Dead Calm

by Annelise Ryan

  Hurley looks over at me. “Really? How do you feel about that?”

  “I’m happy for them.”

  “Is that it?”

  I give him a bemused look. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s kind of a closing chapter on your life with David. Any regrets?”

  I dismiss the idea readily with a little pfft and an adamant shake of my head. But then I stop. Hurley looks at me again, then at the road, then back at me.

  “I suppose there was a twinge of something,” I admit. “I don’t know what to call it. Not regret, certainly, and not jealousy or anything like that. I’m long over David, and I love you. I love our life together, our kids, and our house that may never get built. But at one time, building a family and a life with David was my dream, and I guess I feel a tiny sense of loss—or maybe nostalgia is a better word—for a dream that was never realized. And for my naïveté.”

  Hurley nods slowly, a hint of a smile on his face.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” he says. He reaches over, grabs my hand, and kisses the back of it. “I’m just happy that you love our life. And speaking of life, what did you find out about the insurance policies?”

  I summarize my conversation with Patty regarding the policies and the people attached to them. When I get to the part about Meredith changing her beneficiary, Hurley arches his brows.

  “That’s interesting,” he says. “I wonder what made her do that?”

  “I don’t know, but if John found out about it, who knows how mad it might have made him.”

  “We might need to have another chat with Mr. Lansing,” Hurley says. “In fact, I think we should do that as soon as we get back to town.”

  “Do you plan on telling him about the insurance policy?”

  “We’ll see. I’ll play it by ear. Want to sit in on it?”

  “Heck, yeah.” Another brief silence ensues before I switch topics. “Speaking of chats, I think we need to talk to Tomas Wyzinski.”

  Hurley purses his lips. “It’s not going to help,” he says. “The man isn’t going to talk. If we’re right about our theory in that case, the ears are numerous and high-reaching. He’s not going to trust anyone, especially a cop.”

  “What if I talk to him alone?”

  Hurley looks at me like I’m crazy.

  “I can record it if you want, but I think we’d have better luck if we didn’t.”

  “And what, exactly, do you want to say to him?”

  “That I’m working with him, or at least for him. That I’ve come to believe in the possibility of his innocence. I can talk to him with his lawyer there if necessary.”

  Hurley tips his head to the side, his lips expressing his disapproval of the idea. After a few seconds, he says, “You’re not going to give up on this notion until I let you do it, are you?”

  “You don’t have to let me,” I say, irritated. “I don’t need your permission to visit with and talk to the man. But I want to do it with your support and knowledge.”

  He shakes his head in frustration, flipping on his turn signal as he pulls into the parking lot of the Grizzly Motel. “Fine,” he says. “But I’m telling you, you’re wasting your time.”

  I table the topic for now, not wanting to push the issue. Hurley pulls around to the back of the motel and parks his car along the far edge of the rear parking lot where it borders the woods. Hurley turns off the engine, and I grab my scene kit while he fetches a video camera and a flashlight from the trunk. Then the two of us walk over to the start of the path I saw when we were here the other night.

  Even by the bright light of day, the trail is kind of creepy. The trees here are thick, and the foliage is heavy. Only dapples of sunlight manage to eke their way through the canopy of trees to the path below, which is little more than a dirt trail.

  “After you,” Hurley says, handing me his flashlight.

  I take it, turn it on, and head into the copse feeling like we’re Hansel and Gretel. There is trash scattered on and alongside the trail, items like empty plastic bottles, plastic drink cups, food wrappers, and even a used condom. I start to think we should have put on some protective gear. The path winds and wends its way through the trees, and after a few minutes I stop in my tracks, staring up ahead.

  “Hurley, look at that,” I say, pointing. About twenty feet ahead, the path splits into a fork. Half of it veers sharply to the left, while the remainder continues to meander deeper into the woods. On the path to the left is a tree with a split trunk, both sides of which are bowed over, their tops nearly touching the ground, the trunks arching over the path to the other side. “Does that look like a double arch to you?”

  Hurley stares at it for a second, blinks hard, and then smiles. “Like in the text message,” he says.

  “I say we follow the left path first.”

  “I agree.” He reaches over, takes the flashlight from me, and picks up the lead.

  Five minutes later, our path emerges from the woods, right alongside a road with a sign a few hundred feet to our right that informs us it’s County Road P.

  “This road intersects with Morals Road just past the Grizzly,” Hurley says. He holds a hand out at his side to indicate I should stand still, and he shifts his attention to the ground at our feet. “Scan this area carefully,” he says. “There might be evidence here.”

  Together, we spend the next twenty minutes walking a grid between the edge of the woods and the shoulder of the road, searching the ground for anything that might be relevant. We find a gum wrapper, a bottle cap, and two cigarette butts, none of which are likely related to our case given that all look like they’ve been out here a long time, but we collect and bag them anyway. When we reach the shoulder, however, our luck changes. There in the mud alongside the road are tire tracks.

  “These look fresh,” Hurley says, filming the length of the mark. “And it’s a good impression. It rained the day before the murders, so this ground was nice and wet when whoever was driving pulled over here. We need to get a casting.”

