking about money, we’ve never really looked at Manton’s finances. Perhaps we’ve been too fixated on looking for a personal relationship between Manton and her assailant.”

  “What do we know about her financial situation?” asked Ray.

  “Not much. I checked the tax records; there are no liens against her property. From all appearances, she was relatively affluent compared to most of the artists I know in the area.”

  “True. Affluence is always relative, depending on where you are on the food chain. To a lot of the locals Manton would have looked quite well off. Could someone have been trying to borrow or extort money from her? For example, what if Kinver was trying to get money from her. Looks like he’s pretty desperate right now. Manton refuses, and he goes crazy and offs her.”

  “That much rage?” asked Sue.

  “Well, probably not. But you never know.”

  “And Kinver’s alibi checked out. I talked with Mike McFarland. He said he and Richard were at a conference in Lansing. They came back early Thursday morning. I never went further than that. I’ve always found McFarland pretty reliable,” said Sue.

  “How about Manton’s cell phone?” asked Ray, changing the direction of the conversation.

  “Her carrier finally emailed me a copy. I could have gone to one of the snoop services and for a hundred bucks gotten the info in less than 24 hours. Doing it the right way takes over a week.”

  “And?”

  “Just starting on that, Ray. I desperately need some time to start pulling together loose ends. We’ve been really scattered in this investigation. It will be wonderful if I get tomorrow to work on some of these things.” Sue paused for a long moment. “Opera and dinner. Does this mean we would both take Saturday off?”

  “Yes,” said Ray.

  “You’re on, Ray. And I’m going to wear a dress and get my hair done. And I’ll have the Saturday shift in place so neither of us is on call.”

  32.

  Early Saturday morning Ray was at a crime scene. He separated himself from the large group of emergency workers and walked back up the two-track and a long line of police and fire vehicles to meet Sue. “Your hair looks terrific,” he said as the two approached one another.

  “I always try to look my best when going to a murder. It’s all part of reinforcing an image and building the brand,” her tone was sarcastic. She paused for a moment and looked toward the scene at the end of the road. “I thought short of a nuclear attack or natural disaster, I had built a firewall sufficient to give us a day off. What’s going on?”

  “A 911 call just after first light. Some birders found the still smoldering remains of a pickup truck. The Township Fire Department was dispatched and Brett arrived shortly thereafter. After he ran the plates, he called me directly, and then I called you.”

  “I was just waking up when you called me. You said something about a body. Do you have an ID?”

  “The truck belongs to Richard Kinver. There is a body, burned beyond recognition, in the cab of the truck.”

  They turned in the direction of the truck. It sat at the terminus of the road end, beyond was a sand dune, shelf ice, and the big lake.

  “Are the people who called it in still here?” Sue asked.

  “I talked to them as soon as I got here. Took a statement and got their names and addresses. They were pretty shaken by the experience. It was just two of them, husband and wife. Up for the weekend from Kalamazoo.”

  “Nothing like a weekend of birding in God’s country,” said Sue. “How about Dyskin?” asked Sue, referring to the medical examiner.

  “He’s come and gone. Took one look at the remains and said they should go to the forensic pathologist in Grand Rapids.”

  “How about the scene,” asked Sue.

  Ray didn’t respond, he looked lost in thought.

  “What’s going on?” asked Sue, nudging him.

  I was thinking about the Robert Frost poem, “Fire and Ice.”

  “I don’t know it,” said Sue.

  Ray recited the short poem:

  Some say the world will end in fire,

  Some say in ice.

  From what I’ve tasted of desire

  I hold with those who favor fire.

  But if it had to perish twice,

  I think I know enough of hate

  To say that for destruction ice

  Is also great

  And would suffice.

  “So assuming that it’s Richard Kinver in the truck, what got him killed, desire, hate, or something else?” Ray’s question wasn’t directed at Sue. Then he turned his attention back to her. “What did you ask me?”

  “The scene? What about the scene?”

  “You won’t be happy. Between the effects of the fire and people tromping around, the scene has been pretty much destroyed. They told me that the tires were still burning when they arrived and part of the interior was engaged, so everything has been sprayed with foam. They said that initially they didn’t see the body.”

  “Well, let’s get everyone back so I can get in and photograph the scene. Then we can get the body out of here and the truck hauled away before the gawkers finish with their morning coffee.” Sue looked directly at Ray, “We need to get this done. I’m on my way to my first opera today, and I don’t want to miss the opening curtain.”

  • • •

  Several hours later Ray and Sue grabbed two of the remaining seats in the front row at the State Theatre in Traverse City. Sue turned around and scanned the audience. “We’re the youngest people here,” she said in a low tone just as the houselights began to dim.

