Dead Madonna Page 9

  He had confessed this worry to Lew late one night as they waded into the Elvoy for brook trout. Her response had been no help at all: “Give it up, Doc. That’s none of your business. Mallory’s a big girl.” And so he tried … but still.

  “FawnCam,” said Ray, beaming.

  Osborne stared at him. “Yeah?” he said, waiting. But Ray just beamed. Mallory beamed.

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” said Osborne, glancing from one to the other. He was so tired, he had to be missing something obvious.

  “It is too cool, Dad,” said Mallory. “Ray has these video cameras from the DNR that he’s going to attach to the heads of fawns—so you can see what they see as they move through the woods with their mothers. Incredibly close observation of deer families in their natural habitat. Not like a zoo or one of those wildlife parks, but—”

  “The first ever … reality nature show,” said Ray.

  “He’s right, Dad. The way it works is Ray sets up his equipment by corn feeders so when the does bring their fawns to the feeders, there’s a receiver and VCR right there that can wirelessly download the video. Simple.”

  “Yep, Doc, I already know the corn feeders I want to use. Mason told me when she was kayaking up Secret Creek that she and her mom saw lots of does with fawns and I know a guy who’s got a feeder in there already. I figure four feeders max. That’ll give us plenty of footage.”

  “Better than bird-watching, Dad,” said Mallory. “I guarantee. This is a cool idea.”

  Osborne chewed, then said, “What do you do with the footage you get when they run into cars?” He swallowed his last bite of pizza. “Or do you need a little blood and guts to spice it up?”

  “Har-de-har-har, Dad,” said Mallory, giving him the dim eye. “We’re serious. We’ll make DVDs and sell them. Parents, tourists, schools—people will line up for this! I’ll handle the marketing, Ray can do the production. First thing, we’re going to get a website up so people can see excerpts and order the DVDs—”

  “Hey, kiddo slow down,” said Osborne.

  “And we’ll work with Sharon Donovan to sell on eBay, too.”

  “I thought you were in graduate school.”

  “Jeez Louise, Dad, you’re no fun. I’ll do this on the side, no big deal.”

  “So whaddya think, Doc?” said Ray, eyes alight with excitement as he straightened up and thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his fishing shorts. “Not … too bad … an … o-p-p-p-or … tun … ity … Right-o?”

  “Oooh, I don’t know about that,” said Osborne, in spite of the risk at hand.

  When Ray was in good humor, he had the ability to torture those around him with a delivery so slow it was alleged by people who knew him well that he spoke at the pace of a pregnant snail. And though Osborne was in no mood for a Ray-paced argument, he wasn’t willing to concede, particularly in front of Mallory, that this FawnCam thing could work.

  “I have a question. How the hell do you attach a camera to the head of a fawn? That is a very small animal and one with no antlers …”

  “Sheesh—e-e-e-asy,” said Ray with a flip of his hand that implied Osborne had just asked the dumbest question he’d ever heard. “We put the camera in a bag … and hang the bag … around the fawn’s … neck.” As if he were the fawn, Ray pressed the fingers of his right hand against his chest.

  Osborne studied the faces of his daughter and his neighbor before saying, “You’re serious—a fawn carrying a purse with a camera in it. Doesn’t that strike both of you as a bit goofy?”

  “Dad, you’re crabby. This works. The DNR is already doing it for research. Granted they’re working with mature animals, but using the exact same method—and Ray’s got a friend at the DNR who will let him borrow a couple of the cameras they aren’t using.”

  Osborne knew he was being testy. Now that he thought about it, he had heard something about the DNR project and it could be that Ray was on to something. And if he was, then maybe—someday—he could support a wife and children.

  “Okay, okay,” said Osborne, raising both hands and backing off. “I give up. You’re right. Plus this old man is too tired to think straight anyway.”

  “Dad …” Mallory turned a sympathetic eye on him. “You look beat. Why don’t you get yourself a good night’s sleep and we’ll talk more in the morning—’cause it is a great idea. And I am going to help Ray and I may even invest some of the money I make on eBay in this.”

