Dead Frenzy (23 page)

Twenty
minutes later, Lew and Ray were back, Lew threading the cruiser down the baseball field through people, bicycles, and baby strollers. It seemed like all of Loon Lake was descending on the beachfront, anxious to view the smoldering remains of the man who had just led the biggest parade in the history of their little town. Leaving Jen in Edith’s care, Osborne hurried over to where Lew had parked.

Ray was right: The salvo had been fired from across the lake, off Walkowski’s Landing. A ten-year-old kid walking down to see where the music was coming from had stumbled onto a man setting up what sounded to the two adults like a shooting bench, a bipod and a spotting scope.

“He said the gun was much bigger than his dad’s deer rifle,” said Ray. “And he thought it was pretty heavy because the guy had to carry it upright and he grunted when he was moving it around.”

“We caught the boy running down the road to his house as we drove up,” said Lew. “Scared to death, poor little guy. He said at first he thought the man was out for target practice aiming at the old warehouse down by the bridge. Then he saw the explosion.”

“Had to be a .50 caliber sniper rifle to take out a car from that distance,” said Ray, shaking his head in disbelief. “I know some nuts around here that own those. You know, Doc, the same ones who own AK-47s and Uzis. One guy used his on a deer last year. The bullet entered the chest, traveled the whole body, and blew off the entire right hind leg. All he had left was two pounds of hamburger.”

“I know those guns are out there,” said Lew. “They make the damn things right over in Waunakee and you can buy one just as easy as you can a .22 for shooting squirrels.”

“But the explosion?” said Osborne. “How the hell do you hit a fuel tank from that distance?”

“Doc, it’s a military gun. It uses bullets tipped with phosphorus that explode on impact,” said Lew. “With a scope, sighting his target from that distance was a piece of cake. All he had to do was hit the car.”

“Did the boy say what the shooter looked like?”

“He was too impressed with the gun—and the guy’s vehicle.” She gave a grim smile. “Fortunately the kid was smart enough to stay hidden behind an RV that was parked there. A
big
RV. Bruce Duffy’s from the sound of it. I’ve got an APB out for what it’s worth—too much traffic. The few cars I’ve got available are crawling.”

Hayden, making a remarkable recovery, insisted on taking charge. The tournament goes on, she demanded, giving directions every which way.

“Edith, call NBC! Network news should be covering this. This is a national story.”

Edith ignored her. She remained right where she was on a bench near one of the tournament tents, her arms around Jen, who had collapsed into her shoulder. An ambulance pulled up beside the tent, and Osborne watched as two EMTs dashed over to the women. He recognized the one who knelt beside Jen—Jessie Lundberg. Jessie reached over to give Edith a quick hug; apparently the two knew each other.

“Lew, is Marlene on the switchboard?” said Ray. “Why don’t you have her give Father Vodicka a call. I don’t know if Steadman was Catholic or not but the good priest will know how to help these women get things under control.”

“Tell you what, Ray. Go ahead and use the radio in my car and
you
call Vodicka—okay? You know him, I don’t,” said Lew.

She turned to Osborne. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you the bad news. The DEA is still having a turf war with Customs over the situation out at Webber Tackle. They put a hold on everything until Wednesday.

“But you saw Duffy’s RV parked out there yesterday, right? So this isn’t ‘interstate,’ ‘international’ anything anymore, Doc. This is murder—and Loon Lake is responsible. I am responsible and I want Bruce Duffy in custody. As far as Patty Boy and his operation, I’ll just have to play it as I see it.”

“You can’t go in there alone,” said Osborne.

“Of course not. I’m going to ask Roger to take over here. I’ll have him reassign all deputies and officers on duty to traffic control only. Of those, we’ll put two teams on roadblocks up on Highways 45 and C. That way at least I can keep people out of the area. Then you and Ray come with me. But I want you armed.”

“My gun’s in the back of my truck, Chief,” said Ray, “parked back at the Lutheran school.”

“Doc?”

He threw his hands up. “Lew, I want to help but I have got to get over to Erin’s. She and Mark think they’re picking up that motorcycle out there. I have got to tell her what’s going on. I can’t let them—”

“No, you’re right, you’re right. C’mon, I’ll drop you two by your vehicles, then meet up with me at my office. Ray, you got more than one gun? Anything Doc can use?”

