Dead Renegade (15 page)

“Goddamn fashion statement if you ask me,” huffed Ray. “If that jerk gets any closer …” As he spoke the jet ski slowed, keeping its distance as the rider yanked off his helmet and waved to them.

“Hey, that looks like Mrs. Calverson,” said Nick, one hand blocking the sun so he could see better. “Yeah, that’s no guy—that’s that lady friend of yours, Ray.”

“Hey, boys,” shouted C.J., “want to stop by when you’re done and have some cold ones down on our dock—bring your boat over?”

“We’ll be out here another hour at least,” said Ray, “how ‘bout we give you a call when we know how things are going?”

“No problem,” said C.J. with a wave. She pulled her helmet back on, fussed with the chin strap, then gave up saying, “I hate this thing. It’s too big for me and I can never fasten this damn strap so it’s not choking me. Oh well.” Letting the chin strap hang unfastened, C.J. gave one more wave as she turned the jet ski around. Kicking up a plume of spray, the watercraft spun away in the direction of the point, back towards the channel and the “No Wake” zone. Feeling lazy in the afternoon heat, Osborne watched through half-lidded eyes as C.J. slowed her jet ski to “no wake” speed.

From the left, on the far side of the point, a dark blue speedboat appeared. From where he stood on the bassboat, Osborne could swear the boat was aimed straight at C.J. But that can’t be, he thought, has to be an optical illusion caused by the reflection of the sun off the still water.

The blue boat sped across the surface of the water, clipping the back of the jet ski, which veered right, heading straight for the island.

Osborne held his breath unable to believe what he was seeing. The jet ski hit the shallows and was airborne. “Oh no! Did you—” He turned to Ray but the man was already on his feet shoving Nick from the captain’s chair and hitting the throttle as he shouted, “Sit down and hold on!”

CHAPTER
20

A
s they approached the island, the speedboat that had clipped the back of the jet ski was nowhere to be seen. Ray jumped from the bassboat while the motor was still running. Osborne checked to be sure the ignition was off before jumping into the shallows after Ray.

“Nick, anchor the boat!” He shouted as he pushed as hard and as fast as he could through the knee-high water. He passed the jet ski. It was tipped sideways and rocking in the wake from the bassboat, its engine making burping noises. The helmet must have flown off as its owner was airborne because it was floating near the empty jet ski. On shore—as if flung by a giant hand against an outcropping of boulders and brush—a small figure in a black and yellow life vest lay slumped to one side.

“Don’t move her!” said Osborne just as Ray reached to grasp C.J. by the shoulders.

“We have to do
something.
She’s vomiting. Oh god, look at her head—what’ll we do?” Osborne could see that C.J. appeared to have landed face first on the rocks. She was out cold in spite of the vomiting.

Osborne knelt beside the unconscious C.J. Time stopped as he focused on just one thing:
keep this girl breathing
“We’ve got to keep her airway clear—we can’t let her choke on the vomit,” he said, thankful now for the time he had taken every year to review and practice CPR—just in case he should ever need it for a patient. CPR he could do in his sleep.

His fingers moving to clear the air passage without moving C.J.’s head, he spoke without looking up: “Ray, call 911.”

The dispatcher answered within seconds. “We have a severe head injury,” said Ray, talking fast and to the point. He gave the location, paused and said, “Victim is unconscious and vomiting.” Again he paused to listen. “No, we can’t transport by boat because we don’t dare move the victim. Can’t you send a Life Flight helicopter for a water landing—near the island across from the public landing? They’ll see us easy.”

This time the dispatcher put him on hold for a brief period. “Okay,” said Ray, looking over at Osborne as he repeated what he had just heard.

“So you’re saying no helicopter but an ambulance plane with pontoons is on its way from Marshfield Clinic? That’ll work.” Osborne took a deep breath and hoped. That was good news—if it got here in time.

