Crow Wing Dead

by Midge Bubany

  She scowled. “God, no. Why? Do you know something I don’t?”

  “Just covering the bases. I don’t mean to offend you, but have you had anything extracurricular going on?”

  She shot me a dirty look. “Of course not!”

  “Are you still working?”

  “Michael didn’t want me to work anymore because I hated my job so much.”

  “Do Michael and your father get along?”

  “Um, sure.”

  “A while ago Michael told me he didn’t think Irving liked him.”

  “Well, at first maybe. Mom says, in Dad’s eyes, no one would be good enough for me, but they love him now.”

  “How about friends and neighbors?”

  “Well, the neighbors to our left are awful, and Michael’s called them on it.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “They have these big, vicious dogs who come on our grass to poop. So Michael takes an old pitching wedge and slings it back in their yard—then they get mad at us.”

  “Sounds justifiable.”

  “Every summer they have several big backyard parties and blast music. It’s just so thoughtless. So the last time we called 911 on them. And their kids? They’re so obnoxious—they fight and swear like sailors right out in the front yard in front of everybody. Believe me, everyone wants them to move.”

  “What are their names?”

  “Louis and Demi Cavara. And they were so nice when we moved in, but we found out quickly that no one, and I mean no one, on the block likes them.”

  I pulled a notebook from my pocket and wrote down the neighbors’ names. We drank our wine, and I ate all the little sandwiches, and then she began to yawn, so I said I should probably hit the hay.

  She showed me to the same room I’d slept in five years ago—with Adriana who’d jokingly called it the Pepto-Bismol room. Thank God, it had been redecorated from shades of pink to black and white. Cat brushed past me to check if there were clean towels in the attached bathroom. As she made her way back out, she said, “Well, I guess you’re set then. Do you need anything else?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  She hesitated creating an awkward moment. “Well, I’ll… just go… Cal, thank you for all you’re doing.”

  “Look, Hawk… Michael… is my best friend. I’ll do whatever it takes to find him. And I should have the names and numbers of the women you went to Mexico with and the place where you stayed.”

  A flicker of something in her eyes. Whether it was fear or anger, I wasn’t sure. “Okay. Is tomorrow morning soon enough?”

  “Of course.”

  She scrunched up her face like she was going to cry, then waved her hands in front of her face, and disappeared toward the master bedroom on the opposite side of the house. That was weird. Why did she react so strongly when I told her I wanted to talk to her friends? Maybe she vacationed with a man. And was she just hitting on me?

  I closed the door and regarded the room’s decor: black-and-white comforter, a zebra print chair and rug, black-and-white photos of Romeo hung on the light-gray walls. I moved the red, decorative pillows from the bed to the chair and turned down the bed covers. The sheets were white with black dots.

  Four years ago, when Cat and Hawk had invited us to spend a weekend to celebrate their first year anniversary, Adriana and I had been together for about the same time. And here it was five years later. They were still together, and I wasn’t with Adriana or Shannon.

  Adriana liked Cat—she thought Cat had refined Hawk. I thought she made him into something he wasn’t. Cat seemed genuinely distressed he was missing, but maybe she was that good of an actress.

  Maybe Shannon had a right to be jealous of Adriana because I couldn’t seem to erase her from my life. Thinking of Shannon used to make me smile. Now it brought me down, and the separation had just made things worse. We needed to make a decision—either make a serious attempt at reconciling—or get a divorce. But in my heart, I knew such an ultimatum would be the quick end of us.

  Chapter 6

  May 22

  Ten days missing.

  I looked at my watch—6:15 a.m. I tried to go back to sleep but ­couldn’t. I rolled out of bed, showered, dressed, and found Cat sitting at the counter drinking coffee and working at her computer. She was wearing an over-sized gray T-shirt, probably Hawk’s. I wondered whether she had on anything underneath.

  “Sleep well?” she said.

  “Surprisingly, yes.”

  Without asking, she poured me a mug of coffee and set it on the counter in front of the stool next to hers, although there were four. I put some distance between us by taking the second one from the end.

  “Cream or sugar?”

  “No, thanks.”

  I took a sip. She handed me a large pink Post-it note with several names and phone numbers written on it.

  “The top three are my traveling companions, the others are friends we socialize with, and that’s the resort where we stayed,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Cal, if something’s happened to Michael, I don’t know what I’ll do.” She blinked away tears. “I thought about you last night—losing a son, even if he was a stepson, it must have been horrible.”

  “I’d adopted him—he was my son.”

  “Oh, sure, of course. God… words just fly out of my mouth like that. I wish I could be more like Adriana. She always says the right thing. She’s so together, classy. Have you heard how she’s doing?”

  “She had a baby with my former partner. They’re together.”

  “Ouch.”

  “We both moved on. You should know, Michael’s disappearance is going to go public today with the BOLO.”

  “Well, someone has to know something. Maybe they’ll come forward.”

  “Let’s hope so. And now you’ll have the media camped out on your street, so you may want to stay somewhere else—with your parents or a friend.”

