Lasting Doubts (The Red Lake Series Book 2)

by Rich Foster

  “They’re the ones who are always blowing up stumps.”

  Egan nodded. “Annoying the neighbors and threatening anyone who complains. The BDP is a group of guys with no future who get together to shoot off big guns, blow up a few stumps, and tell each other how righteous they are.”

  Gaines stroked his chin. “Lots of tats as I recall. Something strange about that. They hate people of color but shoot enough ink under own their skin to paint a house.”

  The intercom buzzed.

  “What’s up, Carey?”

  “Fire Marshall Scotia is on the line.”

  Gaines pushed the lighted button. “Gaines here.”

  “Just an update Sheriff. I’m at the fire command center. The breeze put the fire back on itself. We are about to announce the southern flank is contained. You can move the roadblocks up the highway if that works for you.”

  Gaines was happy to get people back to their own houses. Unhappy citizens, with nothing to do, led to conflicts.

  “Thanks, Scott.”

  Gaines turned to Egan. “Have Carey radio for the shoreline roadblock to be moved.”

  “How far?”

  “I’d say to the entrance of Rocky Nook State Park, that way there will be room to turn around any cars that need to go back. Also have the county highway guys reprogram the electronic sign to say Road Closed at Rocky Nook but leave it where the old roadblock was situated. That way we should only get locals on Shore Road.”

  Egan nodded and left.

  *

  The air was heavy with the odor of charred wood. Around Harry’s house the woods were still green, but above the highway it was a heavily charred landscape. Pockets of trees still stood where for reasons of wind, contours, or fire retardant, the flames missed them.

  “It's filthy!” Paula exclaimed looking at the windowsills laden with ash. “You should have closed the windows.”

  “No way. Too much heat when the fire comes. Only chance was to keep the house from super heating.”

  Paula tossed her rag onto the counter in disgust. “I guess I should be happy we still have a house to clean.”

  Harry went out to sweep the porch. Anything to keep the grit and ash from coating the floors of the house.

  Paula gave up cleaning. From the kitchen cabinet she got two oversize martini glasses and from the freezer a bottle of vodka. She poured 3 parts vodka, 1 part Cointreau, 1 part lime and 2 parts of Cranberry juice into a shaker. When she filled the glasses moisture beaded up as it condensed from the humid air. The drink was the pale shade of pink lemonade. She came out on the deck.

  Paula handed Harry the glass.

  “I hope no one sees me holding this. What is it?”

  “A cosmopolitan. It was made popular by Sex and the City.”

  “My drinking habits are being driven by television characters?” he said doubtfully.

  “No,” Paula answered with a purr. “They are being cultivated by me.”

  Harry took a sip and decided it could be worse. One week, Paula went through a B-52 phase: 1 part, Kahlua, Grand Marnier, and Irish Cream, this was followed by a B-52 with Bomb Bay Doors: add Bombay Gin, then a B-52 in the Desert, which takes tequila instead of Irish Cream. On Thursday, it was the B-52 Gunship which used absinthe instead of Grand Marnier and to cap off the week Friday night, the B-52 with a Full Payload which added a layer of Frangelico and a final layer of Bacardi 151 rum that she set on fire. Harry gave this one points for visual display but wanted a beer or Scotch on the rocks.

  One drink led to another and another. When the shaker was empty they found they had lost all interest in cleaning. Instead they went up to their bed.

  Chapter 21

  That night Harry dreamed of fires and dead girls, and of dark visions from even darker nights in Afghanistan. By morning he was exhausted.

  “I gotta go.” Dirk announced over breakfast. “Business to attend to.”

  Harry did not ask about the business. His believed ignorance was bliss and also less likely to land him in jail.

  “It’s been good.” Harry said raising a glass of orange juice to him. “Thanks for the help in Vegas.”

  “No problem. I like making new friends. You want me stop by Denver and talk to your preacher pal, Raymond?”

  “You think Holland will talk to you rather than me?

