Shelf Ice (20 page)

“Yes,” said Sue. “What would happen if we had real lives? What would it be like to go to a movie, or spend the night chatting with friends at a bar?”

“Tell you what. I’ve got tickets for the simulcast of the opera on Saturday. And after I’ll take you to a restaurant where you can’t even order a burger with fries. They don’t have the ingredients on the premises. But the good news is that you can drink wine. I’ll be the designated driver.”

“Is your current love interest away this weekend?”

“It’s a long story,” replied Ray.

“Opera? I’m not sure. What’s playing?”

“
Hamlet
. You’ll love it. Very uplifting. Early on the ghost of the dead king appears and identifies the perps that offed him. Justice is wrought by the closing curtain. And in between lots of blood and gore.”

“That’s what we need, a ghost,” said Sue. “You didn’t happen to be talking to one last night?”

“I wish. The thing that kept me up,” began Ray, “was that I got on Rod Gunne’s Website and started listening to his sermons. I got hooked and went through the entire series.”

“Are you a convert?” asked Sue, a wry smile forming on her face.

“Sort of,” he responded. “He’s good. He’s staked out a target audience and created a message that would appeal to them. I’m impressed by how he uses words, images, and music to communicate with his followers. And as you observed when the two of us looked at his Website, Gunne, or the people he hires, really know how to use technology.” Ray paused for a moment, then continued, “The thing that really knocked me over was his mission statement, or I guess I should say the mission statement for the church. It’s a bit buried in the Website. Did you notice it?”

“I don’t think so, nothing comes to mind,” Sue responded. “What’s the big deal?”

“It’s labeled as the
mission statement
,” said Ray, “but it’s not one for the church, it’s his personal mission statement. Gunne writes that through his close reading of scripture he has had personal conversations with God and he, Gunne, has been given the mission of correcting old thinking and making God’s teaching relevant to a modern world. He goes on to say that he has been inspired to create an entirely new religious paradigm. And if you keep that in mind when you read the sermons, you can see how he’s developing a very clear message.”

“What did you learn from the sermons?” Sue asked.

Ray looked down at the notes he had made on a legal pad and glanced at a printed copy of the summary he keyed last night. “First, and this isn’t about message, but it’s important, is time. Gunne knows what every good eighth-grade teacher knows. If you want people to listen, talk at them for fifteen minutes or less and give them one or two things to remember. Every one of his messages is less than fifteen, usually around twelve minutes. Have you watched any of them?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“Well, you should. They are skillfully produced. There’s a story line, theme music, and the narrative develops his intended message.”

“Which is?”

“Essentially, God wants you to be rich. You can enjoy the fruits of his kingdom while on earth if you just follow Reverend Rod’s teaching, based rather loosely on scripture he cites and spins to fit his message. His theology is not completely original, but he’s done a good job of making it all hold together fairly logically. And if you want to get the full pop of his teachings, he will personally pray for you for only pennies a day.”

“Is that prey with an
e
? Anyone who sends money is the prey. Oh, come on Ray, the guy’s a complete charlatan, a cyber Elmer Gantry.”

“Sue, his message isn’t all that bad. And it’s mostly directed toward people who have been hurt economically the last few years. What he’s telling people is that if they work hard, avoid debt, and stay away from gambling and drink or anything that wastes their resources needlessly, God will reward them. I suspect that message could be very helpful to many people.”

“Give me a break.”

“Look, Sue, if you drink, smoke, gamble, and have a messy personal life, and are reckless with your money and then suddenly you change your ways, you probably will have more money. It’s a very positive philosophy.”

“Okay,” said Sue, “That’s all well and good, but he’s making a killing off something any fool should be able to figure out. And he’s invoking some weird theology he’s created to sell the product. I’ve never seen such a slick operation,” Sue concluded emphatically.

“But as far as I can see, it’s all very legal. And one of the great things about our country is that you get to believe or not believe in anything you want.” Ray chuckled. “Gunne is living proof that if you follow his theology, you too can be rich. And he has figured out how to use technology to bring his message to a worldwide audience.”

“I’m always amazed at how nonjudgmental you are, Ray. ”

“It makes the job a lot easier. I just focus on what’s legal and what isn’t legal. Worrying about who’s a charlatan and who isn’t requires too much psychic energy.”

 
“So much for Gunne, did you follow up on Richard Kinver?” asked Ray.

“Yes. There is no record that he was ever involved in any arsons or suspicious fires, not even the one at his gravel pit.”

“How about domestic runs?”

“Same. Like Ben told us, Kinver was apparently protected under Orville’s friends and family policy,” said Sue. “No police reports were ever filed. His marriages and divorces are part of public records, he’s had three marriages, two divorces, and it looks like the third one is in process. His main residence is in foreclosure, and the property that the business sets on is also in the early stages of foreclosure.”

“He probably inherited the business property free and clear, ” said Ray. “So he was obviously borrowing on that property to generate some money. But times are tough; I bet most of the contractors in the region are in great financial difficulty, so Kinver is hardly unique in that department. What do you do when your cash flow suddenly ends for a year or two or three?”

“I don’t know, I can’t imagine,” said Sue. “It takes my whole income to cover my modest life style. But while we’re talking about money, we’ve never really looked at Manton’s finances.
 
