Close Up on Murder

by Linda Townsdin

  Cynthia said, “That’s not big enough news for the StarTrib. What we’ll do is give it to the Branson Telegraph for their weekly crime log.”

  That had to satisfy me and I got back to work clearing tables. We’d had our one sunny day of the week and now the sky threatened rain again, bringing tourists inside. When one group left, another hovered, waiting to be seated. My arms and feet ached as I hustled back and forth from kitchen to dining room.

  Eddy showed up looking contrite. “I swear I drove by your place a couple of times but it looked okay.”

  “Don’t worry about it. He was in and out fast.” Eddy wasn’t part of the police or sheriff’s office. He might not even carry a gun. The town hired him as security a few years back, after kids broke into Olafson’s and stole a case of beer.

  At the end of the lunch rush, the three of us had our own late meal at a table near the kitchen. Little pointed out the dark circles that ringed our eyes. “We look like a family of raccoons.”

  Wilcox came in and sat with us, leaning in and speaking low. “My plainclothes detective is here. I don’t want to scare you, but from past experience I believe whoever’s doing this is about to escalate.”

  Little and Lars gulped in unison.

  A man with graying facial stubble, wearing shorts and a t-shirt advertising Baywater Resort walked into the restaurant with a newspaper tucked under his arm. Wilcox said, “That’s Gene. He’s familiar with the situation. Seat him so he’s facing the door and has a good view.”

  Lars grabbed a menu and walked over to him. Little hurried back to the kitchen.

  Gene couldn’t have come at a better time. Now that he was watching the guys, I intended to find out why the Willards’ truck was hanging around Little’s yesterday. I whipped off my apron.

  Wilcox pointed at my plate. “You didn’t finish your lunch.”

  “I don’t have time to sit around when someone is trying to hurt my brother. What are you doing about that hate group in your back yard?”

  He leaned back, half-smiling, like he’d gotten the information he wanted without having to work for it. “You’re planning to run out there and stir them up again.” He pointed at the chair.

  I plunked back down and we glared at each other. Lars seated Gene and came back with coffee for us. His eyes darted from me to Wilcox. “Keep it low, would you. No need to upset the customers.” I forced a smile and he moved on to another coffee drinker at the counter.

  Wilcox lowered his voice. “We’re watching them and you could trample all over the headway we’re making.”

  “You do think it’s them.”

  “I don’t speculate.” He pulled his cowboy hat low over his forehead and slid out of the booth. “I’ll know if you show up in Iona. I’m heading there now.”

  I rose from my seat. “Let me go with you.” The guy had me sniveling in terror on my bathroom floor last night but now I was ready to go after him. If it was Matthew Willard or any of his group, they’d better watch out.

  “No.”

  “A ride along. I’ll take pictures.” Action was the way I worked. I shot photos, asked questions, researched.

  “Forget it.” He leaned toward me, his hands splayed on the tabletop. “I don’t have to remind you to stay here at the restaurant tonight, right? This guy would like to drag it out because he gets a kick out of scaring people, but what he might really want is instant gratification.”

  I sat back down. “I’m sleeping here tonight, Sheriff.”

  “Good.” He left and, holding my temper in check, I retied my apron, cleared our table and moved on to others, hatching a plan. I hadn’t checked Gert’s computer for word from Sebastian.

  After the dinner crowd, I told Lars I was going for a swim.

  “Didn’t you hear anything Wilcox told you?”

  “This guy had a perfect opportunity to harm me last night. He only wanted to scare me.”

  “At least take the dogs if you’re going.” He walked away shaking his head.

  ***

  Wilcox would call my coming back to the cabin alone reckless, but I didn’t get this far in my chosen profession without learning to trust my instincts. I knew how to take precautions and defend myself. The sheriff had to go through all the proper channels. He’d talk to the Branson hate crime task force, keep the Iona police in the loop as a courtesy, have a guy unobtrusively questioning and watching, and it would take too long.

