Dead Water Read online

  “So we had this fancy breakfast, and after the entrée, the subject of hunting came up. Michael was taking Ashley hunting in Mexico—for white wing doves. This led to a discussion of expensive shotguns, and suddenly Michael had to show off his gun collection. So all the men—and me—got up from the table and headed downstairs.”

  “And you?” said Lew. “Do you shoot?”

  “Yes,” said Gina. “I’m originally from Upstate New York. My dad taught me how to hunt when I was a kid— deer and grouse—but I haven’t hunted in years. I am good with a pistol, though. And I just bought a new Smith & Wesson Airweight. I like having a gun around these days … for obvious reasons.

  “Anyway, we trooped down the stairs to the basement, where Michael had a closet full of guns, full of guns. Shotguns, rifles, pistols. He must have had at least thirty, maybe forty guns down there. Old, new, beautiful guns.

  “He started handing them around, which alarmed me a little because several of the men had no idea how to handle a gun. They were pointing them every which way. But that aside, it was clear to me Winston has a passion for guns. Just the way he stroked them. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yep, sure do,” said Lew.

  “So then, just to tease, I asked where his Uzis and his AK 47s were. This was just a joke, okay? But he gives me this look, turns right around, walks back into the closet, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t walk out with an Uzi and hand it to me. Then he winked and said, ‘Now don’t tell Ashley.’ ”

  “Were his friends impressed?” asked Lew.

  “Oh, it was a manly moment. I’m sure he enjoyed the look on my face. It’s one thing to own an illegal weapon, but to show it off like that? What arrogance.”

  “I see it all the time,” said Lew. “So he left town with the money and the guns?”

  “No. He took only the money. And that’s how I think we can find him. Winston loves guns. He loves hunting. I cannot imagine him living up here without buying a gun. Make that plural—without buying guns.”

  “Gina,” said Lew, “do you have any concept of how many guns there are in the Northwoods?”

  “I know, I know. But that’s why I brought my computer. I was hoping you would let me run a database analysis of the ATF records for this region. All your gun dealers have to register sales, right?”

  Lew groaned. “ATF: my nemesis,” she said. “They’ve been on my back to update records for months.”

  “Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms?” asked Osborne. “What would you have to do with them, Lew?”

  “They fund us to keep the gun registrations up to date in this region. I’m responsible for three counties,” said Lew. “Six months ago, I agreed to take their money and try to fit it in. Saves them manpower. Gina, I don’t see how this would work,” said Lew. “Even if you’re right, and Michael Winston is hiding up here, he has to be using another name, don’t you think?”

  “I have a way around that, Chief. I have database software that I can use to pinpoint certain patterns. The source information behind the patterns shows me where to start. I know it works. We use this constantly in our investigative reporting at the newspaper, like with arrest records, vehicle licenses, FAA data, that kind of thing. Federal and state databases are almost always available for this kind of analysis.

  “Look, I’ll show you what I mean,” said Gina, pointing to the screen on her open laptop computer. “I brought an ATF database from Kansas City to demonstrate.”

  Osborne and Lew walked over to stand behind Gina. Her fingers moved swiftly over the keys. The information on the monitor was easy to read; a detailed description of guns sold, date of purchase, name of buyer, driver’s license of buyer, name of dealer, and location of sale. She hit more keys, highlighting categories of information. “We customized the software ourselves,” said Gina. “This is proprietary, but I have an okay to share it with you for the purpose of investigating this case.”

  “You’re looking to see names of buyers?” asked Lew.

  “Names of buyers and, just as helpful, names of dealers who are moving certain types of guns, or guns at certain prices, or I might see a pattern where a specific type of gun is being sold frequently, and I can check that frequency against the norm for recent months. Basically, I can enter any field I want in order to search the data from different angles.