Perhaps we’ve been too fixated on looking for a personal relationship between Manton and her assailant.”

“What do we know about her financial situation?” asked Ray.

“Not much. I checked the tax records; there are no liens against her property. From all appearances, she was relatively affluent compared to most of the artists I know in the area.”

“True. Affluence is always relative, depending on where you are on the food chain. To a lot of the locals Manton would have looked quite well off. Could someone have been trying to borrow or extort money from her? For example, what if Kinver was trying to get money from her. Looks like he’s pretty desperate right now. Manton refuses, and he goes crazy and offs her.”

 
“That much rage?” asked Sue.

“Well, probably not. But you never know.”

“And Kinver’s alibi checked out. I talked with Mike McFarland. He said he and Richard were at a conference in Lansing. They came back early Thursday morning. I never went further than that. I’ve always found McFarland pretty reliable,” said Sue.

 
“How about Manton’s cell phone?” asked Ray, changing the direction of the conversation.

“Her carrier finally emailed me a copy. I could have gone to one of the snoop services and for a hundred bucks gotten the info in less than 24 hours. Doing it the right way takes over a week.”

“And?”

“Just starting on that, Ray. I desperately need some time to start pulling together loose ends. We’ve been really scattered in this investigation. It will be wonderful if I get tomorrow to work on some of these things.” Sue paused for a long moment. “Opera and dinner. Does this mean we would both take Saturday off?”

“Yes,” said Ray.

“You’re on, Ray. And I’m going to wear a dress and get my hair done. And I’ll have the Saturday shift in place so neither of us is on call.”

32.

Early Saturday morning Ray was at a crime scene. He separated himself from the large group of emergency workers and walked back up the two-track and a long line of police and fire vehicles to meet Sue. “Your hair looks terrific,” he said as the two approached one another.

“I always try to look my best when going to a murder. It’s all part of reinforcing an image and building the brand,” her tone was sarcastic. She paused for a moment and looked toward the scene at the end of the road. “I thought short of a nuclear attack or natural disaster, I had built a firewall sufficient to give us a day off. What’s going on?”

“A 911 call just after first light. Some birders found the still smoldering remains of a pickup truck. The Township Fire Department was dispatched and Brett arrived shortly thereafter. After he ran the plates, he called me directly, and then I called you.”

“I was just waking up when you called me. You said something about a body. Do you have an ID?”

“The truck belongs to Richard Kinver. There is a body, burned beyond recognition, in the cab of the truck.”

They turned in the direction of the truck. It sat at the terminus of the road end, beyond was a sand dune, shelf ice, and the big lake.

“Are the people who called it in still here?” Sue asked.

“I talked to them as soon as I got here. Took a statement and got their names and addresses. They were pretty shaken by the experience. It was just two of them, husband and wife. Up for the weekend from Kalamazoo.”

“Nothing like a weekend of birding in God’s country,” said Sue. “How about Dyskin?” asked Sue, referring to the medical examiner.

“He’s come and gone. Took one look at the remains and said they should go to the forensic pathologist in Grand Rapids.”

“How about the scene,” asked Sue.

Ray didn’t respond, he looked lost in thought.

“What’s going on?” asked Sue, nudging him.

I was thinking about the Robert Frost poem, “Fire and Ice.”

“I don’t know it,” said Sue.

Ray recited the short poem:

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

“So assuming that it’s Richard Kinver in the truck, what got him killed, desire, hate, or something else?” Ray’s question wasn’t directed at Sue. Then he turned his attention back to her. “What did you ask me?”

“The scene? What about the scene?”

 
“You won’t be happy. Between the effects of the fire and people tromping around, the scene has been pretty much destroyed. They told me that the tires were still burning when they arrived and part of the interior was engaged, so everything has been sprayed with foam. They said that initially they didn’t see the body.”

“Well, let’s get everyone back so I can get in and photograph the scene. Then we can get the body out of here and the truck hauled away before the gawkers finish with their morning coffee.” Sue looked directly at Ray, “We need to get this done. I’m on my way to my first opera today, and I don’t want to miss the opening curtain.”

• • •

Several hours later Ray and Sue grabbed two of the remaining seats in the front row at the State Theatre in Traverse City. Sue turned around and scanned the audience. “We’re the youngest people here,” she said in a low tone just as the houselights began to dim.

At the end of the opera, after all the curtain calls, the house lights at both the Met and the State Theatre came up. Sue and Ray were at the end of the line in the slowly emptying theater.

Sue stopped and turned toward the now blank screen that had brilliantly reflected intense passion and anger for close to four hours. “That’s what we need.”

“What?”

“That’s what we need,” she repeated, “a ghost.”

“I think we have one,” responded Ray. “Tristan Laird.”

33.

Sue’s Jeep was parked twenty yards back from the blackened area where Richard Kinver’s truck had been discovered little more than twenty-four hours before. Ray could see her beyond the scene, out on the shelf ice, with Simone off lead, scampering around near her. Ray walked out onto the ice, now extending forty or fifty yards from the shore, increasing in thickness toward the leading edge, where floating chunks of ice had been thrown onto the shelf during the last big storm.