Lark walked over to her, full of questions, but she ignored him and led the way out to the car.
“Can we just get a pizza and go home?” Lacey asked.
“Sounds good to me,” he said. “I’ll call it in.” He got her request—anything except anchovies—before he went back into the hospital. When he returned, her head was back against the headrest, eyes closed, and the radio was tuned to the oldies station. He got in and started the car, not clear on whether he should ask her if she was OK or not. They drove to the Pizza Hut in silence, listening to the music.
Lacey appeared to be sleeping, so Lark went in for the pizza, then headed home. They drove in silence, the music washing over them. Lark wondered why she’d been so distant since leaving the ER and ran through the last few hours, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. When they pulled into the garage, Lark turned off the engine and Lacey sat up, rubbing her eyes.
“Thank God this day is almost over,” she said and stretched. “Sometimes I don’t know how we get through it.” She unbuckled her seat belt and opened the door. When she got out of the car and noticed that he hadn’t budged, she asked him if he was all right.
“You haven’t said a word in almost an hour. I’ve been very worried about you.” He got out of the car, grabbing the pizza out of the back.
“I’m fine,” she said, opening the laundry-room door for him. “I just needed some quiet time to recoup.”
“Just tell me the next time I’m going to get the silent treatment, OK?” He brushed past her and dumped the pizza on the kitchen counter before coming back into the utility room to hang up his coat.
“You weren’t getting the silent treatment,” Lacey said, taking off her boots.
“Well, you could have fooled me. You weren’t asleep when we stopped for the pizza. I know what you look like when you’re sleeping. What was that all about?” Lark snapped, plopping down beside her. He pulled off his boots and slung them in the closet.
Lacey stood up and took of her coat. “No, I wasn’t asleep, I just didn’t want to talk. When I’m pissed at you, believe me, you’ll know it.” Her eyes drilled into him. “What happened earlier was about me, it had absolutely nothing to do with you.” She stomped into the kitchen.
“Thanks for the news flash,” Lark said, storming in behind her. “If you’d told me that earlier, I wouldn’t have spent the last hour worried about you.”
“I didn’t ask you to worry about me. You took that on yourself,” she said as she yanked a piece of pizza out of the box and took a big bite out of it. “I’m going to go upstairs, take a bath, and change. When I come back down here, I hope we’re both in a better mood.”
“Fine. I wasn’t in a bad mood until you tuned me out back there in the car,” he shouted after her as he snatched up a piece of pizza.
She remained silent until she got to the top of the stairs. She leaned over the banister and yelled down at him. “Well, I wasn’t in a bad mood until you harassed poor Betty Chevsky and tuned me out in the interview at the police station, so I guess we’re even.” Seeing his jaw drop, she turned on her heel and went into her bedroom.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Lark plodded upstairs. He hesitated outside Lacey’s door, thinking about asking her what she meant by her parting shot, but decided against it when he heard the water turn on. As he changed, he played Betty’s interview over and over in his mind, trying to find Lacey’s point of view. The only part he questioned was when he’d attempted to prevent her from comforting Betty.
With some trepidation, he went downstairs to find Lacey in her green robe, sorting slices of pizza onto two different plates. She turned around and smiled when she saw him. “Here’s to surviving our first fight.” She held up a plate in a salute.
“So we’ve survived it? It’s over? Just like that?” he asked, surprised.
“Unless you want it to continue.” Her smile faded as she gave him a sidelong glance. Before he could respond, she took their plates over to the microwave.
“No, no,” he said, waving his hands at her. “I know when to quit.” He saw a smile play across her lips as she slipped one of the plates into the microwave. He flopped down on a bar stool and waited for her to say something or for the food to get done, whatever came first.
Having also been trained in the art of waiting out the silence, Lacey busied herself exchanging the plates in the microwave and getting together napkins and silverware. When the pizza was reheated, she went over to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. Innocently, she turned around and waved it at him, eyebrows raised in question. “Leinenkugel?”
He burst out laughing. “Yeah, thanks.”
