Dead Hot Mama Page 5

  “Ah, twelve windows,” said Lew, acting innocent. “One for each tip-up?”

  “Could be, though I’m a jiggerman myself, no tip-ups this winter,” said Ray, dodging the trap. “Never more than what I am entitled to by law, Chief.”

  “Of course, any extras are for Clyde …”

  Long the traditional way to ice fish, the tip-up is a wooden platform rigged with fishing line, a spring, and a red flag. The ice fisherman slips a live minnow on the hook, drops it into the water through a hole cut in the ice, then retires to a nearby fishing shack or a bonfire to wait and watch until the red flag pops up to signal a fresh- caught meal. Easy—but not what a jiggerman does.

  A jiggerman fishes hard water the hard way, hovering over his hole, a short fishing rod in hand, which has been armed with an over-accessorized fishhook known as a “jig.” Nominally, a jig is a fishhook with a lump of lead on it, but times have changed. Today’s jig is likely to be artificially enhanced with colorful plastic “bodies,” simulated fish eyes, or live wiggling worms.

  And unlike the hook dangling at the end of the tip-up, the jig won’t be static but constantly “jigged” by the attentive fisherman.

  “How much does something like this cost?” asked Bruce, checking out the interior of Ray’s ice shanty.

  The star of the show grinned and twirled once around, arms open and the fish on his head just clearing a crosshatch of aluminum poles overhead. “You’re looking at 227 graves, my friend—with and without a backhoe.”

  Bruce looked confused.

  “Ray supplements his income through the summer digging graves for Loon Lake’s Catholic cemetery,” said Osborne.

  “Thirty-five bucks a grave,” said Ray with pride.

  “Oh … but not now, not when it’s this cold,” said Bruce.

  “No-o-o, business slows down just as the lakes freeze, thank the Lord,” said Ray.

  “So what do you do then?”

  “We keep ‘em on ice—I help with the storage some.”

  “Enterprising sort, this guy,” said Lew, shaking her head towards Ray. “Master of the easy buck.” With Terry’s situation under control, she had relaxed. “I’m ready to head out—Terry, you got any questions?”

  “Didn’t you want Ray to view the victim, Chief?”

  “Oh right, I almost forgot. I think I’m tired. Ray, would you mind?” She glanced over at Terry, “Incidentally, what about Pecore—did he recognize her?”

  Terry shook his head, “Not that he mentioned.”

  “If you need me to, I’ll take a look,” said Ray. He unzipped the entry flap and waited for Lew to lead the way out, his eyes serious.

  Osborne and Bruce stood to the side as Lew unzipped the white plastic cover. The full moon threw shadows across its still and frozen occupant. As Ray knelt, he removed his hat.

  Lew handed him her flashlight. The wind had died and the ancient white pines along the shore loomed somber and still. The ice took over, booming a dirge across the hard water.

  Ray sat back on his heels. “I know this girl … she had a smile that could give you hope in February.”

  nine

  Only dead fish swim with the streams.

  —Anonymous

  “I met her last August,” said Ray. “She was tending bar on karaoke night at Thunder Bay. She’s not a local, Chief. If I remember right, she’s from a little town outside Oshkosh.”

  “She tended bar, huh. She didn’t dance? With that body?” Lew was skeptical.

  “I’m not saying she never danced. But she wasn’t dancing when I was out there. What she told me was that she was trying to get out of a contract that she had signed with a club up near Hurley. I got the impression she’d been screwed over by the people she had been working for …” Ray paused. “Now that I think of it, she was quite careful not to name names. I’ll tell you one thing—she was a very pleasant person.”

  “Ray, have you ever met a woman who wasn’t?” Catching Osborne’s eye, Lew gave a wry smile.

  More than once, while mending their dry flies through riffles in a trout stream, they had chuckled together over Ray’s wizardry with the opposite sex. Charm appeared to be his middle name, as few women—regardless of age, shape, or bank account—could resist. And whatever it was that made Ray so irresistible to the ladies, it eluded Osborne.

