Dead Insider (8 page)

Four miles from where Osborne and Lauren Crowell were awaiting Lew’s arrival, Ray’s pontoon was drifting along the outer edge of the weed bed in the northwest corner of Loon Lake. Mallory watched as Kenton cast his lure so close to Ray’s line that it nearly snagged it.

“Kenton, be careful,” she said, trying not to sound critical, “you really shouldn’t cast so close to someone else’s line.”

“But he’s caught two fish on that side of the boat,” said Kenton, “and I haven’t got anything on this side.”

“Nevertheless, it’s bad manners to do that,” said Mallory. She refrained from mentioning that skill might have something to do with catching a fish.

“Manners? You go fishing and have to mind your manners?” said Kenton. “You must be kidding. I don’t worry about manners on the basketball court—I go for the ball. Here, I’m gonna go for the fish. Right, Ray?”

“Mallory has a point,” said Ray. “Now … I realize you’ve never fished before, so you are excused this time. But for the record, yes, there have been books written about the proper etiquette among fishermen. Don’t want to get shot, dontcha know.” He grinned at Kenton. “But Mallory wants you to have a good time, so you go right ahead and take my spot.”

Ray reeled in his lure and stepped back. He looked over at Christina, who was casting off the opposite side with a slight breeze behind her. “I’ll fish over here with my lovely lady friend. She’s got a line I’d like to cross …” Ray’s double entendre hit home as Christina gave him a sidelong glance. Watching the two, Mallory suspected he had already crossed that line. A hint of jealousy stirred in her heart.

She glanced over at Kenton. He was trying, she had to give him that. Ray had banged on the bedroom window at six that morning and hustled them over to his trailer, where he and Christina had packed up a cooler with sandwiches and hot coffee. Not long after they got on the lake, Christina had hooked a large northern pike. Since then, Ray had caught and released two small walleyes.

“Whoa!” Kenton lurched forward, nearly falling over the pontoon railing. “Got something! Oh my God, what do I do now?” he cried, flailing with his rod over his head as the fish charged the boat.

“Tighten that line,” said Ray as he set down his rod to stand alongside Kenton. “That’s good .. now let some out … remember what I told you about drag … okay, now reel it in … good, keep it coming.”

“Maybe you’d better take over?” Kenton asked Ray. It was the first time Mallory had ever heard Kenton sound uncertain.

“N-o-o-o,” said Ray, “you’re going to do this …”

Minutes later, Kenton held high a twenty-eight-inch walleye. “That is one of the biggest walleye I have ever seen caught in Loon Lake,” said Ray. “Let Christina take a picture for you.”

“Maybe I should have it mounted?” asked Kenton, eager as an eight-year-old with his first big catch.

Mallory laughed, happy to see Kenton so pleased. “That would look pretty cool on your office wall.”

Kenton turned to her with a big grin. “You are right. Great idea, sweetie.” It was the nicest thing he had said to her all day. Maybe tonight he would roll over to her side of the bed.

From deep inside one of the pontoon’s storage units where Ray had stashed her backpack, Mallory heard the muffled ring of a cell phone. She raised the lid and grabbed for her phone.

“Oh, hi, Dad, yeah. We’re out here with Ray, and Kenton just got a huge walleye—what? Oh, my gosh, that’s awful. Yes, Ray is right here. I’ll put him on.”

She handed the cell phone to Ray, who listened, his face serious, as Osborne spoke. “Sure, Doc, I should be there within half an hour. No, Christina needs to leave soon anyway. Not a problem.” He clicked off the phone and handed it back to Mallory.

“What is it?” asked Christina.

“Jane Ericsson has been found murdered,” said Ray.

All three people on the pontoon stared at him, speechless. “Chief Ferris needs me at the Ericsson property. Wants me to search the grounds. Sorry, folks, but our fishing is over. Kenton, I’ll clean that walleye for you after I shoot a photo. You can take it to a taxidermist I know and have a mount made. May be kind of pricey though.”

As Ray maneuvered the pontoon up to his dock, Mallory spotted the figure of an older woman at the door to Ray’s trailer. She was carrying a shopping bag, which she hung on the door latch.

“Kaye, wait,” said Ray, hollering up at her. “I heard the news.”

Kaye walked a short distance toward the dock and paused to wave back toward the trailer. “Got your hat done. Can’t talk now. Too much to do.” She sounded weary.

