Ray Elkins mystery - 04 - Shelf Ice

by Aaron Stander

  “How much language do you have?” he asked. “Are you responding to what I say, or just the tone that I’m using?”

  Simone held her position, looking directly at Ray with an inscrutable expression.

  “Well, either way, lamb and rice has got to be a lot better than dog food.”

  Ray started some rice, prepared a salad, and laid out four lamb chops on a broiler pan. He was about to put them in the oven when he saw a white and yellow sea kayak glide by the window. He opened the door and Hannah Jeffers came in, dressed in a dry suit and carrying a backpack.

  Before he could say anything, Hannah blurted, “Boy, do I have a lot to tell you, but I’m soaking wet under this dry suit and totally chilled. Would you make me something warm to drink while I’m changing?”

  “What do you want, tea, coffee, something else?”

  “Anything, Ray. As long as it’s hot. Who is your friend?” asked Hannah, noticing the dog for the first time.

  “That’s Simone. She’s a houseguest for a day or two. We were just about to have dinner. Would you like to join us?”

  “Never turn down a meal, especially if it looks like a good one,” responded Hannah as she headed off to change her clothes.

  Ray started a kettle of water to boil, the second salad, and added more lamb chops to the broiler pan. Hannah emerged from the guest room wearing jeans, a black turtleneck, and a red fleece jacket.

  “Feeling better?” Ray asked.

  “Lots, but I still need a hot drink.”

  “The water is hot. I can make you coffee, tea…”

  “How about some tea, herbal, with lots of honey.”

  Ray pulled several boxes from a drawer and set them on the counter. He set out two mugs and a bottle of honey. “Pick your poison,” he said, pointing to the boxes of tea. “How do you like your lamb chops?”

  “Not too pink. Do you have any mint jelly?” she asked.

  Ray gave her a long look.

  “Guess that was a faux pas,” said Hannah with a chuckle.

  “You said you have something to tell me.”

  “Yes,” Hannah answered. “When we were kayaking together you mentioned in passing that you were looking for a rather eccentric character who sometimes camps out in the caves on the shelf ice.”

  “Yes,” said Ray. “His name is Tristan Laird. He may hold the key to solving at least one of the murder cases we’ve been working on.”

  “He didn’t give me his name,” said Hannah, “but I think I met the character you’re talking about. He’s probably mid-to-late 30s, looks like he’s been living in the wild for a while. Not very communicative. Reminds me of someone who smoked way too much dope or perhaps had some kind of traumatic brain injury.”

  “I think you may have found him,” said Ray. “When and where did you meet up with him?”

  “I launched in the same place we did before and followed the creek out beyond the shelf ice. Instead of going north, I headed south. Two or 3 miles out I found a number of large ice caves. I was having fun playing around. I would paddle in at a good rate and see how far I could get into a cave and then slide back out again. On the fourth or fifth cave I paddled into I was surprised to find someone. In fact I was rather frightened at first. I tried to back out, but got stuck. And then he grabbed my boat and pulled me in farther. He wanted to know who I was and why I was there. He seemed pretty paranoid.”

  “Then what happened?” said Ray.

  “I popped my spray skirt and got out of the boat.” Hannah looked over his shoulder. “Is something burning?” she asked.

  Ray pulled the pan of lamb chops from under the broiler and set it on the top of the stove. “I don’t think you’ll find these too pink. Then what happened?” he asked.

  “We had a conversation of sorts. Initially I did almost all the talking. Eventually he started answering some of my questions. He’s very laconic, very frightened.”

  “So what did you learn?” asked Ray, growing impatient.

  “He told me he was hiding out, that someone was after him. And he’s unwell, Ray. He looks malnourished, and he’s doing a lot of coughing. I suspect he’s got pneumonia. I explained to him that I was a doctor and that he appeared to be sick, that he needed medical attention. He had a kayak in the cave with him, a skin-on-frame. I told him if he came with me I would get him medical care and make sure that he was safe. No dice. He’s too frightened.”