  At the end of the opera, after all the curtain calls, the house lights at both the Met and the State Theatre came up. Sue and Ray were at the end of the line in the slow
ly emptying theater.

  Sue stopped and turned toward the now blank screen that had brilliantly reflected intense passion and anger for close to four hours. “That’s what we need.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what we need,” she repeated, “a ghost.”

  “I think we have one,” responded Ray. “Tristan Laird.”

  33.

  Sue’s Jeep was parked twenty yards back from the blackened area where Richard Kinver’s truck had been discovered little more than twenty-four hours before. Ray could see her beyond the scene, out on the shelf ice, with Simone off lead, scampering around near her. Ray walked out onto the ice, now extending forty or fifty yards from the shore, increasing in thickness toward the leading edge, where floating chunks of ice had been thrown onto the shelf during the last big storm.

  Simone barked a greeting, dashed to Ray, tail wagging, begging to be picked up. Ray held her in his arms, scratching her head, and taking several sloppy kisses on the cheek.

  “You have a way with women,” joked Sue.

  “Did I tell you how nice you looked in a dress yesterday,” was Ray’s opening gambit, noting Sue was in the department’s winter uniform, her beautifully coiffed hair now covered by a thick, blue, stocking cap with the department emblem stitched on the front.

  “I’m happy you noticed, and that you are able to mention it. You’re always so professional, I’m not sure what you recognize and what you don’t.”

  “There’s nothing that says female officers can’t wear skirts,” Ray countered.

  “And skirts would be terrific when you’re trying to run a bad guy to ground in deep snow.”

  “How’s Simone?”

  “She’s good and wonderful company, but she’s spending more time with the dog sitter than me. Sometimes she ends up being boarded there several days in a row. Wonderful people, they keep her in the house, but I feel guilty. It’s not a good situation, I’m trying to decide what to do.”

  Ray looked out at the big lake. There was no wind, the water’s surface mirrored the sky in the early morning light. “There’s a hint of spring,” said Ray. “We’re supposed to have clear weather and sun today and tomorrow.”

  “Good, I need the sun.” Looking back at the shore, Sue asked, “Assuming it was Kinver’s body in the truck, what do you think happened? He didn’t strike me as a suicidal type.”

  “No,” Ray agreed. “Never can dismiss any possibility, but suicide seems unlikely.”

  “We should have the results of the preliminary autopsy by tomorrow afternoon. If I can find and get Kinver’s dental records faxed to the pathologist tomorrow morning, we can probably have a positive identification, also.”

  “I didn’t look at the body too closely,” admitted Ray. “When you were photographing, did you see any wounds?”

  “Ray, if there were any wounds, they would not have been visible. It was bad.” Sue let her comment hang for a long time. “I think that got to me, the condition of the body, maybe the smell of burnt rubber and flesh.”

  “So we have three arsons, two homicides—well, one homicide, one suspected homicide. And a murderer who likes fire,” observed Ray.

  “And how is Kinver part of this? Why did someone need him dead? Is there a killer out there who might think we know more than we do?” asked Sue.

  “Several days ago we were talking about Kinver’s alibi.”

  “Yes, Mike McFarland,” said Sue.

  “We need to bring County Commissioner McFarland in for a conversation. Now that Kinver is dead, I wonder if his memory of his time with Kinver in Lansing might have changed.”

  Sue pulled a notebook from her jacket pocket, flipped to the first blank page, and jotted McFarland’s name.

  “What do we tell the news media?” Sue asked.

  “Tomorrow and maybe the next day we can get by with the victim has yet to be identified. Then we’ll figure out what to do,” answered Ray.

  “What was he doing here in the middle of the night?”

  “Perhaps he was killed somewhere else and brought here for cremation.”

  “That would have been considerate,” said Sue. “Bring him to one of the loveliest beaches in the region and send him to the afterlife on a Chevrolet pyre.” She paused briefly, and turned back toward the lake. “So what’s going on with Sarah?”

  “You’re changing the subject,” protested Ray.

  “You looked like you were becoming a couple.”

  “I told you yesterday.”

  “You didn’t tell me very much. Like most guys, you’re quite laconic when it comes to anything that involves feeling.” Sue looked thoughtful. “Well, that’s not quite true, you’re better than most guys, but you’re still very guarded.”

  “Thanks, and I don’t know what to tell you. Her job at Leiston went away. She had this terrific job offer in Chicago where she’s going to make a lot of money. I’m here, she’s there, and she says she loves being back in the city. That’s all I know.”