“Twenty gauge okay?”

“Fine with me,” said Osborne, jumping into the back seat of the cruiser. Never good with a pistol, he was comfortable with a shotgun. Not only that, at close range a shotgun is deadlier than a revolver, which anyone who knows guns knows. And if anyone knows guns, it would be the Ply er boys.

Shotgun in hand, he would feel competent. Safe was another question. But if Lew had to take the risk, he sure as hell did not want her out there alone.

“So we’re going by your office first,” said Ray, confirming the plan.

“I need to get the Wausau lab boys up here right away.” She looked over at the smoke pouring from the wreckage. “They’ll have to handle this.”

The front door to Erin’s house was wide open when Osborne pulled up in front. Before bounding up her front steps, Osborne realized he was still in his fly-fishing vest and waders. He’d forgotten he was wearing the damn things.

“Erin! Mark!” he called through the front door. He could hear kids squealing and laughing in the back. A young girl he recognized as one of Erin’s baby-sitters came running through the living room.

“Hi, Dr. Osborne. If you’re looking for Mr. and Mrs. Amundson, they left already,” she said. “Someone called a little while ago and told them they had to pick up their motorcycle early, that the afternoon party was canceled.”

“You’re
right, we go in from the back,” said Ray after Lew had laid out a plan. They were standing over her desk with a well-worn
Wisconsin Gazetteer
open in front of them. “You’ll have the roadblocks out here, right?” He pointed.

“Right.”

“But have them hold back until we have a chance to go in. Otherwise Patty Boy and his people will be warned and outta there before we even arrive.”

“You think he knows another way out?”

“I know he does. That’s why he picked this location in the first place. Doc, you remember old man Plyer had a cottage up on Shepard Lake?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, he did. Those kids grew up out there. Something not many people know about because it’s not on any map

is there’s a tributary from Shepard Lake into Willow Creek. Right here.” Ray stabbed a finger on the map.

“It runs through a four-foot-wide culvert under the old railroad trestle and empties into Shepard Lake. You can’t walk the wetlands to get there, but you can wade in easy or use a canoe. I know it well because every spring I seine minnows downstream from a big beaver dam that’s back in there.”

“So why isn’t it on the map?” said Lew.

“Same reason you got roads with no fire numbers, Chief,” said Ray. “Lazy humans make those things. And I don’t have to tell you the rest,” he said. “Once you hit that lake, you’re home free. If you have a boat waiting, it’s a straight shot across to the landing and the highway. Even if you don’t have a boat, Shepard Lake is shallow enough; you can wade along the shoreline to a point where someone can pick you up. Then you can just hustle on up those back roads. Not likely anyone can find you once you’re north of Eagle River.”

“Can the three of us fit in your truck?” Lew headed for the door. “Doc said they have a partial view of that road into Willow Creek—so we sure as hell don’t need to arrive in a cop car.”

In less than half an hour, they had pulled off the gravel road at the point where Osborne had walked in the morning before. A distinct rumble of motorcycles could be heard off in the distance. They checked their watches. It was almost nine and Lew had given directions for the roadblocks to be held off until nine forty-five.

“Is this the section of the road you could see when you were upstream yesterday?” said Lew as she yanked on her waders. Like Osborne’s, her waders came up to her chest with wide straps over the shoulders. They made carrying a gun in a holster impossible.

“No. They can see the stretch of blacktop but that pine plantation hides this area,” said Osborne. “We’re well hidden wading, too, until we reach that bend in the creek where they’ve cut back the brush.”

“Good.” Lew threw her belt with the holster for her .40 caliber SIG Sauer onto the seat of Ray’s truck. She would wade in gun-ready.

Ray was messing around in the bed of his pickup, which was always a disaster area. First he found his hip waders and pulled them on. Then, stepping between a stack of plastic buckets and several long-handled fishnets, he picked up a tangled mess of seining equipment. Under that was a locked metal cabinet. Watching Ray, Osborne kept a lid on his impatience. He knew better than to let his worry over Mark and Erin bungle everything. Determined to make fear work for him, Osborne inhaled and relaxed, letting a fierce calm override the panic.

