Dead Insider (9 page)

Maybe it was the late morning sun streaming through the high windows, but Osborne thought he saw Lauren’s eyes glitter, shards of yellow flickering in the dark irises. She hesitated before closing her eyes and saying, “You may be right and I got it wrong. The whole scene that night was just so upsetting to me.” Lauren paused before saying, “I should never have said a word.”

A loud knocking at the side door was followed by a man’s voice. “Chief Ferris? Bruce Peters here. Are you inside? Okay to come in?”

Jumping to her feet, Lew rushed through the kitchen, saying, “Bruce, hold on. I’ll be right there.” Osborne was about to get up from the sofa and follow her when he saw Lauren lean forward, pick up the digital recorder and hit a button.

“Oh, no,” she said with an apologetic smile. “So sorry—I just wanted to look at the brand of this recorder because I need a new one—and I’m afraid I hit delete.”

Bruce followed as Osborne and Lew escorted Lauren to the bedroom and bathroom that she had been using, to gather up her things. They retraced their steps to the kitchen and out to the driveway, watching as Lauren loaded everything into her Jeep.

“Lauren,” said Lew, “would you like my staff to make a call to the Northwoods Inn and reserve a room for you?”

“Thank you, I would appreciate that,” said Lauren. As they were standing in the driveway while Lew gave Lauren directions to the inn, Ray arrived in his pickup with Christina beside him. Right behind Ray were Mallory and Kenton in the rental car.

“Chief Ferris,” said Ray, “where do you want me to start?”

“You’ll be working on your own, I hope,” said Lew, with a look of concern at his companion.

“Oh, don’t worry about Christina. She’s riding back to my place with Mallory and Sparky over there. I wanted her to see the outside of this place, though. Isn’t it amazing?”

“Wow, is it ever,” said Christina, stepping back to get a full view of the house. A curious expression crossed her face and she stepped forward toward Lauren. “Hello, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“No,” said Lauren, opening her car door. “I’ve never seen you before.” As she got into the driver’s seat, Christina said, “But I’m sure—”

“You’re wrong,” said Lauren, with a lilt in her voice. “Happens to me all the time—I must look like lots of people.” Osborne couldn’t help thinking that wasn’t likely. In all his sixty-three years, he hadn’t seen a woman looking the least bit like Lauren Crowell. But, he admitted to himself, it could be argued that he didn’t get to the big city much either.

“Hey, Crowell, wait!” shouted Kenton as he leapt from the rental car to run across the driveway toward Lauren’s Jeep. “I need to talk to you for a minute.” He tried yanking open the car door. Lauren hit the unlock button, and Kenton pulled open the door. Osborne half expected him to grab Lauren by the arm and drag her from the car.

He didn’t have to. She jumped out, and faced him, hands on her hips, saying, “How the hell did
you
get here?”

The anger in her voice surprised Lew, who had been about to follow Ray into the house. She stopped and turned.

“I’m staying with friends,” said Kenton, pointing toward Mallory, who was standing beside the rental car. “Just heard the terrible news about Jane Ericsson, and I know you’ll need help managing the media, the campaign—”

“We’re fine.” Lauren shut him down. “I’ve got staff—”

“Sure you do, but you’ve got a multimillion-dollar campaign to salvage. You need to focus on finding a substitute candidate, and let us handle crisis communications. I can have a proposal to you—” Kenton checked his watch “—by four o’clock today.”

“No, thank you. I have everything under control.” Lauren slid back under the steering wheel of the Jeep.

“I beg your pardon, but I don’t think you realize there’s half a dozen reporters already waiting right outside the entrance to this road,” said Kenton. “You’ll have five times that many within a few hours. What if I say we’ll do half the job pro bono—”

Lauren said loudly through the open window, “What is it about ‘N.O.’ that you don’t understand? No, no, and no.”

“But I don’t think you—”

“Buddy—” She shook a finger at him.“—you have been warned. Now get out of my way, or I will run you over.”

“You know—I believe you will,” said Kenton, backing away. “And, lady,” he said, derision dripping from his voice, “I don’t think you have any idea what you are doing.” Lauren’s window shot up as he spoke. Spinning her wheels, she backed out, forcing Kenton to jump out of the way. As the Jeep drove off, Kenton marched toward Mallory. “Who the hell does that bitch think she is, anyway? She has to answer to someone. I’m going to find out who.”

“I think that might be a fruitless search,” said Lew from where she had been watching the exchange. Kenton gave her a dirty look, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the rental car, fuming.

