Quiver (12 page)

Bill Wink’s shift ended at midnight. He checked his messages and—he couldn’t believe it—there was one from Kate McCall, but it sounded like she was in trouble. Bill decided not to call, just drive out there and see her. His heart was thumping he was so excited. He’d been thinking about her his entire shift. Bill saw himself with her, pictures in his head like snapshots: sitting at a table having a romantic dinner at Windows; cruising the bay in his Boston Whaler, snuggling on the couch in the big room at her place, watching a movie. Bill’d show her what a fun guy he was. He wished he could change, get out of the uniform, put on some Levi’s and a comfortable shirt, but it would take too long. His place was in the opposite direction and it was already late.

There was no one on the road so he pressed it, doing seventy most of the way, and pulled up in front of the McCalls’ fifteen minutes later. He got out and left his hat on the seat. He was off duty. He knocked on the door, waited, and Kate opened it, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She invited him in and offered
him a beer. They sat at the kitchen table and she told him Luke had taken off that morning. He walked in the woods and never came back. To Bill it sounded strange any way he looked at it. How’s a kid who knows the woods disappear? Bill thought the likely explanation was the kid ran away. Isn’t that what Luke did when he came up north? Of course, Bill could be wrong. He’d try to get a couple experienced trackers and come back before sunup. He finished his beer and Kate walked him to the door. There was no point hanging around. He could see she wasn’t in any mood to have a conversation.

She’d been awake since Bill left, pacing around in the dark, worried about Luke. She heard the police car drive in at five thirty and went out to greet them in a parka and jeans, no makeup, nerves frazzled, eyes heavy, breath smoking in the cold air of morning. It was still dark but she could see light breaking over the horizon on Lake Michigan.

Bill and two other men got out of his sheriff ’s deputy cruiser: Del Keane, unmistakable with his heavy gray beard and long hair and buckskins, and an Indian Bill introduced as Johnny Crow, a tribal cop from Peshawbestown. He was lean and dark with black hair that had a shine to it and a blues patch under his lower lip. Kate thought he looked like a roadie for a rock band, dressed as he was in Levi’s and a dark green barn jacket with a dark blue collar. Johnny was quiet, low-key, which made him seem almost shy. He was in charge of security at the Leelanau Sands Casino, Bill said, and owed him a
favor, Bill saying he’d helped a friend of Johnny’s out of a DUI. Bill said Johnny knew the woods and was the best tracker in the county and probably the state. Del was no slouch either, Bill said, but Johnny was part critter. “If Luke’s out there, these boys will find him.”

Bill was dressed in camo with an orange vest and a Red Wings cap. It was the first time she’d seen him out of uniform. He looked like an ordinary guy.

Kate thanked Del and Johnny for coming to help and offered them coffee and breakfast. They declined and said they were ready to get to it.

Kate said she wanted to go with them.

Bill said, “You better stay here, case he comes home.”

Kate said, “If Luke’s not home by now, he isn’t coming home.” She knew he could’ve been in a motel in Suttons Bay or on a bus back to Detroit, but her gut told her he was still out there somewhere.

They entered the woods, four of them, where Kate had watched Luke go the morning before, moving through heavy ground cover, breath condensing in the cold air. They’d gone maybe thirty yards when Johnny stopped. He saw something on the ground and hunkered down to take a closer look.
Del hunkered next to him, turned to Bill, and said, “Found a boot print.”

Kate and Bill went over for a closer look. Johnny pushed some leaves aside and she could see the pattern of the boot tread in the dirt.

Fifteen feet upslope, Johnny found another one, made by a different boot.

“There’s two of them,” Johnny said.

“They together?” Bill said.

Johnny said, “Could be, but I doubt it. Prints are too far apart.”

Kate looked back where they’d entered the woods; she could see the lodge, a small section of roofline and a trail of smoke rising out of the fieldstone chimney. She scanned the trees and saw something that caught her attention, something that seemed out of place: a platform, it looked like—attached to a giant maple that had a full plume of green leaves. She moved toward it for a closer look.