  I opened the car doors and Rock bounded out and ran to the woods behind the cabin. I helped Knute, my mind churning. Questions about some of the people connected with the writers’ group and that developer who was after Charley’s property muddied my mental waters.

  The water looked inviting. A swim would work the aches out of my body and clear my mind, but that would have to wait.

  The dogs weren’t agitated and I took that as an all-clear sign, but my stomach clenched when I walked in the cabin. I’d had a locksmith fix the back door but tested it anyway. Everything was in order.

  Satisfied there’d been no visitors, I headed for my secret office and noticed the message light flashing on my land line. Ben had called. Hoping he was coming home, I listened to the message. “Hey Britt. It looks like I have to stay with it here. You were right, no one is willing to take the lead on it after this much time.”

  My shoulders slumped, but I tried to keep the disappointment from my voice when I called him back. “It’s okay. Wilcox is on it.”

  His voice dropped. “He told me about your cabin. You really should stay with the guys at night. Think of yourself as another layer of protection for them if you won’t do it for yourself.”

  I stepped onto my deck. “So they got you to do their dirty work.”

  “Britt, this guy cut off Charley’s head and stuck it on a stake. He took the time to capture and decapitate those animals and strung them up in the bistro as a warning. Wilcox doesn’t have enough resources to post a deputy at your place too.”

  My skin crawled at the memory of those images. “I’ve already promised Wilcox I’d stay at Little’s tonight.”

  “One other thing. I know you don’t like to use a weapon, but now might be a good time to start carrying that SIG Sauer you keep in the closet.”

  He knew I hated guns and he wouldn’t have suggested it if he wasn’t seriously worried. “I’ll think about it.” I had already been thinking about it.

  Hoping the conversation would turn personal, Ben cut it short. “I’ve got to go but you should get back to the restaurant.”

  “I’m almost out the door.”

  His voice lowered. “I miss you and I’m worried about all of you. Be careful.”

  I promised and we ended the call, both knowing he wouldn’t stop worrying and I wouldn’t be his version of careful.

  Being alone in the cabin made me nervous, but I wanted to check in with Sebastian. With the dogs inside and the door locked, I loaded my SIG Sauer and carried it with me to the secret office between the laundry room and garage. I moved the rack of clothes camouflaging the doorway and entered the small space.

  When the computer booted up, I checked for news from Sebastian using Gert’s sign in. His reply was waiting for me.

  —No hits on the missing Willard brother. The family hasn’t been in contact through emails. They talk in code about meetings. Nothing overt on the emails. Re: Charles Robert Patterson, the birthdate on his driver’s license is May 2, 1922. No fingerprints on record for him, no criminal charges. He didn’t apply for his social security number until 1946 when he was hired at a nursery in Cleveland, Ohio. He moved to Spirit Lake in 1967. No family background info. Need more to go on. Later.

  I sent an email thanking him and signed off, but continued to stare at the blank computer screen, wondering if Wilcox already had that information. Rock put his paw on my knee. Startled, I woke from my daze. “Right, let’s go, buddy.” I tucked the gun into my jeans, locked the room and drove back to the restaurant.

  Chapter 12

  My rin
ging cell phone jarred me awake. I jumped up to answer it and tripped over Knute, banging my knee on the coffee table. It was Jason, talking fast. “I’m in Cooper. There’s been a fire and a guy’s dead inside. A firefighter said something about accelerant.”

  Did every emergency have to happen at this ungodly hour? This was the third time I’d been called before dawn in a week. I rubbed my knee. “How’d you hear about it?”

  “I bought a police scanner to have at my apartment. The fire call came in at four a.m.”

  My bleary eyes registered that the sun was just starting to rise. “Nice work, Jason.” He’d clearly figured out that the best way to see Thor was to go where she went, and she was always at a death scene. “Who’s the dead guy?”

  “They don’t know for sure, but probably Rob Jenkins, a local attorney.”

  Rob had handled Gert’s will. He’d been the one to officially tell me Gert had left Rock, her cabin and a mile of lakeshore to me. I blinked the sleep out of my eyes. “Why are you telling me this, Jason?”

