Victoria Houston - Loon Lake 14 - Dead Lil' Hustler (10 page)

“The child’s parents are undocumented—illegal immigrants. They are terrified they’ll be caught and arrested. I had to promise them I wouldn’t turn them in or they wouldn’t let me treat the little boy.”

“I am not interested in the family,” said Lew. “Is that what you need to hear?”

Lew heard a sigh of relief on the line and the woman said, “I’m parked at the Pine Tree Diner. I’ll wait for you here and take you to the car ’cause you won’t find it otherwise. It’s parked off a forest road—”

“I’m on my way,” said Lew. She dashed for the door, nearly knocking Osborne over as he walked in.

“How’s the little guy doing, Doc?” asked Lew as they walked together toward the entrance to the police department.

“No change as of this morning,” said Osborne. “But new tests are being run today. A resident thinks he’s found evidence of a strep in the bloodstream so that is being checked out. If that’s the case, they will start antibiotics. Erin and Mark are counting on me to relieve them at four. I’m hoping we’ll have better news by then.”

“Good. And I appreciate your driving along with me this morning.”

“Happy to do it.”

Osborne stopped at his car to grab the black medical bag in which he carried forms needed to draft a death certificate, as well as extra pairs of Nitrile gloves and a random assortment of dental instruments. Neither he nor Lew cared to state the worst out loud but they both knew that five days with no word from Liam Barber was not promising.

“Excuse me for a minute, Doc,” said Lew as she pulled onto the shoulder. “I’ve been trying to reach Ray and Jake. I tried Ray a few minutes ago, left a message, but he hasn’t called back. They’re up doing an aerial search. I hope they don’t have to fly all the way back to Rhinelander before they meet up with us.”

This time she reached Jake on his cell phone. The pilot of the small Cessna responded that he could bring his plane down on a private landing strip at the casino not far from the diner.

“Good,” said Lew. “You’ll be less than ten miles away. Meet us at the Pine Tree Diner—Ray knows where it’s at.”

“I’m glad that public health nurse is meeting us out here,” said Osborne. “I’ve hunted partridge in those woods and I have always been grateful for my compass. Even the annual update of the
Gazetteer
is obsolete when it comes to finding your way around the national forest. What they call ‘forest roads’ in that damn guide all look like deer trails to me.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Lew and Doc pulled into a gravel parking area in front of the diner. Four cars were parked there already, including a small red Toyota SUV. As Lew opened her car door, a woman jumped out of the Toyota and ran over to her.

“I’m Kathy Winter,” she said. “Ready?”

“Give us a few minutes,” said Lew. “We have two more people on their way. Should be here any minute.”

As she was speaking, Jake’s Navigator skidded into the parking area. He and Ray hurried over to where Lew and Osborne stood with the anxious-looking nurse Winter. Osborne was relieved to see Jake had traded the business suit for worn jeans and a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up—much better for a rigorous search over challenging terrain.

“Are you the one who found my son’s car?” asked Jake after a quick round of introductions.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the one the sheriff’s been looking for. I drove out here an hour ago to check the license plate. Yes, I’m sure.”

“How far from here?” asked Jake.

“Less than a mile but off this county road a bit so follow me,” said Kathy.

After turning off the paved county road, the three cars bounced and lurched down a bumpy two-lane road until the red Toyota slowed to a stop. Kathy got out and pointed to the spot just ahead of her vehicle. Tucked back in a clearing and a good twenty feet from the road was a rusty Jeep Wrangler.

Jake ran to the car and yanked the driver’s side door open. He leaned in, fumbling around in the interior as Lew and Osborne walked up behind him. Ray, meanwhile, ambled up and down the road, feet slow but eyes on the grasses banding a wall of young aspen. As he neared the old Jeep, Lew walked over to him and said in a whisper, “Don’t forget your camera.”

“The keys are in the ignition,” said Jake, backing out of the car. “I found Liam’s wallet. He likes to hide it under the front seat.” He waved the wallet in the air before handing it to Lew. He turned to the nurse who was leaning against her car. “I can’t thank you enough—what did you say your name is?”

“Kathy Winter. I feel so bad. I saw this car three days ago but I didn’t think—”

“Hey, you guys,” said Ray. “Get over here.” He pointed past the grasses. “We’ve got footprints in the sand heading in that direction. Might be tough going through this aspen. Jake, roll down those sleeves and watch you don’t get poked in the eye. Ready?”

