Dead Spider Page 6

  “Drugs, alcohol—it’s bound to be something,” said Mark. “I’d like to think we might luck out with our kids but who knows. They have to learn somehow.” He shrugged and turned to Lew. “So what is the latest on the Pfeiffer shooting?”

  Osborne got up from his chair and turned to Lew and Bruce, “Why don’t you bring Mark up to date while I get all of us some snacks.” He left the room.

  “Not much yet to answer your question, Mark,” said Lew. “Bruce has a team working the crime scene as we speak though I’m sure they’ve given up for the night.”

  “No,” said Erin, “we just drove by Tall Pines and the site is all lit up.”

  “Good,” said Bruce, “no rain is forecast but you never know in this part of the woods. The more work we can get done before weather intervenes, the better.”

  Minutes later, after describing the crime scene and what little information she and Osborne had been able to glean from the widow, Lew said, “I’m afraid that is all we know so far. Doc was telling us that Charlotte is married to Chuck’s son from his first marriage. I understand that Wife Number One is still alive. Is that correct?”

  “I believe so,” said Mark, turning to his wife. “Erin, do you know where Ginny Pfeiffer lives these days?” Mark asked.

  “Florida,” said Erin. “She’s been there for years.”

  “Did you ever know her?” asked Lew.

  “I saw her a couple times as a kid but all I really know is the gossip. I remember hearing my mother describe Ginny as ‘a bitch of a wife who got dumped like she deserved.’

  “But . . . ” Erin looked around to be sure her father was not in hearing distance before saying, “my mother was never kind about any woman outside her bridge club—and she was merciless when it came to Ginny.”

  “Did Mary Lee know Ginny well?” asked Lew.

  “Didn’t matter. My mother was in awe of Harriet McClellan, Martin’s mother. And Harriet, in my humble opinion, was and is one of the most unpleasant women in Loon Lake—a vicious gossip. At the risk of sounding like an ungrateful child, which I am, I have to say my mother was not kind, either.”

  No one said a word for a long moment. “I’m my father’s child,” said Erin. “People think children don’t judge their parents or that the parents are always right. I knew at age sixteen that my mother was unfair to many, many people, including my dad.”

  Mark reached over to touch his wife’s hand. “I’ve had good therapy,” she said with a quiet laugh. “Mark’s right. I need to shut up. Well . . . one more thing. Dad has never said a word against my mom—not to me anyway—but, boy, she and Harriet could really tear people down. For those two a woman like Ginny Pfeiffer was raw meat.”

  Lew smiled. “Are you implying the Loon Lake Ladies Bridge Club might have lined up to do Chuck Pfeiffer in?”

  “Of course not. But I do know that people don’t forget.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Beth hummed as she walked along the road leading to the tennis courts at the senior high. The morning was crisp and sunny with a hint of the hot summer afternoon to come. She still couldn’t believe her good luck.

  When her dad had called her tennis coach the night before, she had held her breath, certain the coach would say he didn’t want her teaching the kids anymore. But he didn’t. Maybe the fact that he has two sons in college made him more than a little understanding. He and her dad laid out a few rules for her to follow, but they said she could keep her job as the coach’s assistant so long as she didn’t screw up.

  She made up her mind to find extra things to do around the courts, which was why she was showing up early this morning. First thing she could do was sweep all the pinecones off before Coach Moore even arrived. That’s the ticket, she thought happily, humming again.

  Though the tennis courts were nearly two miles from her house, she didn’t mind the walk. It got her up and finished with breakfast before Mason and Cody could bug her, and if the weather was lousy one morning no big deal. The tennis clinic would be canceled and she could sleep in. Plus her folks appreciated that she didn’t insist on a ride. Her dad had left the house at six thirty that morning and her mom was on the phone with one of her law clients.

  Beth stepped off the curb to cross the street and was starting up the final quarter of a mile to the courts when she became aware of a Jeep Wrangler slowing as it drove by her. A man with dark hair pulled into a ponytail stared out the window on the driver’s side as he drove past. Mind your own business, she thought to herself, annoyed. Haven’t you seen a girl in tennis shorts before?

