Summer People (2 page)

“Before today, when was the last time you saw him?”

“Probably last August.”

“Who arranged this get-together?”

“He did. He called me at the office a couple of weeks ago and asked when I was coming up and if we could get together. He told me he had remarried, and he wanted me to meet his bride.” He paused.

“I noticed you smiled when you said, ‘meet his bride,’” Ray said.

“As long as I’ve known Randy, he’s always been introducing me to his new woman, bride, whatever.”

“He was married before?”

“At least three or four times, and in between he was never without a woman. He seemed to show them off like some expensive new toy. I don’t think I ever saw any of them more than two or three times.”

“Did Mr. Holden say anything yesterday that would suggest that he was in any trouble, or did he appear worried about anything?”

“Nothing at all. Randy was bright, but not deep. I never saw him worry about anything. He told us about how well he was doing, how much we would like his new bride—I guess that’s why I liked seeing him occasionally.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was like being a college boy again. Sitting around, shooting the bull. It was all so removed from my day-to-day worries.

“Do you know what business he was in?”

“He was a lawyer by training, but after he moved to Chicago I think he mostly worked in investments. He said he was making millions in futures.”

“While you were with him yesterday, did anyone approach him, or did he have any phone calls?”

“Not to my memory.”

“Did he make any phone calls?”

“After we finished playing, he called his wife briefly. I think that’s the only call he made.”

“So you don’t remember anything that might suggest that he was in some sort of trouble?”

“No, nothing. Just the same old Randy. He was full of himself and quite pleased with his new wife. He seemed to bring her into our conversations all afternoon, as if to tell us he had found the fountain of youth. He always needed to brag. Actually Tawny, that’s a hell of a name, isn’t it, turned out to be quite nice. I don’t understand how she hooked up with him. Sorry, Sheriff, I don’t know anything else. Getting together with Randy was just a summer thing. I really don’t know a hell of a lot about him.”

Ray next questioned Robert Austin. He seemed to know even less than the doctor. Their wives added nothing of substance, but each woman gave Ray the impression that they disliked Randy. Then he talked with the widow briefly. She was obviously in shock. He decided to put off further questioning until the next day. Dr. James and his wife offered to take Tawny Holden to their home for the night.

Ray asked Ben to get all the names, addresses, and phone numbers before they left. When he went back out to the front porch, Ray could see that the coroner, Ted Lynch, was kneeling beside the body on the porch. Ray knelt at his side.

“Dead as hell, Sheriff,” said Ted.

Ray had always been put off by Ted’s casualness with death.

“He died instantly, one shot. Look,” he pointed to a wound in the side of the victim’s neck. “The bullet entered here—blew most of his spine away. Didn’t know what hit him. Can’t find any other wounds. When can I move the body?”

“As soon as Sue Lawrence, our evidence tech, is done.”

Ted gave Ray a tired look. He hated waiting while the police gathered evidence. He wanted to go home and get back to bed.

Sheriff Elkins was leaning against his patrol car and drinking coffee from a large, insulated cup and dreaming about a cigarette when Deputy Lawrence drove up the two-track to the Holden cottage.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she climbed out of her car. “I couldn’t get back to sleep after I got home. I finally fell asleep just about the time the alarm clock went off.”

“I just got here a few minutes ago myself,” Ray responded. “Let’s start on the porch,” he said leading the way to the front of the cottage; Sue noticed he was carrying a wooden stake and some string. He pushed the screen door open and held it for Sue. He pointed toward the broken window and the screen behind it. “We have the hole in the screen and the slug over here in the wall, and they seem to be in line with where the victim was standing.” Ray’s inflection suggested a question.

“Yes, I don’t think the bullet was deflected much.” “So let’s run a string between those two points and we can sort of eyeball where the shooter was.” He put a tack in the wall just below a circle that marked where the bullet was buried, attached the string to the tack and ran the string to the hole in the screen.

“Take this stake out to that dune. I’ll yell to you where I want you to put it.”