  “I pose my questions differently, brother. You are polite and all that shit. My methods are a bit more direct.”

  Harry shook his head. “No, don’t bother. I might get back to him, but for now I am willing to chase other leads.”

  “You’re the man,” Dirk said tapping the butt of his raised fist against the one Harry put up. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Paula appeared wearing a blue and gold kimono robe. It was a beautiful robe, but on her it was even better.

  “What’s up?” she asked, pouring herself coffee.

  “I have to move on.”

  Paula came over and gave Barton a kiss on the cheek. A small frisson passed through her, not of arousal but from the sense of having touched something dangerous, that aura surrounded him. Without further ado he was out the door. They heard his rental car start up and back out of the drive. Then the sounds of the woods returned behind which muffled in the distance they could hear the rumble of fire bombers on their morning runs.

  “What’s up for today?”

  Harry made a wry face. “Not sure. I think I will go look at the divorce records for Ray Holland and Doreen Corbett again, she said he didn’t ask for anything, I just wonder if that is what he got?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Alison got money from somewhere. Holland is the most likely source. Dr. Oliver is running a close second.”

  “Why?”

  “She saw him, but he never billed her according to his old office nurse. One has to ask, Why?”

  “Okay, why?” Paula said with a smile.

  “His nurse suggested it might be drugs. But there is the possibility that Alison was running an extortion racket on him.”

  “A sixteen year old girl?”

  “Alison was no ordinary girl. Her mother thinks she was a virginal saint. Everybody else thinks she was a tramp. She tried to blackmail all the guys at the party. Obviously, she went there with prior intent. Alison Albright was a very dangerous young girl.”

  “So who do you think killed her?”

  Harry sipped his coffee while he thought about Paula’s question.

  “It depends. The money could be the reason for the murder, but that would make Anders Schmidt the most likely killer. But if he murdered her I doubt he would admit taking the money from her suitcase.”

  “Unless he was being clever.”

  “He is definitely clever, but I don’t buy it. I think he found the money the way he said. If Alison was killed over the money I think the killer thought she had the money on her, which would be tough at the party, or it it has to do with how she got it.”

  “And that would be blackmail?”

  “Right. But, she had the money before the party, so it wasn't from the activities of that night. She got it somewhere else, which leaves Ray Holland and Otis Oliver at the top of the list. And it would seem to knock out the guys as possible suspects.”

  “Unless one of the boys killed her when they went to pay her off?”

  “But they didn't get the letters until Monday and I haven’t found anyone who saw her after she ran out of the house that night.”

  “Well, someone did.”

  “Yes, and whoever that was killed her.”

  The conversation lagged as the roar of a fire bomber scooping up water on the lake blocked their conversation.

  “What about passion?” Paula asked, “Aren’t money, hate, and revenge the usual motives?”

  “Yes, that and rage, which I suppose is close to hate.”

  “Maybe the money was a gift.”

  “You think somebody handed a sixteen year old a $10,000 gift?”

  “Not all at
once. But suppose she wheedled money out of him or her over time?”

  “What’s with the him or her? Are you trying to give me even more suspects, babe?”

  “It happens.”

  “You're right. I need to look that way, but I don’t see who it would be.”

  “You said she got it on with her friend, Jessica, didn’t you?”

  “I think that was for marketing purposes. Everything Alison did that night I believe was calculated.”

  “Well if the money came from a romance, the list gets a lot shorter, Red Lake is not a wealthy town.”

  “What about the seasonal residents?” Harry responded. “A lot of these folks with houses on the water have big bucks!”

  Paula got up to refill their coffee cups. Her robe fell open. She let it be and let Harry’s eyes roam.

  “Focus! Focus! You are not thinking about the case,” she teased Harry, then she crossed her long legs and bounced one foot.

  “If we talk much longer everyone in Red Lake will be a suspect.”

  “Aren’t they?”

  “God, I hope not!”