  “But assume I find a pattern in your records, Chief. Given that those photos of Winston should arrive tomorrow or the next day, I can show those to any dealer whose sales pattern is suspect. So even if he has changed his name, we may still have a way—”

  “I see,” said Lew. “Now I get it. That makes more sense. Except for one small problem, Gina.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The situation with our new system and staffing. As you might expect, this is one slow-moving bureaucracy up here. Even though the assignment and the money from the ATF to update the county files came in months ago, the installation of our new computer system was just completed. I didn’t get an approval to hire an information services manager to run it for us until several weeks ago.

  “We have someone starting July first, but I have waited on purchasing software for the system until that person is on board. In the meantime, I have templates from ATF for the data, and I have basic word processing and spreadsheet software, but I am afraid that’s as much as I have right now.

  “And I am simply not familiar enough with the system yet to know how to do what you are suggesting. Also, this is not a small job. I must have at least twenty-five gun dealers in my region—”

  Gina raised her hand, a bright smile on her face. “Not to worry. That’s why I’m here, Chief. We can copy my software onto your system and use it to look at the data you’ve got.”

  “But …” Lew shook her head helplessly, “I’m afraid that’s what I don’t have.”

  “You mean, if I call the dealers and they fax in recent sales, you don’t have someone who can just type the data into the system?”

  “No. I’ve got two switchboard operators and my deputies. That’s all.”

  Gina looked perplexed. Then she shrugged. “Okay, what do you figure, maybe a thousand records? I mean, the new law hasn’t been in place that long, right?

  “It’s about that many,” said Lew. “Maybe less, even.”

  “So I’ll get started with the data. Do you need to get an approval from somewhere for me to work on your system?”

  Lew thought for a moment before answering. “I see no problem with that.”

  “Good. That’s good. But just so you know, I am likely to have one small hassle as I get started,” said Gina. “I know from experience it will take some tweaking to get my software up and running on your system. I’ll need to connect with somebody who has some basic programming skills and can help me work out the bugs. That’ll take a few hours, no more.”

  Lew raised her hands in a gesture of futility. “Now we’re back where we started. The tech guy doesn’t get here for another two weeks.”

  “But you’ve got a PC system, right?”

  “Right. We have six PCs and Internet access with T1 lines.

  “What if I find the tech support and a few bucks to pay for their time. Got a problem with that?”

  “No. But I have a miscellaneous account I can use for emergencies, Gina. You don’t have to pay for it if it’s reasonable.”

  Gina looked over at Osborne. “That kid at the airport today. Think he needs a summer job?”

  “You mean Ray’s son?” said Osborne.

  “Ray’s what?”

  Osborne had to grin at the look on Lew’s face. She was flabbergasted.

  nineteen

  “Muskie fishing can be compared to tracking a deer all day and seeing only some tracks. A muskie can be a gray ghost appearing as a shadow behind your lure only to fade and disappear, making you talk to yourself and wonder if you really saw something after all.”

  Ray Ostrom, bait dealer and muskie expert

  It was afte
r five when Osborne finally got home. He eased the two bags of groceries down onto the kitchen table, then reached into the tall wicker basket standing just inside the kitchen door.

  “Sit!” he commanded Mike. The black Lab stopped bouncing and settled his butt on the floor, eyes eager with anticipation. “Now, what do I have to do to get Lew to look at me that way?” Osborne flipped the dog biscuit into Mike’s mouth.

  “Cook her a steak, light a candle, and touch the woman, for God’s sake.”

  “Thank you, Mike. I knew that.” Osborne got a kick out of ventriloquizing with his dog. Sometimes he surprised himself with the words he put in Mike’s mouth. “I can do just fine with your first two instructions, but I’m not sure about that third step. I don’t think she’d let me. Plus … I think I’m too old.”

  “Yep, too old.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Okay, you’re not. You figure it out. I need to pee.”

  Osborne opened the door and followed the dog out into the fenced yard. The late afternoon sun was high and the air still warm but with a hint of humidity. The puffy white clouds that had scudded high against the sky all day drooped now, gray underbellies visible through the canopy of Norway pines that guarded Osborne’s shoreline.