  “Cynthia hasn’t been able to get a stringer to come out this early.”

  I recalled the paunchy photographer in the green hatchback, too sickened to shoot Charley’s murder scene. “Cynthia’s calling me now.” I hung up with Jason and answered. She got right to the point. “I doubt if this is anything the StarTrib will want, and I can only pay you the usual rate, but we need to cover all the bases in case this is a murder. The wolf is at the door.”

  She meant that management rumbled about shutting down the bureau every few months. They’d whittled the staff to nothing and expanded the coverage to the entire upper half of the state. It was no secret the bureau was on borrowed time. “I’m on my way.”

  Little and Lars watched me from their bedroom door. Little whispered, “What happened?”

  I pulled on my jeans and threw a shirt over my tank top. “Rob Jenkins’ law office burned down. They think it’s his body inside. Cynthia wants me to take photos.”

  “How did the fire start?” asked Lars.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I find out.”

  The guys hustled to begin their day as I let the dogs out, brushed my teeth and grabbed my equipment bag. I joined Lars in the restaurant. He’d already made coffee. “Bless you, Lars.” I filled a to-go cup, snagged one of yesterday’s muffins and headed out the door. “Lars, would you bring the dogs back in for me?”

  He nodded. “Be careful out there.”

  I stopped at my cabin, dug through a drawer for my old Minneapolis StarTribune ID and hung the lanyard around my neck just like old times.

  The drive to Cooper, sixteen winding miles north of Spirit Lake, took barely fifteen minutes. An acrid stink assaulted my nostrils as soon as I hit town. Rob’s office was on a side street near Nordic Souvenirs and a flower shop. A few people gawked from the post office parking lot across the street, as close as Wilcox would allow. Firetrucks, sheriff’s vehicles, local police, ambulance and Thor’s car were parked haphazardly, blocking the street. I pulled in behind them.

  The shops that flanked Rob’s office had suffered some damage, but the lawyer’s office was nothing except charred remains. Jason stood outside the cordoned area talking to the fire chief. I took as many photos as I could until Wilcox stalked over to me. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Cynthia hired me.”

  “Not funny. Get back.”

  “Seriously, she wants me to get photos. Her guy’s unavailable.” I held up my StarTrib ID, glad I’d taken the time to grab it.

  The fire chief called to Wilcox and I used the distraction to scoot under the yellow tape. No one stopped me. They must have seen me talking to Wilcox and assumed he sanctioned it. It would only last until he turned around so I worked fast.

  There were no standing walls. Metal file cabinet carcasses lined one area. Hundreds of files had turned to ash. A melted computer and printer were lying on the ground above the remains of a desk. It was all sodden and reeked of smoke. I squatted and shot from that angle, then moved to higher ground to capture the big picture.

  Thor joined me, her forehead smudged with soot. Her hand swept toward the burned office building. “This is way out of my league. An arson investigator from the Cities is on his way now.”

  I pointed to an ambulance leaving the scene. “Is that Rob?”

  She nodded. “The body is on its way to the lab down there. Dental records will tell us for sure, but his car was the only one out front.”

  Everyone in Spirit Lake knew Rob. He’d been around forever and it wasn’t unusual for him to work late hours. No one had mentioned a Mrs. Jenkins or kids.

  I tore my eyes away from the scene and suppressed a smile at Thor’s outfit. She wore a Laplander cap, plaid golf shorts and a striped shirt under her jean jacket. “How long have you been here?”

  She covered her mouth with her hand and yawned, leaving another soot smear on her cheek. “Wilcox called me at ten after four this morning.”

  I was still circling and shooting. “What do you think? Arson, murder or accident?”

  She followed, whispering. “Just between us, not an accident. The gasoline smell was really strong when I first arrived. Whether it was murder or not, I couldn’t say. Maybe he did it himself.”

  Wilcox coughed behind us. “You in the speculating business now, Thor?”

