“What? Sorry, I didn’t hear you.” He rolled over on his back.
“In the right circumstances, this could be heaven.”
“Go to sleep,” he said, turning on his side away from her. “It’s after midnight.”
She attempted to settle herself into a comfortable sleeping position. No matter what she did, the pillows were either too high or not high enough. The covers didn’t seem to lay right and she couldn’t get her body positioned to rest.
“What’s wrong?” he mumbled. “You’re whipping around like a cyclone.”
“Can you believe it? Now that I’m in bed I’m not sleepy.” She rolled over on her back and pulled the covers up under her chin.
He grunted.
“You’ve even got skylights in here,” she said, looking up at the two glass domes in the ceiling.
Lark grunted again.
“Jeez, I can’t believe this. Now that my eyes have adjusted, I can see a few stars.”
“I’m going to ‘jeez’ you in a minute if you don’t shut up and go to sleep.”
“Crab ass.”
“What did you—hey, what the hell are you doing now?” Lark asked, sitting up as she slid out of bed.
“I don’t know.” She walked to the window. “Maybe I should take the Ransons’ up on staying at their place. Doesn’t this setup make you a little nervous?” She turned around and looked into his eyes.
“I’m too damn tired to be nervous. How is this different than last night?”
“I was beyond exhausted last night. All that wine and the adrenaline rush with the shooting wore me out. I guess I’m not quite as tired tonight.”
“Well, I am. What do you want to do?” he asked, his words coming out in white puffs.
“Do you care if I read?”
“Heavens, no. I could sleep if klieg lights were shining on me.”
Lacey went to her room for her book. When she got back to Lark’s room, he was sitting in the chair.
“I’ll sleep downstairs on the sofa in front of the fire and you can sleep up here,” he said, his blue eyes boring into hers. “Now that I think about this, it is a bit awkward.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said as she climbed into bed. “I don’t know what got into me. This is fine. If I was in this circumstance with any other friend, I wouldn’t hesitate to do this to keep warm. Why should it be any different with you?” She settled into bed, propping two pillows behind her back and pulling the covers up around her.
Lark continued to sit in the chair, his face impassive, watching her.
“Jesus Christ, Lark,” she said, patting the comforter. “We’re adults and we’re law enforcement officers, for God’s sake.”
He climbed back into bed and they talked, avoiding any discussion about the case. An hour later, Lacey was talking about a case she’d worked on in Madison when she heard a faint snore. Lark was sound asleep. She slid down in the bed, suddenly very sleepy herself. The last thing she remembered was turning out the light.
SATURDAY MORNING
NOVEMBER 25—ANN RANSOM
Ann awakened with the mother of all headaches, confused about where she was. She knew immediately that she wasn’t in her own bed because when she reached out to turn on the light, her hand hit something hard. As her fingers curled around it, she realized it was the side rail of her hospital bed. Flashbacks from the car accident flooded her mind. As her eyes adjusted to the dark she looked around the room for the clock she knew was somewhere on the wall. When she was unable to find it, she made a mental note to have all the clocks replaced with ones that glowed in the dark. Pain shot through her shoulders and back when she tried to sit up. Just as she got herself situated, a voice from the corner of the room startled her into agonizing pain.
“I’m so glad you’re awake.”
“Who is it?” Ann asked, peering into the darkness.
“It’s me, Betty Chevsky.” Betty came over to the bed and took Ann’s hand.
“Betty can you please turn a light on?”
The overhead light flashed on and sent shock waves of pain through her head. Despite the pain in her back and shoulders, Ann pulled her arms up to cover her face. She cried out and Betty ran back to the bedside.
“Should I get the nurse?”
“No, just turn the light off,” Ann said, gritting her teeth with pain. “Turn the bathroom light on.”
The overhead light went off and the softer bathroom light came on. It dulled her headache to the point where it was tolerable.
“Is that better?” Betty asked, coming back to her bedside.