  “Oh,” said Osborne, his worst fears realized. He decided to keep his mouth shut and just go brush his teeth. Pausing at the doorway, he said, “Mallory—what’s an SBF? You and your sister were talking about it this morning …”

  “None of your business, Dad,” said Mallory without turning away from the computer screen. “Time for bed, remember?”

  Osborne shrugged. Okay, he’d ask Erin. She’d tell him. “Ray,” he said, ready to close the door to the den behind him, “what time are you planning to be back up on Moccasin Lake?”

  “Oh, around six, six thirty—” Before Ray could finish, the phone rang.

  Mallory reached for the cordless. She listened to the caller, then handed the phone to Osborne. “For you, Dad, someone named Fern Carstenson. She says you left a message at her office that she had to call tonight.”

  “We are so shocked, Dr. Osborne,” said Fern, sounding breathless. “The staff said Nora worked third shift last night and was just as calm and capable as ever. I mean, golly, she was a lovely, lovely person. I just—well, what is it that we can do?”

  “Answer a few questions if you have a minute, Fern. I’m assisting Chief Ferris with the investigation and during a meeting with Mrs. Loomis’s son, Russell, earlier this evening, he said his mother had had a problem with one of your customers, that she was quite upset with the situation—”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sakes, I doubt that was anything. We have little brouhahas with customers all the time. The staff is trained to handle those and it’s always the usual com-plaints—someone’s order was stolen from their porch or their box was damaged. That kind of thing.”

  “That’s not what Mrs. Loomis told her son.”

  “Well, Dr. Osborne, then I imagine she may have overreacted to a customer service issue. Lack of experience, you know. This happens with our new hires.”

  Osborne resisted the urge to tell her he wasn’t interested in what she might “imagine.” Instead he said, “Fern, Chief Ferris and I need to hear the tape of the call that bothered her. So you tell me a good time to do that tomorrow—late morning would be best for us.”

  Silence. Then Fern said, “Dr. Osborne, I don’t know that we can locate that tape. Do you have any idea how many hours of taped calls we have here? Universal Medical Supplies takes phone orders from fifty states and four countries. Asking me if we have a tape of one phone call is like asking Wal-Mart if they have a video of every car in their parking lots.”

  Osborne couldn’t believe his good fortune. The moment felt as good as when he’d caught a forty-four-inch muskie on a surface mud puppy when all his buddies were insisting he cast a bucktail. “This may frustrate you, Fern,” he said, “but Wal-Mart does exactly that.”

  “They can’t possibly.”

  “I happen to know they do,” said Osborne. “My daughter, Erin, was shopping at the Wal-Mart in Green Bay two months ago. Someone backed into her car in the parking lot, did fifteen hundred dollars worth of damage and drove off. It took the store a day to run through their security tapes but, believe it or not, they found the sequence showing Erin’s car being hit. Got the license plate of the car that did the damage and turned it over to the police.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Mrs. Carstenson,” said Osborne, adopting the tone he’d used on patients demanding emergency care even though they had never bothered to pay their bill for dental work done the previous year, “it’s after ten and I am in no mood to argue with you. Now, Russell told me that his mother said she met with two supervisors last w
eek to alert them to having overheard a caller being threatened with physical violence. She was concerned that someone’s life was at risk.”

  “Last week this happened? Oh, wait a minute,” said Fern. “I’ve been running training workshops since last Wednesday and I may have missed something. Do you mind holding?”

  “Not at all.”

  She was back in less than a minute. “Dr. Osborne, I’m going to put you on the line with our third shift manager—and my most sincere apologies. There was a problem last week. I am so sorry but I did not know about it—afraid I’m behind on reading our call center reports. Rick Meyerdierk is here and he’s been handling the situation.”

  Meyerdierk didn’t wait to hear Osborne’s request. “We have the tape,” he said without hesitation. “I’ve heard it several times and it’s had me worried, too. So you think this is somehow connected to whoever killed Mrs. Loomis?”

