Ray Elkins mystery - 04 - Shelf Ice

by Aaron Stander

  “I don’t understand either,” said Ray. “You feel up to answering a couple questions?”

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “You know where Richard’s been living lately?”

  “Well, sometime in the late summer or fall he moved into the trailer up at the yard. That’s after he lost the house to the bank. But then by winter he didn’t seem to be using it anymore. I asked him about it, and he just sort of laughed. You know, he always treated me like a dumb old man. Like I didn’t know what was going on, like my eyes and brain weren’t working anymore. I mean, I don’t hear too well, but I think everything else is still there. And what Richard didn’t seem to understand was I’ve seen a hell of a lot of life.”

  “So, Dell, if he wasn’t living in the trailer, have any idea where he might have been staying?”

  “Ray, Richard prided himself on being the cock of the walk. There were always women coming around looking for him. I imagine he was just bedding down with one of them, maybe more.”

  “Dell, did you tell me that Richard couldn’t drive the Oshkosh?”

  “Richard could drive it,” said Dell, “that is, after a fashion he could drive it. I mean he could get it in gear and go backwards and forwards, but he could never plow with it. The hydraulics, they were pretty shot, and he could never get the hang of the belly blade. He tried using it once around the shop in the winter, that heavy snow the first week of November. He just made a mess.”

  “Anyone else know how to drive the Oshkosh?”

  “ It’s just the two of us, Ray. Everyone else’s been laid off since August.”

  “Did Richard ever show anyone else the Oshkosh or let anyone else drive it?”

  “I don’t think so, not when I was around.”

  “Dell, you are known as one of the best diesel mechanics around. Did you ever work on a Bluebird?”

  “What are you talking about Ray, a bus? I worked on a couple that the school district owned. That was way back, maybe 30 years ago, maybe more.”

  “No,” said Ray. “I’m talking about a large RV, something you might have done in the last year or two.”

  “I think I know what you’re talking about. Richard dragged me over to look at this big RV. It was in a huge storage barn. The owner couldn’t get it started. I’m not sure it had been run in several years. It was an old Travelodge. And you’re right, that was made by the Bluebird.”

  “What happened?” asked Ray.

  “It needed a lot of work. I told them I’d have to have parts and diagrams and some manuals. I called down to the company, and they weren’t much help. That part of the business has been closed down. So the old guy that owns it, he didn’t want to mess with it. He bought something new.”

  “So what do you think, the man drove away for the winter?”

  “Well that’s the interesting part. He seemed to be in bad health. So Richard drove the man and his wife somewhere, I think he said Arizona. Richard told me he got paid plenty for doing the driving and an airplane ticket back. He said the guy even put him up in a hotel in Vegas as thanks. And Richard said he was also being well paid to look after the man’s house during the winter.”

  “The man you’re talking about, did you get his name?” asked Ray.

  “No, I don’t think we were ever introduced. I only saw him once.”

  “Do you know if Richard had any relatives in the area?”

  “No,” said Dell. “The old folks are long gone, his dad died about 15 years ago and his mom in the last couple. I’m not sure about the rest of the family. But at the funeral I bet you’ll see a whole line of grieving women.” Then he chuckled.

  40.

  Ray made it back to the office just in time for the press briefing. Sue was already in the conference room chatting with the reporters when he arrived. There were only three reporters, two print—one from the regional daily and one from the county monthly—and one television reporter, with her cameraman.

  Sue had produced a carefully written press release. Ray read that release and then answered questions, turning many of them over to Sue.

  As soon as the briefing was over, Sue indicated with some urgency that they needed to talk.

  “What’s going on?” asked Ray.

  “Molly Birchard has gone missing.”

  “What?” said Ray.

  “I called her cell phone, and there was no answer, so I left a message. Then I walked over to dispatch to see if they have any other contact information for her, like her mother’s phone number. Molly was on the day shift this weekend, but she didn’t show up for work yesterday. She didn’t call in, and they haven’t been able to reach her. I called her mother, who was less than forthcoming in providing any information about the whereabouts of her daughter. I asked her if I could come visit her about five, and she agreed. I want you to come with me.”

  “So she worked Saturday,” said Ray. “She would’ve known about Richard Kinver, or at least about his truck with the strong suspicion that it was Kinver’s body that we found inside.”

  “That was my thought,” said Sue. “Am I chauffeuring you again?”

  “Absolutely. I’m really getting into having a driver,” said Ray.

  Ruth Birchard’s house was on the south edge of the village in an area of the township beyond the village limits. It was one of a scattering of homes—mostly modulars, doublewides, and trailers—along a narrow twisting country road. Sue pulled into a small drive behind a large rusting Oldsmobile. The house, one story, with faded yellow siding, sagged into the side of a hill. Plastic geraniums, bleached to a whitish-pink, poked through a snow-covered flowerbox under a picture window.

  Ruth Birchard pushed open a wooden storm door and held it for Sue and Ray as they entered the small, cluttered living room. “You want to come into the kitchen?” she asked. “We can sit at the table there and talk.” She didn’t wait for an answer; she just led them to the adjoining room. There was already a coffee pot and two cups with saucers on the table. She brought a third to the table as they settled. She poured coffee without asking them whether they wanted any.