“Much,” Ann said, attempting to smile. “How is your son?”
“He’s in detox in Rhinelander. Things are really hard for him right now. I got to talk with him for the first time last night.”
“Rhinelander will do a good job with him. They have a very good reputation,” Ann said, closing her eyes in hopes of shutting out the pain. “What time is it?”
“Quarter after six. I get off at seven, but I wanted to check up on you before I left.”
“Thank you for coming,” Ann said, opening her eyes to see Betty staring down at her.
She took Ann’s hand. “I’m sorry this is happening to you. I hope it stops soon.”
“I had a blowout. My car went out of control and I hit my head. Good thing I had on my seat belt.”
“Thank God it was just a blowout.”
“It hurts like hell right now. Could you ask the nurse to bring me something for pain?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that right now,” Betty said, leaving the room.
Ann fell asleep dreaming that someone had her head in a vice. She roused enough to take a couple of pain pills and fell back into a troubled sleep. She woke up when John came in at 8:30 and was home in her own bed by early afternoon.
SATURDAY MORNING
NOVEMBER 25—SWENSON
Lacey was having the most wonderful dream. She was toasty warm in a double sleeping bag in the northwoods. She was being kissed passionately, just like in the romance novels, and her breasts were being caressed. She was excited and way beyond ready to move on to better things when she heard a ringing in her ears. This is it, she thought as she rolled herself full length against her lover. Suddenly the kissing stopped and the wonderful hands and warm body withdrew. The ringing in her ears became the sound of an alarm clock.
“Turn it off. Let’s stay here and make love all day,” she said, reaching out to embrace her lover.
“Shit” was the response.
“Dammit.” Lacey sat up so fast she was dizzy. “What happened?” she asked, pulling down her sweatshirt. She buried her face in her hands.
“The alarm went off,” Lark grumbled.
“No, I mean what the hell just happened here?” she asked, her voice drifting out between her palms as she attempted to rub her face awake.
“I’m not sure,” he said, reaching out to put his arm around her and then quickly pulling back. “I’m really sorry about this.”
“Hell, it’s not your fault.” She pulled her left hand away from cradling her head just enough to look at him. “I must confess, I was enjoying myself until the stupid alarm went off.”
“I thought I was dreaming,” Lark said, his face beet red.
“Me, too.”
They sat there for a few minutes in awkward silence.
“Well, at least the house is warmer.” Lacey said, sketching her arms up in the air. “I feel like I need a cold shower, but considering it’s still a bit chilly, I’ll forgo it.” She smiled at Lark’s back and left.
“Jesus Christ,” Lark mumbled, staring down at the floor. “What the hell is wrong with me?” He went to take his own shower.
Refreshed from standing under the hot shower spray, but no less embarrassed, Lark dressed and went downstairs to get the coffee started. Once again, Lacey had beaten him.
“How the hell do you get dressed so fast?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
&
nbsp; “My youthful beauty demands little primping,” she said, not taking her eyes off the Wausau Herald. Her damp hair was fanned out around her face and curled down the back of her navy knit dress in an unruly mass. She looked as if she had on a hint of lipstick and mascara, but no other makeup was noticeable.
Lark sat down at the island across from her, saying nothing. He picked up the section of the paper she had left lying on the counter.
“Don’t throw up when you read the headlines,” she said from behind the paper.
He unfolded the front page. SECOND UW—MADISON COED FOUND DEAD IN MASON COUNTY screamed out at him.
“They have almost as much information as we do,” she commented as she refilled her coffee mug and went into the family room to flip on the television.
“Assholes.” Lark said, scanning the article.
Lacey flipped between the three network stations, looking for a local news update.
The Herald had an excellent biographical sketch of Terry Foltz but they did not have the link with the other UW—Madison students who lived in Big Oak.
All three news stations were carrying the same information. The Rhinelander station had sent a reporter to the Foltzes’ house. Her live report consisted of telling the world that the Foltzes were in seclusion and not available for comment.
