Murder in the Devil's Cauldron (26 page)

Starr brightened at the suggestion. "OK."
Happy to be doing something, she hiked back up to the Devil's
Cauldron with the ranger.

When they got there, she pointed to the bluff
on the other side of the river. "I was up there taking pictures,"
she said. "The killer and his wife walked right into the
frame."

She walked over to where she had seen them.
"They were standing right here."

The ranger joined her and stared into the
Cauldron as if hoping to see her, then turned away. "Not much to
see," he said.

Starr looked around, but there were no
footprints on the bare rock or anything to indicate that anyone
might ever have been standing there. Then she saw a dark splotch on
the far inside lip of the Cauldron.

"What about that?" she asked, pointing. "That
looks like blood."

He knelt down. "Hard to say. Can you take a
picture just in case? Maybe it'll help. It'll probably be gone by
the time the sheriff gets here."

She pulled out her camera and zoomed in as
close as she could. She focused on the splotch and snapped off a
frame, then zoomed out a bit and took a second picture just in
case.

"It might not be anything," he said.

"But you're going to check it out,
right?"

"As much as I can." He looked at the sky and
then at his watch. "I'll call the sheriff and see what he says.
Probably won't do anything tonight, but we'll see." He looked back
at the Cauldron briefly, then started back to the trail.

Frowning, Starr put her camera back in the
bag. She looked at the Cauldron again, trying to figure out what
else she could do, before following the ranger back down to the
Visitor Center.

"Why don't you sit there for a minute while I
call the sheriff," Donovan said, pointing to the bench just outside
his office. He went into his office and closed the door.

Starr made a face and sat down. She wanted to
hear what he was going to tell the sheriff. Then her stomach
growled and she checked her watch. It was later than she had
thought. There was only one more shuttle back to the Lodge, so she
hoped this wouldn't take too long or she was going to be late for
dinner. And this time her mother might wring her neck for real.

Fowler steamed as he strode down the trail
back to the Lodge. It was just as well he had missed the shuttle,
considering the mood he was in.

He still couldn't believe it. He had been in
such a good mood and then to find out some kid might actually have
seen him toss Diana into the Devil's Cauldron. Of all the
unbelievable, crappy, fucking luck.

He fumed all the way down the walkway,
oblivious to the magnificent cliffs stretching into the distance or
the waves sending up huge plumes of white water. The scenery, no
matter how spectacular, was nothing compared to the thinking he had
to do.

He had been so sure no one was around when he
led Diana out onto the ledge. It had been the perfect plan. And now
to have it nearly ruined by a kid, of all things. Worse, he still
couldn't figure out where she had been or what she might actually
have seen.

Fowler shook his head, partly in disgust and
partly in amazement that it had happened at all. What were the odds
someone would be there just at that moment? The only good part was
that she was just a kid. The thought cheered him up briefly. No one
was likely to believe she had actually witnessed anything
important. Let alone a murder. All he had to do was make sure no
one questioned what might have happened.

It suddenly came to him where he had seen
that kid before and he stopped in mid stride, his mouth dropping
open in horror. She was the kid he'd spoken to just the other day.
The one with the camera.

Oh christ.

The camera.

Only now did he realize she had been holding
a tripod and had had a bag over one shoulder. Her goddamned camera
bag. Fowler knew in that moment that she'd been up there taking
pictures. It was a knowledge as certain as knowing he was out on
the edge of Lake Superior. More importantly, he'd be willing to bet
she had pictures of him and Diana at the Devil's Cauldron.

Jesus.

He ran his fingers through his hair and tried
to think.

She had pictures.

A sour taste in his mouth made him feel as if
he was going to throw up. Fowler took a deep breath and then a
second and yet another until his stomach settled down.

What the hell was he going to do now?

He started walking again.

Slowly this time as he put his brain to
work.

After all, how hard could it be to take care
of a kid?

Especially here.

By the time Fowler got back to the Lodge, he
needed a stiff drink, not to mention dinner. It had been an
exhausting day and he had planned on eating at the Lodge. Even the
thought of driving anywhere wore him out.

But with the kid in the picture, he needed to
get away.

And, since he needed to talk to Viv, the
smartest move would be to stop at Ruby Cove and pick her up. They
could have dinner in Grand Marais and he could bring her up to
speed.

Tom Donovan sat down at his desk and stared
at the sheriff's number. He had written it in large numbers on a
large sticky note and stuck it on the side of the phone. He wasn't
sure if he should actually make the call.

The girl seemed serious and it felt as if she
was telling the truth. On the other hand, the man she had accused
of murder hadn't acted as if he'd just killed someone. Donovan
wasn't fool enough to believe all killers gave themselves away.
Many people simply had no conscience. So whatever they did had
little or no impact on them. It meant nothing, so they didn't get
nervous.

In this case, if there had been a murder
here, it was probably premeditated. So Donovan wouldn't be
surprised to find out that the guy had worked everything out in
advanced. So he was prepared to deny, deny, deny.

He brought his wandering attention back to
the problem at hand. Part of his reluctance to make the call was
that he knew the sheriff a little too well. Mike Thompson was a
lazy, stupid son-of-a-bitch whose idea of a being a sheriff was
cruising around in the county car for hours on end intimidating
people or spending hours at any one of the bars along the North
Shore talking about how important he was. The job description in
the sheriff's mind contained a lot fewer to-do items than the
official version.

What it meant for Donovan, though, was a
headache.

Donovan tried to think if it as an
opportunity to hone his diplomatic skills and persuasive ability.
He was pretty good at it when he had to deal with the public, but
Thompson was another matter entirely. Especially since they'd
gotten into it more than a few times when they were in high school
and then again at UMD. Thompson wasn't his favorite person in the
world and Donovan knew the sentiment was returned. Probably double,
if he had to guess. Thompson wasn't one to forget a grudge or an
imagined slight.