  “Then what?” asked Ray.

  “Well, I finally got him to admit that he was sick. I told him I would come back tomorrow with some medicine. I wanted to come in the morning, but he asked me to come in the afternoon. He said he usually sleeps on shore.

  “So this is what we agreed upon,” continued Hannah, “I would meet him at two in the same location if the lake was flat like today. And I told him that I wanted to bring another doctor with me, that I was a heart surgeon, and I wanted someone who might better be able to help him with this problem. He didn’t want to hear about that, not at all, but I think in the end I had convinced him that it was necessary.”

  “And what if the lake isn’t flat?”

  “Then all bets are off,” said Hannah. “Are you ready to practice medicine without a license?”

  “What do you have in mind?” asked Ray.

  “I can make a rough diagnosis about what he needs. I mean, it would be better to have him in the hospital, but I’ll do my best given the circumstances. And I think we should take him a dry sleeping bag, some clothes, and a supply of freeze-dried food. I’ll also pack some meds. While we are with him, perhaps you can get some information from him. Or perhaps we can get him to come with us. I think we’ll just have to play it by ear. Like I said, he should be in a hospital for diagnostic work, and then spend some time in a suitable environment for recovery.” She looked at Ray, “How does it sound?”

  Ray was silent for a long moment. Finally he said, “This will be real challenging. But thank you for remembering. This could be the break we’ve been looking for.”

  “Have you met him before? Might he recognize you?”

  “I’ve never had any contact with him. That said, I’m out there.” Ray paused, “I’ve got a cold weather neoprene hood, only has openings for my eyes, nose, and mouth. You don’t see much of my face. That should work. If it doesn’t, we’ll deal.”

  Ray looked at the food he had been preparing. “We better eat. Everything is getting cold.”

  “How about Simone?” Hannah asked.

  “Would you chop up one of these lamb chops and mix it with some of the rice for Simone, and I’ll get the rest of the meal on the table.”

  “When you return her to her owner, she’ll never want to eat dog food again.”

  “Everyone has got troubles,” chuckled Ray.

  46.

  At eight sharp the next morning Bob Taft, the polygraph examiner, dressed in a carefully pressed blue shirt and tan corduroys was at Ray’s office. Bob had retired to the region more than a decade before, and now worked as an independent contractor to police agencies around the state. He knocked on the door frame before entering.

  “Morning,” said Ray, looking away from his screen. “Come on in. Can I get you some coffee?”

  “I’ll have a cup with you,” answered Taft. “Who’s curled up over there, your new deputy?”

  “That’s Simone. It’s a long story, but for the near term Sue Lawrence has accepted guardianship for her. And Sue is in Illinois today as part of this investigation, so I’m looking after the dog.”

  “I want to go over that email you sent me last night,” said Taft. “And thank you for that. So many departments don’t give me sufficient background and then expect that I work miracles for them.”

  They settled at the conference table, Ray pouring coffee into mugs from an insulated carafe. Ray gave Taft, a retired police officer from suburban Detroit and a respected polygraph examiner, an overview of the Manton murder and the Kinver murder. Then he explained that while there was nothing that conne
cted Rod Gunne directly to either of these crimes, Gunne knew and had dealings with both of the victims.

  “So, he’s told me, Bob, that his only contact with Manton was when she was creating and installing some of her work in his new church. He insists that there was never any personal relationship. I want to know if he’s telling the truth about that. And then I want to know if he has any suspicions or knowledge about who might have killed Brenda Manton. And finally, obviously, I want to know if he was in any way directly or indirectly connected with this crime. The same thing with the Kinver murder. He is a very polished character, and I suspect you’ll find a fair amount of hubris there as well. Do you have any questions?”

  “I don’t think so. Given what you’ve just told me, your e-mail, and some questions I worked up last evening, I think I’m in pretty good shape. I just need a quiet place to get these questions revised. I should be ready to go by nine.”

  “Do you need a printer?”