  He studied the muted sky, happy with the threat of a good thunderstorm. Nothing titillated the big girls better than an active barometer. He could get lucky, this could be an excellent muskie night, even if they only got in a couple hours. Osborne almost skipped back to the house.

  He checked the answering machine. The solitary message was from Mallory, canceling her visit. Her excuse was too much to do: “Dad, I have a project due in the environmental lab course and my time at Hazelden is going to make it tough to get everything done. Can we reschedule?”

  The best part of the message was the word on Hazelden. He was relieved. She was sticking with it. Rehab was becoming a family tradition. He knew he was lucky to have been forced through it. When he and Erin encouraged Mallory after the divorce, he hadn’t been sure she would listen. But she did. Every time she called, she sounded better. He jotted a note on the pad by the phone reminding himself to call Marlene and let her know Mallory would not be coming this weekend.

  Back in the kitchen, he sorted quickly through his freezer. “Aha!” he exclaimed to the pheasant mounted on the wall when he located the package of venison chops. He laid it on the counter next to the two perfect Idaho potatoes he had selected at the grocery store. Alongside those was a plastic bag of freshly washed lettuces. He had been careful to follow Erin’s instructions and avoid the homely iceberg heads. Still, unsure if he had made the right choice, he had stopped by his daughter’s house on the way home.

  “Looks fine, Dad,” Erin had said with amused eyes. She would turn thirty this year, but to her dad she looked nineteen: tall and slender with long, straight, honey-blond hair. Today she wore it twisted into one thick braid that hung down over her left shoulder. As he stood there, displaying his selection of lettuces, she was distracted by Cody, who had just assaulted his older sisters with a squirt gun. The toddler giggled hysterically as his mother chased him round and round the big oak table in the dining room of their Victorian home.

  “Sorry, Dad. This kid is driving us all nuts. What are you using for dressing, that same old bleu cheese gunk?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  Erin collared Cody, grabbed the gun, and booted him out of the room. She opened her refrigerator and reached in. “Take this. Just in case. Give her a choice.” She handed him a bottle of peppercorn-buttermilk dressing. Then Erin leaned back against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms. “Have you cooked for her before, Dad?”

  “No.”

  “Well, if you want to cook for her again, you better do it right, doncha think?”

  Osborne, studying the bottle of dressing, glanced up to find her watching him with a funny smile on her face. “Dad, seriously, do you mean to tell me after all the times you have fished with Chief Ferris, this is the first time—”

  “She’s a busy woman.”

  “Trust me, she’s not that busy. You’re such a wuss, Dad. Just … go for it, y’know.”

  “What are you talking about?” He tried to give her a stern look, but she slapped him on the shoulder and hooted with laughter.

  Then her face settled into an attempt at a very serious look. Dropping her voice so his two granddaughters watching television in the next room couldn’t hear, she leaned forward. “Dad, if you don’t know it now, you never will.”

  “What are you talking about?” Osborne knew the moment he uttered the words he’d made a mistake.

  “What do you mean, what am I talking about? Those are Mom’s famous words. That’s all she ever told me and Mallory about sex. ‘If you don’t know it now, you never will.’ ”

  “Honestly, Erin, sometimes you’re worse than your children.”

  “Da-a-d…. Go for it. I like Lew. Mallory likes Lew. We want you to—”

  “This is embarrassing. We’re just fishing buddies. And, um, there’s a fella by the name of Hank Kendrickson who’s been asking her out, too.”

  “No … for real, Dad? He’s an interesting guy. I know I’d put him on my list if I were single.”

  “What?” Osborne was taken aback. “How do you know Hank Kendrickson?”

  “He made a presentation to the school board several weeks ago. We’re looking for ideas on how to better invest the endowment, and someone suggested Hank because he’s been so successful in the stock market. I was impressed.

  “You know, Dad.” Erin crossed her arms and leaned back against the kitchen counter, a thoughtful look on her face. “There’s a guy who is a good example of what attracts a woman. I mean, he’s not drop-dead handsome, but he’s got a shrewd look in his eye, a very nice smile … and he listens.”