“Sharks,” Lacey snapped. “Now everyone knows where these poor people live. No one gets a moment to grieve in peace anymore.” She turned off the television and slammed the remote down on the sofa.
“We’d better get going,” Lark said, filling a thermos with coffee. “This is going to be another long day. We’ve got to get back here and interview those kids before they go back to school tomorrow.”
They pulled out of the garage into another overcast day. What had looked like a winter wonderland last night now looked like a scene from the movie Fargo; everything; everywhere, with the exception of the brown trees, was white. Big, fat snowflakes fell on a never-ending sea of snow. The road crew that plowed Lark’s driveway had left a tunnel of snow almost as high as the roof of the Jeep.
“It’s a wonder that everyone up here isn’t on Prozac,” Lacey commented as they drove to the station. The roads were surprisingly clear. There were still quite a few trucks parked up against the piles of snow left by the road grader. White fields were dotted with blaze orange specks that materialized into men with guns as they grew closer.
The station was abuzz with activity. After being reassured that everyone was working on routine stuff, Lark pulled George aside and asked him to set up appointments with all the UW—Madison students who lived in Big Oak. Ten minutes later he and Lacey were on the road to Eau Claire.
As they drove through town, Lacey was amazed at the number of vehicles with deer strapped to their tops. “This is disgusting,” she said, craning her neck to watch an old station wagon drive by with a very small doe strapped to the roof, its head hanging down over the passenger side of the car as if it were looking into the window. “This feels like a sick Far Side cartoon.”
“Be careful, Detective Smith, this is a multimillion—dollar industry in northern Wisconsin. It’s sacrilege to criticize it,” he said sarcastically.
“Yeah, uh-huh, I hear you. You must be running for election soon.”
“Sooner or later, if I want to stay in this garden spot,” he said with a sigh. “What I’m thinking about right now is that one of these guys who comes up here for deer hunting, a guy who will be leaving here today or tomorrow, may just be our killer.”
“Don’t even think that. It has to be someone local.”
They agreed that so far they did not have a motive for the crime, let alone means and opportunity for anyone. Once their discussion of Patterson and Foltz flagged, they talked about the recent shootings. They both agreed that the connections between the cases was the snowmobile. After discussing the prevalence of snowmobiles in northern Wisconsin, they agreed that rather than checking out everyone who owned one, they would determine if the suspects had one.
They arrived at the Eau Claire state police headquarters only five minutes ahead of the Pattersons. Joel had called ahead and arranged for Captain Leonard Minor, the officer who had worked with the Pattersons when their daughter had first been reported missing, to sit in on the interview.
Despite the seriousness of the moment, the nursery rhyme “Jack Sprat could eat no fat and his wife could eat no lean” ran through Lacey’s head as she shook hands with the Pattersons. Allan Patterson, was a long, tall study in brown. He was at least six-foot-six with a shock of straight brown hair that hung down on his forehead and huge, soft brown eyes set deep in a long, narrow face. His forehead was creased with worry lines which matched the long frown lines around his mouth. He shuffled into the center of the interview room, his shoulders hunched, his hands jammed in his pants pockets. Two camel wool coats hung through the crook of his right arm.
Yvonne Patterson followed close behind. At five foot four, she struggled to keep up with her husband’s stride. Lacey was struck at how beautiful she was, complete with greenish brown eyes shimmering with tears and dark brown hair streaked with gray swirled artfully around her face. Her voluptuous frame was draped in a calf-length, dark brown cashmere skirt and sweater set. Although she now had the body of a Ruebens model, it was obvious from her style and grace that she had not always been built that way.
Everyone found a seat around the oblong table. After introductions, Lark started the interview by telling the Pattersons how sorry he was about their daughter.
“I think I knew she was dead but it helps to know that we can put her to rest,” Mrs. Patterson said, her voice quavering. She pulled a tissue from the box on the table and dabbed at the tears that overflowed her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks.