“If you don’t need me anymore, I have to be on my way to check on my patients,” said Kathy.

“The migrant family?” asked Lew.

Kathy nodded as she climbed back into her car. “Yes, so far no Lyme disease.”

Half a mile into the woods, which had given way to a cedar swamp, Ray raised a hand for them to stop. “Hear that?” It was the sound of water. “We can’t be far.”

They trudged on, Lew behind Ray, Jake behind her, and Osborne bringing up the rear. Fifteen minutes passed before Ray paused again. He beckoned to Lew and leaned over to whisper. She nodded and fell back.

“Jake, Ray thinks you should wait here while he checks—”

Too late. Jake had spotted the white T-shirt with the green emblem of the Natural Resources Society. “Oh, God,” he said, leaping across the swampy hummocks of grass and tag alder bordering the river. He stopped short of the still form.

Liam’s body rested face down in the branches of a tag alder bush. His arms were splayed out and his knees sagged beneath him. Four days in the July son had taken a toll on the body. Death hung in the air, a miserable fragrance. Flies buzzed.

“Don’t go any farther,” said Lew, her voice cautious. “Please. You may disturb the site.”

“I won’t. Don’t worry. But stay back for a few minutes, will you?”

No one moved. A grasshopper shrilled. The river burbled. Tears coursed down the father’s face. Finally he said, “Is that… is that a bullet wound on the side of his head?”

“I’m standing too far away to say for sure,” said Osborne though he was darn sure he was looking at damage that could only be done by a rifle. “I’ll take a closer look when Chief Ferris gives the okay.”

“Jake,” said Lew, “please, I can only imagine how you must be feeling right now but we’ll have to have the crime lab experts examine your son’s body in order to know exactly what has happened here.”

Jake nodded and stumbled back.

Lew beckoned to Ray. “Photos please.”

“Doc,” said Lew after Ray had waded into the shallows to take photos from all angles, “no question the victim took a bullet in the head. Would you agree with me the entrance wound is behind the left ear?”

“Yes,” said Osborne, “but you’ll want Bruce to confirm. I’m recording cause of death as homicide.”

“Jake,” said Lew, “if it helps at all, I’m sure your son died instantly. He never…”

As she spoke, she and Doc turned to look at Jake. He was crouched over his knees, arms folded tight over his head. A look passed between Lew and Osborne: They both knew despair. After a long while, Jake raised his head and stood up. He wiped at his face and stepped forward.

“May I now?” he asked Lew.

She nodded.

As Jake bent to lay a comforting arm over his son’s body, Osborne tugged at Lew’s sleeve. Eight feet away on the sandy river bank and nearly hidden from view by grasses was a fly rod Osborne guessed to be about fourteen feet long. Tied at one end was a bright pink fluorocarbon fishing line, which bobbed in the water along the shoreline.

Pulling on a pair of Nitrile gloves, Lew reached for the rod. At the end of the pink line was tied three feet of tippet and at the end of that was one of the few trout flies Osborne could recognize: a Royal Wulff. Rod in one hand, Lew moved along the riverbank, bending to search through the grasses.

“The reel should be here somewhere…”

“No reel used on a tenkara rod,” said Jake. “Chief Ferris, is it okay for me to check the pockets on Liam’s vest? He kept his trout flies in a little wooden box. I’d hate for that to be lost.”

“Go right ahead,” said Lew. “I’m about to call Bruce Peters who is the Wausau Crime Lab’s top investigator. I’ll arrange for Bruce to take your son’s body down to the crime lab for an autopsy. Required when death is from unnatural causes.”

“I understand,” said Jake. “I have been preparing myself for this. I guess—I would hope his body could be returned to me in Illinois. Actually, no. I would like him returned to Loon Lake and maybe you folks can recommend a funeral home. I want him cremated. That way I can take his ashes to one of the rivers we fished in Wyoming. Liam would like that.”

“Bruce?” Lew had walked away from the riverbank, hoping she might get a cell signal. Otherwise she wouldn’t be able to make the call until after hiking the mile back to the squad car. But Bruce answered.

“Yeah, Chief Ferris, no news on those remains yet—”

“That’s not why I’m calling. I have a new victim and crime scene—you’re going to have a long day I’m afraid.”