  *

  The pallor from an upper layer of smoke still hung over the valley. It left the sky with a jaundice tint. Harry listened to the radio as he drove into town.

  “Authorities report significant progress on the fire lines above ADX Praxis and the Cramsden Point area. Fire Marshal Scott Scotia estimated containment is at seventy-five percent. Full containment might be achieved within two days if humidity levels stay high and winds low.

  “Our other lead story is about a wrecked auto with skeletal remains that was found in the burn area. The vehicle was last registered to Hank Stanton in 1993, almost twenty years ago. The medical examiner reported the remains appear to be those of a female. Speculation is the remains may be Judy Stanton who divorced and moved away in 1993.”

  Harry was only half-heartedly listening until the reporter mentioned the number of years. He turned the volume up and caught the rest of the report.

  Maybe it’s nothing, he thought, but I should talk to Gaines. Three bodies and all female from twenty years ago seemed suspicious.

  The courthouse parking lot was marginally filled. Summer vacation took its toll on the ranks of employees. Harry took the stairs down. In the Recorder’s office he asked for the Dissolution of Marriage petition between Raymond G. Holland and Doreen C. Holland.

  “You were in for that just the other day, weren’t you?” the clerk asked.

  “Good memory. I forgot to look at something on it.”

  “Do you remember the year?”

  “1992.”

  “Okay I’ll get the microfiche.”

  The woman shuffled off leaving behind her the scent of old age. It blended with the musty scent of old records that pervaded the room.

  A few minutes later Harry had the record up on the microfiche. The third page listed the disposition of marital assets. Doreen Corbett told him Ray Holland asked for nothing. She also implied that he was broke. However, according to the divorce papers he left with a 1991 Mazda MX-5 Miata sports coupe and $50,000 dollars!

  Perhaps being down to your last 50k is broke to a Corbett?

  Harry printed out the sheet. It might be handy if he needed to talk to Doreen again. He boxed up the microfilm and put it into the tray marked 'returns' on the counter. The old lady glanced up over the top of her half rim glasses.

  “Find what you need, son?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He was about to leave, when he paused. “Actually, could you get me the films for 1993?”

  The clerk nodded but grumbled under her breath about needless trips.

  The microfilm was cross referenced by name and by date. Harry looked up Stanton. Judith and Hank Stanton’s judgment of divorce was finalized April 19, 1993. Grounds for dissolution of marriage were listed as infidelity with a younger woman, and physical and emotional cruelty. Judy Stanton was the petitioner. Judge Adam Kellner was signatory on the paper. He’s dead too, Harry thought. Killed by Judge Mannering over a lover's tryst. I know more dead people every year.

  Hank Stanton was 29 when he divorced. Judy was 22. Harry wondered what constituted a younger woman when you were that young.

  He skimmed through the property settlement. The Stanton’s were not prosperous. The total value of the estate, excluding vehicles was less than $10,000. The Stanton's assets made Ray Holland look rich by comparison.

  Harry couldn’t see a connection with Albright. Alison disappeared the year before and was in possession of ten grand in cash. Hank Stanton seemed an unlikely source of money even if Alison were the ‘younger woman’. It was an impulse to even look. Stanton seemed a dead end but, despite that, Harry printed a copy. It might save a trip back if something arose later.

  The machine whirred and clicked. Behind him he heard voices at the counter. “You’ll have to wait. That gentleman has the file.”

  Harry felt unseen eyes on his back. He glanced over.

  “Harry Grim!” Pat Egan said with surprise. “What has you in the bowels of our county building?”

  Egan strolled over as he spoke. Harry flipped the microfiche machine’s switch to off and the screen went dark. He mechanically rewound the film.

  “Just doing some research.”

  “About who?” Egan said and picked up the copies that lay in the tray. “What do you know about Stanton?”

  “Not much. I heard his name on the radio.”

  “So you decided to hurry on down and look up the Stanton’s divorce? Why?”

