Dead Deceiver Read online

  CHAPTER 3

  As she pulled into the parking lot at the trailhead, Lew saw three vehicles parked at a distance from one another: A black SUV, a maroon van, and a Forest Service truck with its tailgate down. Two snowmobiles had been unloaded from the truck and a figure bulked out in a dark green parka, padded gloves, and a white helmet with a Forest Service emblem was climbing onto the driver’s seat of one of the sleds—an industrial-size snowmobile with a stretcher on runners attached.

  Pulling her squad car alongside the truck, Lew gave a quick wave and parked. Reaching under the seat for her warmest pair of gloves, she popped the lever for the trunk and climbed out of the car. Wet, cold snow hit her in the face. Hurrying around to the trunk, she retrieved a snowmobile helmet and turned towards the rider on the approaching snowmobile. The rider raised her helmet shield as she spoke, “Chief Ferris, Ranger Lorene Manson. Appreciate you’re giving me a hand.”

  Lew recognized the forest ranger, a broad-faced woman with reddened cheeks, strands of straw-colored hair plastered against her forehead and a dripping nose, which she wiped at with one finger of a heavily padded glove. Lorene Manson spent most of her time fining cross-country skiers who had not purchased trail passes. She did not look happy to be out this late.

  “Happy to be of assistance, Lorene. You know where we’re going?”

  “Somewhat. The husband of the missing woman is keeping warm in his van over there. We’ll take him with us since he knows the route his wife usually takes.”

  “Does he have a helmet?” said Lew.

  “I brought two extra besides the one I’m wearing. I gave him one and strapped the other onto that stretcher back there along with some blankets. You all set?”

  “Almost. Give me a minute to get familiar with this sled, will you?”

  “Take your time, Chief. I’ll have Mr. Beltner ride behind me. Man, this snow is not helping,” said Lorene, pushing at the snow falling in her face as if she could make it go away.

  As the ranger spoke, a tall, angular man in a bright red ski jacket of the type worn by cross-country skiers got out of the van, and paused to pull on the Forest Service helmet and adjust a small backpack he was wearing before striding over to the where the women were waiting. His helmet shield up, Lew could see dark, worried eyes. “Rob Beltner,” he said, holding a hand out towards Lew. “It’s my wife we’re looking for.”

  “Chief Ferris with the Loon Lake Police,” said Lew. “You called in the 911?”

  “Yes, twenty minutes ago. She should have been home by four thirty.” His voice cracked on the last two words.

  “I’m assuming one of those two vehicles was driven by your wife?” Lew pointed a gloved finger towards the van and the SUV.

  “The Honda CRV is Kathy’s,” said Beltner. “She always parks here, snowshoes the trail for an hour or two and returns to her car. It was locked when I got here. That’s a good sign, maybe? That no one broke into the car? Her cell phone is there, too. My wife always forgets something. She tends to do that when she’s in a rush.”

  “Now which trail does she ski?” said the ranger, motioning for Beltner to climb onto the seat behind her. As he did, Lew turned the ignition key on her sled, revved the throttle and tested the brakes. Then, letting her sled idle, she waited for Lorene to take the lead.

  “She doesn’t ski,” said Beltner, shouting over the low rumble of the sleds, “she snowshoes and there is only one trail—that one.” He pointed towards the rear of the parking lot.

  “You holding on, Mr. Beltner?” asked Lorene with a tip of her head towards her passenger. “This may not be the smoothest ride.”

  “I’m ready,” said Beltner, resting gloved hands on the ranger’s waist, “just please—can we get going?” His words ended in a sob.

  “Mr. Beltner—” said Lew. “Rob.”

  “Okay, Rob,” she said, adopting a reassuring tone. “The sheriff’s department rescued a skier out here just last week. He’d broken the binding on one ski and was chilled but otherwise okay. It’s a long walk if your equipment malfunctions back in on one of those loops. I’m pretty certain the worst that can happen to your wife is hypothermia.”

  “Or a broken leg,” said Rob, his tone grim.

  “Like I said—hypothermia.” Lew reached over to pat him on the shoulder. “Aside from our concern right now, is your wife in good health?”