  “I can just read things off the screen of my laptop. Thanks. It sounds like I will have an interesting morning,” said Taft. He smiled at Ray. “Usual place?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Ray, coming to his feet. “I’ll help you set up.”

  • • •

  Returning to his office, Ray phoned Sue Lawrence.

  “Ray, you remembered to charge your cell phone?”

  “No, actually I forgot. I’m plugging it in right now, hold on a minute. Okay, I’m back. Are you there yet?”

  “Ray, I’m in Illinois, central time, I’m having breakfast at the hotel. The plane was late departing, weather problems. I didn’t get to O’Hare until close to 10 o’clock our time. And it was after 11 by the time I picked up a rental and found the motel. I’ll be on the road pretty soon. Anything happening at your end?”

  “I think I may finally meet Tristan Laird today.” Ray explained his conversation with Hannah Jeffers the previous evening and laid out the plan for meeting Laird in the afternoon.

  “Amazing,” said Sue. “This might be the breakthrough we are looking for. I’ll pray for flat water so Tristan will show up.”

  “Me, too,” said Ray. “I hope I can get some information from him without scaring him off.”

  “How’s Simone. Is she eating for you?”

  “No problem, but she did try to hog my pillow most of the night.”

  Ray could hear Sue chuckling. “That’s one of her more endearing qualities. It means she really likes you. I’ve got to run, Ray. I’ll keep in touch.”

  “Good,” he responded, ending the call.

  Ray did his best to focus on paperwork, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He wanted to be a fly on the wall, watching Bob Taft slowly leading Rod Gunne through a carefully developed line of questioning. Then his thoughts flashed to the afternoon. He wondered if he would get any information from Tristan Laird. And he wondered if there might be any way to coax Laird into getting needed medical attention. How could he offer him protection without tipping his hat that he was really a police officer, not a doctor?

  He took Simone for a long walk around the parking lot. She took her time, sniffing at the brownish grass near the edge of the pavement that had been exposed by the snowplow. Finally he returned to his office and forced himself to work through a pile of paper.

  It was after 11 o’clock when Bob Taft appeared in Ray’s office. “How did it go?” asked Ray.

  “He’s an interesting man,” Taft responded with his calm smile, a trait that put his subjects at ease and helped make him such an effective examiner. “We covered a lot of territory. It will take me a while to type up a complete report for you.”

  “And I have to scoot out of here pretty soon. I’ve got something going on this afternoon to get ready for. But give me the high points. That would really help,” said Ray.

  Taft settled at the conference table and opened his laptop. “I’ll start with the major questions first,” he said. “Rod Gunne was probably not the killer in either of these cases. Did he have something more than a professional relationship with Brenda Manton? Yes. Did he have sex with her? Yes. Was he in or near her home the evening she was killed? No. Did he have any suspicions of who might have killed her? He answered no on this, but he probably wasn’t telling the truth.”

  “How sure are you of these results?” asked Ray.

  “Very,” Taft responded. “The man is smooth with great social skills. He’s a veteran liar. That said, he was the perfect candidate. There aren’t many gray areas in his chart, it was obvious when he was lying.

  “How about Richard Kinver’s murder?”

  “It doesn’t appear that he had anything to do with that, and he had no direct knowledge of the crime. When I asked him if he had any suspicions as to the perp, he said no, but his body was telling the machine something else.”

  “How about Elise Lovell?” asked Ray.

  “He was uncomfortable with this line of questioning. It appears that he had a personal relationship with her, sex included.”

  “And Molly Birchard?”

  “The same. Seems like the reverend is spreading more than just the gospel,” he added with a playful smile.

  “He’s created his own gospel,” said Ray. “It’s about 2 1/2 standard deviations south of any mainline religion. When will I have a written report?”

  “I’ll send you a quick summary later today. The complete document with all the supporting information, more than anyone ever wants to know, will take a few days.”

  “Sorry that we can’t do lunch today, I’ve got to leave in a few minutes,” said Ray. “I really enjoy our conversations. Let’s get together soon. And thank you for coming in on short notice.”