Still, the earnest concern on the girl's face
stayed with him and propelled him into picking up the phone and
dialing.

"Sheriff's office."

"Hi Sherrie. It's Tom Donovan down at the
park. Is Mike around?"

"Sure, Tom. What's going on?"

"There might've been a murder here and I need
Mike to get out here with a team. It's real important someone come
soon. I've got some possible blood spatter that the river'll
probably wash away pretty soon."

A few minutes later Thompson came on the
phone. "What kind of bullshit you got going on down there now,
Donovan?" Thompson's voice blasted through the receiver and Donovan
winced as he pulled it away from his ear.

"No bullshit, Mike. One of our guests said
she saw someone push his wife into the Devil's Cauldron. I took a
look up there and saw something that might be blood. Could you come
and bring one of the techs?"

"You're fuckin' with me, right?"

"Nope. This is the real deal."

"Who saw it?"

"Someone who lives up at the Lodge. Said she
was up on the bluff taking pictures when the guy shoved his wife
into the Cauldron."

"And you believed her?"

"She's pretty believable." Donovan switched
the phone to his other ear. "We need to check it out."

"You telling me my job now?"

"Only if I have to," Donovan said. "Look, if
she's right and you don't investigate, you're going to look bad. If
she misunderstood what she saw, then you're in the clear. Either
way, you'll look good. But if you don't and it turns out to be the
real deal, you're screwed. So take thirty minutes out of your day
and come on down."

"You got a body?"

"She went into the Cauldron. Can't get
anything out of there. Not even a body."

"Jesus Christ on a crutch," the sheriff said.
"Someone who said she saw a murder, but no body and probably no
real evidence. And you want me to waste the taxpayer's money on a
wild loon chase."

"It might not be a waste," Donovan said. He
wanted to add that Thompson wasted so much of the taxpayer's money,
what was a few dollars more, but managed to bite it back just in
time.

"Fuck you, Donovan," the sheriff said. "I'll
just bet your witness had a little too much bubbly at the Lodge and
thought it would be fun to screw with the locals."

"First of all, she's not old enough to drink,
so that's not it," Donovan said evenly.

"Your witness is a kid? Jesus! Get something
real and then call."

"Secondly," Donovan said before Thompson
could hang up, "what about the blood in the Cauldron? Can't you at
least send a tech to check it out?"

Donovan heard a loud aggrieved sigh on the
other end of the line.

"For some story you got from a kid?"

"Listen, sheriff. If you don't send someone,
my next call is going to be to the BCA. They might be interested to
know about a murder in one of the state parks and that the local
sheriff wouldn't even send a tech to get evidence."

There was a long silence.

"Sheriff?"

"You're a first class bastard, you know
that?"

"Sure do. You sending that tech?"

"I'll send him. You going to be there?"

"I'll be here. What about the witness?"

"What about her?"

"You want her to stick around so you can talk
to her?"

"What the fuck for? She local?"

"Yeah. Her mom works at the Lodge."

"If it turns out to be blood, then I'll talk
to her. But I'm sure not wasting the next few hours coming out
there to talk to some kid who's probably spinning fantasies."

"I'll wait for the tech here," Donovan
said.

"Fine. Fine."

The phone at the other end slammed down. He
stared at the receiver, then put it down. Geez. How the hell did
guys like that even get into the sheriff's department, he wondered,
not for the first time. Just another one of the great mysteries of
life, he thought as he stood up.

He thought about the kid waiting outside and
how she was going to feel when he told her to go home. Well, not
much he could do about that.

Donovan sighed and opened the door.

The door to the ranger's office stayed closed
for a really long time and Starr kept glancing at her watch as the
hands passed five and headed for five thirty. She watched the last
shuttle to the Lodge leave and knew she was going to be really,
really late. Her mother was going to kill her when she finally got
back, but she was knew this was important, so she stayed put.

Finally, after an eternity, Donovan came out
of his office and stared at her.

Starr stood up. "Is the sheriff coming?"

"He's sending out a tech to check out what we
saw in the Cauldron. They'll find out if it's blood. If it is,
he'll want to talk to you then."

"But he's not coming now?"

Donovan shook his head. "There isn't much for
him to do, so he's going to wait for now."

Starr was getting a really weird feeling.
"
You
believe me, don't you?"

"Sure I do," he said.

But the way he said it made Starr wonder.

"Let's not worry about it until we see the
lab results," the ranger added. "Best thing you can do right now is
to go home. It'll probably take the lab guys forever to get out
here and there's nothing more you can do tonight. Go home. OK?"

Starr's shoulders sagged. She could tell by
the way he said it that he was just trying to get rid of her. He
didn't believe her.

"OK," she said and hurried out of the Visitor
Center and onto the walkway. If she hurried, she wouldn't be too
late. Maybe her mother wouldn't be too mad if she knew it was for
something really important.

Fowler's first stop was the bar where he had
the bartender set him up with three shots of single malt. The first
went down fast, as did the second. By the time he started on the
third, the sharp edges on her nerves were smoothing down nicely and
he was able to savor the last shot, letting the whiskey slide down
like liquid gold. When he finally put the glass down, he finally
felt able to
think
.

The next stop was his room where he showered
and changed. Not only did he feel unbelievably grimy, he looked
like one of the bums that haunted Hennepin Avenue in Minneapolis.
His clothes were filthy and wrinkled and he stunk as if he hadn't
bathed in weeks.

Amazing what a few hours hiking in the great
outdoors could do to you. Leave home looking like Robert Redford in
Gatsby
and come home looking like a badly done Jack Elam
impersonation from
Once Upon a Time in the West
. Hardly the
image he needed to project.