  “Excellent health. She snowshoes five miles twice a week. That’s how come I know she always takes the south trail to the lake.”

  The two snowmobiles charged onto the trail, snow billowing off into the darkness. The lead sled’s strong headlight made it possible for them to maintain a good speed as they hurtled past the trunks and bare branches of oaks and maples guarding the snowshoe path.

  Soon, as the forest morphed from hardwoods to evergreens, the trail closed in on them: snow-laden branches of balsam and spruce hung heavy overhead. Twice they had to skirt sagging limbs blocking the way.

  Ten minutes down the trail, Lorene’s headlight exposed a wooden railing. She stopped so quickly that Lew had to pull off to one side in order to avoid running into the stretcher.

  “Sorry, Chief,” said the ranger after jumping off her sled and running back towards Lew. She shoved her helmet shield up and leaned forward: “There’s an access road used by loggers back in here. We should check it in case our person decided to take that route out.”

  “Right,” said Lew, switching off the ignition on her sled. Leaning into the wind, Lorene tackled the drifts skirting the access road and Lew started after her, their boots crunching through over a foot of frozen layers hidden beneath the soft surface.

  After a few yards, she looked back to see Rob Beltner, flashlight in hand, heading towards the wooden railing, which ran for a distance along a snow-covered boardwalk to end in at a ten-foot-long bridge over a burbling spring-fed stream. Lew knew the spot from years of fly fishing in the area—just as she knew a small lake lay beyond the bridge and that the springs kept the water flowing all winter long.

  “Someone has been here within the last few hours,” said Lorene, pointing to a series of depressions still discernible in spite of the new snowfall.

  “Yep,” said Lew, pausing to study the depressions. Definitly the tracks of someone’s boots, not snowshoes. They seemed a little large for a woman—though Kathy Beltner would have had to remove her snowshoes in order to leave these tracks, and she was likely to be wearing an insulated boot. Of course, Lew and Lorene were both wearing heavy snowmobile boots that would leave large holes in the snow. Before Lew could speculate further, the depressions ended at a disappearing set of parallel tracks.

  “Looks like an ATV to me—” Before Lorene could say more, a shout came from the direction of the boardwalk. They turned to see Rob Beltner staggering through the deep snowdrifts towards them.

  “Blood,” he gasped, pulling his helmet from his head. “I think I see blood in the snow along the bank by the bridge.” As they followed him back towards the bridge, Lew’s flashlight picked up more depressions, more boot prints in the snow. The tracks led down an incline and along the stream bank.

  She looked up. Rob was hanging over the wooden rail and pointing at a snow bank on the opposite side. The creek, ignorant of human worry, bubbled merrily under the bridge, which cleared it by two feet and allowed the water to rush pell-mell into the lake, whereupon it disappeared under the ice.

  As the beams from their flashlights raked the snow bank, Lew could barely make out a dark stain etching its way through the new snow. It appeared to start from a high point somewhere under the bridge to flow in a sharp diagonal down across the bank before disappearing into the lively water. One hour later and that stain would have been buried under fresh snow.

  CHAPTER 4

  “Rob, stop! You must stay on the bridge,” said Lew, her voice fierce as she tried to keep Rob from scrambling down onto the snow-covered humps of swamp grass lining the stream.

  “It’s my wife, goddammit,” said R
ob, refusing to take direction as he leapt through the snow along the bank. He stumbled and pitched forward off balance—long enough for Lew to grab the back of his jacket and hold on. She pulled him down, hard.

  “Please, Rob. I’m a police officer and this may be—” Lew looked up at the ranger watching them from the bridge, “Lorene, you come down here and stay with Mr. Beltner. Rob, you stay right where you are. You can watch from there.”

  Satisfied that the two would follow her instructions, Lew yanked off her helmet. After setting it to one side on the snowbank, she stepped into the rushing water and moved forward until, crouching, she could aim her flashlight under the bridge. Edging his way along the bank behind her, Lew could hear Rob’s breath harsh in his chest.

  She didn’t like what she saw and paused before asking in a soft voice, “Was your wife wearing a red jacket with a white band across the shoulders?”