  Her mouth gaped open. “Oh, I hadn’t considered that. I keep hoping he’s going to walk through the door. In the middle of the night I found myself thinking he got tired of me and took off somewhere to start a new life. You hear about that happening.”

  “Is there a reason why he might want a new life?”

  She looked down and away, then bit her lower lip. “We had a disagreement before I left on vacation. He told me he wanted me to get pregnant, but I told him I’m not sure I even wanted kids. But I thought a lot about it while I was gone, and I was going to tell him he was right. He should be a dad. He loves kids. He cried when you called to tell him about Colby.”

  “I know. He cried at the funeral too.”

  “Cal, I miss Michael so much. What happened to him? Did some druggie kill him for his wallet?”

  She began to cry and hopped off her stool and leaned into me pressing her soft breasts into my chest. She wasn’t wearing a bra. You can’t do that to a guy who hasn’t had any in a long while. I gave her a couple pats on the back then pushed to an arm’s length.

  “Cat, I know it’s tempting to imagine the worst, but don’t do that to yourself.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you think eight o’clock is too early to start talking to your neighbors?”

  “No, that should be fine.” She put her hand on my arm and said, “Thank you for being such a good friend of Michael’s. You mean the world to him.”

  Is she playing me?

  Before I set out to speak with the neighbors, I parked a half block down from the Hawkinsons’ driveway. Then as a courtesy to the Eden Prairie Police Department, I called Sergeant Scott Halberg to let him know I would be talking to some of the Hawkinsons’ neighbors.

  “Sure, that’s fine. Keep me updated, will you? And if there’s anything you need from us, just call
.”

  I thanked him and decided to approach the Cavaras’ home first. Before I even rang the bell, I heard barking.

  “Yes?” came a voice through the door.

  I put my badge up to the peek hole and said, “Deputy Sheehan. I have a few questions for you, ma’am.”

  “Just a minute.”

  A petite brunette with the body mass index of a peanut opened the door a few inches. Three massive English bulldogs wedged their bodies through the crack in the door and forced their way out on the step and surrounded me, snorting and barking as they circled their prey.

  “They’re harmless,” she said.

  I’ve learned not to trust owners who think their dogs are “harmless” after I got bitten in the hand by a “friendly” rat terrier. Four stitches later.

  Demi Cavara crossed her arms and said, “Okay, what did we do now?”

  “Ma’am?”

  I gave her one of my disarming smiles. “Gee, nothing I know of. I just have a few questions about your next door neighbor, Michael Hawkinson. He hasn’t been seen for over a week. I’m checking to see if you’ve seen him coming and going in that time?”

  “Is that why the cop car was at their house last week?”

  “Yes. So have you seen him or anything suspicious going on next door?”

  She cocked her head and looked up to her right. “Oh, gosh, the last time I saw either one of them was the Wednesday before Mother’s Day. A limo pulled up to the curb and some women were screaming Cat’s name. Yeah, and they complain we’re loud?”

  “How did you nail down the day that fast?”

  “Because the next day I bought petunias and when I was planting them, I saw Michael get his mail. I know it was then because I bought my mother some flowers for Mother’s Day at the same time.”

  “Did you see him after that?”

  “No, it didn’t look like anyone was home for a week or so, which meant we could relax. I’m always so concerned the kids make too much noise for them.”

  “Tell me what you know about the Hawkinsons?” Couldn’t wait to hear this answer.

  She pursed her lips. “We have issues.”

  “Such as?”

  “Here’s an example: We had a birthday party for our youngest son, the police show up at our door. They said one of the neighbors complained about the noise. Louis was convinced it was the Hawkinsons, so he went over to make peace. Cat shouted at him, called him horrible names. And that woman screeches at my boys if their football goes one inch into their yard. She’s not a very nice person. The neighbors call her Cat the Brat. Personally, I like Michael better than her.”

  She gave me a couple more instances, and I pretended to be interested, but all the bullshit convinced me I should also have a talk with the husband. I asked for his work number.

  After canvasing the neighborhood, I came to the following conclusions: Only a few neighbors actually knew Cat and Michael by name, none socialized with the couple, and beside the Cavaras, no one reported any problems with them or saw anything unusual, other than the police car in the Hawkinsons’ driveway a week ago.

  When I phoned for an appointment with Louis Cavara, a secretary told me he had no openings in his schedule. When I mentioned his neighbor had disappeared, and I only needed ten minutes of his time, she penciled me in for eleven o’clock. I had time to get a coffee and Google Cavara while I waited. He was the Cavara in Douglas, Peterson, and Cavara, attorneys specializing in personal injury law. It brought to mind Shannon’s car accident and the twenty-five solicitous letters we received from personal injury lawyers.

  Cavara’s law practice was located on the second floor of a three-story building off Park Place in St. Louis Park. I showed up at ten fifty and waited the ten minutes before Mr. Cavara came out to greet me. He was small in stature, balding and gray, and appeared to be a good ten to fifteen years older than his wife. He removed his dark-rimmed eyeglasses and let them hang from a chain around his neck. He extended his hand to give me a firm handshake.