  “It’s too early in the investigation to say,” said Osborne. “But we’re looking at all possibilities and we know this incident had her very worried. Were you able to check on the caller, this person Nora thought might be harmed?”

  “No, that’s the problem. The person placing the call used a prepaid phone card that the phone company wasn’t able to trace—and hung up before the operator came on the line to take their order. Dr. Osborne, we will accommodate this investigation in every way we can. You tell me a time that works for you and Chief Ferris to listen to the tape. You’ll want to do it here so you can use our equipment. The detail on that tape is not easy to hear.”

  After settling on a time that he hoped would work for Lew’s schedule, Osborne managed to get his teeth brushed, pajamas on, and Mike bedded down on the floor beside him. Not even the murmur of voices from the den would keep him awake.

  Before falling asleep, he let his mind drift back through the day, ending with the happiness and excitement on the faces of his grandchildren. That Mason—so pleased with her kayaking. And what was it she had said about going up Secret Creek and finding treasure? He had to remember to ask her about that. It’d be fun to know Mason’s idea of treasure.

  With that thought, he let the moan of the wind through the pines put him to sleep.

  CHAPTER 15

  “The victim found in the water died of manual strangulation—confirmed by significant bruising on both sides of the trachea,” said Dan Wright, the only one of the Wausau boys who had shown up for the seven a.m. meeting. The other three, having worked late into the night, slept in. Also, being the youngest, Dan was low man on the totem pole.

  But he didn’t seem to mind. The investigator, whom Osborne guessed to be in his late twenties given his athletic build, youthful buzz-cut and cheerful enthusiasm, was on a personal mission. He had arrived with a briefcase of documents and a small, clear plastic box of trout flies.

  After sitting down to the conference table, opposite Lew and Osborne, Dan had placed the box of trout flies on the table in front of Lew. “My girlfriend gave me these,” he said. “But I’ve just started fly-fishing and I have no idea what most of them are. I recognize the two Woolly Buggers—but the rest? The boss told me you fly fish. I was hoping maybe you could help me figure these out?” His eyes begged.

  “Well, let me see,” said Lew, sounding flattered. She slid the box towards her and opened the lid. “Very nice. Your friend spent a little money—these were tied by an expert.” She held the box open towards Osborne. “Look at these, Doc. Who cares if they catch fish—they’re beautiful!”

  “Lewellyn, have you ever met a trout fly you didn’t like?” said Osborne, admiring the tidy rows of miniature works of art.

  “I have. But not these. Now, Dan, since these are all dry flies, they’ll float on the surface of the water or you may need to dip them in floatant. You know what I’m talking about?” She gave him a questioning look.

  “That much I do know.”

  “Okay, then here in the first row you have …” As Lew named the trout flies and estimated their hook sizes, Dan took notes. His penmanship was cramped but meticulous. Twice he asked for the correct spelling.

  Observing his efforts, Lew said, “Dan, if you work that carefully in the crime lab, I won’t doubt a single result you give me. But the wise fly fisherman is not a perfectionist. Standing in a trout stream isn’t just about matching a hatch or catching a fish, you know.

  “It’s about focus, about taking time to see and to listen.” She handed him the box. “And it’s about survival, too. Getting through those rocks and holes and hidden ledges that lurk below the surface—just waiting to rip your waders.” The sparkle in Lew’s eyes reminded Osborne of how hungry she always was to get into the water, fly rod in hand, anxious to cast and cast and move through the current until she disappeared from sight.

  And while he was never certain of the quality of his own casting or his choice of trout fly, of one thing he was certain: she would return. It surprised him every time how the sight of her shadow against the moonlight filled his heart.

  “Sounds like you’d rather be fishing right now,” said Dan.

  “Oh, you better believe it. Maybe later tonight—nah, more likely tomorrow …”

  “Well, I hear what you’re saying,” said Dan with an easy grin. “But I want to start out right.”

  “Speaking of which—we’d better get started.” Lew pointed at his briefcase.

  “Oh yes, sorry folks, we do have work to do, don’t we.” Dan pulled out a sheaf of papers. “I have the preliminary autopsy reports that the lab faxed in late last night—do you have copies?” Lew and Osborne nodded. And so they had begun.