They ate pizza and watched the 6 P.M. news tapes. The latest storm front and the accidents and human interest stories that resulted from it were front and center. They cleaned up the kitchen and channel-surfed through the three ten o’clock newscasts. None of them carried anything about the murders, just more weather stories. They groaned when all three weather reports predicted two to four inches each day until the weekend, when another large storm would hit Mason County.
“Maybe they’ll be wrong,” he said, getting the tape out of the VCR to take back upstairs.
“Yeah, we’ll probably get a foot each day and have the blizzard from hell over the weekend.”
“Shut your mouth,” Lark said as they approached the top of the stairs. He pointed his finger at her. “It’s not nice to speak ill of Mother Nature. All the weather over the next few days is now on your head.”
Laughing, Lacey flipped him the bird and went into her room. Just as he was opening his door, she popped back out and asked, “What time do you want to leave in the morning?”
“How about eight, and treating ourselves to breakfast at the diner? We can go over the transcript from Betty’s interview before we meet with Lonnie.”
“You’re on.”
He climbed into bed exhausted but couldn’t get to sleep. His kingsize bed suddenly felt as big as Alaska and every bit as cold and lonely. He tossed and turned for several minutes before hearing the faint sound of a radio coming through the wall from Lacey’s room. He rolled over on his left side and turned on his own radio, thinking some music might help him sleep. Instead of the customary classical music he played at night, the radio blasted out a twangy female voice singing about love.
“Shit, country music,” he said, rolling over to turn down the volume and change the station. Instead he shook his head and snapped the radio off. He rolled over and willed himself to fall asleep. His eyes fell on the picture of Maria. He looked into her smiling face, illuminated by the moonlight coming through his window. Usually, he could almost hear her voice when he looked at her picture. Not this time. After a few seconds, he rolled over on his other side and snapped the radio back on. He closed his eyes and listened to a woman sing about how she couldn’t stop thinking about a man she was in love with.
Lark snapped off the radio, his mind flooded with thoughts about Lacey and Maria. Frustrated, he turned the radio back on and tuned it to the classical station. He rolled over on his back and willed himself to concentrate on the music. Within fifteen minutes, he was asleep, his cheeks wet with tears.
WEDNESDAY MORNING
NOVEMBER 29—SWENSON
Lacey and Lark reviewed the notes from Betty’s interview over Big Oak Diner skillet breakfasts with enough cholesterol to harden almost anyone’s arteries. They were back at the station to interview Lonnie by 9:15. His six-foot frame was gaunt and his wind-burned face was sunken and covered with salt-and-pepper stubble. He looked like a concentration-camp victim. His hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks. His mustache was overgrown and unkempt, with flecks of God-knew-what in it. The crow’s feet surrounding his dead-looking eyes were creased with dirt. Large purplish bags hung under his eyes.
He slumped in the chair and his hands began a jittery hunt through his clothes for cigarettes. When he couldn’t find any, he glared at Lark. “I need a smoke.”
“Marlboros,” he said as his hands continued to skitter over his clothes. “I need a drink, too,” he bellowed as Lark left the room.
Lark returned a few minutes later with a crumpled pack of Marlboros. “These are yours,” he said, tossing them to Lonnie.
Lonnie tapped out a cigarette. He popped it in his mouth and held his head towards Lark for a light. “Where’s my bottle?” he asked, after taking a drag.
“It’s locked up. You won’t be getting any of it while you’re here.”
“Fuck you,” Lonnie said, blowing a long stream of smoke in Lark’s face.
Lark stared at him, saying nothing.
“I won’t make it without a couple belts,” he whined.
“We’ll take you to the hospital if you go into the DTs.”
“How do I get out of here?”
“Answer our questions truthfully and we’ll see what we can do.”
“Shoot,” Lonnie said, blowing a cloud of smoke up into the air.
“Let’s get right to the point.” Lark leaned across the table towards him. “Why did you kill those two girls and dump their bodies in the marsh?”
Lonnie jerked away, his mouth agape. “I didn’t kill no girls,” he stammered.