Bill said, “Hey, where you going?”

Kate said, “Come here, will you?”

They walked over to the tree. It looked like a chair strapped to the trunk about forty feet up. “What’s that?” she said to Bill.

“A tree stand,” Bill said. “Hey, Del, what do you make of this?”

Del and Johnny came over now, Del squinting, looking into the rising sun, fixing his gaze on the upper part of the tree. “It’s a tree stand,” he said.

“I know that,” Bill said. “Odd place to hunt, don’t you think?”

Johnny said, “If that was their purpose.”

Bill glanced at Kate. “You’re sure it’s not yours?”

“We don’t own one,” Kate said. “Owen was a bow hunter.”

“Somebody setting up there watching the lodge,” Del said. He spit a gob of tobacco juice, brown-colored spray landing in the heavy curls of his beard. “I sold one just like it to a feller the other day. That and climbing spurs and a pair of binoculars.”

Kate said, “What did he look like?”

“Sturdy build,” Del said, “dark hair, mid-thirties. He wasn’t a tourist, I can tell you that.”

That sounded like the guy in the bar. “Did he have a mullet?” Kate said.

“I believe he did,” Del said.

Johnny took a long leather strap out of his backpack and wrapped it around the trunk of the maple and started to walk up the tree like a squirrel, and in no time at all he was sitting in the chair looking down at them.

He said, “Know anyone with the initials TMH? Fresh-carved in the bark.”

“Like whoever it was had time on their hands,” Del said. He launched another gob of tobacco juice, hit a leaf and it flipped over.

Bill said, “Why does that sound familiar?” He stared off like he was thinking.

Del said, “I give up.”

Bill said, “I stopped a guy the other night, had those initials. Theodore Monroe Hicks.”

Del said, “What the hell kind of a name is that?”

“A hick name,” Bill said.

Del grinned. “That’s pretty good.” And spit.

The name sounded familiar. Sure, Kate remembered Teddy Hicks. He was the driver who broke Owen’s collarbone and ended his racing career. Could it be the same guy?

Johnny came back down with a backpack. He opened it and took out a thermos, two empty beer cans, and a half-full bag of Kars salted peanuts.

“Whoever it is, I’ve got to believe he’s coming back,” Del said. “You don’t just walk off, leave a $250 tree lounge.”

Bill said to Johnny, “What’d you see?”

“Clear view of the lodge and the yard,” Johnny
said. “Could look right in the bedroom window, see the alarm clock on the table next to the bed.”

Kate felt weird, uneasy, hearing that someone had been watching them, picturing the face of the sleazy guy from the other night and wondering if he was watching them right now. “I didn’t think anyone even knew we were here,” she said.

“Somebody did,” Del said.

“Or somebody didn’t,” Johnny said. “Maybe they were checking the place out to rob it.”

Bill glanced at Kate. “Where’s your friend?”

“He went back to Detroit,” Kate said.

“I saw him in Omena yesterday morning and I’d swear I saw him in Suttons Bay last night,” Bill said. “Driving the green Lexus with the broken taillight.”

He had the right car, but it didn’t make sense, Kate was thinking. Jack had called about one o’clock, saying he’d driven straight back and was staying with his sister. Bill must’ve been mistaken.

Johnny was hunkered down again, studying tracks at the base of the tree. He said, “Mrs. McCall, what size boot does your boy wear?”

Kate said, “Ten and a half.”

“I think someone was watching your lodge,” Johnny said, “saw your boy come through the trees and followed him.”

Kate felt a rush of panic. “Why would somebody do that?”

All three of them glanced at her like they knew something and looked away.

“That’s what we’ve got to find out,” Bill said.

They hiked for over an hour, the sun rising, filtering light through the trees that in places were so close together, it was difficult to move through them. They followed the tracks up a slope to a ridge and then down to a ravine. Johnny and Dell stopped and told them the tracks ended at the stream, which was cold and clear, about five feet wide, with a fast-moving current that rippled the water. Kate could see the orange flash of brook trout gliding by, and remembered being at this very spot with Owen, watching the excitement on his face as he landed four ten-inchers they took back and Kate dusted with flour and sautéed for dinner.