  Eluded and disturbed. Once he had asked Lew if she knew Ray’s secret, but she just shook her head, snorted and said, “If you don’t know now, Doc, you never will.” Then she had laughed and waded on up the stream, her back cast uncurling overhead as she set out to tease new and unsuspecting trout.

  Osborne had hung back, working an overhang until he snagged his fly. The consequent angry yank was directed as much to the insulting branch as it was to his friend and neighbor. All that luck with the ladies was hitting a little too close to home as Osborne found himself more than a little unsettled by Mallory’s ongoing interest in the guy. Good friend was one thing, son-in-law was quite another. The peripatetic lifestyle of a fishing guide was not what Osborne had in mind for his eldest daughter.

  “Her name?” said Lew, quizzing Ray. “I’m sure you got that far.”

  “I knew her by Eileen. Just a first name, but that’s not unusual at Thunder Bay.”

  “Excuse me,” said Bruce, his right nostril twitching and his brow dark over his eyes, “mind if I ask what this place Thunder Bay is?” He stepped forward, elbowing Osborne out of the way.

  Osborne moved off to the side. He liked the young man; he just hoped he didn’t have the same bad habit as the rest of the Wausau boys: the urge to push Lew out of the way when the stakes in a case got high enough to further a career. Better men had tried and lost.

  “A strip joint west of town,” said Lew. “Lap dancers, that kind of thing. Changed hands recently after I fined the former owners ten thousand bucks for violations of Code 2116B. I wonder if she’s been working for the new people?”

  “I heard Karin Hikennen bought it,” said Ray. “You know Karin, Chief?”

  “What’s that Code 21—?” asked Bruce, a question mark vivid in his eyes.

  “Never met Karin. I knew the old lady, Karin’s grandmother. She used to run the Kat House, one of Hurley’s finest in the days when that town was wide open. I imagine Karin has inherited that joint …” Lew reached into her jacket for her cell phone. She asked the dispatcher to put her through to Thunder Bay.

  “Thunder Bay is very popular with what we call ‘da boys from da cities,’” said Osborne in a low voice to Bruce. “You know the crowd—up to hunt or fish with no wives in tow.”

  “And Ray hangs out there?” asked Bruce, his nose wrinkling like something nearby smelled bad.

  “Five rounds of draft Leinenkugels, and our friend here is guaranteed at least one new client for guiding,” said Osborne, answering loud enough for Ray to hear.

  “Don’t forget the bad jokes,” said Lew as she waited for her call to go through.

  “Yep, I stop by Thunder Bay a couple times a week in the summer,” said Ray. “When it comes to R & D that’s the place to be.”

  “R & D?” said Bruce. “Don’t you mean R & R?”

  “No, R & D—research and development—mining new clients. Bruce, I’m probably the only guy you’ll ever meet who can deduct lap dancing from his taxes.”

  “Oh,” said Bruce.

  “Things are different in Loon Lake,” said Osborne, shuffling his feet to keep the blood moving.

  “I’m finding that out,” said Bruce. “About that code—”

  But before he could ask his question, Lew had snapped her phone shut.

  “Thunder Bay’s closed, dammit. One good thing about cell phones—they save time.”

  “Yep, closed Tuesdays and Thursdays,” said Ray. “Open noon tomorrow though …”

  Her eyes troubled, Lew mulled the tips of her boots. The three men waited in silence, turning their backs when a swirl of wind kicked snow across the rink. Osborne shivered. He never could stay wa
rm standing still.

  “Okay,” said Lew, looking up, “here’s what we’ll do. Ray, I’ve got enough left in my budget through the end of the year to bring you and Doc on board to help out for a couple days. Do you have the time to track down some of the other girls working Thunder Bay? First thing in the morning? They may know more than Hikennen would ever tell us anyway. If Karin’s anything like her grandmother, she’ll be mean, greedy, and close-mouthed. If you hit a brick wall—”

  “I don’t understand why he doesn’t just go to the owner first,” said Bruce. “They have to answer. What good is talking to a bunch of strippers—”

  “If you don’t have any luck with the girls, let me know and we’ll see if Suzanne can help,” said Lew, ignoring Bruce. “Incidentally, Ray, have you met Karin?” “Nope, never set eyes on the woman.” “And who is this Suzanne?” An undisguised bossiness in Bruce’s voice irritated Osborne. He turned and stared at him—second-guessing Lew was not the way to win friends at the moment.