  “Well, how do you feel?”

  “I don’t know. I enjoyed being with her. And I’m amazed at how quickly everything changed.”

  “And you’re not going to resign your job and follow her to Chicago?”

  “No, and I don’t think she wants that either,” said Ray, setting Simone down.

  “Are we heading back to the office?” asked Sue.

  “No, I think you and Simone deserve some quality time together.”

  “How about you?”

  “I might bring a kayak over, cruise up and down the shelf ice for awhile.”

  “You and the young doctor?” she asked playfully.

  “ You know everything.”

  “Yep.”

  34.

  As Ray settled onto the small oak bench in the mudroom, he could hear the hubbub of friendly voices within and smell the rich aroma of skillfully prepared food. He pulled off his boots and put on a pair of soft moccasins that he had brought along. Sunday night dinner with his friends at Marc and Lisa’s house had become a tradition. In recent weeks, however, the demands of his work had kept him away.

  He pushed his way into the kitchen, greeted first by his friend Nora and her two dogs, Falstaff and Prince Hal. After a short flurry of welcoming barks and wags, the dogs wandered away and Ray was able to hand Lisa two bottles of wine for the meal.

  “Sorry all I can do is bring wine this week,” he said.

  “What do you mean, just wine,” retorted Marc. “You’re providing the main course, that beautiful steelhead that you brought us a few weeks ago. I froze it so we could have it on a special occasion. I’m going to steam it in white wine.”

  “What else is on the menu?” asked Ray.

  “Marc’s been experimenting with bread again,” said Lisa. “I don’t think he’s going to be happy until we build a brick oven. If we ever get around to redoing the kitchen that’ll probably be part of it.”

  “No,” said Marc. “If I’m going to go to all that trouble, I want something really big. It will have to be out in the yard.”

  “Maybe you’re on the verge of starting a new business,” joked Ray.

  “If my investments don’t get better, it’s something I’ll probably have to do,” said Marc.

  “Don’t get him started, Ray. We now have a rule around here that Marc doesn’t get to talk about the Wall Street robbers, at least not in my presence,” said Lisa.

  Ray chuckled, “My financial advisor said I shouldn’t look at my monthly reports. He said I should try to focus on the big picture. I should probably only look at what’s going on with my investments every five years.”

  “You’re kidding,” said Marc.

  “No,” said Ray. “And he told me this with a straight face. So I’m following his advice. Every month, when the statement arrives, I open the envelope and then shred the contents without looking at them. It’s one less thing to get upset about.”

  “I saw you at the simulcast of the opera yesterday,” said Nora. “Yo
u and that pretty young woman from your department.” Nora, now in her late 80s, and Ray had been friends for years. When he was in high school and college, Ray had done odd jobs for Nora and her husband, Hugh. They were summer people then, living in Grosse Pointe, but spending much of July and August at their home on the Lake Michigan shore. Nora’s roots ran deep in the area, and she had become an authority on local history. In addition to being a good friend, she had proven to be an important source when Ray needed background information about families and events that had occurred over the past decades.

  “You sort of showed up at the last minute, just before the curtain, when the only seats were right up in front. Did you get a sore neck looking at the screen?” she asked.

  “It wasn’t too bad,” said Ray.

  “And where is Sarah?” asked Nora. “It wouldn’t be like you, but is something going on between you and what’s her name, Sue? I mean, you never know about men.”

  Before he could answer, Lisa was herding them to the dinner table and pouring wine for the appetizer course. She removed an extra place setting, an indication that she had anticipated that Sarah would accompany Ray.

  “So what’s going on with Sarah?” Nora asked again.

  Ray explained briefly why Sarah was moving to Chicago.

  “How do you feel about that?” asked Nora, falling into the patter of her former profession.

  “No therapy tonight, Nora,” said Lisa, with a smile. “Let’s focus on Marc’s wonderful cooking.”

  “I’m trying to do local,” said Marc. “But that’s hard in the dead of winter. Although with the help of a freezer and one jar of canned jam, I almost made it.”

  Ray examined the appetizers Lisa placed in front of each of them, small perfectly formed quiches. “Looks beautiful Marc. All local?”

  “Pretty much. Morel mushrooms we picked and dried last spring, locally produced raclette cheese, local organic eggs, but I can’t vouch for the butter, cream, or scallions.”

  “I want you to know what a special friend you are,” said Lisa. “Marc used his last jar of thimbleberry jam to make the dessert. And speaking of our carbon footprint, what do you think of the environmental implications of our travel to the tip of the Keweenaw Peninsula to compete with the bears so we can make a few jars of jam?”