Dead Rapunzel (23 page)

“Go pack whatever you need to keep warm. We're taking a road trip.”

“What do you mean?”

“Canada. You are driving me to Canada.”

“Why me? Why not just take my car?”

“You and I both know that won't work. But if you're along, they won't stop us. And once we cross the border, I'll be out from under all the bullshit.”

“What makes you think you won't be found in Canada?” Vern flinched and Lew could see that was one question too many.

“I have my secrets.” Lew wondered if Vern's secrets might include Tim and Quebec. “Now get packing, we leave now.”

“My things are in the bedroom . . . ” Lew debated how to stall.

“Leave the door open and don't try anything.” While Vern watched, Lew rifled quickly through her drawers and reached for a backpack she kept in her closet. “Wait—let me see that.” Vern turned the backpack upside down and checked all the side pockets before handing it back to her. “Okay.”

“May I ask a question?”

“You can try.”

“How did you know where I live?” She was curious. She deliberately kept her home address confidential. Only her colleagues in the Loon Lake Police Department knew where she lived.

“Buddy I hunt with lets me store a couple backhoes in his barn, and he told me a long time ago that you two were neighbors. All I had to do was walk through the woods between your place and his.”

“Oh, so you know Luke Frasier? Seems a nice guy . . . ” Lew tried a conversational tone. Maybe that would get Vern to let his guard down.

“He's okay. Hurry up. Got what you need?”

“Yes. But—”

“But
what
? I want to get going.”

“The weather. The last weather report had radar showing a major storm moving in before dawn. Snow mixed with rain—the roads will be so icy the DOT was considering closing Highway 51 north of Woodruff. Are you sure you don't want to wait—”

“Goddammit, no. Now out the door.” Vern shoved her through the door out onto the porch.

“I'm going, Vern, I'm going. Settle down.” She hadn't lied about the weather: The snow had begun falling so hard Lew could hear it land with a soft hissing sound.

Once in the cruiser, Lew moved to turn off her police radio, but Vern grabbed her wrist before she could. “Leave it on. I want to hear when they start following us.”

“That won't happen for hours. Not until I don't show up for an early meeting—”

“Leave it, I said.” Vern adjusted his position in the passenger seat so he could watch the road and Lew at the same time. She backed the cruiser out of the barn and started down the narrow lane toward the county road.

For the first time in her career in law enforcement, Lew was sorry she had a habit of never leaving the station without a full tank of gas. Once on the highway, her headlights reflected off the snow, which was driving straight at the windshield so that it was impossible to see more than a few feet.

“Put those headlights on dim,” said Vern.

“You know which route you want me to take?” asked Lew.

“Yeah, north.”

“North up past Hurley or north to Sault Ste. Marie?” Vern was silent.

Apparently he hadn't thought that far ahead. Lew tightened her lips in a grim smile. The colossal incompetence of the man gave her a new appreciation of Greg's contempt for his father, though she did have to give him credit for finding her home and a way in. At least he hadn't broken the window.

“May I make a suggestion?” asked Lew as they neared the intersection where they would have to decide which route to take north.

Vern grunted.

“I think going up through the Upper Peninsula to Sault Ste. Marie will be the fastest—”

“Do it and pick it up, Ferris. You're crawling.”

“This heavy snow grabs the tires, Vern—”

“Shut up and drive.” Lew raised her eyebrows and kept going.

One hour later, at four
A.M.
, the police radio dispatches grew more frequent with reports of vehicles off the road needing tow trucks. Soon it was announced that schools in the region were closed and all the law enforcement agencies were asking local television and radio stations to encourage residents to stay off the roads.

“Eh, business as usual,” said Vern. Just then a large black SUV steamed past them, wet snow spraying up onto the windshield. “See? That driver isn't afraid. Pick it up, Ferris. At the rate you're going, we won't get to the border till Easter.”

Lew took a deep breath and pressed down on the accelerator. “Vern, I'm going to brake for a moment to see how icy the road is. Okay?”