Bill said, “How you doing? Want to rest?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Kate said, “let’s keep going.”

Johnny took a chub out of his pack and ate it, the air smelling of smoked fish. Del spit a gob of brown juice, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and drank from a small silver flask, holding it up, saying, “Anybody care for a snort?”

No one did.

Kate smoked a cigarette. She was tired, nerves raw from worrying and lack of sleep.

They crossed the stream single file over a fallen tree, Bill walking behind her, holding her hips, trying to steady her balance. But it felt like more than that to Kate, like he was looking for an excuse to touch her. She turned and said, “Bill, I think it would be better if I did this on my own.”

Bill said, “Sure, okay” and backed off.

Johnny picked up the trail on the other side. They hiked uphill for about twenty minutes and now stood on a ridgetop, Kate breathing hard, vowing to herself to quit smoking. The view looked like a landscape oil from a Traverse City gallery. There was a pristine farm spread out in the distance: a silo and a red barn and white clapboard house and outbuildings looking like pure rural Americana. Beyond the farm, she saw the deep green colors of the woods and beyond that, Lake Michigan shimmering blue in the distance.

Johnny scanned the woods below them with the binoculars. He said, “Something I want to take a look at.”

They hiked down to a clearing where the woods ended and a cornfield began, Kate wondering if it
was the field where the accident happened. There was a two-track road carved out of grass and dirt that bordered the farmer’s land.

Johnny and Del followed the terrain down a hill to an area where the leaves had been kicked and scattered. They studied the ground, talking, interpreting what they saw.

Johnny said, “There was four of them all together.”

Del said, “Somebody was running after somebody by the look of things. We found two more sets of prints. I’d say one belonged to a girl by the size of it.”

Del and Johnny went over and talked to Bill in hushed tones, like they were trying to keep something from her.

Kate said, “Tell me what’s going on, will you?”

All three of them looked over at her.

Bill said to Johnny, “Go ahead.”

“Mrs. McCall,” Johnny said, “I could be wrong, but I think this is where they grabbed your son.” He pointed to the two-track road. “And that’s how they took him out.”

Kate said, “You don’t know for sure. They could be hunters.”

“Maybe,” Johnny said. “But the boy’s missing and someone was watching your place and these marks sure look like a struggle took place.
Dragged your son across there to a vehicle they had and drove off.”

“Come on,” Kate said. “How can you be so sure?” It seemed impossible—none of it made sense. How’d they know Luke was going to be at the lodge when she didn’t know herself? And how’d they know he was going to take a walk in the woods? Or where he’d end up? “What would anyone want with a sixteen-year-old kid?”

“Money,” Dell said. “Oldest motivator there is.”

She looked at Bill and could see he was nervous, unsure of himself. “Bill, what do you think?”

“You make a good point,” Bill said to Kate. Now he glanced at Del. “If Luke was kidnapped, why hasn’t there been a ransom demand?” He hesitated, like he didn’t know what he was going to say next, and turned back to Kate. “But there’s got to be something to what these boys are telling you. If he’s not back at the lodge and he’s not out here, where’s he at?”

She could see Bill was out of his element. He was used to pulling over tourists, writing tickets and keeping order at the cherry festival, not solving crimes.

“We’re going to find him,” Bill said with fake enthusiasm. “That’s a promise.”

Bill took out his cell phone, punched a number in
the keypad and said, “Earl? Bill. I need you to do an all-points on Luke McCall, age sixteen, five nine, brown hair—hell, you know what he looks like.”

Kate got back to the lodge at ten thirty, after four and a half hours in the woods. Bill offered to stay with her, keep her company until she heard something. She said she wanted to be alone and that she’d call him if anyone tried to contact her. She still didn’t believe Luke was kidnapped, in spite of the tree stand and all the tracks Johnny and Del found and their collective speculation. None of it made sense until she walked in the kitchen and saw the ransom note on the refrigerator, held there by a Detroit Tigers magnet.