“When will we be able to bring her home?” Allan Patterson asked in a deep but gentle voice. He leaned over and massaged his wife’s shoulder.
“Maybe early next week,” Lark said, observing the tenderness between them. “I’ve read the files, but I’d like you to tell me what you remember about your daughter’s disappearance.”
“It was a Tuesday afternoon and I was out grocery shopping for Thanksgiving.” Yvonne smiled sadly at Lark. “It’s Gemma and Allan’s favorite holiday. We eat the same thing every year, no substitutions allowed.” Her husband squeezed her shoulder. “When I got home, it was about three o’clock. Gemma had left a short message on our answering machine saying that she was headed home but was going to stop and visit a friend and maybe stay overnight.” She stopped talking, overcome with tears.
Worried for his wife, Allan slid his chair closer to comfort her. “We didn’t think too much about it when she didn’t show up Tuesday night, but we got concerned when she didn’t make it in on Wednesday evening. Minnesota and northern Wisconsin got a lot of snow that Wednesday and we were worried that she’d gotten stuck or had an accident.”
Yvonne squared her shoulders and examined the black smudges on the water-logged tissue before reaching across the table for another. She smiled at Lacey. “I knew I shouldn’t have worn makeup.”
Lacey reached across the table and patted her hand.
“As I look back on this, I realize that I should have known something was wrong when she didn’t call us on Tuesday.”
“Why’s that?” Lark asked.
“Because she said she’d call me back later and she didn’t.”
Allan nodded his head. “Yvonne’s right. Gemma was very responsible. She would have called us if she had been able to.”
“Do you remember any of her friends from the Big Oak area?” Lark asked.
Mrs. Patterson stuffed her tissue into the cuff of her sweater and reached down for her handbag. “I brought my notes.”
“We went through Gemma’s date book looking for names,” Allan said, relaxing back into his chair now that his wife was less emotional.
Yvonne unfolded several pages of notebook paper with sections highlighted in yellow. “Let me see,” sh
e said, poring over the first page.
“Sandi Waltner,” Allan said, glancing at Lacey’s notes. “I know her father. He owns a marina in Big Oak. I can’t imagine her being a part of this. Sandi has been to our house a couple of times.”
“She was always a wonderful guest. She came with Katey Lowery, another friend of Gemma’s from Big Oak,” Yvonne said, flipping to another highlighted page.
“Did they both visit your home?” Lark asked.
“Yes, do you need to know when? I can go through Gemma’s date book if it will help.”
“I’d like to look over her date book myself. There are copies of pages from them in the police files but not a copy of the whole thing. You never can tell what might be helpful,” Lark said.
“We’ll get it over to you tomorrow,” Allan said.
“David Banski is also in my notes. She gave him a ride to Big Oak once,” Yvonne said.
“I can’t imagine what kind of an animal could do this,” Allan said, his hands gripping the arms of his chair.
“Honey, let’s get going so we can spend some time with Mike,” Yvonne said, one hand resting on his wrist, the other caressing his shoulder.
“In a minute,” he said, staring at the calendar hanging on the wall across from him.
Not taking her eyes off her husband, Yvonne said, “Mike, our son, also went to UW. He’s working with his dad at the marina. He and Gemma were very close, and finding Gemma’s body has brought all the pain of her disappearance back for him. He’s having a hard time right now.”
Allan stood up and shook hands with Lark and Lacey. “Thank you for your time. Yvonne’s right, we have to take care of the living. We’ll get that date book to you tomorrow.”
Allan reminded Lacey of an automaton, emotionless, going through the motions of being polite. Yvonne shook hands with Lark and gave Lacey a hug. “I don’t know how you do this. I couldn’t deal with all this sadness. I’ll say a prayer for you both.”
Lacey grabbed a tissue as she watched them reach for each other’s hands as they passed the interrogation window. “Sometimes I don’t know how we do it either,” she mumbled.
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