He grunted. Lew braked and the tires held fine. “All right, I'll speed up,” she said. They hadn't gone five minutes when they passed the black SUV. It had spun out and was on its side in the ditch facing the wrong direction. The driver was standing on the highway waving his arms to flag them down. Vern leaned across Lew to press on the horn. The man on the highway dropped his arms with a shocked look on his face.

“I should radio that in,” said Lew.

“No,” Vern spat out the word.

“It's very cold and dangerous out there,” said Lew. “At least let me give a dispatcher the location of the vehicle.”

“I said no.” Lew kept her eyes straight on the road. She had one hope and she owed it to the most unlikely person: Officer Roger Adamczak.

Roger was such a slacker that after the third time that Lew discovered he had spent a morning in the Loon Lake Public Library reading Louis L'Amour novels rather than in his squad car patrolling the neighborhoods he'd been assigned, she had been able to persuade the city council to purchase a GPS system for the police department. This would allow the department to check the whereabouts of any of the three squad cars, including Lew's cruiser.

Once he'd learned that Lew could find him anywhere, Roger had shaped up. Her hope this morning was that when she did not show up for her seven
A.M.
Saturday morning meeting with Dani, someone in the department would remember the GPS tracker and use it to locate her cruiser as she drove north. Who would have ever thought that Dani's simple request to work Saturdays in return for having Mondays off could save my life, thought Lew. But the GPS was so new and had been used only once . . . She refused to think the worst.

The sky was beginning to lighten when Lew could see that the snow had eased and the road had become a black ribbon in front of her. It was six-thirty. By now the police radio was busy with accident reports—but no news of anyone suspecting that one of the region's police officers had been abducted. Lew hoped to hear that bulletin soon.

She glanced over at Vern. He had the revolver braced on his left knee and he was looking straight ahead at the road. As if he sensed her looking at him, he turned to face her with an angry expression.

“Sorry,” said Lew, “thought you'd appreciate that the road looks a lot better suddenly.”

“I was thinking about that dumb-ass Tim Tomlinson,” said Vern. “If it wasn't for him I wouldn't be here. He's the idiot who believed that lawyer when he said if Rudd was out of the way . . . ” Vern didn't finish his sentence.

“He was going to pay you, I hope.”

“Oh, yeah—half of what he said he'd get. That was a lot of money he was talking about. But, hell, I shoulda known better. That guy can screw anything up. I learned
that
a long time ago.”

Lew decided to risk another question. “I . . . um . . . well, since I figure you're not going to leave me alive after this . . . ”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Why?” The cocksure expression on his face made her happy she had both hands on the steering wheel so she could resist the urge to punch him out. She chose not to mention that she had no intention of letting Vern get to Canada much less hurt her in any way. How, she didn't know yet, but she had time to figure it out.

“Have you ever killed anyone else?” Lew waited, hoping to hear him confess to killing Chip Dietz.

“Yeah. Years ago a buddy made a pass at my wife, which I didn't appreciate. He had a little hunting accident. You know how that goes,” he said with a nasty little grin.

“No one else?” Lew waited but all she heard was a grunt.

Then Vern said, “You seem okay with the fact you might be next. Not afraid to die?”

“Don't know about
fear,
” said Lew. “I would prefer not to but I've accomplished much of what I've wanted to do in my life. I'll miss seeing my grandchildren—”

“Hey, the road looks good. Let's see you do sixty—that'll get us somewhere.”

Lew checked the road. It looked dry, free of snow for this stretch, anyway. She eased up to fifty. She forced herself to stay calm, to at least
appear
calm, as that seemed to have an effect on Vern, who had relaxed ever so slightly. If only she could get him to let his guard down—all she needed was a moment.

The car was heading up an incline on the highway when it turned sideways and drifted into the oncoming lane.

“Stop!” shouted Vern.

“I can't. Black ice.”

The cruiser felt weightless as it flew up and over a snow bank to continue at a steady speed into the woods along the highway. As the trees came at them, branches crashing along the sides of the car, Lew braced for the impact when they would hit a trunk.

