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  “Does for me,” said Osborne. “Keep in mind you’re dealing with an old man who is so technologically challenged he can barely change channels on his new smart TV—so you take the lead.”

  Dani laughed and continued to scroll.

  * * *

  Dani Wright had been a cosmetology student at the local tech college when Lew discovered that while she showed promise as a hairdresser, when it came to computers she was, as her beginning computer science instructor put it: “outstanding.” Even better with smartphones on which she could text like a madman.

  After commandeering the young woman, who wore her hair in an explosion of brunette curls cascading over her shoulders, to help with an investigation requiring sophisticated database research, Lew had offered her a part-time position as the IT “guru” for the Loon Lake Police Department until she could earn her degree in computer science.

  Dani wasn’t convinced it was wise to trade the security of the hair salon (“women always need highlights,” her boss had argued) for “the cops” until Lew convinced the Loon Lake City Council to make her a salary offer Lew was convinced she couldn’t refuse. When Dani hesitated to accept the offer, Lew had badgered her saying, “Dani, unless I have a felony crime investigation you will always have holidays and weekends off so you can still do hair. . . .”

  That, plus the promise of health benefits, was all it took. “All?” Lew exclaimed, with a laugh and raised eyebrows, when describing the negotiations to Osborne later. “By the time she said ‘yes,’ I was exhausted.”

  * * *

  At the moment, it was not looking like there would be many ladies getting highlights, weaves, or foils over the next few days: Dani’s magic fingers on the computer keyboard were going to be in high demand. She had just brought up Chuck’s e-mails from that morning when she and Osborne heard a commotion in the hallway.

  It was Ray barging into Lew’s office with Peter Bailey in tow. Lew and Bruce Peters were sitting at the table and chairs fronting the windows facing south where they had been studying the reports from Bruce and his colleagues who had finished scouring the barn and the Pelletier home for trace evidence.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Chief,” said Ray, talking so fast Lew found it alarming. “But since you insisted you didn’t have time to meet us at Doc’s right away, I am making an executive decision: you have to meet this man. Now.”

  Too surprised to answer, Lew waved Ray and his friend into the room. “Okay, okay. The floor is all yours, Ray.”

  “All righty, then,” said Ray, happy to take the stage and extending an arm to indicate Peter. “I ran into this guy up on the Loon River. He’s been working closely with Chuck Pelletier on that whole fishing preserve—”

  “The Partridge Lodge project?” asked Lew.

  “Yes, I’m the consultant on the project—Peter Bailey,” said Peter as he stepped forward to extend a hand to Lew and to Bruce as they introduced themselves.

  “I can tell from your accent you’re not from Wisconsin,” said Bruce. “Australia?”

  “New Zealand. The guys running Northern Forest Resorts out of New York hired me to design and build a trout fishery like the ones we have on the North and South Islands. Maybe you’ve heard of the Huka Lodge? It’s world famous.

  “I used to be a fly-fishing coordinator there. So when I was telling Ray here that I’ve had some questions on the construction I’ve been hired to oversee and that I was supposed to be meeting with Chuck tomorrow—”

  “ ‘Questions’ isn’t the right word,” said Ray, interrupting. “Tell them, Peter—you’ve seeing some . . . e . . . reg . . . u . . . larities, shall we say?”

  “Ray, you mean ‘irregularities’?” asked Lew, sounding testy. This wasn’t the moment to fool around.

  “Yep. Sorry,” said Ray sheepishly.

  “Sit down, Mr. Bailey,” said Lew, pointing to a chair across the table from her. “You, too, Ray—got a new assignment for you by the way. After we hear from Mr. Bailey.”

  “Peter,” corrected the newcomer, “call me Peter, please.” Taking the chair across from Lew he sat while saying, “Let me start by telling you what I’ve been responsible for. I’ll try to keep it short. Okay?”

  “Take all the time you want,” said Lew.

  “Do you mind if I tape what you’re about to tell us?” asked Bruce.