  “Happy to do it, Ray. I’ll be interested to hear how this case turns out.”

  47.

  After carrying their kayaks to the stream, Ray and Hannah Jeffers sorted through their gear bags, attaching some items—their cell phones protected in small transparent dry bags and their bilge pumps—under the bungees in front of the cockpits and stuffing other things into the pockets of their life jackets. Ray handed Hannah a guide vest, a black net affair with five large pockets, four in the front and one in the back, constructed of black nylon mesh.

  “I’d like to have everything that we might need initially on us. I’ll put the sleeping bag and extra clothing in my rear hatch and you can carry the food in yours,” he said, pulling a similar vest over his life jacket.

  “Do you have room for this?” he asked, holding out a small flare gun, an orange plastic pistol with three extra 12 gauge shells. “I want each of us carrying the same safety gear. Have you ever fired a pistol?” Ray asked.

  Hannah laughed, “You’re talking to an infantry officer.” She looked again closely, “So it’s loaded, and I release this safety and pull the trigger?”

  “You got it,” said Ray. “A piece of simple, crude technology that is very dependable. Here’s one more thing to put on your deck.” Ray handed her two wooden dowels with steel spikes driven into one end, connected by a rope at the opposite ends.

  “What’s that for?” she asked.

  “Fishermen carry these when they are on the ice. If you happen to come out of your boat, you can pull yourself up on the ice.”

  “Cool. Time for an equipment check?” asked Hannah.

  “Sure, radios on and working, tow belts in place, and we’ve got all your medical gear in our vests.”

  They climbed into their kayaks and attached the tight fitting, neoprene spray skirts around the cockpit combings. Seal-like, they slid down the ice-covered bank into the stream and paddled out onto the lake.

  “A bit of a chop,” Hannah observed. “I thought it was supposed to be flat.”

  “The NOAA forecast called for waves up to two feet early on, with a storm coming in this evening.”

  “I hope Tristan felt well enough to venture out. He’s not in good shape,” Hannah observed.

  “Lead the way,” said Ray as they turned south. “About how far do w
e need to go?”

  “I should have paid more attention to that,” she answered, sounding somewhat abashed. “And I wasn’t carrying a GPS. But it’s down there at the end of the bay in the tallest area of the ice shelf. That’s where I found the biggest caves.”

  They paddled away from the shore on a direct line toward that section of shelf ice. As they neared the area, Ray asked, “Where should we start looking for the cave?”

  “Right about there,” Hannah pointed with her paddle and led the way.

  After they worked their way through more than a dozen caves she observed, “They all look pretty much alike, but it was in here somewhere, and I don’t think it could have been much farther.” A few dozen yards farther she peered into the largest cave they had encountered. “This is it,” she said.

  Hannah turned her bow toward the opening of the cave and paddled hard. Her momentum carried her boat about half way up on the ice. Ray watched as a thin figure emerged from the dark interior and pulled her boat completely out of the water. After she was out of her cockpit and facing him, Ray followed suit, his kayak ending up behind hers. Hannah grabbed the bow handle on his boat and pulled it out of the water at the side of her boat.

  “Watch your footing,” she cautioned as Ray started to climb out of his cockpit.

  Tristan Laird was huddled in the back of the cave, surrounded by clothing and a damp- looking sleeping bag. A small, hand-built kayak was pushed up against the wall of the cave.

  Hannah went to Tristan’s side, pulling on a headlamp. “This is my friend,” she said, moving her head toward Ray. “He’s going to assist me.”

  Tristan kept his eyes on Hannah, not overtly acknowledging Ray’s presence.

  “When did you paddle in this morning?” she asked.

  “Stayed here, too weak,” Laird answered in a weak, breathy tone.

  Ray knelt at Laird’s other side.

  “First I need to get your temperature,” she said, removing a small electronic thermometer from a vest pocket. She slid it under his tongue, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Hannah carefully removed the device from his mouth, and she focused her headlamp on the digital readout.