  Ray looked across the table at Ruth. Although he did not believe he had ever met her, she looked vaguely familiar. He noted that there was a striking similarity between Ruth and her daughter, Molly. Her face was deeply lined, her brown-gray hair, dull. Ray sensed anxiety and despair.

  “We need your help,” said Sue. “We need to know what’s happened to Molly, where she is.”

  Birchard was slow in responding. It appeared that she was thinking about what she was going to say. “Is she in some kind of trouble?” she finally asked.

  “She’s not in trouble with us,” responded Sue. “But she may be in some kind of trouble. As you know, her best friend was murdered. The sheriff and I have never believed that she’s been totally truthful with us about what she might know about Brenda Manton’s death. Now there is a second murder, it might be related to the first…”

  “Second murder?” Ruth asked, the tension rising in her voice.

  “Yes,” said Sue. “Richard Kinver. It happened this weekend. It will be on the news tonight.”

  A long silence followed. Finally, Birchard responded, “Oh my God.”

  “Do you know Richard Kinver?” asked Sue.

  “I’ve known him for a long time,” she answered, her voice weary. “He started messing with Molly when she was in junior high. That’s when she started hanging out with the wrong kids; he was at the center of the group. He was older, maybe a junior or senior. I knew he was trouble from the instant I saw him. I’ve always blamed Richard for getting her started with drugs, sex too.

  “I don’t think that she would have made it through high school if she hadn’t gotten that scholarship to Leiston School. They had a special program back then to bring some local kids to the school. Molly was so good in art and writing, and not that bad of a student, either. Having a chance to go to Leiston really changed her life. She got to know some nice kids from all over the world, and i
t got her away from Richard, at least during the school year. But as soon as she was home for the summer, he was always hanging around.” She sagged in her chair and looked defeated.

  “After Leiston she got a scholarship to college, and things were going good for her. But then she had a bad marriage and moved back here, so I could help her look after her son. She’s a really good potter, but how do you make a living doing that?” She paused for a long moment. “This job with the county was a good thing for her, a real lifeline.”

  “Has Molly been involved with Kinver recently?” asked Sue.

  “He’s always been around,” Birchard answered. “He just can’t leave her alone. He ruined her life. She can never say no to Richard. Never.”

  “So what is going on with Molly now?” asked Ray. “She didn’t show up for work yesterday, and she didn’t call in.”

  “She’s in some kind of big trouble,” Birchard answered, her voice barely audible.

  “What kind of trouble?” pressed Ray.

  “I don’t know, Sheriff. She comes over here on Sunday and asks if I can look after my grandson, Scott, for a while. I’m thinking that she’s talking about a few hours, but I come to understand very quickly she’s talking about weeks. She tells me something bad is going on. She’s got to get out of town. Go somewhere far away. Go into hiding where no one can find her. Then she asked me how much money I could give her.”

  “Did you give her some?” asked Sue.

  “I gave her what I had here, about $600, money I had been saving up from tips, mostly in small bills. She told me she had a credit card that would keep her going for a while.”

  “How about her son?” asked Sue.

  “I took him over to a friend’s house so he wouldn’t hear this conversation. He’s used to staying with me. This has happened a lot over the years, so he won’t think much about it. He’s got his own bedroom here, I’ll take him to school and look after him. Life will go on almost as usual.”

  “Did Molly give you any indication of where she might be going?” asked Ray.

  “No. She had a destination she didn’t want to share with me. She said she’d call from time to time to check in. That’s all I can tell you, Sheriff.”

  ‘Do you know anything about Molly being involved with a church?” asked Sue.

  “Oh, that church. That’s become so important to her. She never was much interested in religion until she got involved with that church. Lots of times Scott ends up staying here because she’s got church activities. I don’t know, something doesn’t seem quite right about it. Maybe she was just sneaking off to spend the night with Richard.”

  Ray slowly stood up, “Thank you for telling us all this. It’s been very helpful.”

  “Is she in danger, real danger?” Birchard asked.

  “She may be. But we’re doing our best to get to the bottom of this mystery. We hope to get it resolved before anyone else is harmed,” said Ray.

  41.

  After returning to Sue’s Jeep, they sat for a long moment, each reflecting on what they had just heard. Finally, Sue turned the ignition switch, the sound of the engine ending the silence.

  “What now, kimosabe?” asked Sue as she began backing out of the drive.

  “I think we need to talk to Rod Gunne again. He seems to be at the center of this. Why don’t you turn around, we’ll start at the church and then check Gunne’s residence.”

  “Ray,” started Sue, as she continued driving north, “it’s almost six. I don’t think anything is going to happen tonight that would be prevented by our trying to track down Gunne. But if you still want to do that after I drop you off, go for it. I’m going to pick up Simone and go to my yoga class. I haven’t been there in weeks.” She paused, glanced at Ray briefly, and continued. “And after, maybe I will go and have a few glasses of wine with the girls. Ray, I need a bit of normalcy. I can’t continue to work sixteen hours a day. And you can’t either. We’re burning out. Both of us.”