Lew beckoned to Mallory. “I have a favor to ask, but I’m afraid it could ruin your vacation. Any chance you would be willing to work with Dani Fortier in my office to help her prepare statements for the press, and organize a press conference for myself and Bruce Peters from the Wausau Crime Lab? Dani is great with the basics. She knows the computer system and our public affairs policies, but she’s no expert in media relations, and I can’t delay addressing the media much longer. Problem is, I have no budget for media relations. Would you consider volunteering?”

Before Mallory could answer, Kenton rushed up. “I’ll handle it. This is right in my wheelhouse.”

“I didn’t ask you,” said Lew, her voice kind but firm. “I asked Mallory.”

“Chief Ferris, I am more than happy to help out,” said Mallory. She glanced sideways at Kenton. “If it’s okay with you, Kenton will, too.”

“But I want you in charge,” said Lew. “You and Dani—she knows our protocol. I’ll call the station and tell her to expect you.”

“Sure,” said Mallory. “After we drop off Christina, I’ll head for town right away. Kenton was right, you have a crowd gathering out on the main road, so we need to tackle the media right away. Kenton, you want to come along?”

Kenton, his face a storm cloud, said, “Of course, I’m coming along. I want to know just who that woman thinks she is.” He threw himself back into the car.

As they drove back toward Ray’s place, Christina said from the back seat, “Mallory, when you have a chance, please tell your dad and Chief Ferris that I am ninety-nine percent sure that woman, Lauren Crowell, was in my art gallery last month. One of my assistants caught her shoplifting several hundred dollars’ worth of hair extensions.”

“Are you sure?” asked Mallory, giving a quick glance over her shoulder.

“Pretty positive.”

“Is she from up there?” asked Kenton.

“That I don’t know. Never saw her before the incident in the store. She can be intimidating. Fortunately, we have a surveillance camera, so we had her on video. When my assistant stopped her outside the store, she said she ‘forgot’ she had them in her bag.”

“Still have the tape?” asked Kenton.

“Afraid not. We erase every two days. I need a better system.”

“We’ll make sure to let Chief Ferris know,” said Kenton. “I learned a long time ago when I was working as an investigative reporter that it’s the bad habits people have that tell you everything about them. More accurate than a resume.”

“So where are we right now?” Lew asked Bruce as she and Osborne joined him around the island in Jane Ericsson’s kitchen.

“Got an update for you, but, boy oh boy, will you look at this kitchen,” said Bruce. “This place is so clean it sparkles. Think anyone ever cooks here? Sorry, off the subject. Yes, I do have some news, but nothing great to go on.

“Talked to your water utility guy, Bert Gilligan, a couple hours ago, and he agreed to send a crew out to check all the storm sewers in town. Got back to me pretty fast to say the grate over the storm drain in the library parking lot had been moved recently. They could tell because it had wet leaves stuck along the edges, and it wasn’t set in the way it should be.

“He also checked their map of the new storm sewer system and said that the flow from the sewers in that part of Loon Lake converges in the swamp on the east side, and is directed through culverts into the underground stream that flooded the past few days. From there the water flows straight into the Tomorrow River. Bert pointed out that under normal conditions there isn’t enough flow to keep bundles like the ones we’ve found moving. He thinks—and I agree—that our suspect counted on the rain and the current to keep those bundles moving. If Stan hadn’t been alert and a fan of frozen meat, we may never have known what happened to our victim.”

“Interesting,” said Lew. “Have you finished investigating the site on Woodland Avenue? If so, I’ll have Todd and Roger knock on doors of the folks living near the library to see if they saw any vehicles or people in the parking lot.”

“I’ll be surprised if they did,” said Bruce. “The condition of the body parts I’ve seen so far makes me think the victim died within the last twenty-four to thirty-six hours. I believe those bundles were dropped in the early, early morning hours Saturday morning when the rain was at its heaviest. Very likely they drove up to the sewer grate with their lights off. But it’s worth a try, Chief.

“Yes, we’re done at the Woodland site though we’re going to leave it barricaded for a few days. We don’t need the press trampling through there in case there’s something we’ve missed. I hope you don’t mind if I ask Ray Pradt to take a look, too.”

“Of course not,” said Lew. “I want him scouring the yard and woods here, too, in case someone has been hanging around outdoors, stalking the victim. I would like to be able to confirm that she was abducted from here.”

“Good,” said Bruce. “I did stop by the storefront downtown that’s serving as a local headquarters for the campaign, but they said they hadn’t seen Ericsson at all this week. So nothing there. After I get some lunch, I’ll do this house and her car. Who lives next door? I noticed an old frame house at the end of the drive. Looks lived in.”

“That belongs to Kaye Lund, and she’s lived there for years,” said Osborne. “She’s a former employee of the Ericsson family and has known the victim for years.”

“A suspect?” asked Bruce.