Leaning over the side of the truck, Ray handed Osborne the .20 gauge side-by-side and a box of shotshells. He kept the deer rifle for himself. Osborne crammed eight shells into the inside top pocket of his waders. Two more went into the gun. He checked the safety.

They waded into Willow Creek, keeping to the right as much as possible. Osborne looked back. A Great Blue heron stood watching, grave and skeletal. Grasshoppers popped up and down along the bank. The rumble of motorcycles rose and fell. No one spoke as they moved forward. The creek had a nice burble, enough to cover the sound of their wading.

Just as they neared the final curve in the creek, Osborne, who was in the lead, felt a tug on his sleeve. It was Ray, pointing off to their left.

A swath of grass and brush along the creek bank was trampled and muddy, the mud marked with footprints. Osborne, eyes intent on seeing Patty Boy’s house before the house saw them, hadn’t even noticed. Ray touched one of the prints—”Wet, maybe less than an hour ago given how warm and sunny it is.” He stepped up and over the boulders lining the creek to take a look.

Walking in about six feet, he stopped to peer over a healthy stand of tag alder. He waved at them to follow. Grabbing a branch, Osborne hoisted himself up onto the bank, then held out a hand to Lew.

“I’m afraid you’re down a couple witnesses,” said Ray, his voice low.

Osborne stared at the two bodies. He felt like he always did around death: numb. Numb and inept.

When he had got the news that Mary Lee had died on the operating table, all he could think in those first few moments was who to call to cancel the bridge party she had planned for the next day. Right now all that came to mind was the fact that Bert Kriesel would never have to worry about having those black pants laundered.

Osborne inhaled, then exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the shotgun in his arms. This was not going to be easy.

Lew moved closer to the bodies. Harold lay across Bert. No movement. A cicada shrilled. An edge of paper stuck out of one rear pocket of Harold’s jeans. Lew tugged at it. Out popped a fishing lure still in its clear plastic wrapper. She glanced at it quickly then held it out for Osborne and Ray to see.

A new Frenzy Diver, Medium. Looked like the Craw-dad pattern but Osborne couldn’t be sure. Lew tucked the lure back into the dead man’s pocket.

“Poor guy,” she said.

“Bert wasn’t all bad,” said Ray as if he were giving a eulogy over the grave. “He had a good sense of humor.”

Osborne’s eyes raked the ground around the bodies, looking for signs of blood or tissue. “Hard to tell if these two took it from the front or the back—”

“I can answer that for you,” said a familiar voice. “After you set those guns down. Ver-r-y slowly.”

They spun around.

Bruce Duffy stood in the water, lips tightened into a grim smile. He was wearing Neoprene chest waders, which may or may not have been why he was sweating so profusely. A blood vessel running up his left temple throbbed—but his right hand was steady. And in that hand was a .357 Magnum revolver. It was pointed at them and there was no question: The gun was loaded.

“Do exactly as he says,” said Lew, her voice even. Osborne had no plans to do otherwise.

“Now empty your pockets, and I better see knives.”

They obeyed. Osborne and Lew worked the tops of their waders down slowly, carefully, until they could reach their pockets. Ray didn’t have to. When they were finished, three utilitarian pocketknives rested in the grass by the guns.

As Duffy waved them into the water, Osborne could see deep circles under his eyes, which were flat and hard. The face so ruddy the night before was ashen gray this morning. He looked like a man teetering on the brink of the DTs or coming off a drug high. Whichever it was, he looked dangerous.

Rounding
the bend, they had a full view of the barn and the house. A U.S. Mail truck was parked in front of the barn. People, maybe twenty or more, were milling between the barn and the house. Several cars were parked in the circle drive that fronted the barn and beyond the cars stood a number of bikes, maybe ten or more, chrome glinting in the late morning sun.

As they got closer, two more motorcycles pulled into the drive. Obviously the roadblocks were not yet in place. No sign of Mark’s black pickup. Osborne’s heart lifted. But he couldn’t see around to the front of the house so he couldn’t be sure.