  Bounding onto the tennis courts a few minutes later, she was pleased to see that she was the first to arrive. She grabbed the court broom and got busy.

  Two hours later, after walking the last ten-year-old to his mom’s car, Beth hurried back to the courts to gather up her racquet and backpack. Slinging the backpack over her right shoulder, she gave a quick skip as she headed for the street. Thoughts of what she would fix herself for lunch kept her feet moving fast.

  Beth was nearing the courthouse green, which was a block from her home, when she noticed a Jeep Wrangler parked on the side street near the intersection where she crossed kitty-corner to walk through the park around the courthouse. The car was too far away for her to see who was driving.

  Bounding up the front porch steps to her home, she heard a passing car give a quick beep. One of her friends? She turned in time to see the Jeep Wrangler slow down as it went by. A girl with short, black spiky hair waved to her from the passenger side: Wendy Stevenson, her new best friend. Driving was the guy with a ponytail who had driven by her early that morning.

  “Something wrong, hon?” asked her mother as she walked into the kitchen.

  “No, I’m fine.” But she didn’t like the feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lew pulled her cruiser into the parking lot of the Loon Lake Police Department shortly after six A.M. She was anxious to see the report from Bruce’s forensic team plus the photos from Ray. A late call to Ray had been reassuring, as he said that he had made sure to shoot alongside the two forensic techs from Green Bay until they had completed processing the crime scene.

  “Chief,” he had said, sounding tired, which was no surprise since she was calling at ten thirty that night, “the three of us worked like dogs until the sun set. I’ll be sending everything I got in as JPEGs and PDFs. Think that’ll do it?”

  “I hope so,” said Lew. “Can’t thank you enough, Ray. See you in the morning? Bruce and I are sitting down to go over the early reports at six thirty. I know that’s early but—”

  “I’ll be there. Heading out at five for bluegills if you want to join me.”

  “Thanks but have to pass.”

  Hurrying through the front entrance to the department, she was stopped by the raised hand of Marlaine who was working Dispatch that morning. “ ’Morning, Chief,” said the woman who had been working Dispatch for over twenty years now and was the unofficial boss of the department. “Dani needs to see you. She’s in your office and she’s having a nervous breakdown.”

  “Another one?” asked Lew and she opened the locked door leading to the department offices. “I thought she had one last week. After that bad date she met on Match.com.”

  Marlaine smiled and adjusted her headset. “This is serious. I’m keeping a phone line open for her to make a call once she has your approval.”

  “Ouch, this does sound serious.”

  Dani Wright was in charge of IT for the Loon Lake Police. She had been hired full-time a month earlier after eighteen months as an intern while completing a degree in law enforcement through the University of Wisconsin system.

  And she was a surprising hire from the first. Lew had stumbled on her when she was enrolled at the local tech college studying to become a cosmetologist. Dani had been working part-time in student services where her supervisors had discovered she had an uncanny skill with computers and database searches. So when a criminal
case involving the school’s network needed someone with IT skills, it was Dani who proved valuable in helping with the online investigation.

  After leaning on the young woman to help the Loon Lake Police with another investigation requiring advanced computer skills, Lew had been able to persuade her to switch from hair, nails, and make-up to focusing on criminal investigations, which might not be as glamour-driven as salon work but potentially better paying.

  Flattered by the recognition of her talent with keyboards and cell phones—plus her innate understanding of the Internet with its hazards and possibilities—Dani had opted for the career change. Plus it got her into the Wisconsin retirement system, which brought her parents enormous relief.

  The only issue faced by Loon Lake police chief Lewellyn Ferris was Dani’s appearance: She wanted to keep her long, meticulously cut, curled, and colored (some days streaked purple) hair. And she did not want to wear a uniform.

  “Style counts for me,” she had argued. “I work better when I feel good and I feel good when I know I look drop-dead.”

  Drop-dead? Lew considered Dani’s interpretation of that term, but okay. “If it takes being ‘drop-dead’ to get you to our computer terminal, then that is okay with me,” she had said, naming a salary that would allow as much cutting, curling, and coloring as the girl could manage without having her hair fall out.