“Poor Kaye,” said Ray to Mallory. “Jane Ericsson was her family—all the family she had left. They had their spats but …” He shook his head and turned to help Christina and Mallory off the pontoon.

Kenton had jumped onto the dock and was checking his phone for e-mails. “Hey, Mallory,” he said without looking up from the phone, “I want to follow Ray over to the Ericsson place. This is a catastrophe the media will inhale. Has to be worth a hundred grand in crisis communications. That campaign manager must be going nuts. How far away is the place?”

As Lew turned down Rolf Ericsson Drive, she checked the rear view mirror and grimaced. The Channel 12 television crew was right behind her cruiser. She knew it had to happen, but darn, she had hoped to get through the morning before dealing with the questions she couldn’t answer.

She pulled to a stop as soon as the old Ericsson lodge and the new house with its bright red roof were in view. She got out and walked back to the van. A young man she had never seen before thrust a microphone at her, but she reached out to put a hand over it.

“Not yet, young man. I will have a statement for the media this afternoon at three—”

“But—” The reporter yanked his mike out of her hand.

“No ‘buts’ about it,” said Lew. “It’s too early in our investigation for us to give you factual information. Hope to have something later, like I said. Right now you may not enter this property any further. Do you hear me? This may be a crime scene. If your driver crosses this line—” Lew drew an imaginary line in front of the van’s left tire. “—you will all be arrested.”

The reporter closed his eyes in frustration, then said, “One thing, okay? We’re here first. Right? When you’re ready, will you talk to us first, please?”

Lew thought that over, then said, “I have a suggestion. We passed a field back a ways. Why don’t you park there? Tell any more press who come that they should line up behind you. I will talk to everyone at once, but you will be in the front.”

The reporter leaned back into the van and said to someone with him, “Sounds good to me. We’ll get good video. Okay, agreed. Say, Chief Ferris,” he said as the van driver put the vehicle in reverse, “I heard you found human body parts?”

“Good try,” said Lew. “Later.”

Doc and a tall, dark-haired woman were waiting for her in the kitchen of the new house.” Lauren Crowell, this is Loon Lake Police Chief Lewellyn Ferris,” said Osborne as she walked into the airy room.

“Lauren Crowell,” said the woman, “I’m managing Jane Ericsson’s Senate campaign—or what’s left of it anyway.”

“Dr. Osborne filled you in on what we found early this morning?” asked Lew.

Lauren nodded. “Still not sure I believe it. But I want to give you all the help I can.”

“Good. Let’s take a seat over there,” said Lew, walking to a sitting area in the living room that held three small black leather sofas facing each other with a round coffee table in front of them. She gave a quick look around the high-ceilinged space. “Quite a place, huh.” She set a digital recorder on the coffee table, turned it on, and identified the three people who would be participating.

“Miss Crowell, I understand that in addition to being the campaign manager for the victim, Jane Ericsson, that you have been residing here at her home. Correct?”

“First, please call me Lauren. Yes, but it would be more accurate to say that I stay over here when traveling in the area. I’m a guest, not a resident. My home is in Washington, D.C.”

“Why are you here now?” asked Lew.

“Last night was supposed to be a pontoon party, a fundraiser for the campaign in Madison, with seven couples, all of whom are major donors. I was there, waiting for Jane to arrive. When she didn’t show, I drove up here as fast as I could. Got here around four this morning.”

“What time was she due to arrive in Madison?”

“Five o’clock. We had things to go over. Usually she flies down in a small jet that she owns, but her pilots said she didn’t show up and she didn’t answer their phone calls. They figured she must have decided to drive down. She’s done that more than once when she needs a break from people. We all learned a long time ago not to argue with Jane.” Lauren gave a small smile.

“Why didn’t you call the authorities when she didn’t show up? Weren’t you worried?”

“Great question. Ranks up there with ‘why don’t trees touch the sky?’” Again Osborne heard the brittle laugh.

When neither Lew nor Osborne responded, she sat up straighter, her face somber as she said, “Jane has … had … a drinking problem. It got worse in the last few weeks. The pressure of the campaign, maybe? If she had pulled over to sleep or stopped in a bar on the way down, I didn’t want the press to know. You have no idea how many times I might have called the cops, only to have her show up within a couple hours. You don’t want to be the person who cries ‘wolf’ too many times. Right?” Lauren slumped back against the sofa.