“Walk up on shore right there,” said Duffy, directing the three of them to the far right edge of the property. No one would be able to see them from the front of the house. “Then up to the clearing, then over to the back door.”

It was the same clearing where the RV and the shiny white boat with its black-and-yellow stripes had been parked.

“Patty Boy, here we come,” said Ray.

“Patty Boy and Dickie are long gone, wise ass.”

“How’s that? We’re buddies from way back. Same grade school. I’ve been looking forward to this.” Ray made it sound like Patty Boy would be equally thrilled.

They were crossing the clearing toward the house now.

“The boys got a phone call the other day, had to rush off on a business trip.”

“Is that why they’re shutting down shop here?” said Lew. “And you stayed behind because you thought you had a guaranteed win of the top purse in the bass tournament?”

Duffy’s silence answered her question.

“Just how deep are you in to Patty Boy?” Lew kept her voice soft and low, soothing. “Look, I know the man’s a loan shark and I know you’ve got gambling debts. He has to be strangling you, Bruce.”

Duffy’s eyes remained grim and unflinching as they approached the stairs leading up to the back door. He paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead with one hand. “He’s got me for two point three mil—not counting today’s interest. And I’m not his biggest customer.” He gave a hoarse laugh. “You better believe I wanted that million-dollar purse—if I could’ve picked my own guys, I’d have had it, too.”

“Bruce, the Feds are in on this—we could work a deal.”

“Open that door, old man, real slow.” Osborne did as he was told.

“A deal? Yeah, right. You know damn well I’d die in prison. And Patty Boy’s pals would make it real unpleasant. Don’t talk to me about deals. I got deals up the wazoo.”

“Witness protection,” said Lew. “Works for some people.”

“Not me, woman. The only thing I know how to do is fish. You think it’d take Patty Boy long to find me? I don’t.”

Duffy had started up the stairs behind Lew when he stumbled but quickly caught himself. Osborne had thought it was the weight of the water when they were wading that caused the man to move so slowly, so out of sync. Now he wasn’t so sure.

The back door led directly into a big kitchen. The house had to be at least sixty years old. The kitchen sure looked it. The walls were a dingy institution green with matching grease-stained linoleum on the floor. A rusty porcelain sink off to the left was piled high with dirty dishes. A window over the sink was shoved open to expose a ripped screen where dozens of flies banged off the screen and the smudged windowpane.

Between the sink and an ancient, formerly white refrigerator was a plastic trash can heaped with crushed beer cans, pizza crusts, and watermelon rinds. It dawned on Osborne that that was why the RV had been parked in the clearing. He bet anything Patty Boy had been living in splendor, leaving his minions to make do with the crud.

Duffy motioned for them to stand back against a cupboard off to the right of a small square table, painted white, that took up the center of the room. On the table was a paper plate full of crumbs, a banana peel, and a rectangular metal box with its lid down. Before Osborne could take his place beside Lew and Ray, the door to an outer room swung open.

“Paulie, you made it. Why’d you come in the back way? Wha—?”

Cheryl stood in the doorway. Her smile disappeared at the sight of the gun in Duffy’s hand. “Put that damn thing down, you. This is my friend. I’ve got something for him out in the barn.” She held the door open behind her.

“D-a-a-d?” an uncertain voice came from the other room. Through the open door, Osborne could see people, most of them in leathers, lined up in front of a card table. They included Erin and Mark, who were now walking toward the kitchen.

“Who the hell is that?” Duffy did not take his eyes off his hostages as he barked at Cheryl.

“Just somebody picking up one of my bikes. Why? Are you gonna tell me what’s going on here, shithead?”

Without letting his hand or eyes waver, Bruce Duffy kicked back hard with the heel of his right boot. He got her on the shin just below the kneecap. Cheryl crouched in pain. “Jee-zus, man, what the hell?”

“Get that girl in here.”

“What girl?”

“The one buying the goddam bike, the one that just talked to you.”

“No. That’s my bike and my money and this here’s my friend from my motorcycle class. And don’t you kick me again, you—”

Too late. Erin stood in the doorway behind Cheryl, Mark beside her.