“Not likely,” said Osborne, “though the campaign manager seems to think that because Kaye and Jane had a falling out recently, she could be. I’ve known Kaye for years and find it hard to believe that she would be capable of murdering a woman she cared for like a sister.”

Bruce wrinkled his nose and shifted his dark eyebrows up and down before saying, “Yeah, well, let’s see what I find here. But it sounds like I better put that place on my list.”

“Do we have to ask her to move out?” asked Osborne.

Bruce walked back down the stairs to the side door to peer across the drive toward Kaye’s place. “Give me a couple of hours. Let me see what I find here first.”

“You can start right there,” said Lew, pointing to the kitchen counter near a large Sub-Zero refrigerator. “That’s Jane Ericsson’s purse.”

“Isn’t that interesting,” said Bruce. “That could mean she was abducted from here. I don’t know many women who go anywhere without their purse.”

“Mayor Tillman,” said Lew, “I’m glad you could join us. I’d like you to meet Mallory Osborne, Doc’s daughter. She organized this press conference for us. Hope you don’t mind us using city hall, but we have quite a gathering of media that we need to accommodate.”

“Oh, this is fine,” said Chet Tillman, basking in the glow of the lights set up by the photographers and cameramen. He was wearing a dark pinstriped business suit, its authority undermined by a jacket straining to hide a belly that, Lew had whispered to Mallory, “entered the room before he did.”

It had been Mallory’s suggestion to include the mayor, given the intense attention from the press. But Lew, still smarting from his attempt six months earlier to force her into retirement in favor of appointing his son as chief, had hesitated. She detested the man. Just seeing him could ruin her day.

“Chief Ferris,” Mallory had cajoled, “you need a good space with plenty of room for cameras and equipment. And the more people who can make a statement to the press, the less you have to talk. Bottom line: I’m afraid that if we want to use Loon Lake City Hall, we have to include the mayor.”

That convinced Lew. She had been going since four that morning, and when she got fatigued, she got cranky. “Okay, give him the opening statement, then Bruce Peters from the Wausau Crime Lab, and I’ll follow up.”

She reminded herself that Chet Tillman Jr., on being caught making inappropriate remarks on his Facebook page, had voluntarily taken a position with the sheriff’s department in Oconto County where he was sure to make more money. The good news was he saved face, and the old man let up on pushing for him to have the Loon Lake appointment—at least for the time being.

Lew turned her attention back to the preparations for the press conference. Loon Lake City Hall had been built of brownstone from the shores of Lake Superior in the late 1800s. While the building was in serious need of restoration, the interior was spacious with wide stairways, high ceilings and a city council meeting room that could accommodate over a hundred people.

Even though she had been warned, Lew was surprised at how many members of the media showed up: six television crews from the Wausau area with feeds into the national networks, and over a dozen reporters trailing photographers from publications ranging from the Internet’s the
Huffington Post
to the
New York Times
, the
Wall Street Journal
, and the Associated Press, whose story would run nationally online.

The press conference moved at a brisk pace, with Mayor Tillman testifying to the community’s shock at the nature of the crime and the prominence of the Ericsson family, including the guaranteed success that had been expected of Jane Ericsson’s run for the U.S. Senate. Bruce spoke briefly of the investigation underway and underscored the current lack of leads. Lew picked up on that theme. She emphasized that the police were cooperating with the crime lab, and asked anyone in the community who might know something to please come forward.

“Why aren’t the FBI involved?” asked one television reporter.

“They may work with us if we don’t have a break soon,” said Lew. “In that case we’ll form a task force to work the evidence together. Right now this murder is under the jurisdiction of the Loon Lake Police. Crimes that fall under FBI jurisdiction include those in which the criminal crossed state lines, violations of federal controlled substance laws, and other violations of federal laws. We don’t have any of those issues yet.”

“Chief Ferris, I heard the body was cut up and packaged like they butcher deer—is that correct?” asked the reporter from the
Loon Lake Daily News
.

“The body was not intact,” said Lew. “That is all I can say. We do not want to jeopardize the investigation, so please respect that.”

Mallory stood at the back of the room with copies of a press release that contained statements from each of the speakers. As Lew and Bruce were answering questions from the reporters, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to face a tired-looking woman in black jeans and a black T-shirt with short brown hair and no makeup, wearing a press badge that identified her as a reporter from the
New York Times
. The photo on the badge showed her with no makeup and wearing a black shirt: she matched the picture.

“Whoa, the
New York Times
. Boy, you got here fast—”

“Got a charter out of Minneapolis. I need to talk to that chief of police,” said the woman before Mallory could finish.