The note was cutout pieces of newsprint centered on a white eight-and-a-half-by-eleven sheet of paper. It looked amateurish, like a grade school art project. It said:

Kate splashed cold water on her face at the kitchen sink, trying to hang on to her emotions. She stared at her reflection in the window glass, wondering what to do. She dried her face and hands with a paper towel and picked up the phone and called Jack—got his voice mail and left a message. “Listen, something’s happened. I need your help.”

She walked in the main room and wondered where Leon was, thinking they’d done something to him. She called him, then saw his big head looking down at her through the slats in the railing on the second floor. He came down the stairs and she slid off the chair onto the Persian rug, hugging him, glad to see him, glad he was okay. Leon, the worst watchdog ever. If somebody knocked on the door—instead of getting up and barking, he’d yawn.

She looked out the window at the tree line and had a strange feeling that someone was watching her and ran upstairs to the bedroom and took her Beretta out of the gun box in her closet and checked the magazine. It was full—twelve nine-millimeter rounds ready to send some kidnappers into oblivion. She slid the gun in the waist of her jeans, felt the coolness of the metal against her stomach and moved across the room.

Owen kept binoculars on his nightstand next to
the bed. She picked them up and looked out at the yard behind the lodge to the lake. The water was calm. She watched a couple gulls flying in low, searching for fish. She panned the beach to the tree line on the east side of the lodge. She crossed the room and looked out the side window, adjusting the focus, moving the binoculars slowly along the wall of trees, stopping, holding on a trunk, a branch, a section of ground cover. She zoomed in on the big maple, saw the tree stand—looking up at it forty yards away. She’d always thought the place was so secluded and private, but not anymore.

She moved down the hall to Luke’s room. From the window she checked the yard in front of the lodge, then slowly panned the woods along the perimeter. The phone rang and it startled her. She ran downstairs and picked up the extension in the main room on the third ring.

“Hello,” Kate said, thinking it would be Jack.

“You know we’re not fucking around,” the voice said, “don’t you?”

“Where’s Luke?”

“Right here. He cool. But he ain’t going to be cool if you talk to the police.”

It was a man’s voice, distorted, like something was over the mouthpiece.

“You want to watch him grow up, capture the Kodak moments, it’s going to cost you two million dollars—spare change for somebody in your tax bracket.”

Kate said, “I want to talk to him.”

“Get the money.”

“How do I know you have him?”

“Got thirty-six hours before we start to cut him up and send him to you. What you want first—finger or a ear?”

He hung up.

Kate told herself not to panic, keep it together. They were saying that to scare her, make her believe they were serious. And it worked. She felt helpless, frantic. After everything Luke had been through, what would this do to him?

Of course, she’d get the money. But how was she going to get two million dollars in cash? Walk into a bank and make a withdrawal? She thought about talking to Dick May, ask his advice, but decided against it. She couldn’t risk telling anyone but Jack.

She called the Traverse City Bank and Trust and asked for Ken Calvert, the manager. He’d handled the transaction when they bought the property in Cathead Bay.

He picked up the phone and said, “Kate, I’m sorry about Owen. My condolences.”

He’d sent a note after the funeral and Kate thanked him for that and said she was in the process of buying a piece of land for two million, but the seller wanted cash. She looked out the kitchen window at the woods.

“Cash?” Calvert said. “You’ve got to be kidding. What’s he going to do with it?”

She could hear him breathe through his nose.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s planning to put it in shoeboxes under his bed,” Kate said. “Draw comfort from the fact that it’s there if he needs it.”

Calvert said, “Hey, you know, that’s why banks were invented, eh?”

She could hear his Canadian accent now.

“You don’t have to convince me,” Kate said. “I’m dealing with an elderly gentleman who doesn’t trust technology.”

“This wouldn’t be Myron Cline, would it? I could see him doing something crazy like this.”

Kate said, “I can’t tell you.” She glanced at the ransom note on the counter.

“That’s a lot of money,” Calvert said, stretching out the vowels:
a lot
coming out like
a loot
.