“Dad, you found us okay…. ” Erin’s eyes traveled around the room. She saw Ray and Lew … then Bruce Duffy and his gun.

“Oh,” was all she could muster.

“Get in here and shut up,” said Duffy. He waved the gun toward the cupboard. “Over there, both of you. Cheryl, we’ll talk about it later. Wind up your business right now, we’re outta here in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes! I got half a dozen bikes getting picked up, man. That’s fifty thousand bucks. Jimmy’s got a couple more boats he needs to get paid for, too.
You
leave in ten minutes, you dumbshit.”

“Okay, I will. You take your goddam time, but I’m taking that truck.”

“No, you don’t. You go without us, man, and Patty

Boy’ll hear. Your ass’ll be grass and you know it. Shit, I got people waiting.” She left, slamming the door.

“Cheryl!” Duffy called after her.

“Erin, Mark, do what the man says,” said Osborne. He stepped sideways to stand next to Lew, leaving room for Erin and Mark. Ray caught his eye for an instant as he edged up to make room, almost out of Duffy’s range of vision.

Lew gave Osborne a subtle nudge with her elbow. He followed her gaze. Cheryl’s head appeared at the kitchen window. She held up a finger as if telling Osborne to wait, then she ducked and was gone.

The five of them stood silently against the cupboard. Duffy, his gun pointed and his eyes on them, flipped open the top of the rectangular box. He gave a quick glance down. It was full of cash. He flipped the lid shut. Picking up the box, he tucked it under his left arm, then waved the gun toward the door they had just come through.

“Out. Over to the barn.”

At the barn, Duffy instructed Ray to open a side door near the rear of the building. Inside was a darkened office. Another door was set into the far wall. It was made of steel and featured a deadbolt. Duffy opened the door, flipped on a light, and stepped back for them to enter.

It was a storeroom with a twelve-foot ceiling, empty except for tall racks of heavy steel shelving lining three of the four walls. The shelving units, about five feet wide each, were not attached to the walls. In sharp contrast to the kitchen, this room was pristine.

It was also, in spite of the eighty-degree temperatures outdoors, quite cool. If Osborne had to guess, this was where Patty Boy stored drugs, away from sun and heat and locked up tight.

“Whoa,” said Ray, “is this where you keep the heavy artillery?”

“Shut up,” said Duffy.

“Just thought it’d be fun to see that .50 caliber behemoth of yours up close and personal. A dying man’s last wish, doncha know.” Erin looked at Osborne with dread in her eyes: Wasn’t Ray pushing all the wrong buttons?

Lew saw the expression on Erin’s face. She caught Osborne’s eye. They both knew Ray was trying to buy time. If they could stall until the roadblocks, they might have a chance.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The gun you used to incinerate Steadman this morning,” said Lew. “That was an amazing shot, Bruce.”

“Steadman’s dead?”

The man looked at them, his jaw on his chest. The look in his eyes was sheer terror. His entire body started vibrating. “What makes you think I did that?”

“Your RV was parked right there,” said Lew. “We’ve got witnesses.”

Duffy shook his head like he was fighting dizziness.

“Well, if it wasn’t you, who was it?” said Lew.

Duffy opened his mouth but nothing came out. A door opened somewhere.

“All right, all right,” hollered Cheryl from the outer office. “Duffy, I got Jimmy packing up. He got rid of the boats okay—but you gotta tell me what’s going on.”

At the sound of her footsteps coming their way, something happened to Duffy’s face—like maybe he was no longer taking orders.

“None of your goddam business, Cheryl. I said we’d talk later. Now butt out.”

Cheryl stepped into the room behind Duffy.

“You
butt out. This is my friend here. I left him a message this morning to come early ‘cause I got him a set of custom chrome wheels for his new bike. These two people owe me money. Now why the hell are you doing this?”

“Because he’s married to the goddam sheriff, that’s why. That one, the broad with the black hair. How much more do I have to tell you?”

“Is that true?” Cheryl’s eyes searched Osborne’s. He was very aware that she was keeping her hands behind her and staying back behind Duffy. Knowing that something about him appealed to her, he gambled.