  “Bruce, you’re here to help with trace evidence,” said Lew, her voice level but her eyes hard. “I take care of the rest. Since you asked, Suzanne is my daughter, and she used to work at Thunder Bay. A few years back, right after her divorce, she danced and tended bar at Thunder Bay to pay her way through school. But that was six years ago—before I joined the force. Today she’s a CPA in Milwaukee, just opened her own firm. Remarried and I’ve got three grandchildren. Even so, she’s kept in touch with several friends who have continued to work there—and they may know something.”

  “Not the most reliable sources,” said Bruce. “Most strippers I’ve had contact with are into drugs or—” He stopped short.

  Ray gave Osborne an amused look, but it was the expression on Lew’s face that made Osborne feel a little sorry for the guy.

  “Bruce …” Lew paused. “Just because a girl dances in a strip club does not mean she’s a hooker or a drug addict. Yes, one or two may violate the code, but that’s almost always under pressure from the boss, which is why I fine owners—not dancers. This is the northwoods, bud. It is not easy to make a buck—particularly if you are young, female, single, and a mother. And, frankly, I’ve known a few crooked cops in my day—”

  “Chief—” said Ray, interrupting before Bruce could dig himself in any deeper, “look, I’ve got the time even if you don’t have the money.” He looked down at the white plastic covering the girl who once had a lovely smile. “She was a good kid—someone loved her.”

  “Doc, is that okay with you?” asked Lew. Before Osborne could say a word, she said, “Bruce, first thing tomorrow Doc will get us a dental ID on all three victims, including the two you worked with today—”

  “Fine with me,” said Bruce.

  “Settled then,” said Lew, nodding at Ray and Osborne. “I’ll call Connie in the morning and let her know you two are on the payroll.”

  Turning to leave, she stepped up onto the dock, then paused, raising her hands to the moon in a gesture of frustration. Bruce almost bumped into her from behind. “You know, if it weren’t for Pecore,” said Lew, “if I didn’t have to live with that jabone’s seventy thousand a year salary—I could add another full-time deputy and not be forced to lean on people like Doc and Ray who have better things to do.”

  “I don’t know about that,” said Osborne under his breath as he hopped up onto the dock behind them.

  “Now what the hell—? What is Ray doing out there?” asked Lew, peering over Osborne’s shoulder.

  The three of them looked out towards the fishing shanty, which glowed from inside. To its left, behind the frozen bier holding the young woman, all that could be seen of Ray was a dark shadow hunkered down near the snowbank.

  His voice came to them muffled. “Did Pecore shoot this?”

  “Dammit,” Lew cursed as she jumped down off the dock and walked back towards Ray. “What now—I’m freezing.”

  Ray was staring at the snowbank behind the victim. “Did you move the body from where you found it?”

  “No, she’s exactly where she was found, so Bruce can work the site tomorrow morning.”

  “Well, I hope to hell Pecore shot this,” said Ray.

  “Shot what?” said Lew, moving closer to Ray. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Right here—someone shoveled this snow. You got a plow pushing snow over there, but here it’s been heaped. See how the pattern changes? It’s slight but it’s there.”

  “Whoa—you have a good eye,” said Bruce shaking his head. “I didn’t see any difference in how that snow was mounded. Tomorrow, in the light, I might, but in these shadows?” He whistled.

  “Bruce,” said Ray, “I do graves in the summer, snow removal all winter.”

  “He isn’t kidding,” said Lew. “We are in the company of a man with an intimate knowledge of plows and shovels.”

  “And an eye so good he can hit an aspirin with a BB gun,” said Osborne.

  Bruce knelt to examine the snowbank with his flashlight. Then he walked ten feet towards the rink and dropped to his knees again. “I see the difference now. This is good, this is very good. And you know what? I’ll bet you anything that a shovel, like a knife, has to leave a distinctive mark.” He looked up at Lew. “We’ve got to get photos before the weather changes. Can you get your coroner back here? Or find out if he took some already?”