Kate remembered Calvert telling her he was from Sudbury, Ontario, when they’d met at his office to sign the papers for the Cathead property.

Kate had said, “Where exactly is Sudbury?”

Calvert said, “It’s aboot a hundred kilometers from Tilbury.”

He’d grinned, showing teeth that were the size of Chiclets. He was being funny, Kate realized—making a joke—a real Canadian zinger.

Calvert also said he’d played hockey for the Sudbury Wolves during the Bob Strumm–Wayne Maxner era and knew Todd Bertuzzi. “Our most famous Sudburian,” Calvert said, beaming with pride. “If you’re ever in Sudbury, be sure to see the big nickel. It’s a replica of the Canadian five-cent piece. Largest coin in the world—nine meters high and sixty-one centimeters thick.”

Kate said, “I guess it doesn’t fit in a pop machine, huh?”

Calvert grinned again.

“I’ll have the money wired to you tomorrow,” Kate said. Leon walked in the kitchen and bumped her and she patted his head.

“You can wire all you want, the problem is cash.
We don’t keep that much on hand,” Calvert said. “I’ll have to order it from the Federal Reserve in Chicago.”

“So it’s not illegal to withdraw two million?”

“No, it’s not illegal. It’s not safe, either. I’d have a sheriff ’s deputy escort me if it was my hard-earned dollars.”

She heard him sneeze.

Kate said, “How long does it take?”

“I don’t know—couple days. They’ll put it on the regular delivery, which, as you can imagine, is confidential information.”

He sneezed again.

“Are you okay?”

“Got a cold,” Calvert said.

“I’ve got thirty-six hours to close this deal.” She glanced out at the lake.

“What’s the big hurry?”

Kate said, “You’d have to ask the seller.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Calvert said, “but we’re dealing with bureaucracy here. There’re rules. Unless you’re willing to pay extra to have it expedited?”

Kate said, “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Whatever it takes? Whoa, I wouldn’t say that till I heard the amount.”

Kate said, “Ken, let me know and I’ll make a
decision, okay?” It annoyed her that Calvert, the frugal Canadian, was trying to decide for her.

He said he’d call her after he looked into it and got all the facts.

She had $400,000 in a cash management account at Martin Smith Securities. She could liquidate stocks to raise the rest—$1,600,000. Borrow it on margin if she had to. She called her broker, a former University of Michigan basketball player named Bill Lelich—Billy Lee—six foot six in black wing tips and his standard uniform: blue suit, white shirt and red tie, looking and sounding more like an evangelist or self-help guru than a broker. Owen had referred to him as the Rudy of the Big Ten, Billy Lee only seeing action for a couple of minutes in one game against Northwestern during his three-year college career.

Kate told him she was in Cathead Bay buying a piece of property and needed two million dollars and the money had to be wired to the Traverse City Bank and Trust the next day. Billy said, “That’s all, pretty Mrs. McCall, my number-one client? That’s all you need? Piece of cake.” He’d have it there by ten the next morning. “Anything else? There must be something.” Giving her his full-court confidence—like every request was a snap—if you dealt with Billy Lee.

Kate felt relieved the money was taken care of. Now she had to deal with Bill Wink, call him, because she knew it was just a matter of time before he’d show up again. He answered his cell phone on the second ring. Kate said, “I just heard from Luke; he’s back in Bloomfield Hills. Freaked out and took a bus home. Can you believe it? Said being up here reminded him of his dad’s death and it was too painful to handle.”

Bill said, “I’m glad he’s okay. But I’ve got to tell you I’m surprised. It didn’t look too good this morning. Sorry if we scared you. Johnny and Del were pretty convinced about what they saw.” He paused now, like he was trying to think of what to say next. “What’re you going to do?”

“Go home,” Kate said.

“Can I buy you dinner first?”

“Bill, that’s nice of you to offer, but I better get back and keep an eye on Luke. Thanks for all your help.”

That was it. He sounded like he bought it. Now she just had to be careful she didn’t run into him.

Jack arrived four hours later. She heard a car, opened the front door, and there he was. She put her arms
around him and hung on, feeling a sense of relief, like he was going to make everything better.