  So how critical could an issue in the life of Dani Wright be on a day when the entire state of Wisconsin would be looking for the answer to who killed their wealthiest entrepreneur?

  “My server crashed at four o’clock this morning,” said Dani as Lew walked into her office. “You told me to expect a few photos and videos—not thousands. And who knows how many are trying to load now. I mean, Chief, can’t we just use surveillance video from that tavern?”

  “What makes you think the Tall Pines Tavern, which is over a hundred years old, would have surveillance cameras all over the place? They aren’t McDonald’s. Anyway, the only town around here that has cameras like that is Rhinelander. This is Loon Lake. I’m lucky I have cameras watching who comes in our front door.”

  “Guess I watch too much CSI,” said Dani. “I’ve called our tech support but right now I can’t even get e-mail.”

  “Hold on,” said Lew. “Let me make a call.”

  Dani leaned back in her chair, crossing one yellow capri-clad leg over the other and letting her sandaled foot swing while Lew punched in Bruce’s cell number.

  “Good morning, Mr. Peters,” said Lew when Bruce picked up, his voice sleepy. “Any chance our good governor would mind if we spent some of the money for the Pfeiffer murder investigation on a new server?” She listened, then said, “I am not kidding. We have been overwhelmed with people sending in digital photos and videos from the tournament. You know my IT person, Dani—she doesn’t expect us to be able to access those for hours, maybe days . . . ” Lew winked at Dani who winked back.

  “Thank you. I’ll have her make the call ASAP. Good, see you in half an hour.” She turned to Dani, “Okay. Call your tech support people and order us a new server—one that will work for us for another five years if possible.”

  “Really? That will be expensive.”

  “Dani, the governor has authorized the Wausau Crime Lab to spend whatever is needed to solve this case. Chuck Pfeiffer was one of his largest donors over the years and he’s committed to finding the person who killed him. Look at it this way: The Loon Lake Youth Fishing Tournament aside, Chuck Pfeiffer is still doing good things for the Northwoods.” She couldn’t resist a big grin.

  “This is so cool,” said Dani, jumping to her feet. “I’ll bet you I’ll have a new server up and running by lunchtime.”

  “I alerted one of our pathologists of the governor’s special interest in this case and that the victim was being rushed down to Wausau for an autopsy,” Bruce was saying an hour later as he and Lew met with Mark Amundson before the press conference, which was scheduled for eight that morning. “He went to the autopsy room last evening and was able to send me preliminary findings this morning.”

  “That’s fast work,” said Mark. “I hope you told him that Chief Ferris and I appreciate it. Any surprises?”

  “Yes,” said Bruce, “and I suggest we keep it confidential until we know more. But first the basics: The victim died almost instantly from a single bullet to the brain stem. Evidence indicates a hard contact wound angled to hit the brain stem. The shooter knew what they were aiming for.”

  “Do we know what type of gun was used?” asked Lew as she wrote down Bruce’s information.

  “A handgun,” said Bruce, “a .357 Magnum revolver. The bullet was lodged in the victim’s head so if we’re lucky enough to find the gun, ballistics can match it to the bullet.”

  Lew glanced up in surprise. “Who uses a .357 anymore? He’s sure it wasn’t a Sig Sauer P226 9 mm? Those are much more common these days.” Bruce shrugged.

  “Is that the surprise?” asked Mark.

  “No. As they were prepping the corpse for the autopsy they found a plug of spittle in the victim’s hair.”

  “Spit or phlegm?” asked Lew.

  “Good question,” said Bruce. “Spit, I believe. We’ll know soon. Now whether the shooter spit before shooting? Or another individual walking by might have spit? The victim was sitting along the open side of that booth so it would have been very easy for someone going by to just lean over and—”

  “Spit.” Mark finished the sentence.