  “No sir, sorry.” She edged away. I’d been on the other side of that Wilcox sarcasm in the past. The only difference was that it didn’t bother me.

  Before he could order me to leave, I asked, “Who called in the fire?”

  “A post office employee. We’re talking to him now. And no, he says he didn’t see anyone—just the flames.”

  “I saw that melted mess that used to be his computer. Are you looking for back-up files at his residence? Maybe that would lead to a motive.”

  “Now everyone’s an investigator. The only problem with your great detective work is that no one has said this was arson or murder.”

  I pressed my luck. “Suicide?”

  Wilcox pulled the brim of his cowboy hat low over his brow. A warning, but I still didn’t stop. “Do you think this has anything to do with what’s happening in Spirit Lake, Sheriff?”

  “Why would I? We don’t even know what that is yet.” He turned on his heels.

  I called after him. “Why was Rob in his office at four in the morning?”

  An hour later, sitting at my old desk at the bureau, I downloaded my photos and worked on captions. Cynthia came out of her office and said out loud what I was thinking. “You look comfortable in that chair, Britt. Maybe you want to stay?”

  The bureau still leased the tiny office space above Lakeshore Realty, with a view of Branson Lake. I flipped through my file of photos. “Part of me would like to, but I’m locked in to the Times on a year contract.”

  “There’s no limit to how many contracts you can be working on as a freelancer. Interested?”

  “Sure.” I rarely turned down a photo gig and could use the legitimacy of working for the StarTrib while looking into Charley’s murder. Without the ID, I was nothing but a nosy onlooker.

  “Let me talk to management.” Cynthia went back to her office.

  I asked, “Are you really doing better, Cynthia? You look healthier, that’s for sure.”

  Her eyes filled. “I wish I could go back to the way it was before Alex got sick, but I can’t bring him back. Some days it’s really hard but this job helps, and friends.”

  Jason stomped in and tossed his notebook and pen on his desk. “Investigators are going over Rob’s house but they wouldn’t let me near it.”

  “Did you get any more information at the fire?

  He kicked his chair and it rolled a few feet. “No one would answer my questions.”

  “Keep at them, Jason. Go on back and hang around until they forget you’re there.”

  He grabbed his stuff and left. “Waste of time.”

  Too bad he was having difficulty with Wilcox
but his reaction pleased me. When I first met him, he wouldn’t have gone back.

  It was noon already. I drove to Spirit Lake, glancing at the thunder clouds lying in wait. Did the entire region have a dark cloud over it this summer?

  ***

  Trussed up in my apron, I started schlepping dishes. The job didn’t require my full attention, a good thing, because my mind was on Charley and Rob. Would Wilcox forget about the old guy now that he had Rob’s death to deal with? Had he followed up with the hate crimes task force yesterday? One thing, he wouldn’t have time now to watch my movements.

  The World Church often used arson as a way to get their messages across, but what, if anything, did Rob have to do with them? Was Rob gay? Were they hunting gays up and down north central Minnesota? Lars would say I was getting ahead of my skis and he’d be right.

  I’d researched online statistics for hate crimes in the country. Most of the time, a gang would pick one or two gay people to harass. Occasionally, it would escalate and the gang would go into a hate-frenzy and beat the person, sometimes to death. Sometimes, they did worse—tying them up and dragging them, or other atrocities. But what happened to Charley was a new one.

  We were all tense and by midafternoon, Little had burned a batch of rolls, Lars dropped a tray of dishes and the staff snapped at each other. One of the locals said I scared her granddaughter. I raised my hands, palms up. “I only suggested she make up her mind about what kind of cookie she wanted.”

  Ever the diplomat, Lars came over with a cookie. “How would you like a snickerdoodle, Megan?”

  She nodded and grasped it with both hands. The grandmother pursed her lips at me.

  Lars took me aside. “Britt, you’re going to have to work in the kitchen if you can’t stop snarling at the customers.”

  “I’ll do better.” I tilted my head toward the kitchen. “I’m not going in there. Little’s on the warpath.”