Dead Insider (14 page)

The warrant for the arrest of Lauren Crowell arrived within an hour. At Lew’s request, Osborne drove with her to the Northwoods Inn.

“I’m sorry,” said the receptionist at the front desk, “but Ms. Crowell checked out at noon.”

“Why am I not surprised,” said Lew as they walked back to the cruiser. She called the switchboard. “Marlaine, I want an APB put out for the arrest of Lauren Crowell. Check with Dani for the license plate number and model of the Jeep she’s driving. And alert officers that Crowell is a person of interest in a murder. She could be armed. They must approach with caution.”

Lew turned to Osborne, “I want to get to Presque Isle ASAP. The mother lives there. She may know where we can find her daughter. If you need to be with Mallory and Kenton—”

“They’re big kids,” said Osborne. “They can take care of themselves. I’m with you.”

“I swear the trees grow taller up here,” said Lew, as she and Osborne sped north in her cruiser. When the road was straight, Lew broke the speed limit, but even then it took over an hour to reach Presque Isle. Osborne kept a close eye on the GPS screen tracking the route, which took them off the county highway on to a winding road leading back, back, and back into a densely wooded area.

The road changed from blacktop to gravel. “Someone wants privacy,” said Osborne. “I’ve never been this far out from the main area of Presque Isle.” The road looped up and down over a series of hills before ending in front of a large log home. Off to the left was a barn with a Range Rover SUV parked in front of it. Next to that was a Ford 160 pickup.

Off to one side of the large house, Osborne could see water glinting through a stand of birch trees. Aware that there were a thousand lakes in and around Presque Isle, he wondered which one this was.

“Did you call ahead?” asked Osborne as they got out of the cruiser.

“No,” said Lew. “Could be a mistake, but we’ll see.” They walked up to a wide, wooden front door decorated with a carved owl knocker. Lew rang the bell instead.

After a moment’s wait, the door swung open. An older woman of medium height with short, wavy gray hair and wearing white slacks with a short-sleeved beige shirt stood in the doorway. “Yes?” she asked, worry flashing across her face when she saw Lew in her uniform. “Something wrong?” Osborne could hear in her tone that she knew the answer to her question.

Judith Barrington held the door open for them to enter. “Follow me,” she said, “we’ll talk in the den. I’ve been expecting you. Well, not you in particular, but someone with news of Lauren.” She took a stiff-backed wooden chair next to a desk, and gestured Lew and Osborne to two upholstered chairs across from her.

“Is your husband home?” asked Osborne. “You may want him to hear Chief Ferris’s concerns.”

“I’m widowed,” said the woman. “My husband, Peter, died ten years ago. I have a caretaker who helps me with this place—but I’m afraid it’s just me.” She gave a soft smile, though her eyes remained serious.

“This may be difficult for you to hear,” said Lew, “but your daughter is a suspect in the murder of a woman for whom she was working.” She gave a quick sketch of Lauren’s role in Jane Ericsson’s campaign for the U.S. Senate, and the fact that Jane had been murdered, but stopped short of mentioning the dismemberment of her body.

Judith did not appear surprised. “She’s a time bomb,” said Judith. “I’ve been waiting all her life for something like this to happen.” She took a deep breath, then said, “I recently learned that my late husband’s older sister was committed in her teens for behaviors similar to Lauren’s. The family never told anyone, and I only found out when I went to his brother’s funeral a couple of months ago.”

“You mean there is a family history of mental illness?” asked Lew.

“That’s a benign way to put it,” said Judith. “Lauren was a difficult child. We were living in Evanston, Illinois, at the time where we could get some counseling. I can’t tell you how many types of family counseling and psychiatric testing we went through. Nothing worked. She threw terrible tantrums, broke furniture, brutalized other children. Our dogs were terrified of her. As a child she was like … a cancer. She would lie in wait, then strike.

“Maybe we did the wrong thing, but when she was twelve and … and I couldn’t deal with her any longer, we sent her to school in Switzerland. A psychiatrist there was specializing in treating children like Lauren, so we thought maybe …”

“Was she schizophrenic?” asked Lew.

Judith didn’t respond. With her right hand, she picked at a thread on her knee. “They diagnosed her as psychotic,” she said after a long pause. “But the doctors at the school seemed to think she could be helped, so we kept her there for five years. Then she came back here, and was accepted into a good college out East. She’s a very smart woman. It’s just that she is disturbed.”

As he listened, Osborne could hear in her resigned tone that she had prepared for this conversation for a long, long time. It was as if she was ready for death.

“College lasted three months. One day she was in a minor accident on her bike and was hospitalized in the college infirmary with a concussion. One of the school deans went to get her things from her room, and discovered that Lauren had been stealing from other girls in the dorm. Underwear. Panties, specifically. She had dozens and dozens of pairs of panties. Sounds weird, I know. But that has been one of her patterns: stealing personal items from others.