  “Louis Cavara,” he said.

  “I’m Detective Cal Sheehan with the Birch County Sheriff’s Department. Thank you for fitting me in. I know you’re a busy man.”

  “I have exactly fifteen minutes,” he said. “Come on back.”

  I followed him down to the other end of the hall and into a large but basic office with a view of another building. It wasn’t nearly as lush as Phillip Warner’s in Prairie Falls.

  “Have a seat,” he said, and pointed to one of the club chairs placed in front of his desk, then walked around to his gray swivel chair.

  “My secretary said this concerns the disappearance of a neighbor of mine?” He folded his hands and appeared interested.

  “Yes, no one has seen Michael Hawkinson for over a week.”

  Cavara leaned forward. “Are you sure he didn’t take off to get away from his shrew of a wife? We can hear her screaming all the way to our house. Hell, maybe she killed him for the life insurance.”

  Yeah, don’t hold back your opinions. “I’ve heard you’ve had altercations with the Hawkinsons.”

  “We’ve had words. We don’t particularly like each other.”

  “Where were you on Monday, May 12?”

  “Am I a suspect?”

  “You’re an attorney. You know everyone’s a suspect in these deals. And neighbors not getting along is certainly something we look at.”

  “Well, now wait a minute. I was being flippant. I really know nothing about Hawkinson’s life—other than he takes good care of his property and has a whacko wife whom we steer clear of. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe we’re through here.”

  He stood. I stood. I walked out.

  Well, that was interesting, but I would be surprised if he had anything to do with Hawk’s disappearance. And it looked like I wasn’t the only one who had an unfavorable opinion of Cat, which validated my original impression. Next up—her friends and former co-workers.

  The first woman on the list was Sarah Rice. She worked at a hair salon in Edina. A young thin receptionist went off into the bowels of the salon to retrieve her.

  Sarah was a tall, full-figured woman. Her dark-brown hair was streaked with purple, and she wore enough eye make-up for an entire cheerleading squad. Her purple fingernails were unbelievably long. I had to wonder if they got caught in her scissors. She brought me back to the waiting area where she sat next to me and ran her fingers through my hair, her nails scratching my scalp. She gave a few strands of my hair a tug.

  “Now, you’re going to have to grow your hair out a few weeks before I can do anything with this.”

  “How can you even use a scissors with nails that long?”

  A smile of amusement crossed her face. “Don’t you worry, honey. I manage.”

  “And I’m not here for a hair appointment. I’m Detective Cal Sheehan, and I’m here to speak with you about Cat Hawkinson.” I showed her my ID and badge. She looked bewildered. “I’m told you were with her in Mexico.”

  “Yes, ” she said tentatively.

  “She was with you then?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What can you tell me about Cat and her husband?”

  “Well, they love each other and are a super great couple.” She tilted her head and blinked her fake eyelashes.

  “Did Cat share any information about the fight they had before you all left on vacation?”

  “They had a fight? All I know is Cat was beside herself with worry when she was notified he was missing.”

  My phone rang. I picked up without thinking.

  “Cal, where the hell are you?”

  It was my boss, Sheriff Patrice Clinton.

  “Uh… in Minneapolis.”

  “I’m confused. Are you on vacation or conducting an investigat
ion?”

  Uh-oh. “I’m not sure how to answer that. Here’s the deal. One of my best friend’s mother called me and told me she couldn’t get hold of her son. So I looked into it—he’s been missing a week, his company credit card was being used in Vegas. I took vacation days, so I could go with his cousin to check it out.”

  “This friend is Michael Hawkinson?”

  “Yes.”

  “Eden Prairie just issued a BOLO and conducted a press conference asking the public for help in finding him.”

  “I expected as much. I was going to do it if they hadn’t.”

  “And how in your mind is this Birch County’s case?”

  “He was on his way to Prairie Falls to see me.”

  Long pause. “But he never made it?”

  “No, but someone used his debit card in Prairie Falls.”

  “And someone burglarized Chester Brooks’s cabin near Rodgers Lake. Now, I know that’s a common thing around here, so I didn’t think much of it until Austin Spanney told me about the missing items. Beside a half bottle of Johnny Walker Red and a full bottle of Finlandia vodka, Brooks listed rope, a new roll of duct tape, his Remington 12-gage shotgun, and a box of slugs.”

  “Shit, that doesn’t sound good.”

  “There’s a remote chance they’re connected.”

  “Are Betty and Les working the scene?”

  “They’re still there. Hold on, Cal. I have something coming in.”

  I could hear her radio loud and clear. They’d found an abandoned black Mercedes SUV—plate match for Michael Hawkinson.

  Shit!

  She then repeated the news to me.

  “I’m on my way,” I said.

  By the time I had hung up, Sarah had left. I glanced in the back and saw her cutting a client’s hair, moving her hands with a flourish like a pianist at a piano. I ran a hand through my hair where she’d scratched my scalp and left.

  I called Scott Halberg and told him Hawk’s car had been discovered abandoned in Birch County. He said it now looked like it was Birch County’s case, but they would be happy to assist where and when needed.