  Ray started to respond, carefully forming his opening sentence before he gave voice to it. He caught himself at the last moment and remained silent. He looked over at his colleague; he could see that she was exhausted. For months she had been at his side during several grueling murder investigations, selflessly working nights and weekends without ever a complaint. It slowly began to sink in. Sue was emotionally and physically drained. She was teetering on the edge of total burnout, a state from which people wander away from once rewarding jobs to seek something new.

  Then he thought, Maybe I’m projecting, he thought, but he couldn’t deny his own feelings of weariness. As he sat there reflecting on what was going on with Sue, Ray realized that he was having difficulty keeping the wall in place that provided the emotional distance necessary to work effectively. For months most of his energy had been focused on work. He had made little time for his friends and was probably responsible for the seemingly sudden end to his relationship with Sarah.

  After Sue dropped Ray off, he returned to his office and keyed his notes from the conversation with Ruth Birchard. He thought about Molly. She probably had the information to help quickly break this case. Why did she choose to do a runner rather than coming to them for help? he muttered out loud. He thought about how wary and apprehensive she seemed during their interviews. Given what Ruth Birchard had told them, Molly must have developed a deep-seated fear of law enforcement during her many years of using illicit drugs. He wondered how many weeks she had stayed clean to pass her employment medical test, and if and when she had returned to using drugs.

  By the time Ray drove up his drive, covered with a fresh dusting of lake-effect snow, it was dark, and he was tired and hungry. He stood at his kitchen counter for several minutes and sorted the mail, noting that there were two New Yorkers. He checked the dates, curiously there were two consecutive weeks.

  Without energy or imagination, he made a supper of bread, cheese, and an apple, washing it down with several mugs of chamomile tea.

  As he ate, his attention was focused on a long article in the New Yorker on a conflict of people and values in a rural area of New Jersey little more than twenty-five miles from Manhattan. Ray took interest in the fact that some of the problems discussed in the article were similar to those he faced in northern Michigan, the often-conflicting interests of the locals and the more affluent part-time residents.

  Later, standing at his writing desk, pen in hand and his journal open before him, Ray mentally reviewed the day. Much of his first few paragraphs was a recapitulation of his thoughts as Sue drove him back to the office. He wrote about what he perceived was going on with her, and how he was probably experiencing much of the same feelings. They were both being worn down by the workload and the trauma of the two horrific murders. He sympathized with Sue’s need for a life and was forced to confront how the demands of his job and his own workaholic tendencies were keeping him from the companionship and support of his friends. Ray stopped writing for a while and thought about his life. He had given up a career in college teaching to return to the area that he loved. And in the early years as sheriff, he had taken the time to walk the beaches, watch the setting sun, and kayak the big lake. He had skied in the winter, walked the streams with a fly rod in the summer, spent time with good friends, and struggled with romance. Now he seldom did any of those things. He wondered how and when he could get some balance back in his life.

  Ray started flipping through the notebook, moving back weeks, then months. The name Elise Lovell pulled his attention. He scanned his entry from November where he commented on his interview with her during the early inquiries in the Lynne Boyd shooting. He noted her perceptiveness, wondering how much of that came from her training as psychiatric social worker and how much of it was just an innate trait. Ray stopped and read the entry a second time, he mouthed, psychiatric social worker. He thought about his most recent encounter with Elise. Hadn’t she told him and Sue that she was a chemist by training? Maybe she did chemistry and changed majors, he thought.
But he suddenly had a feeling something was very wrong.

  He grabbed his phone and started to call Sue, stopping at the last instant. It would have to wait till morning.

  42.

  Ray was well into his workday, his attention focused on the necessary bureaucratic tasks of his job, when his secretary, Jan, popped in to relay a message from Sue. She was taking a half-day of personal leave and would see him in the afternoon. He was a bit startled by the news. He had never known Sue to take leave time during an important investigation.

  They had both been working intensively for months without a respite. And one of the things that he had noticed early in her tenure with the department was that Sue seemed to share his work orientation. In the past, one of the women he dated had accused him of being a workaholic on her way out of the relationship. But now as he thought back on it, that assertion was probably true, his life revolved around his work. He sat confronting the fact that he had not been sensitive to Sue’s needs. At her age she should be pursuing some of the other things that life offers.

  Ray began to wonder if Sue was in the process of starting to look for another job. Given her background, experience, and skill, Sue could move downstate or out-of-state and greatly improve her salary and get a normal workweek. He remembered that she had also expressed an interest in graduate school, and perhaps even a career change. She had also talked about finding a man and starting a family. With a sense of uneasiness, Ray focused on the tasks at hand.

  A few hours later, when Sue came in, Ray noted how rested and relaxed she looked. She seemed more like the personality that he had become used to, easy-going and usually good-humored.

  “Anything happening?” she asked.

  “Quiet morning,” said Ray. “No new bodies or suspicious fires.” He reflected on what he said and thought he should lighten the tone. “Just another day in paradise.”