Ray stayed on the phone answering questions. “The victim is C.J. Calverson, wife of Curt Calverson. Not sure how to reach the husband—they have a house here on Big Moccasin and one in town—”

“Tell them to check with the police department,” said Osborne, “Lew filed an accident report on that rollover this morning. All the information should be there.”

Ray shut his phone and knelt beside Osborne. Nick and his friends waited in silence off to one side, eyes glued to the two men doing what they could to save a life.

Though it seemed forever to Osborne, it couldn’t have been much more than ten minutes before the plane appeared and set down close to shore. Ray and the boys waded out to help the paramedics with their equipment.

“Looks like a possible skull fracture, vital signs—well, hard to tell,” said one of the two paramedics into a walkie-talkie after they had strapped C.J. onto a board and were carrying her back to the plane. “Tell the husband we’re taking her to the hospital in Rhinelander,” were the last words Osborne heard as they disappeared into the plane.

As Osborne, Ray, and the boys boarded the bassboat to head back to the landing, an aluminum fishing boat with a solitary figure headed directly for them. “Can’t talk right now, Larry, got an emergency,” said Ray to the elderly man with a full beard.

“I know that.” Osborne recognized the former owner of a local resort. “But I thought you’d like to know I was fishing off the point back there when I saw that boat come out of nowhere and clip that jet skier—”

“You did? Did you see who was driving? Where they came from?” said Ray.

“Couldn’t tell who it was. Fella was wearing sunglasses and one of those safari-type hats pulled down over his face but he knew what he was doing, all right. Jet skier never saw ‘em coming I don’t think. Came at it from behind and bam! knocked ‘er right off track. At high speed, too. Guess he doesn’t like jet skis, huh?”

“You didn’t happen to see what direction that boat headed off to?” asked Osborne.

“Bettern’ that—I got the registration number. Fella took off past the island and on up the east channel there. I saw him earlier. Saw him get in the boat at the Moonlight Bay Resort ‘bout twenty minutes ago. Few minutes later, he was cruising up and down along the shoreline right over there.” The fisherman pointed towards the shoreline where the Calverson’s dock was located.

“Looked to me like he was just waiting for that yellow jet ski. A couple others went by but he didn’t bother them. He knew who he was after. Bet you he’s way up the chain now, though. Got a pen? Here’s the registration number.”

“I do,” said Nick, ready to write on the back of the lake map he’d been marking earlier. As the man spoke, he wrote fast then read it back to be sure he had it right.

“Catch you later, Larry,” said Ray, “likely Chief Ferris will want to talk to you.”

“You know where to find me, Ray,” said the old guy. He sat and waited for the bassboat to leave.

“Ray, drop me off at Calverson’s,” said Osborne, “I’ll see if Curt’s home, and you can pick me up there, okay? I’m going to the hospital.”

“Me, too,” said Ray. “Nick and the boys can manage. You know, Doc, chances are Calverson is on his stupid phone right when the hospital’s trying to call. Give me your car keys and I’ll pick you up in your vehicle. We’ll go together. Nick, call me later.”

“Sure you don’t want us to come with you?” asked Nick.

“Boys, right now there’s nothing any of us can do. You have a job to do here. I’ll keep you posted.” Ray gave him a thumbs-up, his face grim.

Dropping Osborne off at the dock minutes later, they all stared at a long, dark blue speedboat resting in its shore station. Without a word, Osborne ran over to check the 150 horsepower outboard on the back. The propeller was dry. The boat had not been in water recently—it wasn’t the boat that had hurt C.J.

He waved to the bassboat as it pulled away, then ran up the winding stairs, around to the front of the house and up onto the deck, where he pounded on the door. After a few seconds, Curt appeared in the doorway. “Dr. Osborne, what is it?”

“Your wife has been in an accident and is being flown to the hospital in Rhinelander.”

“What?! She was just here a few minutes ago.”

“Come with me and I’ll explain what happened.” As he spoke, Curt’s cell phone rang. It was the 911 dispatcher. She had been trying for twenty minutes to reach him.