“Even if this has happened before,” said Lew, “how long were you planning to wait before …” She paused, then said, “Never mind. I have more important questions for you right now. For the record, our session will be brief and I’ll need to talk with you again later. Right now, I need a few facts before I leave you to find temporary lodging. Has Dr. Osborne explained that this property is off limits until the team from the Wausau Crime Lab has completed their work?”

“Yes, and how long do you expect that to take?” asked Lauren.

“I have no idea. Depends on what they find. But I expect them out here shortly. Now, going back to my questions. And Dr. Osborne may have some as well.”

“Of course,” said Lauren, folding her arms and sitting back on the sofa.

“How long have you known Jane Ericsson?” asked Lew.

“Two years. We started working on this campaign almost exactly one year ago.”

“In Washington, D.C.?”

“Actually, no. We were in Madison when it started to come together.”

“Madison?” asked Osborne. “Are you from Wisconsin?”

“Yes. I grew up in Presque Isle.”

“And
how
did you meet Jane?” he asked.

“The usual Wisconsin way,” said Lauren with a slight smile as she picked at an imaginary piece of lint on one knee. “We were at a bar, and friends introduced us. We, just, well, we hit it off right away. I was lobbying at the time for an out-of-state microbrewery, so we chatted about politics, and one thing led to another. She told me about her family, her father and his amazing career. I encouraged her to run for the Senate. I told her I
knew
she could win.”

Lauren’s eyes brimmed and she pushed a Kleenex at her nose. “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t pushed Jane to run …”

“Were you a couple?” asked Lew.

“Oh, no. ’Course, I think that old biddy next door thought we were.”

“Why would she think that?” asked Osborne, surprised.

“Because I made Jane stop having her over all the time. When I first started coming here that woman just dropped in whenever. I couldn’t believe it.”

“They have known each other since they were youngsters,” said Osborne. “People up here drop in on one another. It’s the way we are. I’m sure it’s the same in Presque Isle.”

“Well, she didn’t make a good impression on other guests,” said Lauren. “Jane and I made it a point to entertain influential people who might donate to the campaign and Kaye … Do you know her? She’s weird—old, scruffy.” Lauren shuddered. “Not the image we’ve been working to project.”

“How was Jane to work for?” asked Lew. “You said she had a drinking problem. Could she be abusive?”

“No, heavens, no. We got along great. She approved the strategy I brought her, the staff I hired. We had a great working relationship until …”

“Until when?” Lew kept her tone even.

“Oh, we just disagreed over that Kaye Lund person, but Jane got over it. I mean, you can’t work side by side every day and not have a few issues.”

“True,” said Lew.

“It might be good for you to know that Kaye Lund is organizing a memorial service for people here in Loon Lake,” said Osborne.

“Oh, no, she won’t. I’ll take care of that. Things are bad enough without her setting up some rinky-dink affair.” Lauren reached for the cell phone that she had set down beside her on the sofa. She hit several buttons, waited, and when there was no answer gave a sigh of irritation as she set the phone down. “Damn, the old frog never answers.”

“I would like to suggest that, given the grim circumstances we have at the moment, you consider deferring to Kaye,” said Osborne, finding himself anxious to protect Kaye, who was hardly a match for the sophisticated, harsh-voiced woman sitting across from him. “Whether you like her or not, she and Jane have been like family for years.”

What he didn’t say was that Kaye’s grief mattered, too. No matter what Lauren Crowell might think, Kaye had a right to bury her “summer sister.”

The sound of a car honking off in the distance reminded Lew of her conversation with the television crew. “Doc,” she said, turning to Osborne, who was seated to her right, “as I drove in here I was followed by the first of what I expect to be many television crews and other media. I’ve got a call in to the sheriff for help with traffic and all the hoopla that’s sure to happen before this day is over. I’ve no doubt they’ll camp out here and in front of the department. Do you think Mallory would be willing to help me out with a press release, and maybe find some way to keep all those reporters out of our way?”

“Who is Mallory?” asked Lauren.

“My daughter, who is visiting from Chicago,” said Osborne. “Erin’s older sister. She works for a marketing firm. Her MBA is in marketing, but her undergrad degree was in journalism from Northwestern. Sure, Chief, I can ask her if she’d help out.”

“Wait,” said Lauren, leaning forward as she spoke. “With Jane gone, I’m now the spokesperson for the campaign. I should be handling the media. I mean—is there any reason I can’t?”