After giving him the details, Lew said, “I’m staying here with the victim’s father. Doc will hike back to my squad car, meet you at the Pine Tree Diner, and bring you here. I’m pretty sure it’s a head wound from a rifle and the body has not been in water so that may help. Ray Pradt is here, too. I’m asking him to check the perimeters for any tracks or signs of the shooter. He’s taken photos, too.”

“Okay, Chief. One thing on that snowmobiler I think you would appreciate knowing. Remember how the skull is caved in on one side?”

“Yes.”

“I checked it against the damaged helmet—the patterns match. That victim was wearing the helmet when he suffered the trauma that fractured his skull. He was shot.”

“Rifle or shotgun?”

“That I don’t know. Likely impossible to tell but interesting, huh?”

Osborne got to the hospital early and headed straight for the reception desk to check in, a requirement because Cody was in isolation and only immediate family members were allowed to visit. To his chagrin, Bud was sitting in the waiting room. Up on his feet faster than Osborne had seen him move in years, he called Osborne over.

“Say, Doc, how’s your grandson?”

“Not sure yet, Bud, I just got here. Excuse me—I need to check with the receptionist.”

“No, wait. Did you hear about Pete Corbin?” Before Osborne could answer, Bud said, “You know he worked in one of our banks. Nice, nice fella.”

“Vaguely remember the family, Bud. Excuse me, my daughter and son-in-law are waiting.”

“Word on the street is poor Pete had a few too many, took that sled out, and boom! Right through the ice. That’s what Chief Ferris must think, right?” Bud’s right knee kept up a steady jiggle as he spoke.

“Bud, I don’t have time for this right now. Now if you will please excuse me.”

“Sure, sure. I called over to the police department today for information. You know, corporate wants to do something for the family now that we know what happened to the poor guy.”

Osborne turned to the receptionist, hoping to escape to Cody’s room as soon as possible.

“Yeah, the woman from the dispatcher center over at the police station told me you and Chief Ferris were out in the Nicolet National Forest all day.” Bud raised his eyebrows, a nasty glint in his eye. “So, Doc, what the heck is going on? You two taking a little time off? Fishing of course?” He winked. “I wouldn’t blame you. She’s a nice-looking gal.”

Osborne wasn’t sure what angered him more, the idiot’s nosiness or his unwholesome interest in the nature of Osborne’s relationship with Lewellyn Ferris.

“No funny business if that’s what you mean,” said Osborne, his voice curt. “A missing person report and I was deputized should there be a need for a coroner’s report since Pecore is having surgery this week. If you want to know more, I’m sure you can hear all about it on Channel 12 tonight.”

The receptionist handed Osborne a room pass to show the nurse. Before he could leave the waiting room, Bud blocked his way. “Really, a missing person? Where?”

“Damn it, Bud, get out of my way. Told you I do not have time for this. Now move.”

The look of hurt and surprise on Bud’s face caught Osborne off guard.

“I am sorry,” said Bud, backing away. He threw his hands up in surrender. “I’m just an old man stuck here waiting to hear how my poor wife is doing. I have no business asking you all these questions. I am so very sorry, Paul. Please, I apologize.”

The expression of apology seemed so sincere that Osborne felt guilty for his own rudeness. He relented. After all, wouldn’t it be just as easy to answer Bud’s questions and leave it at that? Take him a minute at most. Then he could be on his way and no one’s feelings would be hurt.

“One of the public health nurses helped us locate a student who went missing while researching invasive plant species.”

“You’re kidding. A public health nurse out in the national forest? Where in the forest?” Bud’s voice tightened. “What the hell would she be doing out there?”

Now
that
was none of Bud’s business. Kathy Winter had been determined to protect the migrant family whose child she was treating. Osborne gave him a curious look. This questioning was a bit much even for a lonely man waiting to see his ailing wife.

He was about to ask why Bud would care
where
in the forest when a familiar voice said, “Yo, Doc. Am I too late for visiting hours? Got a surprise for someone you know.” Ray loped into the visiting room.

Osborne did a double take. Cocked at a crazy angle on Ray’s head was a miniature version of his hat with the stuffed trout.

“Ray, how did you get back so soon?” asked Osborne.

“One of the techs from the crime lab had to come back to town for supplies. I hitched a ride. Lew said to let you know she’ll call when they head back. And this”—he removed the fish from his head—“is a gift for your grandson.”