“It’s like …” Judith glanced around the room, as if searching there for an answer. “It’s like she has always tried to find ways to take on another person’s persona. Do you know what I mean? The dean also found disturbing letters that she had been writing to girls in the dorm, threatening letters. And there was promiscuous behavior with several boys that the other girls were dating.

“Needless to say, she was asked to leave. She came home—we were still living in Evanston—and got married to this poor guy, Fred Crowell. He didn’t believe me when I tried so hard to warn him off. But they got married, which is where she got her last name. Again, just a few months into that and she went berserk one day. Fred came home and found that she had taken all his personal items and chopped them into tiny, tiny pieces. Socks, shirts, pants, books, his wallet, sports equipment—everything.

“That is when I had her committed to the first of a series of hospitals. But Lauren is crafty. She would bide her time, behaving perfectly until she could escape.”

“Would she always come home?” asked Osborne.

“After a while. I never knew exactly when I might see her face in a window—but it was always when she needed money. Meanwhile, shortly before he retired, my husband and I built this place.”

“You are really off the beaten track,” said Osborne. “This is remote country.”

“Maybe we were trying to hide,” said Judith. Again the sad smile with serious eyes. “Just before Peter died, I thought we finally had some good news. Lauren was in a psychiatric community in California, where she fell in love with cooking. She became an expert chef, got into organic gardening, artisanal butchering—”

“Butchering?” asked Lew.

“Yes. She has always had a fascination with knives and cutting. I’m afraid poor Fred will vouch for that. By the way, he changed his name after their divorcé. He lives in fear that she’ll come after him again.”

“But you feel safe up here alone in the woods?” asked Lew.

“Oh, no,” said Judith. “You can’t see it but I have a security system that covers this house and a four-acre circumference of my property. My caretaker keeps a close eye on the surrounding acres as well. Lauren once set up a tent far enough away that the security system didn’t pick it up, so he watches closely, especially since we haven’t any idea where she’s been for the last year. Once she escaped from that hospital, I cut off the money, too. I’ve had no idea how she’s been surviving.”

“Have you asked authorities to search for her?” asked Lew.

“That has never worked. It’s one thing to walk away from a psychiatric hospital, quite another to commit a crime. Like I said, Lauren is crafty. After spending close to half a million on private detectives and all, I gave up.”

“When was the last time she was home?”

“Several years ago. But a friend told me she thought she saw her just a couple months ago in Manitowish Waters. Browsing galleries. I told her she must have
thought
she saw Lauren, that it was someone else.” Judith paused. “If it was Lauren … that frightens me. Why would she show up around here if she doesn’t want to be caught and hospitalized again? It doesn’t make sense, but then nothing about my daughter has ever made sense.”

“Have you an opinion on what might have set her off?” asked Lew. “She seemed to be very effective in her work as the campaign manager for a woman who trusted her, who gave her a room in her own home.”

“I wish I had known, I would have warned someone. As far as what sets her off, I could never predict,” said Judith. “Jealousy, maybe. But why did she attack Fred? He loved her. Although he was critical of how she handled their finances. Lauren has been capable of outrageous spending sprees.”

“Shoplifting?” asked Lew.

“Oh, yes—that is one of the few times she has been caught,” said Judith. “She shoplifts crazy stuff. Things she doesn’t need. For her, it’s a game.”

“Well,” said Lew, getting to her feet. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your candor. If you see or hear from your daughter, please call me immediately. Here is my cell phone number, or call 911 and tell them to reach me.”

“And be careful,” said Osborne.

“I will. I have been a target for years,” said Judith. “I’m also a mother who failed at helping her child. If you are right in thinking that—that Lauren has committed this terrible act—and I believe you are—then I am guilty, too.”

She had gotten to their feet and was walking with them to the front door when she stopped. “Be careful when you find her. Lauren’s anger is explosive. Be armed and ready. She will steal your soul if she can.”

At the door, Lew paused. She put an arm around Judith’s shoulders. “I am so sorry that we had to come here today, that we’ve had to put you through this. I can’t begin to imagine how difficult these years have been. I know you’ve tried your best.”

“Thank you,” said Judith in a whisper. She pulled the door open and they walked through. As they neared the cruiser, Judith called out, “Wait, Chief Ferris, please wait.”

She ran up to them and stood with her arms crossed tight over her chest. “Something I must tell you. I’ve never told anyone this before, but I think you should know … Lauren had a younger sister.

“We were vacationing at Lake Geneva one summer. Lauren was twelve, and Mari just two and a half. The girls were playing in the water at the resort. I asked Lauren to watch Mari while I ran to get something from our room and when I got back …” Judith couldn’t continue. She dropped her head into her hands and said, “Lauren was holding Mari down under the water. I thought she was reaching for her, but she was holding her down. She drowned my baby.”