Sue walked in the direction of the beach; when she got to the top of the dune near the water, she turned back and faced the cottage. As Ray gestured, she moved the stake until he yelled, “Right there.” She pushed the stake into the sand. Ray walked out to join her.

“The shooter was probably no more then five feet one way or the other,” said Ray. “See a shell casing anywhere?”

“No, I was looking for it as I walked out here; I didn’t want to push it into the sand.”

“Let’s work our way out from this point in each direction, some automatics throw the brass a pretty good distance.”

They covered the area three times without finding anything, the third time using a rake Ray brought from the cottage.

“It’s not here. What do you think?” asked Sue.

“The shooter either picked up the shell, which would have been difficult in the dark, or he used a bolt action rifle. Then he ran for his car that he left….”

Sue finished his sentence, “Behind one of those unoccupied cottages down the way.”

“Let’s see how long it would take,” said Ray.

They headed across the dune at a brisk pace. When they got to the first cottage Ray checked his watch.

“How long?” asked Sue.

“Less than three minutes.”

“And if he was running,” she opined, “he could have cut that in half.”

“Even in the dark and rain?”

“Well, maybe two minutes,” she offered with a smile. “Then another minute or two to the highway, and he’s gone. How long before Jake got here?”

“I’d have to check the log to tell you accurately, but I think about fifteen minutes.” “So even if the shooter took a leisurely stroll out, he would have had five or ten minutes lead on the first unit, and…”

“And what?” asked Ray.

“Well, we’re assuming that the killer had a car parked here, and that’s how he escaped. But we have no evidence to that fact. He might have walked out, had a car hidden on one of the old fire roads a mile or two from here. Or he might have come by boat.”

“That’s all true. I guess it depends on who the killer was.”

“What are you getting at?” she asked.

“The shooter was very skilled. If this was done by a professional, he would have come to the area to do the job and would get out fast. I doubt if he would have taken the time to learn the area well enough to find out where all these little roads in the woods go. And I doubt if he would have taken time to arrange for a boat. The most efficient thing to do would be to stake out the victim for a few days, get a sense of his habits, and then devise a plan to do the killing and get away safely.”

“So you think this was professional hit.”

“Might be. We’ll know more when we get additional information on the victim.”

“Is there anything else you want me to do here, Sheriff?”

“Go over the area again with a metal detector, just in case the brass is buried in the sand. Later today or tomorrow I want to bring the victim’s wife back here for questioning. I want you to be here for that. Also, see if any of those cottages are occupied. Then cover the drives and two tracks on foot just to make sure the shooter didn’t drop anything.”

“Given the lack of physical evidence, where do we go from here?” she asked.

“We question the witnesses again, check for any evidence that we might have missed, dig the bullet out of wall and send it to the State Police Lab, and see if there is any information on the victim on LEIN and NCIC.”

“And what happens if we don’t find anything new?”

Ray could tell from Sue’s expression what she had just come to realize.

“In the months since you have been on the force—this is your third homicide, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” she answered. “We had the deer hunter in November and the woman who shot her husband in late January or February.”

“And those are fairly typical of the kinds of homicides that we see up here, only a few each year, and they are usually open and shut—you’ve got the body, the motive, and usually a killer who wants to make a statement.”

“And this one?”

“It’s too early to tell.”

Marc was awakened by a loud banging on the back door. As he noticed the sunlight framing the edges of the thick curtains, he heard his dog, Grendel, move. Briefly he heard Grendel’s license and rabies tags drag against the floor, but it was clear that the dog was not going to investigate the noise.

Marc pulled on some worn, khaki shorts. As he walked down the hall to the kitchen, he could see a familiar face peering in the window next to the door. He opened the door.

“Why are you getting me out of bed in the middle of the night?”

“Middle of the night, hell. 9:00 a.m. is the middle of the night for you summer people?”

Marc yawned, stretched and rubbed his eyes several more times. Then he took a long look at his boyhood friend. He saw that Ray had less than a day’s beard; he was wearing a tie, although loose, with the top button open, and the uniform that covered his short and stocky frame still showed some evidence that it had once been pressed.