  “Not if you think it’s necessary.”

  Peter waited for Bruce to get his tape recorder ready. “I have one in my smartphone but this is more reliable,” said Bruce, apologizing as he reached to pull out a tape recorder and stand from a backpack. “Ready.”

  “For the record, my name is Peter Bailey,” said Peter with a half-smile, “and I live in Taupo on the North Island of New Zealand. I am trained as a fishery biologist and I am a principal with River and Stream Consulting. Our main office is in Auckland but I work all over both islands.

  “I was hired ten months ago by Northern Forests Resorts to build a thirty-mile trout fishery here in northern Wisconsin. For this project, I have designed man-made streams featuring shoals and wide, shallow stretches of riffles—ideal for trout.

  “Also, on the existing waterways, I’ve been directing stream reparation efforts, including planting undercut banks with wetland grasses designed to protect trout from eagles and to attract good insect hatches. And we’re in the midst of restoring a natural spring creek. I guess you would call me ‘the project manager.’

  “Where this gets interesting for you people is that I have been overseeing the purchase and installation of computer-controlled pumps that will regulate the temperature and flow rate in the streams; and the construction of three bridges. I’ve also directed the purchase of a number of old barns and homesteads that were in the way of our streambed development. Some are so dilapidated they’re in danger of collapsing into the waterways.”

  He paused. “Tell them the problem,” said Ray, shifting in his chair.

  “Wait,” said Lew, “before you say more. One of my deputies, Dr. Paul Osborne, is working down the hall. I want him to hear this, too.” She called down to Dani’s office.

  Osborne joined the group around the table and after introductions Lew gave him a brief update on what Peter had said so far.

  “So here’s the issue I have and that I was planning to discuss with Chuck Pelletier tomorrow,” said Peter. “I submit invoices monthly for my time as well as invoices I receive from the contractors who are instructed to report to me first.

  “This past Monday—for no reason other than I had time on my hands and was looking to update my project management report—I asked to review the previous month’s invoices. When I looked them over, I discovered someone had inflated the totals on the costs of the pumps and the construction materials for the bridges. These were not the invoices I had submitted and I was able to double-check against what I have in my laptop, which I keep with me at all times.

  “Not only that—my initials, which indicate I’m approving the invoice—were forged.

  “Furthermore, it looked to me like the payments were going to an entity I’m not familiar with: different contractor, different company from the one that had been receiving payments.

  “Worse yet from my perspective, the inflated invoices make it look like I’m building sixty miles of trout stream—not thirty. And a bridge that never ends. The changes are outrageous if not illegal, and that’s what I wanted to discuss with Chuck.”

  “How many people know about this?” asked Lew. “Know what you’ve discovered, that is?”

  “Only Chuck—and the individual who altered those invoices.”

  “And who sees those invoices besides Chuck?”

  “Well, the contractors submitting the originals, of course. Then, as CEO on the entire development, Gordon Maxwell should review them, but as far as I know he doesn’t do anything with the financials or the invoices. At least, that’s what Chuck said. My understanding has been that as CFO, Chuck’s the one who keeps track of the finances and he is the
person who, after my approvals, submits them for payment.”

  “I see,” said Lew, thinking. “Since you wanted to talk to Chuck, it sounds like you trusted him. Correct?”

  “Yes. I will be very surprised if—”

  “Who do you think is behind this?”

  “Might be the bridge guy. Tom Patterson. He worries me. Nothing I can put my finger on, but his invoices on the one bridge and the pumps, which we’ve been buying through him, are the ones altered.”

  “Has this happened just once? This past month?”

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t had time to check back a few months. I was going to check with Chuck before doing that.”

  “And only you and Chuck Pelletier have access to the invoices?”

  “Now that is a good question,” said Peter. “Not necessarily. Because of the sketchy Internet reception in this region, we’ve asked that all the contractors submit their invoices on hard copy.