“Sorry,” said Mallory. “The statements made here are as much as the police and the crime lab want made public until they know more. Like everyone else, you’ll just have to wait.”

“No,” said the woman, “this isn’t about reporting. I have information that I think may be helpful in the investigation. I know a person who had a meeting with Jane Ericsson late Friday night and may have been one of the last people to see her alive—and I have reason to think that person’s life is in danger.”

The woman’s intensity convinced Mallory. “Okay, wait here,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The minute Lew stepped down from the podium where she had been standing with Tillman and Bruce, Mallory pulled her aside. In a low whisper, she repeated what the woman had said. “Be careful, Chief,” she said, “you don’t want speaking with her to look like you’re giving an exclusive interview, or all hell will break loose.”

“Good point,” said Lew. “But I’ve got television crews and reporters hanging around the station, too. Any suggestions?”

Mallory puzzled over the situation, then said, “I’ll give her directions to Dad’s house. You can speak privately there.”

“Good. Will you tell your dad what I’m doing and why, and ask him to please meet me there?”

“Done.” Pushing sideways through the crowd and stepping over bags of camera equipment, Mallory edged her way to the rear of the room. She motioned to the reporter. “Meet Chief Ferris here as soon as you can,” she said. She handed the reporter a slip of paper with Osborne’s address. “Do you need a map?”

“No. I can use my phone,” the woman choked and Mallory thought for a second that she would burst into tears. “Be there in ten minutes. By the way—my name is Wendy Marron.”

“Mallory Osborne—” But the reporter didn’t hear her. She was dashing down the stairs toward the exit from city hall.

Twenty minutes later, Lew and Osborne were standing in his kitchen with the reporter from the
Times
.

“Dr. Osborne, Chief Ferris, I’m Wendy Marron, environmental reporter for the
New York Times
, which is why I was contacted by this guy, Mike Kelly, from Madison. He’s very involved with an environmental group working to maintain the state’s wetlands, and he has been trying to convince Jane Ericsson, if she was elected, to block a business venture outside Wausau that is threatening to fill in over one hundred acres of pristine wetlands.

“Last month, Kelly’s group received a grant of fifty thousand dollars for their work. They decided to use the money to convince the Ericsson campaign to support their cause, in return for a donation.”

“Of fifty thousand dollars?” asked Lew.

“Yes, but on the condition that Jane Ericsson herself agreed to meet with Kelly. When she heard how much money was involved, her staff set up the meeting. That meeting was supposed to be late this past Friday night at Jane Ericsson’s home here in Loon Lake. I’ve been told that she agreed to accept the donation so long as it was in cash—”

“In cash? That’s strange,” said Osborne. “Why wouldn’t a check be more appropriate?”

“That was a red flag for me, too,” said Wendy. “Kelly said that Jane Ericsson told him she wanted to be sure that the developer—who thought they had a deal—couldn’t trace the donation and accuse her of taking a bribe.”

“But she
was
taking a bribe,” said Lew.

“Of course she was. Or he thought she was. Now, while I never met Mike Kelly in person, I have spoken to him on the phone and he e-mailed me all the particulars. His plan was to show up, offer the money, and use his cell phone to video the exchange. He was planning to send me and several other reporters the video immediately afterwards.”

“So the national media would have Jane Ericsson on tape accepting a bribe from a constituent …”

“Exactly. I tried to discourage him, because the whole thing didn’t make sense. Why would a politician of Ericsson’s caliber risk her campaign for such a modest amount of money? But Kelly wouldn’t listen, he’s a fanatic. He is so determined to stop the development, to save the wetlands—he would do anything. You know, the guy doesn’t strike me as having a lot of common sense. But that’s beside the point right now.

“Something went wrong, because his girlfriend called me late yesterday, just frantic. He’s disappeared. She keeps trying his cell phone, but there’s no answer. I thought you should know. I mean, the guy has fifty thousand dollars in cash on him … where the hell is he?”

“Can you reach the girlfriend?” asked Lew. “Find out what company he uses for his cell phone, the number, everything she knows. I’ll see if I can put through a trace on his phone right now.”

“Don’t you need a subpoena for that?”

“Not for a rescue. A missing person is not a missing felon. Maybe it turns out he ran off with the money, maybe he met with Jane Ericsson and something went so wrong he killed her, maybe, maybe. But right now I am focused on a person who has gone missing in Loon Lake, and whose life may be at stake. You seem to think so—right?” Lew asked Wendy.

“I do. I may think the guy’s a fanatic, but I do believe his heart is in the right place. If he wanted to steal that money, he didn’t have to drive up here and wait for that woman.”

“You’re sure he did?”

“He texted me from her driveway. Told me to stand by, ’cause he planned to e-mail the video within the hour.”