  “I can do that,” I say, setting my scene kit down. I open it and remove the necessary materials. Ten minutes later, the cast is solidifying, and we use the time to walk the shoulder a hundred feet or so in each direction, looking for more clues.

  My phone rings while I’m searching my end, and I see that it’s the office calling.

  “This is Mattie.”

  “Hey, Mattie, it’s Otto.”

  “You have some news on our bones?”

  “I do. But you’re not going to like it.” I roll my eyes and brace myself. “Schmitt thinks the bones are fifty to sixty years old. And there is some evidence of possible blunt-force trauma in the skull bones.”

  “What about the weird shape of the bones?” Hurley has overheard enough of the conversation that he knows what it’s about, and he’s coming toward me at a fast lope.

  “It’s hard to say at this point,” Otto equivocates. “We’re going to send a sample to Madison for a DNA analysis. The abnormalities are curious, and though I mentioned hydrocephalus, nothing points to a specific genetic defect that we know of. And much as I hate to say it, Arnie was right about one thing. There are no sinuses in the skull.”

  “Oh jeez, don’t tell him that.”

  “He already knows. He trumped up a gazillion dumbass excuses to pop in on us while we were examining the bones. And every time he showed up, he asked what he had found so far. Unfortunately, Schmitt was more than happy to oblige with information and updates.”

  “Are we going to have to dig some more?”

  “I don’t think so, but we need to preserve the area as a crime scene for now until we can determine the cause of the skull injuries.”

  “So our building project is on hold,” I say, giving Hurley a sad look.

  “Looks that way.”

  “Great.”

  “Have you and Hurley made any progress on the motel case?”

  “Maybe.” I tell him about
my visit to Patty, and the information I learned about the life insurance policies. Then I fill him in on our hike and what we found there. “Hurley’s thinking that whoever shot Craig and Meredith did so and then left the motel room on foot, disappearing into the woods behind the motel. We followed a path that merges with an intersecting road, and we suspect someone had a car here, either with an accomplice behind the wheel or parked on the side of the road. We have some decent tire tracks to work with, so maybe that will lead to something.”

  “Sounds good. Tell Hurley he might want to start investigating these bones. Who did you buy that property from? And for how long did they own it?”

  “It belonged to a farmer who owns a bunch of other acres out that way,” I tell him. “As far as I know, the land has been in that family for several generations.”

  “Then he should probably start there, talk to them, see what they might know about it.”

  “I’ll pass that on. Need me to come in to the office for anything?”

  “Nah, things are relatively quiet. Keep working with Hurley, and I’ll call you if I need you.”

  “Thanks, Otto.” I disconnect the call and summarize what Otto said for Hurley.

  “Just what I need,” Hurley says, raking a hand through his hair. “Another case.”

  “Let’s wind this up and get back to town,” I say, glancing at my watch. “It’s lunchtime, and I’m hungry.” I leave out the information that my hunger is likely from a precipitous drop in my blood sugar brought on by my donut gorging earlier.

  We collect the tire cast and follow the path back into the woods. When we reach the intersection, we follow the other branch for ten minutes and emerge on the edge of a field. Since there is no other evidence to be had, we head back to the motel and the car.

  Next on our agenda is lunch, turning in our evidence, checking in with Jonas to see if he and Laura have come up with anything new, and then paying another visit to John Lansing. I have a feeling it will be an eventful day by the time all is said and done.

  CHAPTER 20

  The trip back to town is a mostly silent one as Hurley and I mourn the loss of our completion date on the house. My thoughts drift back to my visit with Patty, and the idea I came up with when I saw David’s surgery schedule. I debate whether or not to share the idea with Hurley. I’m reluctant to do so because I suspect he’ll tell me I’m crazy and forbid me to do what I want to do.

  These thoughts lead to a nag that is tickling my brain. There is something else in there, some clue or connection that I know I’m close to figuring out but just can’t see. I need a mental jog, so I turn to Hurley and ask, “Do you have a copy of that list we found on Hal’s thumb drive in your notebook?”

  “I do,” he says, shooting me a curious, sidelong glance. “Why?”

  “Can I see it?”

  He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out the notepad. I take it and flip through the pages, scanning his notes. This particular notebook is almost full, and it contains notes on our current case, the bones case, and the Jeremy Prince case. He has headers on the pages to signify what the notes refer to: Knowlton/Lansing for the motel case, Jeremy Prince for that case, and, much to my amusement, I see he has Alien Body as a header for the bones case.

  “You’re not as much of a skeptic as I thought you were,” I say, showing him a page with the Alien Body header.

  He shrugs and grins. “It seemed like a logical title at the time.”

  “Do you believe aliens have visited us here on earth?” I ask, flipping through more pages until I find the one I want.

  “Not really,” he says. “But I try to have an open mind. I think there are some things in the world that can’t be explained by any other logical means, at least not yet, including some of those things Arnie pointed out.”