“I think you did,” Lark said, getting up and walking around behind him. “Those girls were badly beaten. You know something about beating women, don’t you?”
Lonnie said nothing. His fidgeting increased as he turned around to look at Lark.
“Those girls were put in the marsh by someone with a snowmobile.”
“Everybody up here’s got a damn snowmobile,” Lonnie said, taking another drag.
Lark smacked his hands down on the table, making both Lonnie and Lacey jump in their chairs. He stared angrily into Lonnie’s eyes. “Not everybody smokes Marlboros and leaves butts with their saliva on them at the scene.”
Lonnie began to squirm in his chair. “I didn’t kill them girls,” he said as a long-neglected ash dropped off his cigarette onto his pants. Lonnie scrambled to brush it off his lap
“You robbed those summer cabins, you shot out Mrs. Ranson’s windows, you shot out my windows, and you shot out Mrs. Ranson’s tire and left cigarette butts at every scene. You killed both of those girls and did the same thing,” Lark yelled, stabbing his finger at Lonnie with each accusation.
“No, no … I … shit, goddamn …” Lonnie said, flinging away the cigarette butt that had burnt down to his finger.
“What?” Lark yelled, leaning overtop of him.
“Shit, I damn near burnt my hand off.” Lonnie popped a grimy finger into his mouth.
“Why did you do this?” Lark bellowed at him. “Why did you kill those girls?”
“I didn’t kill nobody,” Lonnie said, shrinking back in his chair, away from Lark’s anger.
“The person who killed those girls is going to jail for life.”
Lonnie was twitching in the chair. “Gimme a light,” he demanded as he jerked another cigarette to his lips.
Lark lit him up again. After he took a deep pull, he faced Lark. “I swear I didn’t kill them girls.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I really need a drink. I’m in bad shape.”
Lark stared at him, his face like a thundercloud. “So were those two girls. If you go into the DTs, you’ll go to a hospital. They died and Ann Ranson damn near died as well. I don’t feel one bit sorry for you.”
“I didn’t kill them girls.”
“If you didn’t, your kid did. I’m tired of this.” Lark nodded over at Lacey. “Let’s go to Rhinelander and question Ron again. I’m tired of hearing the same old crap. Paul will be in to put you back in your cell,” he said over his shoulder as he headed for the door
“My son didn’t kill them either, leave him out of this,” Lonnie yelled at Lark’s back.
“Yeah right, just like you didn’t do any of these other crimes either.” Lark walked back over to the table.
“We didn’t kill them girls,” Lonnie said, sucking up the last of his cigarette.
Lark picked up one of Lonnie’s cigarette butts. “You start talking or I’m headed for Rhinelander. We’ve got cigarette butts from the scenes of the shootings and the murders. All I have to do is match the DNA from the saliva on them to the DNA on this butt and the ones I got from your son.” Lark leaned down into Lonnie’s face, his jaw set in anger, his eyes as menacing as anything Lacey had ever seen.
“My son didn’t do nothin’ I mighta done one or two of them other things, but I didn’t kill nobody.” Lonnie put a cigarette between his lips, leaning in for a light.
“No more lights until this is over with,” Lark snapped, yanking away the cigarette.
“I don’t have to tell you nothin’,” Lonnie yelled, attempting to pull himself up in his chair. “Where’s my wife? That bitch was supposed to bail me out.”
“She was here but you were passed out. She almost passed out herself from pain, so we took her to the ER. She’s in the hospital from the beating you gave her,” Lark said, pacing.
“I didn’t give her no beatin’ but she deserves one for not getting me out.”
“That’s it,” Lark yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. “Come on, Lacey, let’s go. I’ve had enough of this. We’re going to Rhinelander.” Lark walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him while Lacey gathered up her notebook.
“No, no, no,” Lonnie yelled. “Get him back in here.”
“Why should I?” Lacey asked. “You’d rather see your son go to prison than admit what you did.”
“Get that asshole back in here,” Lonnie snarled.
“He’s not coming back in here unless I can tell him something new.”