  “Yes …” Lew heard his boots hit the water behind her.

  “Rob, stay where you are, please.”

  “Is she unconscious? Did she slip off the bridge?”

  Before answering, Lew felt for a pulse on the woman’s wrist—even though what she saw told her everything she needed to know. The beam of her flashlight followed the lines of the woman’s body, which was folded in on itself and wedged into the space above the water line where the wooden bridge met the stream bank.

  If it hadn’t been for the slow seepage of blood from the entrance wound, Kathy Beltner might never have been found until summer. By that time the eagles and the ravens would have spirited much of her away, leaving only scraps of clothing and a skeleton for some hapless hiker to find on a lovely summer day.

  On rare occasions, Lew hated her job. It is a heartbreak to ask a man to identify the woman he loves after a .357 Magnum has nearly obliterated her face.

  Lew turned away from the sight of Kathy’s corpse and spoke in a low tone. Rob was silent, dumbfounded. “I … what do I do?” he asked, raising his gloved hands in a gesture of helplessness.

  “Not a thing right now,” said Lew. “I have to get the coroner out here, get photos taken, get the EMTs to move her.” She reached for her cellphone, then paused as Rob turned away, shoulders drooping.

  “I just don’t believe this,” he said.

  “I am so sorry but it is a crime scene and I have protocols—” Lew paused. She stepped back to let him by as she said in a soft whisper, “Rob, before I make this call … would you like to take her hand and say … ‘goodbye’ or …?”

  Dropping to his knees, for a long moment Rob stared at his wife’s body as if hoping, praying to see her breathe. Giving up, he pressed his cheek against the red jacket. He whispered words that Lew couldn’t hear and then he cried, his body heaving with deep, harsh sobs that Lew understood too well.

  The night she cradled the dead body of her only son, knifed in a bar fight when he was still a teenager, was etched moment by moment in her memory. No matter how fast she might find the person who had stolen Kathy Beltner from her family, no matter the severity of the punishment—Rob’s pain would never be lessened. He would never forget.

  Leaving Rob to softly stroke his wife’s still form, Lew waded a few feet back in the rippling stream and turned away, her cell phone out as she waited for the switchboard to patch her through to the coroner’s home. “Evelyn,” she said in brisk tone when the phone was answered, “Chief Ferris here. Put your husband on, please … what? When did that happen? Oh for Chrissake. All right. Will he be released tomorrow? Tell him to call in the minute he’s alert.

  “Jeez Louise,” said Lew, hitting buttons on her cellphone again, “Doc? Sorry to call you like this.”

  CHAPTER 5

  It wasn’t until two minutes after ten that Osborne considered giving up hope that Lew would return. For her to be gone this long meant the situation involving the missing skier must be serious. He certainly hoped no one had died.

  Fatality or not, he knew from experience that Lew would be determined to complete her paperwork. She hated leaving it for the next day. “Paperwork just piles up, Doc, and the next thing I know I have to spend a perfectly good afternoon when I could be in my garden or fishing the Prairie with you—doing the goddamn paperwork instead.”

  Osborne admired her persistence. He liked to think they shared that trait. Over his years of practicing dentistry, his perfectionism was unyielding: if the fit or feel of a gold filling or a fixed bridge were not flawless, he would work with the patient and the dental lab until it was.

  He glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time: ten thirty. Okay, he gave up. But he did expect her to call and let him know she was okay. How many times had they had that discussion?

  “You are the only woman I know who spends her working hours with a nine-millimeter weapon on her hip,” he would remind Lew even as she grimaced, “so when you are on the job—I worry.” And shortly after they had met, Officer Lewellyn Ferris had been promoted to Chief of the Loon Lake Police Department, so she was “on the job” most of the time.

  “But, Doc, you realize that means calling you every day?”

  “So? Works for me.” He did not add that the sound of her voice never failed to remind him that no matter his birthday, he was, at heart, a sixteen-year-old with a crush.

  “Oh you!” And so they bantered, but she always called. Even if she had to wake him up.