She was going to die, but not at the hand of Vern Steidl. That made it easier. Relaxing her muscles, she slumped into her seat, head down as she waited for death.

The windshield shattered. The cruiser stopped.

Vern was quiet. Lew tried her legs, her arms. They worked, nothing seemed broken—or, if it was, she couldn't feel it. She looked over at Vern. The large branch that had smashed the windshield had ripped Vern's head half off. Blood was everywhere.

Lew turned the ignition off and pushed at her side door. It opened a few inches, but she managed to squeeze through. The air was so cold. The snow came up to her hips. She passed out.

Osborne woke at five
A.M.
as usual. He hit the button on the radio alarm to hear the news and weather report. Schools closed? Highway 51 closed north of Wausau? Wow.

He picked up the phone to alert Lew. She would have heard the weather report, he knew, but it was a good excuse to call. The sound of her voice, whether sleepy or alert, was always the best way to start his day.

Her landline phone rang and rang. No answer. He tried the cell. Again no answer. That was a first. Even if she was on her way in to the station, she always answered. He called the dispatcher and asked if Lew had arrived.

“Not yet, Dr. Osborne. The sheriff's department tried her pager because of all the road closings, but no answer. Do you want me to have her call you when she gets in?”

“Please,” said Osborne. He got up to let Mike out and waited near the door while the dog bounded through the new snow. He didn't like the feeling in the pit of his stomach. What if Lew's cruiser was stuck in that long, narrow driveway of hers? What if the power was down . . . still, the landline phone should have worked.

He called Ray. “You awake?”

“What's wrong?”

“Lew's not answering her phone. I'm worried.”

“Time for a road trip?”

“Do you mind? I know it's not even five-thirty . . . ”

“Been up for awhile, Doc. The dogs have been restless all night with this storm. Let me fill the thermos and I'll be right over. I got the plow on the truck so we should make it into her place okay.”

Ray might have been annoying at times, but, dumb jokes and strange speech patterns aside, he was one of the most reliable people Osborne had ever known. Never would he forget the night that Ray had braved a raging snowstorm to help Osborne get Mary Lee to the emergency room.

Mary Lee, who had never had a kind word for Ray, who had badgered Osborne to make Ray move his house trailer so she didn't have to see it from her windows, who would deliberately turn away if Ray gave a passing, friendly wave when she was gardening in the front yard.

Yet when her bronchitis had turned deadly in the middle of the night, it was Ray who got them to the hospital. And it was Ray who sat silently with his neighbor after the doctor delivered the news that Mary Lee was gone.

As they drove toward Lew's farmhouse, which was on the outskirts of town, Osborne tried both phones again. Still no answer. He checked with the night dispatcher, but no news there either. It was slow going on the highway. The plows may have been out earlier, but the snow was falling so fast and hard that the road was dangerously slick.

Ray turned left onto the narrow lane leading to the farmhouse. Both men could see only the faintest indentation in the snow, which indicated Lew's cruiser must had driven out sometime after it had begun to snow. “Looks to me like she left a while ago. Maybe a couple hours,” said Ray.

“That's odd. She worked late last night. I talked to her at eleven and she figured she had another hour of paperwork, maybe two.” Osborne tensed as they neared the barn off to the left of the farmhouse. The doors were open and there was no sign of Lew's cruiser.

“Lights are on in the house, Doc.” Ray was running as he spoke. Osborne was right behind him. They rushed onto the porch and into the house. “She never leaves her door unlocked,” said Osborne. He ran past the living room into the bedroom where the bed was undisturbed.

At the same time, Ray checked the bathroom. “Hey, Doc, look at this.” He pointed to the window next to the toilet, which was open. On the floor under the window were smudges of water and mud that looked like someone had tried to do a hasty clean-up. Without a word, Ray ran back through the kitchen. Once outside, he plunged through the thigh-high snowdrifts around the house to the rear, where he could see footprints someone had left when they'd clambered over the snow bank to the bathroom window.