  “They are to drop them into Chuck’s in-box, which is on his secretary’s desk, by late Thursday every week. I go through those, enter the costs into an Excel chart, which I print out and place in a manila folder along with the invoices. That folder goes into Chuck’s in-box—from me—late Friday afternoon. My understanding is that he picks it up first thing Monday morning.”

  “But it stays on the secretary’s desk over the weekend?” asked Bruce. “Sounds like there’s a fair amount of traffic through that office?”

  “Plenty of traffic. Guys stop in for coffee and doughnuts in the morning, some fellas meet me there when they have questions on something. Lots of people coming and going.” He nodded. “It’s a busy place.”

  “Doc,” said Lew, turning to Osborne, “let’s see if Dani can get into the financial records, too. Peter, you will have earlier copies of your Excel reports so you can check and see if the alterations have happened before?”

  “Yes, and I have checked off and on, but this is the first time the money involved was significant. There was enough of an increase in costs to boost my original estimate from fifteen to twenty million dollars.”

  “I see,” said Lew. “Peter, where are you staying?”

  “I rent a small cottage down the road from the Partridge Lodge development offices.”

  “I’d like your address and phone number,” said Lew. “I’m going to give you my personal cell number, too, in case anything else occurs to you. And, Peter, keep an eye out.”

  “Me?” He sounded surprised.

  “You. If you see anything out of the ordinary around your place, let me know and I’ll have the Loon Lake Police or Oneida County sheriff put your cottage under surveillance.”

  “But—”

  “Peter,” said Lew, “all we know right now is that Chuck Pelletier was murdered. By whom or why we have no idea . . . yet. It could be related to the financial shenanigans you just outlined for us or it could be a random killing by someone on drugs looking for money. But I do not want to take chances and certainly don’t want another victim.”

  “You really think someone would . . . ?”

  “I don’t know what to think until we know more. In the meantime, keep a sharp eye.”

  Lew was getting to her feet when they heard a light knock on the door, which stood open. Dani poked her head in and said, “Chief Ferris? Doc, Bruce—I think you should see this one e-mail. It’s the last one Mr. Pelletier sent before he left his office yesterday. I didn’t think it was anything until a few minutes ago. He had sent a question to someone and they just got back to him. You need to see this. . . .”

  As everyone except Ray and Peter started to follow Dani back to her office, Ray said, “Wait! Before you do that, I want Peter to tell you about the twenty-two-pound brown trout he caught down in New Zealand. . . .”

  “Really?” asked Lew. “I don’t have time to hear about it now.”

  “Tell you what, Ray,” said Doc. “We’re busy tonight. I’ve asked Chuck’s daughters to come by my place tonight for dinner. Lew and I are going to help them with the arrangements for their father. Why don’t you and Peter join the two of us for breakfast tomorrow morning? We can talk about that trout then.”

  Ray threw a glance at Peter before saying, “Sure. But how ’bout early, early? I’ve promised our buddy here to show him some big girls—bigger’n those trout of his.”

  “Six a.m. sound good?” asked Lew. “That works for me. . . .”

  “Fine,” said Ray. “My place. I’m cooking.”

  “Can I join you?” asked Bruce, a hopeful look on his face. “Anything trout works for me. I’ll bring doughnuts.”

  “Dani, you’re the only person left out,” said Osborne. “Would you like to come for breakfast, too?”

  Dani laughed. “Thank you but no. That is way too early for this girl.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Peter, thank you for taking the time to come in today,” said Lew as Ray and Peter stood at the door, ready to leave her office. She looked over at Ray. “Now don’t forget before you truck off fishing again, I have another job for you.”

  “That’s what you said and, hey, every penny counts,” said Ray with a goofy grin. “Can you tell me what it is now? Or do you want to give me a call later?”

  Osborne could tell he was quite pleased having stumbled onto Peter Bailey. Probably took it as a sign of his brilliance rather than just plain dumb luck. Osborne reminded himself not to be critical of the man who had braved a blizzard to get the late Mary Lee to the emergency room in spite of knowing she continually badgered the Loon Lake county clerk in hopes of getting Ray’s trailer home condemned.