  Happy and content in spite of Lew’s absence, Osborne set about getting ready for bed. Given they were both devotees of a good night’s sleep he did not take it personally. Tucking her unfinished dinner, which he had covered with foil, into a Ziploc that would keep it moist, he set it in the refrigerator and glanced around the kitchen to be sure he had everything in order.

  The dishes had been placed in the dishwasher and the frying pan washed and set in the rack to dry. The dog had been let out for the last time. Noting the near-zero temps outside and the Weather Channel’s reports of increasing winds during the night, he decided to slip on the warmest of his flannel pajamas. That done, Osborne settled into his easy chair with the hardcover edition of Trout Madness, which Lew had given him for his birthday. Mike curled up on the rug next to the chair and with a heavy sigh rested his chin on his front paws.

  Reading Robert Travers’ essays on fly fishing the rivers and streams of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula had become his favorite way to end an evening of solitude—almost but not quite as satisfying as a warm summer night of fly fishing with that local police chief who, having stayed on top her paperwork, treasured the hours when she could set her gun aside in favor of waders.

  Osborne set the book on his lap and leaned back, eyes closed, to savor the wave of contentment that swept over him so often these days. He and Lew had fallen into a comfortable pattern of three or four nights together each week. He might kid her with the option of marriage—but only as a joke those evenings she hooked three rainbows and he got none. “You can catch and release those beauties,” he would say, “but I refuse the release. I’m hooked and I’ll stay hooked. Let’s set a date.”

  Lew would greet his words with a grin but she was adamant. “Now, you know better than that, Doc. You know how much I love my farm—even if it is tiny and on a tiny little lake with tiny little bluegills. Too tiny for two.”

  “I know. But a guy can hope, can’t he?” Lew would catch his eye with a smile and a shrug and make no more comment.

  But if it was a pattern of togetherness they both found comfortable, it was also a pattern that left him liking himself better. Better than he ever had during his thirty-odd years of marriage to the late Mary Lee. He thought about that often. It seemed to have taken him forever to learn that there are people in your life with whom you’re just … comfortable. They can stand next to you and not say anything, but you feel good. Just comfortable.

  He knew three people like that: His youngest daughter, Erin. Ray Pradt, his next-door neighbor who might be thirty years younger but as talented as God when it came to fishing. And Lewellyn Ferris. How luck
y can a guy be who—

  Before he could finish that thought, the phone shrilled.

  “Doc? Sorry to call so late like this,” said Lew. He could hear a crackle through the phone line, which meant that she must be on her cell phone and at a distance from a cell tower. “I’ve got a homicide out here on the Merriman Trail and our trusty coroner is in the hospital.”

  “Pecore? In the hospital?” Cordless phone in hand, Osborne jumped up from his chair and headed towards the bedroom.

  “Yeah, seems he slipped on ice coming out of the Loon Lake Pub and may have a broken shoulder. Wonder how many martinis that took? How soon can you get here?”

  “Give me time to get some clothes on and,” Osborne checked his watch, “I’d say twenty minutes. Do we know the victim? Need an ID?”

  “Kathy Beltner, Doc. Rob Beltner’s wife. Cause of death appears to be a gunshot wound. Rob Beltner is here with myself and a ranger—no question the victim is his wife. But I can’t move the body without an official sign-off on cause of death and,” Lew sounded frustrated, “I’m hoping to heck you can rouse Ray to help with photos. I know it’s late but I’m afraid the weather could screw up any evidence if—”

  “I’ll call him right now. Kathy Beltner, Lew? Gee, I hate to hear that. I know the family. Who on earth—”

  “You know the trailhead, right, Doc?” She cut him off so fast, Osborne realized Rob Beltner must be standing nearby.

  “Yes, I sure do. Will you be in the parking lot?”

  “The forest service is sending someone to meet you in the lot at the trailhead. You’ll likely find the EMTs there, too, but be sure the ranger brings you and Ray in first. Don’t forget a snowmobile helmet—and, Doc, sorry about this.”

  “Please, Lew, not to worry. Be there ASAP.” He set the phone down feeling both sad and elated. Sad for the stricken family, elated for himself. Working with Lew was more than just work.