  Harry stood up, now he was looking down on Egan rather than the other way around. “I was coming here about another item. I looked up Stanton on an impulse.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m just a curious guy.”

  “Come on Grim, we both know you’re good. You and that thug you run around with have squeezed information out on the Albright case that I haven’t been able to touch. But then, I’m limited by the law.”

  A flash of anger in Harry’s eyes caused Egan to verbally retreat.

  “Of course, I’m a cop and some people seem more reluctant to talk to me.”

  “So what do you have on Stanton?” Harry asked.

  “That’s not how it works, Grim. You first.”

  “Okay. I tell you everything I know about Stanton and you tell me everything you have?”

  “Sure.”

  Harry thought Stanton was a dead end but Egan’s interest in his being in the records room put his guard up.

  “Okay. Everything I know about Hank Stanton is in that copy of their divorce. I never met him nor heard of him until this morning on the radio. The only reason I looked him up was the coincidence of three females who died around Red Lake within three years.”

  “You’re thinking a serial killer?”

  “I suppose so. More importantly I was trying to see who might have means and motive to first pay off and then kill Alison Albright.”

  “How do you think Stanton fits in?”

  “Damned if I know, probably not at all. What do you have on him?”

  “Divorced. Drinks too much. Violent according to his former landlady. She said he threatened to kill his wife and now we find out she’s dead.”

  “Wham bam thank you ma’am. Case closed, huh?”

  “Not yet. We’re not even sure it’s her in the car. But it would make sense. The back was packed with the remains of clothes and household stuff. We should get the skull’s teeth imprint matched up later today if she had any dental work done in town. Carey’s at the station phoning dentists, now.”

  “They were divorced, why bother killing her?”

  “Anger? Revenge? Pocket change?

  The china set she got in the divorce? I don’t know. Some people don’t need a strong reason to kill.”

  Egan left the words hanging and Harry sensed he was saying something more than was voiced.

  “What does Stanton have to say?”

  “Not much. He said
Judy divorced him and after they walked out of the courthouse he never saw her again. Then spiders began crawling all over him and he began to scream. He's got the DT’s so bad he can’t be interviewed. We shipped him to over St. Catherine’s Hospital for detox.

  “He seems unlikely for the Albright thing.”

  “From what Gaines told me, your problem is too many suspects, not finding new ones.”

  “Yeah, that and proof.”

  Harry went to his office. Paula was busy filing papers.

  “You’re looking good, babe.”

  “It’s the thing I do best!”

  Harry swatted her butt with the palm of his hand. “Oh, there are things you do even better.”

  “That information you asked for is on your desk,” she said.

  He couldn’t think what it would be but was loath to admit he had forgotten. The paper was a list in Paula’s curvacious writing that detailed the ownership of Amber Wood over the past quarter century.

  “I can’t read this what does it say?”

  “Essentially, in 1978, the recession wiped out the lodge that operated there for half a century. Old construction, high maintenance, and a slow economy put them under. The bank foreclosed and took possession, but was stuck with it on their books for three years. In 1981, the bank sold the property to a limited partnership out of Salt Lake City, but nothing ever materialized. The local bank tried to foreclose a second time in 1984, but the LLC that owned it was tied up in a criminal investigation. Their assets were sealed by the courts which effectively left Walagen Bank and Trust holding the bag.”

  “Or house.”

  “Did I ever say you were funny Harry?”

  He shook his head, no.

  “I didn’t think so. Okay, where was I? So, meanwhile Father Time, Mother Nature, and neighboring kids left their mark.”

  Harry waved his hands, “No literary similes.”

  “That wasn’t a simile.”

  “On with it, okay?”

  “I didn’t get this from the county records, but the locals say Amber Wood sat abandoned and was a party place for teenagers. Becky Fenton said the bank would board up the windows and someone would break in again a couple days or weeks later. She told me high school kids drove out there to drink and party or have sex or to just meet away from adults yet be out of the cold.”