Jack said, “Hey, you all right?” He held her face in his hands.

“You always come through,” Kate said, “don’t you?”

“Tell me what’s happening.”

They went in the kitchen and she made drinks—Maker’s and soda—and handed one to Jack. They sat on the same side of the breakfast room table, chairs turned, facing each other, Jack giving her his full attention. Kate showed him the ransom note and told him about the phone call from the kidnappers.

Jack said, “You didn’t call the police, did you?”

Kate shook her head. She could feel tears well up, losing it now, telling herself she wasn’t going to do that.

Jack got up and put his arms around her.

Kate said. “If they hurt Luke …” She let it hang—didn’t tell Jack what she’d do, how she’d hire pros to hunt them down.

“Why’re you talking like that? They’re not going to hurt Luke. We’re going to get through this,” Jack said. “It’s about money. They’ve invested too much time to fuck it up.”

“How do you know how much time they’ve invested?”

Jack said, “I can understand how this can put you on edge. Listen, I’m here to help you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “why am I taking it out on you?”

He met her gaze and sipped his drink. “ ’Cause I’m the only one here.”

She grinned. “I should be grateful, huh?”

“That would be in the right direction,” Jack said.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Kate said. Then she told him about ordering the money. “It’s coming by armored car from the Federal Reserve in Chicago.”

“When’s it get here?”

“The manager didn’t know and wouldn’t tell me if he did.” Kate sipped her bourbon and said, “This remind you of anything?”

Jack said, “You’re not talking about Guatemala, are you?”

“What else? You’re the first person I think of when I’m in trouble.”

“I don’t know if that’s good or not.” He reached over and took her hand. “It’s all going to work out.”

“They said thirty-six hours or they’d cut off a finger or an ear.”

“That’s drama,” Jack said. “To get your attention. If
they’ve got a brain between them, they know you’re going to want to see Luke before you pay them a dime. They hurt him, it’ll screw everything up. They’re trying to scare you—that’s all.”

“It’s working,” Kate said.

They had dinner—spaghetti carbonara and a bottle of Italian chardonnay called Cabreo that Kate said they’d brought back by the case from Tuscany. Kate picking at her food, barely eating, quiet, distant.

Jack said, “Where exactly is Tuscany at?”

Kate didn’t answer, then looked up from her plate and said, “Huh?”

“You don’t want to talk, it’s okay.”

“What’d you ask me?”

He repeated the question.

Kate said, “North of Rome, all the way up to Florence, which is the capital.”

Jack was thinking if things worked out, he’d like to see the world. He’d only been as far west as Vegas, as far north as Toronto, as far east as New York City, and as far south as Guatemala City, a place he wouldn’t recommend based on what he’d seen—his brief visit.

After dinner Kate picked up their dishes and took them into the kitchen.

Jack said, “Come and sit. I’ll do those.”

“I can’t. I’m too wound up,” Kate said.

“Let me help you.”

She was at the sink with her back to him. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. Kate turned and looked over her shoulder at him. “This is your idea of helping, huh?”

Jack grabbed her forearm and turned her toward him and kissed her and she kissed him back and held him. Then she took his hand and guided him out of the kitchen, to the stairs and led him up, never looking at him or saying a word.

And then they were standing next to her bed—moonlight coming through the windows—kissing and taking each other’s clothes off and then they were naked in bed, the warm feel of their bodies pressed together. Jack studied her face in the dim light and thought she looked the same as she did in college. Could’ve been in her Ann Arbor apartment. The only thing missing was Marvin Gaye singing “If I Could Build My Whole World Around You” or “Distant Lover.”

This is what he wanted to happen, but something wasn’t right. She wasn’t herself, looking up at him without expression. He couldn’t tell if she liked it or not. He kissed her and she reached down and took
him in her hand and opened her legs and guided him in. He was conscious of his weight on her and the pleasure he felt, bodies moving together with vague familiarity. Like he knew her but didn’t know her. And when they were finished, Jack said, “God, that felt good.”