  “Don’t tell him that. His theories don’t need any fodder.” A silence falls between us as I scan the notes from Hal’s thumb drive. I see where Hurley has scribbled in the Kupper names next to the applicable abbreviations, with a question mark after each one. As I scan the remaining items, one jumps out at me.

  “Hurley, this MW equals KP note, do you think MW might be code for Miller-Weiss?”

  He nods but does so hesitantly. “I already thought of that, but I have no idea what the KP stands for.”

  “Both Marshal Washington and my father said that Miller-Weiss was a subsidiary of a much larger corporation, a Medusan type of business model with a number of shell companies and branch-offs. Maybe KP is an abbreviation for one of them.”

  Hurley nods, and this time it’s more encouraging. “That’s a good thought,” he says.

  “And the K in KP, maybe it’s related to the Kuppers. I mean, it might be a coincidence, but then again . . .”

  His brow furrows as he considers this. Meanwhile, I take out my smartphone with the intention of googling to see if there are any businesses out there with the Kupper name attached. But we are still too far from town, and I can’t get a signal for Wi-Fi access. I relay both the idea and the fact that I can’t research it yet to Hurley.

  “You’re on a roll,” he says. “Keep it in mind for when we get back to town.”

  I set the phone in my lap and pick up the notebook again, scanning the list. And then something else strikes me. And when it does, some of the other abbreviations start to make sense. I feel a trill of excitement in my chest.

  “Oh my God, Hurley, I think I know what these letters by all the locations mean.”

  Hal’s note had a list of four pairs of initials, each one followed by several geographic locations from around the world:

  RO: France, Switzerland, New York

  DW: Miami, Florence, London

  PQ: London, Sydney, Belgium

  TR: Edinburgh, Prague, Mykonos

  “Tell me,” Hurley says.

  “Do you remember me telling you how David and I went to Miami for a conference where he was speaking? It was where I first went scuba diving.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “One of these entries, the DW, has Miami listed after it. And the other two locations are London and Florence.”

  Hurley ponders this and shakes his head. “I’m not following you.”

  “Don’t you remember me telling you how David and I might have benefited from some of the pharmaceutical company monies disguised as speaking fees? We went to London for a conference as well, and—”

  “And he went to Italy, too,” Hurley says, his tone finally excited. “You said you weren’t able to go on that trip because you had the flu or something.”

  “Yes.” I don’t say anything else. I just stare at him, waiting for him to figure it out.

  “You think DW is David Winston,” he says.

  “I do.”

  “And those other initials? Do you have any names to go with those?”

  “One of them. When we were in London, we went out to dinner one night with another couple, an internal medicine doctor and his wife. His name was Peter Quinn. And London is listed in Hal’s note after the initials PQ.”

  Hurley digests this. “So you think Hal’s notes are referring to doctors who might have accepted kickbacks in the form of speaking fees for prescribing their drugs? And that David was one of them?” Before I can answer him, he takes one hand from the wheel and snaps his fingers. “Kickbacks!” he says, giving me an excited look. “The number, and the initials AKS, that could stand for the Anti-Kickback Statute! I think that number might reference a particular law.”

  His excitement is contagious. “We’ll have to look it up as soon as we get back to town,” I say. “And I think I need to have another chat with David.”

  “You mean we should.”

  I give him a look that says that’s not what I mean at all. “I think I might be able to get further with him than you will, given that I might have been a part of it.”

  At least he doesn’t dismiss my objection outright. “I don’t think David knowingly participated in anything illegal,” I tell him.
“If you’re there when I talk to him, he might get defensive.”

  I can tell he’s not wild about the idea. So I figure I might as well hit him up with the thought that came to me earlier, though I’d rather not, since acting on it will mean skirting the law and compromising some evidence. But I did promise I would tell him everything. So I bite the bullet and go for it.

  When I’m done detailing my plan, I fully expect him to tell me I’m crazy, or reckless, or just plain dumb, but he does none of those things. He opens and closes his hands on the steering wheel a few times, his brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he speaks.

  “It’s not a bad idea,” he says. “It could give us some valuable leads. But it isn’t completely aboveboard, and it could end up costing you your job.”

  “It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I tell him. “Please, Hurley, we have to do something. We’re getting nowhere with this Prince case as it is.”

  “It might compromise our case in the end.”

  “If we handle it right, I don’t think it will.” I explain to him what I mean.

  “Okay,” he says with a reluctant nod. “Let’s do it. And for the record, you and I never had this conversation.”

  I’m surprised by his capitulation, but also pleased. As we have now reached the outskirts of town, I try again to access the Internet on my phone. This time I’m successful. The first thing I do is a search for the number referenced in Hal’s notes. Sure enough, it comes back to a federal anti-kickback statute. I share this news with Hurley.

  “Maybe we’re finally going to get a break in this case,” he says, sounding hopeful for the first time since Prince’s death. Then I improve his mood even more when I search for the Kupper name and businesses.

  “Hurley, here it is!” I say excitedly. “There is a company called Kupper Products. It says they are a medical research company. Kupper Products jibes with the initials KP in Hal’s note.”

  To my surprise, his reaction isn’t the cheerfulness I’d expected. Instead, he frowns.