“You certainly cannot speak for law enforcement and this investigation,” said Lew.

“I don’t mean that,” said Lauren, “but I’ll be under a lot of pressure trying to explain how Jane’s death will affect the party, not to mention the campaign. Please, this campaign is a twenty-million-dollar operation—”

“Excuse me, Lauren,” said Osborne, “there are two separate issues to consider here. One is the investigation; the other is the fallout from the death of a prominent politician in the midst of running for office. The media will be after answers from both camps. Right?”

“What a nightmare this will be,” said Lew, shaking her head.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” said Lauren. “The moment this news hits the Internet, Loon Lake be inundated. Chief Ferris, you better be prepared for reporters from TV, newspapers, radio, the Internet. The roads around Loon Lake will be clogged with press.”

“Making it difficult to do my job,” said Lew.

“On the other hand,” said Lauren with a shrug, “the minute something awful happens somewhere else, they’ll disappear. In an instant. Just watch.”

“So I should hope that someone else has bad luck?”

Lauren raised her eyebrows as she said, “Hate to say it, but that wouldn’t hurt.”

“Well, I’ll deal with that when I have to. Doc, you talk to Mallory about the media assistance that I will need. Lauren, I understand your need to answer questions relating to the campaign—but
only
the campaign.”

“You have my word. I know the legal implications.” Assuming the session was over, Lauren grabbed her phone and got to her feet.

“No,” said Lew, directing her to sit down again. “If you were in Madison last night, who were you with?”

“You mean like I need an alibi?”

“Everyone in this region who knew Jane Ericsson will need an alibi.”

“Most of the evening I was at the home of Chuck Winters, who was hosting the pontoon party—one of Jane’s top donors. And I had dropped my overnight bag at the home of a good friend where I had planned to spend the night. Phyllis Cook is her name. Would you like a phone number?”

“Yes, please,” said Lew.

“Let me get my purse. It’s right over there on the counter,” said Lauren. She got up, retrieved the purse, and reached in for a cardholder. Osborne noted that the number she recited to Lew had a Madison area code.

“Lauren,” said Lew, “is there anyone you think might have a reason to have committed this crime?”

“Certainly not her opponent,” said Lauren. “No one could be that stupid.”

Lew gave a slight smile and waited.

“That’s a tough question,” said Lauren. “Gosh, I hate to target anyone … but, yes, I can think of two people in particular, but please promise you won’t tell them I said so.”

“Can’t do that, I’m afraid,” said Lew. “Now that you’ve said this much, you’ll be guilty of withholding evidence if you don’t tell me more.”

“Oh, dear … okay, there’s this guy, Mike Kelly, he’s an environmental activist who hates Jane. She arranged a deal for a wetlands development outside Wausau and he’s been stalking the campaign ever since. Drives an older-model dark green van. He’s in his mid-thirties. You know, the Madison liberal type. And I have seen him at our rallies up here as recently as two weeks ago. But I cannot imagine he would go this far.”

“Someone else?” asked Lew.

“Y-e-e-e-s …” Lauren checked over her shoulder as if she was afraid that someone was listening. She lowered her voice. “That crazy old woman next door.”

“You mean Kaye Lund? Are you serious?” asked Osborne.

“Yes. This sounds absurd, I know, but she tried to blackmail Jane. Said that if Jane didn’t pay her fifty thousand bucks that she would go public with the fact that when Jane was in her early thirties, right after her divorce, that she had an affair with a sixteen-year-old boy. Someone up here, in fact.” As she spoke, Lew caught Osborne’s eye.

“Jane told her she was crazy and kicked her out of the house. Unfortunately, she threatened Kaye to her face, too.”

“How so?” asked Lew.

“I’m not sure, but something about changing her will so Kaye would have to move out of that old house she lives in.”

“Are you sure about all that?” asked Osborne. “I heard a version of this story, but I thought it was the other way around. That Jane decided for whatever reasons to sever the friendship she and Kaye have had for years. I heard it was after Jane treated her badly that Kaye was thinking of going public with the story of the affair. She never has. Not yet anyway.”

“Ha, that’s a crock,” said Lauren. “Whatever you think you heard, Dr. Osborne, that’s all wrong.”

“It’s not what I
think
I heard,” said Osborne, “I know what I heard. You realize you are accusing Kaye Lund of murder? I’ve known Kaye for years and I can’t imagine her threatening blackmail. You better have that story straight …”