  “Now is fine,” said Lew. “This will take two seconds. Earlier today Chuck’s daughter, Molly, told us that a piece of driftwood that had been hanging on the wall in the room where we found Chuck’s body is missing. She noticed it right away and said that was odd as it’s sort of a family heirloom and her dad would never have discarded it. She described the driftwood as being shaped like a cane but it sounded more like a club to me.”

  “So you want me to walk the property? See if I can find it?”

  “I would start around the barn,” said Lew. “The sooner the better.”

  “Sure, I’ll get started right now,” said Ray. “What color is the driftwood? Dark? Light? Mottled?”

  “Bleached almost white. She and her dad found it on a beach when they were sailing in Chesapeake Bay back when she was a kid.” She glanced over at Peter, who was listening. “Your buddy Ray here’s got the eyes of an eagle,” said Lew. “I count on him to find the impossible.”

  A quizzical expression crossed Peter’s face. “Not sure what that means,” he said, “we don’t have eagles in New Zealand.”

  “Owls?” asked Lew.

  “Oh, yes, the Morepork owl is one of our predators. Hunts at night just like your owls, and it has a haunting, melancholy call.”

  “Ray,” said Lew, “do one of your loon calls for Peter.”

  Ray obliged, causing a few heads to turn down at the end of the hall where Marlaine on Dispatch and the receptionist were sitting. When Ray had finished, Peter applauded.

  “Ah, maybe you are part ‘ruru,’ ” he said with a grin, “that’s the Maori name for the Morepork owl.”

  “Later, you two,” said Lew with a wave as she and Osborne hurried to follow Dani back to her office.

  * * *

  Sitting alongside Dani, Lew and Osborne took a few minutes to read the e-mail that Chuck Pelletier had sent to the executive with the Florida condominium development. After identifying himself as the CFO with the Northern Forest Resorts, Chuck had written that they were hoping to involve Gordon Maxwell in some new strategic planning efforts and asked for any suggestions that the executive, as a former colleague of Maxwell’s, might have as to how they could maximize working with Maxwell.

  “A politic way of asking if they had any problems with the guy,” said Osborne after reading the e-mail twice.

  “I agree,” said Lew.

  �
�Well, here is that man’s response to the question,” said Dani before sitting back to let Osborne and Lew digest what they were about to see.

  Gordon Maxwell? We fired that guy years ago. And we aren’t the only ones who had problems with that individual. I am not going to go on the record and say more because I don’t need a lawsuit. Give me a call and I’ll tell you who to talk to.

  At the bottom of the e-mail was the man’s name and title, the name of the firm he worked for, and the firm’s website and contact information, including a direct number for reaching the writer of the e-mail himself.

  Osborne, who had been reading over Lew’s shoulder, was not surprised when she picked up her cell phone and punched in the man’s direct number. “I’ll put him on speaker,” said Lew while they listened to the phone ringing.

  A low, gravelly voice answered.

  After identifying herself, Lew said, “I’m calling because Mr. Chuck Pelletier with the Northern Forest Resorts, who sent you an e-mail yesterday morning, is no longer alive. He died hours after sending that e-mail. We’re not yet sure of the circumstances but I’m with law enforcement and I just read your response. Do you have a few minutes for questions?”

  “Yes and no,” said the man. “For legal reasons, I prefer not to say much other than I consider the man, Gordon Maxwell, a pathological liar, and I am happy to point out that he did not last long with our company. The person you need to talk to is Hugh Aronson. He’s a reporter with our local business journal and he wrote a very effective exposé that basically ran your guy out of town. Let me give you his phone number. Sorry I can’t say more, but good luck.”

  “Thank you,” said Lew, writing down the phone number he offered. She clicked off her cell phone and looked around at Osborne and Dani. “Are we ready?” she asked.

  “Do you want to record the call?” asked Dani.