“All right, all right,” Lonnie said, fidgeting in his chair. “I robbed a few summer cabins. All them people got insurance, it’s no skin off their ass.”
“What else?” she asked, sitting down in the chair Lark had occupied.
“Jesus Christ, woman, ain’t that enough?” He swayed back and forth in his chair.
“No, it isn’t. George will put you back in your cell, we’ll get details on the robberies later.” She stood up. “How clever of you to admit to the crimes that carry the lightest prison sentence. Now your son will take the hit for the shootings and the murders. You’re one sorry son of a bitch.”
“Get back over here,” he screamed as she walked out.
Lacey came back in and sat down, glancing at the window where she knew Lark was. As if on command, he came through the door. “What’s taking so long? We’ve got to get going.”
“Lonnie’s got something he wants to tell us, he’s already admitted to some robberies.”
“I’m thrilled. We’ve got to get going if we want to get to Rhinelander today.”
“Well, he’s got another confession to make.”
“This better be good.” Lark sat down and frowned at Lonnie. “Let’s hear it.”
“I shot out Mrs. Ranson’s window and your window,” Lonnie mumbled.
“What about Mrs. Ranson’s tire?”
“I did that, too.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s a bitch, makin’ my wife work all them night shifts,” he yelled.
“Why’d you shoot out my windows?”
“You took Ron away to that asylum against his will.”
“Your wife signed him in and Ron has decided to stay.”
“You’re lyin’,” he yelled.
“I’ll see if I can get the DA over here from Park Falls so we can get this wrapped up.” Lark tossed the matches to Lacey. “Have another cigarette to calm yourself down.”
The remainder of the day’s appointments were canceled while they worked to get the shooting cases wrapped up. By three o’clock, Lonnie was arraigned on six counts of burglary and three counts of assault and attempted murder. He was remanded into detox. Joel arrived with two other stat
e troopers, who got the honor of driving Lonnie to Rhinelander.
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
NOVEMBER 29—SWENSON
Lark and Lacey took a break and ran over to the Big Oak Diner for a sandwich with Joel. Despite their large breakfast, they were both famished. Lark asked George to call and see if he could get Cathy Lowery or the Waltners in for early evening interviews. In the middle of their lunch, George let them know that Cathy Lowery would be in at four-thirty and Sara Waltner at six.
The weather was striving to fulfill the worst of the weather forecasts. Multitudes of huge, fluffy snowflakes rained down on them as they left the diner. Windshields on cars parked along the street, clear for most of the day, already had an inch of snow accumulation. Lark cussed and swore as they slipped and slid to the station.
Joel went off to set up interviews with Sandi Waltner and Katey Lowery for the next day while Lark took care of some local issues. The county already had both patrol cars out on fender-bender calls. Worried that he would need all the officers the county could muster, he called the Ransons, letting John know that he was pulling the guard off since they had a suspect in custody. When John asked for details, Lark told him about Lonnie’s arrest.
Lacey and Cathy Lowery were settled in the interview room by the time Lark got there. Cathy greeted him cordially, volunteering that she would do anything to help solve the murders. Lark began by asking Cathy about her father. She informed him that after Pete’s latest incident, they had decided to hire twenty-four-hour live-in help for him, their last-ditch effort before placing him somewhere since he refused to live with her and Gus.
Lark studied her while she talked about her father and realized that her daughter had gotten her blonde good looks from her mother. Cathy, in her midfifties, was a stunning woman. Her blond hair ended just above her jaw line and her sapphire blue eyes sparkled. She had a few crow’s feet and smile lines but she didn’t look like an average fifty-year-old.
Finally, they got down to business. Lark walked her through the times Gemma and Terry had stayed with them. Cathy had a very good memory, augmented by a set of date books she pulled out of her purse. She didn’t have anything new to offer. When Lark asked her about Katey’s friends, she named Sandi Waltner, stating they had been inseparable since kindergarten. When he asked her for the names of Katey’s boyfriends, she grew reticent.
Cold Hunter's Moon Page 24