  “He listens?”

  “Yeah. Most men don’t; they’re always looking over your shoulder or their eyes space out while you’re talking. Hank Kendrickson comes across as very smart and kinda sexy, if you ask me. Plain old charisma.”

  The look on Osborne’s face must have been one of acute dismay, because Erin reached to hook her arm through his. “Hey, don’t look so down, Dad. You’re not a bad catch yourself, y’know.”

  “Oh sure. I’m ten years older and short sixty million bucks.”

  “That may be, but you are the best-looking man in Loon Lake.”

  “Easy for you to say, sweetheart.”

  “You are, Dad.” She gave him a teasing look. “I have single friends who have asked me about you.”

  “They have?” His spirits lifted a tiny bit.

  “Yes, they have. Don’t you worry about Hank, even if he does call Lew. I can tell from the look on her face she thinks you’re very cool.”

  Osborne shook his head. “You’re just saying that to make your old man feel better.”

  “No, I’m not! Oh, darn. I shouldn’t have said anything. Now you’re all worried. Listen, Dad, Lew would not be having dinner at your house—the two of you alone—if she wasn’t interested. Trust me on this. I’m female. I know. Now get outta here and get cooking.”

  Erin pushed him toward the door. “Put a candle on the table, Dad. Okay? Placemats, napkins, silverware, and a candle. Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  He knew she was smiling after him as he walked out the door. Driving home, Osborne wondered if he would ever make it through this passage in life. It isn’t easy falling in love when you’re sixty-three.

  It was nearly seven when Osborne hurried down to the dock with his muskie rod and tackle box, anxious to set up so he and Lew could start casting the minute she arrived. The clouds were darker now; they would be lucky to get in an hour of fishing. Osborne counted four boats out on the lake, four sets of numnut fishermen willing to risk death by lightning because it upped the percentage for hooking a big one.

  He heard voices and looked over to see Ray out on his own dock with Nick. Conc
entrating on helping the kid learn to cast, he wasn’t aware Osborne was watching. Ray’s voice carried easily, even though they were a good 150 feet away.

  “Good … good,” he heard Ray coach the boy. “All right, cast toward the horizon, that’ll help you get that lure up and out. Better … You’re getting the hang of it. No matter what anyone ever tells you, you stay with this overhead cast; don’t sidearm it, okay? Watch that razzbonya in the boat over in that weed bed to the right. He’s doing it wrong. He’ll hook a nose before he gets a walleye…. Jeez!” Ray flinched at the sight of the fisherman’s next cast. “Now that, Nick, is what they mean when they say, ‘Fishing is a jerk on one end of a line waiting for a jerk on the other.’ ”

  “Yeah?” The kid’s voice sounded petulant. “This is dumb. Look how shallow it is. I’ll never catch anything doing this, Ray. Can I quit now?”

  The boy lowered his rod and turned to the man standing beside him. One look at the two of them, and Osborne recognized a familiar scene: He’d been there. As clearly as he saw the slouch in the boy’s back, he could see the look of defiance on Mallory’s sixteen-year-old face. A look she had turned on him every time he had tried to help or correct or be a good father. He finally gave up. Let her learn on her own. Maybe they always have to. The day did come that she walked into his house, asked for advice and actually listened to what he had to say. But that was six months ago. She was thirty-three years old. He sure hoped Ray wasn’t in for such a long haul.

  “So how come we aren’t out in a boat like those guys?” he heard Nick complain again.

  “Boater today, floater tomorrow,” said Ray breezily. “Look, I’ll put you in a boat when you have more control over your cast. Nothing is more ignominious than going into the lake after your fish.”

  “This is dumb,” said the boy, giving his rod a halfhearted sweep. The lure landed about thirty feet away, just short of the weed bed fronting Ray’s dock. He reeled in and as the lure neared the dock, Ray prompted, “Good, keep it steady, now remember what I told you about that figure eight, swirl it, swirl it—”