  “Sure,” said Lew, “but from what Terry said, I doubt Pecore took the time or made the effort—I certainly wouldn’t count on it.” She pulled off her glove and reached inside her parka for her cell phone. She punched in some numbers and waited. Then she tried another set of numbers. “No answer,” she said. “That’s interesting. He’s not in his office and he’s not answering at home. Where the hell can he be at this hour?”

  “Chief, I’ve got some black and white film in my camera,” said Ray. “It’s right over there in the truck, under my seat. I was shooting a flock of migrating loons that landed on the lake before it froze over, and I haven’t used it since. I’m sure I’ve got enough film—you want me to get a few photos?”

  Lew threw up her hands. “What choice do I have?”

  As she spoke, Bruce headed off across the rink, jogging and skidding in the direction of the boathouse where the ATV with the plow was parked. “I’ll see if they got shovels in there,” he said. “We don’t want any of those disappearing.”

  “Up at the main house, too,” said Lew. “I saw one on the porch.”

  Osborne never thought the warmth of his own home could feel so good. The house was dark except for a night-light over the kitchen stove.

  “Dad? Is that you?”

  “Find everything you need, hon?” The door to Mallory’s bedroom was open. She looked sleepy and cozy, propped up against the pillows with a book in her hands. “We’ll go find a tree right after I help Lew in the morning. Around ten or so? You sleep in, enjoy your coffee….”

  “Sounds great, Dad. I’ll dress real warm, too, so we can take our time. You know me—I want just the right tree.” She gave him a happy smile. “See you when you get back from town then. And, by the way, those dentures you left on the kitchen table? I put them up on the shelf near the cookbooks. Couldn’t stand the idea of those greeting me first thing in the morning. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Minutes later, after cracking the window very slightly, Osborne slipped under his quilt. He smiled at the thought of the busy morning ahead. And the relief he felt knowing Mallory was comfortable in the room next to his was palpable. That was all he ever wanted to do for his children and their children: keep them safe.

  He woke with a start. The clock beside his bed read 3:43 a.m. Moonlight filled the room, making it easy to see that Mike still slept soundly on his bed in the corner. Osborne lay perfectly still wondering what it was that had awakened him. Then he heard it: the soft put-put of Ray’s pickup moving up the rutted slope that served as his driveway.

  What on earth could he be doing at this hour? Osborne waited, half-expecting a knock
on the door. He got up to use the bathroom, then checked the other bedroom. Mallory was sleeping soundly on her side, curled up with her feet tucked under. Lifting an extra quilt from a chair in the corner, Osborne gave it a shake, flipped it up and over, and let it drift down onto his daughter as lightly as a dry fly onto a still pool.

  His final thought as he drifted back into sleep was of Bruce. Wouldn’t surprise him if that guy was still awake—searching computer files for the details of Code 2116B.

  ten

  Some of the best fishing is done not in water but in print.

  —Sparse Grey Hackle

  “Pecore is out,” said Lew. Osborne reached for a kitchen chair and sat down. It was ten after six and he had been pouring his first cup of coffee when he grabbed for the phone on its first ring.

  “Fired? It’s less than ten hours since you last saw him, Lew. What on earth—” Osborne shook his head. How much trouble can a late middle-aged man get into after dark in a town of thirty-one hundred people? With an outside temperature of twenty-three below zero?

  “He doesn’t know it yet. I can’t call Arne Steadman until after eight, and as mayor, Arne has to be the one to fire him—but I can’t imagine he won’t be out once I talk to Arne. So don’t say anything if you run into him before then.”

  “Don’t worry about that. But, Jeez Louise, Lew. What happened?”

  “He showed up at Marty’s Bar about eleven o’clock last night with eight-by-tens of that poor girl. Passed ‘em around. I got a call from someone who was there.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I just hope her family, whoever they are, never hears about it. Unforgivable. And you and I both know it isn’t the first time …”

  She was right. More than once, Osborne’s coffee crowd at McDonald’s had heard rumors of Pecore misbehaving with photos taken of women under official circumstances. But only rumors; no one had ever caught him red-handed.