Thirty minutes later, they pulled up to the emergency room entrance at St. Mary’s Hospital. “You go with Curt, I’ll park the car,” said Ray, who had been driving. Osborne and Curt jumped out and ran into the building.

“Mr. Calverson?” asked a nurse as they entered. “Follow me, sir.” They followed her to an operating room where medical staff was preparing to work on the still form that had been moved to an operating table.

“Mr. Calverson,” said a masked surgeon, “take your wife’s hand and say goodbye.”

Osborne turned away. He couldn’t watch. Curt Calverson froze. He made no move towards his wife. When seconds had passed and Curt still had not moved, Osborne caught the surgeon’s eye. He reached for the limp hand, patted it and said softly, “C J., it’s Doc Osborne, and Ray is on his way. We’ll be here. Hang in there, kid.”

The two men left the room and stepped outside to wait.

CHAPTER
21

C
.J. was wheeled into intensive care still unconscious. “We’ll know more in twenty-four hours,” said the surgeon to Curt and Osborne after meeting them in the waiting room for the families of patients in critical condition. It was after eight.

Lew had arrived while C.J. was in surgery, took notes even though Osborne and Ray could give only the sparse details of the accident, and left. Shortly after, she had called Ray and asked him to meet her at the public landing on Big Moccasin. That had been two hours ago.

The surgeon continued, “When your wife landed on those rocks, she took the brunt of the impact on her forehead. She has a double skull fracture, and the challenge is to manage the swelling of the brain. Fortunately, we happen to be holding a medical retreat here this weekend so the brain trauma team from UW Madison is working with us, too. They know things we don’t. She is in good hands.”

“Any idea when she will regain consciousness?” asked Curt. Osborne wanted to ask if she would make it, but he knew better than to intrude.

“Hard to say. Not much will change tonight, so I suggest you go home and get some sleep. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have another surgery.”

Before leaving the room, the surgeon asked one of the surgical nurses to give Curt directions on how to call in to check on his wife’s condition.

“How do I reach you if there is a change?” asked the nurse after giving Curt the extension for the nurses’ desk in the intensive care unit.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Curt. “I’ll call in.”

That’s curious, thought Osborne. If it were his family member, he would want to know the slightest change—good or bad. Again he kept his thoughts to himself.

“Curt,” said Osborne, “when you know something, I hope you’ll let me know how she’s doing.” Just as he spoke, Lew walked into the waiting room.

“Doc, Mr. Calverson—I was hoping to catch you. We ran a trace on the boat registration and contacted the resort that owns it. It was stolen from their dock shortly before the time you say the accident occurred. We haven’t found the boat yet but I’ve got Ray and one of my officers in boats searching for it. That’s a five-lake chain, so unless the boat was trailered out, we should be able to locate it.”

“I certainly hope so, and soon,” said Curt. “If this doesn’t convince you that someone is after me—”

“I understand your feelings, Mr. Calverson,” said Lew. “You may be right, or it may be as simple as someone getting into a boat after having too much to drink. I am sorry to say that happens too often up here in the summer. Way too often.”

“Well, you’re goddamn wrong,” said Curt. He turned around to leave, slamming the waiting room door behind him.

“He’s right,” said Lew, as she and Osborne walked through the hospital corridors towards the parking lot, “someone
is
after him. But not to kill him. Our clerk filed the accident report on the rollover online late this morning and it caught the eye of someone in Madison who passed it along to an insurance investigator in Illinois. He called the office this afternoon.

“The SUV he drives is owned by Calverson Finance, which is headquartered in Illinois. The gentleman who called has been investigating Calverson’s firm on behalf of the Illinois Insurance Commission due to consumer complaints of fraud. I told him about Erin’s concerns with the elderly folks and their bank deposits. Apparently, that’s just what he’s been looking for. He’s driving up Monday to meet with one of the regional FBI agents—I gave him Erin’s name and phone number. I left a message on their home voice mail but I want to be sure she gets it. Will you make sure she knows about this?”