  “Wait a minute,” said Lew, “and we’ll know more later today when Dani is able to pull up the photos and videos people have been sending us, but think how many people spit when they’re talking. If you consider the volume of noise with music blasting over the loudspeakers, kids setting off firecrackers—hell, anybody trying to say hello to the man might spit without meaning to.”

  “True,” said Bruce. “But enough was found that one of my colleagues has sent it out for DNA testing.”

  “Think the governor can ratchet up the time frame on how long it’ll take for us to get results?” asked Lew.

  “We’ll see,” said Bruce. “I’ve got the request in.”

  Lew looked down at her watch. “The TV van has been out front for an hour now and we’ve got three reporters waiting. One drove up from Madison at the crack of dawn this morning. Are we ready, guys?” Mark and Bruce nodded as they got up from their chairs. “Good. Showtime.”

  Osborne, sitting beside Lew in the department’s conference room, watched in silence and scribbled notes off and on as she interviewed Charlotte Pfeiffer. Lew had deliberately avoided meeting with her in the casual setting of her office or the severe interior of one of the interrogation rooms. But if she had hoped the business-like setting would calm the woman she was wrong.

  Charlotte was so wired she hummed. At least that was how she struck Osborne with her lips pressed tight and her hands trembling even as she tried to keep them clutched in her lap. “You have to understand,” she said, sputtering, “Jerry was in line to become CEO of the Pfeiffer Corporation until Rikki forced that son of hers on Chuck—which made no sense whatsoever.”

  “When did Jerry discover that Bart might be promoted?”

  “Chuck told him two weeks ago.”

  “How did Jerry take that?”

  Charlotte paused then said, “That he was being pushed aside? He should have been angry. I was angry.”

  “Of course,” said Lew, “but what was your husband’s thinking about the change in management.”

  Charlotte looked away in exasperation. “I have no idea. Sometimes Jerry doesn’t make sense. My point is: he can run that company. He has worked there since he was a teenager and it isn’t that difficult. I could run it.”

  I’m sure you think you can, thought Osborne, before saying, “If Jerry wasn’t angry at ‘being pushed aside’ as you said, why are you so upset?”

  “Oh, he always takes the easy way out,” said Charlotte. The disgust in her voice told Osborne everything he
needed to know about the marriage.

  Realizing what she had said, Charlotte waved a hand to backpedal. “Wait, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. What I meant to say was he didn’t want to upset his father. Jerry loves Chuck. He always thinks of Chuck first: What does Chuck need? How can he help Chuck?”

  “Let’s assume that Chuck is still alive and he promotes Bart to CEO. What does that mean for Jerry?” asked Lew.

  “He would handle special projects and work part-time.”

  “And get paid part-time?”

  “Oh, no. He was to get full salary . . . unless Bart changed that, too.”

  “But now that Chuck is gone, what will happen?”

  “Jerry takes over, of course,” said Charlotte, sitting back with a satisfied expression on her tight features. Osborne couldn’t help thinking she was one of the most unattractive women he had ever encountered. It wasn’t that her skin was mottled from teenage acne, or that her eyes appeared permanently narrowed in suspicion—it was her judgmental attitude. He couldn’t imagine being married to a woman like that.

  Osborne caught himself. Wait, Mary Lee had grown into the same kind of person as the thirty years of their marriage went by: dismissive of his decision to practice dentistry in small-town Loon Lake instead of Milwaukee where “you could have made much more money, Paul”; dismissive of his fishing buddies “who wear those baggy old pants and smell of swamp—keep them out of my house”; dismissive of his relationship with his daughter, Erin, as she was growing up—“for heaven’s sake, Paul, she has a ballet class today. I don’t care if she wants to go fishing with you. Ballet is very important.”

  Without a doubt Charlotte and Mary Lee shared a singular attribute: a lack of kindness including a lack of consideration for another person’s point of view. Poor Jerry. Osborne suspected that, like him, Jerry gave up arguing long ago. Maybe even gave up saying much of anything to his wife. If so, how would she know what he was thinking?

  “Now that your husband is boss, what will that mean for Bart?” asked Lew. “Oh, and before I forget to ask, where was your husband yesterday afternoon between one and three?”