“Not exactly. We’re not married. But I am a deputy with the Loon Lake Police,” said Osborne. “I’m not going to lie to you, Cheryl. I’ve been working undercover with Chief Ferris here.” He nodded toward Lew.

Duffy’s eyes widened as he spoke. Ray edged off to the left, slowly, slowly. He backed closer to one of the steel racks.

Osborne talked louder. “We know Patty Boy has been running Ecstasy and stolen bikes through here. We know Mr. Duffy shot and killed two men that were working for him. Then, this morning—”

“They weren’t working for
him,
they took orders from Patty Boy.” The derision in her voice made it clear what she thought of Duffy. “The only people giving orders around here are Patty Boy and Catherine. You ever meet Catherine? She’s married to my brother.”

Cheryl gave a slight smile of pride as if that put her higher in the organization. At that moment the cash box slid out from under Duffy’s arm. It hit the floor with a loud crash.

“Duffy, what are you doing with that?” As Cheryl stepped forward, Ray moved back another step. “You weasel—first you don’t tell me you got cops here. Now you got our money? What the hell? You planning to leave me and Jimmy holding the bag?”

“Jesus, Cheryl, I’m trying to tell you—”

At that moment the rack behind Ray began to tip. It teetered, then plunged forward. Duffy saw it coming. He twisted, stumbling back and firing as he hit the floor.

A geyser of blood shot up from below Mark’s waist. Erin screamed.

“Stop! Everyone stay right where they are.” Cheryl was on her hands and knees behind Duffy. She had her own .357 and the revolver’s barrel was angled deep into the side of Duffy’s neck.

Mark writhed. “My leg, my leg!”

“Ohmygod, he hit an artery,” said Ray, scrambling onto the floor with Mark and Erin. “Please,” Ray pleaded with Cheryl, “let me tie off the leg, please, he’ll bleed to death.” He was already ripping the belt from his pants.

“Go ahead,” said Cheryl. “Just no one get in my way or you’ll get hurt.”

Osborne dropped to his knees. Blood was everywhere. This was wrong. Mark couldn’t die. Osborne was the oldest—why couldn’t that wild bullet have hit him?

“Cheryl, stop—” Osborne heard the strangled sound of Duffy’s voice far, far away.

“Doc, here.” Lew was ripping off her waders. “Use these for pressure.”

Erin had her leather jacket folded and ready.

“Payback time,” Osborne heard Cheryl’s voice as he and Lew pushed the jacket hard against Mark’s leg, then twisted the waders tight. Only then did he look over at Cheryl. She had her head down close to Duffy’s. “What were you thinking when you busted into my room the other night?”

“Oh, for Chrissake. I had too much to drink.”

“You never asked permission, Brucie.”

“Permission? Woman, you are one well-traveled highway—”

She raised the muzzle a little higher and tipped it ever so slightly.

?lam.
It wasn’t so much what the bullet did to Duffy, it was what it did to the floor behind his head.

 • • •

“We’ve got to get Mark to a hospital,” said Osborne, kneeling next to his son-in-law. His vision blurred with worry: he was determined not to let the father of his grandchildren die. “He can’t lose much more blood…. ”

“Please, let these two young people out, let them get help,” said Lew, looking up at Cheryl from where she was helping Osborne keep the pressure on the wound. Their hands were slippery with blood but the spurting had stopped.

Erin had her arms around her husband’s head and shoulders. Ray was holding the belt in place. “The rest of us—”

But Cheryl was backing out of the room, the .357 pointed at them. She had scooped up Duffy’s gun and the cash box. “Paulie’s your old man?” she said to Erin.

Erin nodded.

“You’re lucky. He’s a nice man. I coulda used a father like him.”

“Cheryl, please—”

“I’m sorry, Paulie, I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I can’t let you people go. My brother works for Patty Boy, too. If we don’t get the job done, we’ll all be dead.” Then she was gone, the door slammed shut behind her. They heard the deadbolt turn.

“Don’t move, Mark. We’ve got to keep pressure on that,” said Ray, holding the belt tight. “You’re gonna be okay. We just gotta get us out of here. Doc, any ideas?”