  “But I see here that DeeDee Kurlander had water in her lungs,” said Osborne as Dan grew close to the end of his review of the pathologists’ findings regarding DeeDee Kurlander and Nora Loomis.

  “I noticed that, too,” said Lew. “What does that mean exactly? Could it be that she was strangled and lost consciousness but died in the water?”

  “I’ve asked about results like that myself,” said Dan. “And what I’ve been told is that drowning is more complicated to determine than most people think. The pathologist doing the autopsy has two theories: Either the corpse was submerged for a period of time during which it’s possible for the lungs to passively fill with water; or, it entered the channel upright and as air escaped, water entered the lungs. That, plus the fact the victim’s body had more muscle than fat is why her body did not float. You’ll note the examiner states he’s confident that that’s postmortem fluid.

  “Now, as I mentioned earlier, the Loomis woman,” said Dan, “had a profound bruising of the skull, with death caused by intra-cerebral bleeding. Shards found embedded in her skull match the base of the broken lamp that was found nearby. But both victims had strikingly similar avulsions—severe lacerations with tissue torn away from the underlying bone. We’re waiting for the test results but we’re pretty sure the avulsions on both victims were inflicted by the same weapon—post-mortem.”

  “That’s what we thought just eyeballing those punctures and lacerations,” said Osborne. “I was reminded of an animal I saw years ago that had been attacked with one of those old wooden muskie gaffs. The kind with the metal hook on one end. I know that sounds bizarre—”

  “Could be, could be,” said Dan, nodding. “Or an ice pick. There are holes on both victims consistent with the same sharp object. And we’re fortunate that whoever killed DeeDee Kurlander didn’t reckon on that boat getting in the way. If her body had not been snagged under the log where the action of the boat kept it secured, it’s very likely the current would have carried it down to Moccasin Lake where it may not have been found for days.

  “Given that it’s summertime and the lake is as warm as it is, just a day or two of eagles nipping and those lacerations would have been nicely camouflaged by natural predators. But the pathologist was able to confirm that they were inflicted post-mortem, and by a human.”

  “So if the Moraiarty boy hadn’t gotten drunk and let the boat drif
t up channel, Chief Ferris might have a missing person on her hands—but no dead body, is that correct?” asked Osborne.

  “Right.”

  “Post-mortem, huh. You have to wonder about that kind of mutilation,” said Lew. “Is someone deranged? I mean, to mutilate a body after death? That’s beyond rage or anger. And why two women who didn’t even know each other? What’s the connection?”

  “You’ve got one sick cookie out there, Chief.” Dan gathered the papers on the table in front of him into a neat stack as he said, “We’ve got the trace evidence bagged and ready for analysis. We should be working on it as soon as we’re back in Wausau. At least I will.”

  Picking up the box of trout flies, he gave it a light shake before stuffing it into his briefcase. He smiled at Lew and said, “Thanks, Chief—I owe you for helping me look like I know what I’m talking about. It’s the father of the girl who gave me these that I need to impress.”

  “Isn’t that always the case,” said Osborne. All three laughed.

  Standing up, Dan said, “Folks, I know Chuck’s not the easiest guy to work with, but you can be sure I’ll be on the phone with whatever we find ASAP.”

  “You have my cell number,” said Lew.

  “Yep.” Dan gave a quick glance over notes from his colleagues before placing them in the briefcase. “Did I mention we got nail scrapings from both victims as well as hair samples at both sites? If any of those match up, it might make your job easier.”

  “One question before you go,” said Osborne. “I was puzzled by the lack of lividity on the body of DeeDee Kurlander. Isn’t that unusual?”

  “Not if the victim was killed so close to water that the corpse was submerged immediately,” said Dan.

  “Which underscores my decision to hire Ray to scout the bank along that channel,” said Lew, pushing back her chair.

  At that moment the door to the conference room blew open and three men in business suits rushed in. Right behind them was Marlene, arms waving, headset askew.