“Are you cleaning up your act?” asked Marc. “Even at this ungodly hour, you’re more in uniform than I’ve ever seen you.”

“Ungodly hour, it’s midday for us working folk.”

“I’m still impressed by the uniform. You spent years trying to effect the country-cop look, and now you’re looking almost citified.”

“Well, there is an election coming, and I thought it was time I started to improve the department’s image a bit. Which leads me to the reason for my visit. Rumor has it you’re becoming a local voter.” When Ray talked, his whole face, round with a pointed nose, was mobile, and he punctuated his sentences by blinking and moving his head. His face had humor. He looked like a character in a Hogarth print, or one of Dickens’ street urchins who had grown to middle age.

“The rumor is true, but campaigning at this time in the morning,” said Marc as he stretched again.

“You’ve got to catch the voters when you can,” replied Ray with a sleepy smile. “The election is turning into a real horse race. I’ll have to work this time if I want to stay in office.”

“I thought you might have tired of the job by now. I’m surprised someone hasn’t enticed you back downstate with a more challenging position.”

“I’ve been up here for quite a while now. This agrees with me. And,” he continued with a mocking smile, “this job is worth keeping. It’s one of few jobs in the county with steady pay and a new car every year. Anyway, I was out this way and thought I’d stop and see if you were here yet.”

“I arrived on Friday. Want some coffee?”

“Have I ever turned it down?” Ray stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. “Place doesn’t look any different than when your grandparents lived here. Did you move anything up with you?”

“Just my clothes, some books, two computers, and some small personal things; Elaine is keeping the house.”

“She got the gold mine and you got….”

“Not really, she’d picked out everything in the house. It was all hers. She always ridiculed my taste. All I wanted was my personal things. I was happy to leave everything else. No use bringing baggage filled with unpleasant memories. She got the house, and I got the hound.”

“Well you got the best part. Where is old Grendel?”

“He’ll wander in when it looks like breakfast is in the offing. He doesn’t feel he has to be a guard dog anymore.” As Marc started the coffee maker, he looked over at his friend. “I’m glad to see you. What brings you out this way?”

“We had a murder last night, couple of miles from here on the big lake. The victim is from Chicago. I wish you summer people would keep that stuff downstate. It’s not good for the tourist business. And it may not be good for this incumbent sheriff just before an election.” Ray bounced his thumb off his chest several times.

“How so?” asked Marc.

“My opponent,” he laughed, “will argue that the homicide rate has increased a hundred percent. He’ll tell the voters crime is increasing here faster than in Detroit.”

“So you’re up to two?”

“Two so far this year. Let’s hope you fudgies keep it under control for the rest of the season.”

“Still take it black?”

“Think I’ve changed?”

“It’s possible. You’ve been here for almost ten minutes, and you haven’t lit a cigarette yet.”

“True. I stopped four or five months ago. It was time. It was real hard to quit. And every time I have a coffee or a beer, God, I’d like to have one.”

Marc got two mugs and the coffeepot and carried them out to the deck. Ray followed. “So tell me about the murder?” he asked as they settled into deck chairs.

“The murder took place at one of those big old cottages on Otter Point. Place looks a lot like this, probably been in the family for years. Name’s Holden, Randy Holden, he’s from Chicago.”

“Randy Holden,” Marc repeated.

“You recognize the name?” Ray asked.

“I haven’t thought about him in years.”

“Was he a friend of….”

“Never a friend, just someone I knew. You might have met him, too.”

“Name doesn’t ring any bells. And he didn’t look familiar.”

“How did he die?”

“Bullet through the back of the neck. The kind of shot that deer hunters like. You don’t waste any meat.”

“Do you have the killer?”

“Don’t have a clue. Holden and his wife were entertaining friends, had just come back from a play. The victim was mixing drinks. Shot must have been fired from the dune just off the water’s edge. It was during that heavy thunderstorm we had about midnight. No one heard the shot. And no one saw or heard a car leaving the area.” Ray sipped his coffee. “What do you remember about Holden?”