Judith sobbed. “My fault. I tried to tell Peter what I saw, but he refused to believe me. He made me tell the authorities that Lauren was napping, that I was watching Mari play with sand toys on the beach and left for a short time to get a book that I’d left in the room. When I got back, she had fallen off the dock.

“That’s what I swore to. It was not the truth. But Peter did agree with me that she needed help from mental health experts who might understand her. That’s when we sent her to Switzerland.”

It was still light when Lew dropped Osborne at his car, parked in the police station parking lot. She had checked with the switchboard, but there was no news of a sighting or arrest of Lauren Crowell. Bruce had left a message that he was working with the phone company to see if the phone owned by Jane Ericsson could be traced. So far no luck, as the phone number one of the campaign staffers had turned out to be for an older phone that had been replaced just two weeks ago—and no one had that new number.

Osborne could see the fatigue and worry on Lew’s face. He doubted that he looked any better. He knew she would settle in with paperwork that was piling up from the investigation. “Call me if anything breaks, please.”

“You know I will,” she said. “It’s just that I feel so uneasy with this woman on the loose. What if some poor unsuspecting person gets in her way?” Hands on her hips, Lew stared down at the tarmac, thinking.

“What is it?” asked Osborne.

Lew looked up, her dark eyes serious. “Would you mind if I stayed at your place tonight? Last night I had the strangest feeling when I was sitting down by the water that I was being watched. I’m sure it was just a critter—”

“My place it is,” said Osborne. “I’ll pick up a pizza at the Birchwood Bar on my way home. Take your time here, and we’ll eat whenever you’re finished.”

As he drove home, Osborne couldn’t get Kaye out of his thoughts. Even though he was sure she would never have hurt Jane, he didn’t like the fact that emotions had reached such a point that Jane had fired Kaye. Nor did it sound good that she stood to inherit half the Ericsson fortune.

What he really didn’t like was that Lauren Crowell, emotional instability aside, might be devious enough to make it look like Kaye had motive, opportunity, and the expertise to have dismembered the body. That might be all that would be needed to convince a jury.

Poor Kaye; he wondered how she was doing. Certainly Ray would have stopped by to check on her. He’d said he would.

For no good reason, Osborne suddenly remembered that his shot bag, the one that Mike had chewed on, was still in the back of his car. He had tossed it there right after he and Ray had been at Kaye’s early Saturday morning, in hopes that he could drop it off to be repaired on one of his trips to Loon Lake.

Ah
, he thought,
just the excuse I need
. He turned onto Rolf Ericsson Drive. He would feel better if he knew Kaye was doing all right. He made a mental note not to say anything about Jane’s will, or that Lew had a warrant out for Lauren’s arrest. But remembering how Lauren had barged into Kaye’s home the day before, he decided it would be wise to share some of what they had learned from Lauren’s mother, and encourage Kaye to lock her doors.

He passed the old tennis courts and wound his way past a grove of towering hemlocks. He had just reached the putting green when he saw Kaye’s house where it didn’t belong: five feet above the tips of the pines in front of him. Airborne. The fiery explosion took less than two seconds but seemed to go on forever, the exterior walls of the old blue house separating before falling back behind the trees.

He hit the accelerator and reached for his phone, braking only long enough to punch in 911.

“Fire!” Osborne was shouting the location when he passed Jane’s house and saw the caretaker cottage collapsing in flames. With the phone line still open, he stopped fifty feet from the house. As he jumped from his car, a flaming dervish flew out from what had been the front door.

He grabbed Mike’s dog blanket from the back seat and ran. Tackling the burning figure with the blanket, he rolled the body over the ground until he could be sure the flames were extinguished.

“Kaye?” It was Kaye. She was unconscious. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing. He felt for a pulse: She was alive. At least for now.

Firemen and an ambulance arrived within moments. Osborne was relieved to let the EMTs take over and rush Kaye to the emergency room. Lew arrived right behind the fire chief. The smoke was so dense, the three of them had to stand far upwind of the burning house. Lew and the fire chief listened while Osborne described what he had seen.

“Dr. Osborne,” said the fire chief, “given what you saw driving in, I’m going to bet this was a gas explosion. We’ll know more tomorrow.” He jogged off to join his team of firemen working their hoses and pulling burning debris from the house.

“Doc, you okay?” asked Lew, rubbing his arm as they stood watching the firemen.

“I think so,” said Osborne. “I’m worried sick about Kaye.”

“Let me check with the emergency room,” said Lew as she pulled out her cell phone.

“We’ve got her stabilized,” said the MD heading up the trauma team. “We’re putting her in an ambulance right now and rushing her to our burn unit in Minocqua. I suggest you give them a call in a couple hours. They’ll know more then.”

“Whew,” said Osborne after Lew had clicked off her phone. “At least she’s alive. I’m ready to head home. Pizza okay?”

“Pizza sounds perfect,” said Lew. “Pizza and sleep.”