Lake of Tears (8 page)

Andrew shook his head. He wasn’t going to argue with Terry. He obviously had concocted his own vision of the world, or Tammy Lee had lied to him. “Terry, I’m sure she’ll show up. She always does.”

Terry stepped back, but kept his guard up. “If she doesn’t show up, I know where you are. I know you’re the one responsible.”

“This isn’t the first time she’s done this.” Mrs. Johansen stood at her kitchen counter, smoking a cigarette.

Amy was standing in their living room. There had been no offer of coffee, not even the offer of a chair.

“So you’re not worried about your daughter?”

“Naw, she’s been mighty prickly lately. The wedding’s got her all in a fluster. She’ll be back in her own good time. For a few years, she lived in Minneapolis. She’s probably up there now, staying with some friends. I’m sure she’ll be back in time for work.”

“Her fiancé Terry seems pretty upset.”

“He’s an excitable guy. He better get used to Tammy’s ways or he’s going to have a rough ride.”

“When is the wedding?”

“Right before Thanksgiving. It’s coming up quick. Tammy’s been saving up money so she could have the kind of wedding she’s always dreamed of—you know, the big white dress, the five bridesmaids, the whole nine yards. We can’t help her out much, so she’s saving her own money.”

“When did you last see her?”

“Had to be Friday. I mean, she’s twenty-six years old, for God’s sake. I don’t keep track of her. She works odd hours, she stays at Terry’s most of the time.”

“Since a missing persons report has been filed, I need to follow up on this. I’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Who filed the report?”

“Terry, her fiancé.”

“Oh, like I said, he’s just a little nervous. He’s always checking up on her. Tammy’ll be back.”

“Well, I do need to finish filling the report out. I have some questions I’d like to ask you. May I sit down?”

“It’s a free country.”

Sometimes Amy wondered if it was. She sat down on a stool at the counter and pulled out the missing persons report that Terry had filled out. “What was she wearing when you saw her last?”

“Jeans. Can’t really remember. Some kind of shirt. It’s been so warm. Probably a T-shirt. Nothing special.”

“Any distinctive jewelry?”

“She would be wearing the engagement ring that Terry got her—you know, the usual … a small diamond, think she said it was half a carat. Probably some earrings, hoops.”

“I’d like to talk to her sister. Could you give me her phone number?”

Mrs. Johansen rattled the number off. “Yeah, talk to Bria. She might know more than me. They’re real close.”

“I knew Bria.”

“Yeah.”

“She went to school with me.”

“I thought you looked familiar.”

“Where’s she living now?”

“Hastings. She’s teaching school there.”

“Good for her.”

“Yeah, Bria was always the studious one. Not like Tammy. Tammy was our happy kid, goofing off all the time. Just wanted to have fun, like that Madonna song.” Mrs. Johansen sounded uncertain for the first time. “She can get a little wild, but I’m sure she’ll turn up soon.”

The call Claire had been waiting for all day came in just as she was leaving work. She had almost walked out the main door, but the secretary caught her as she was heading home.

Claire walked back to her desk to take the call, pulling out paper and pen to take notes.

A man’s precise voice came over the line. “Just as I thought. That pelvic bone told the story.”

“Dr. Pinkers?” Claire checked.

“Yes, sorry. I’ve got some preliminary information for you. Thought I should call you with it.”

“What do you know?” Claire started drawing the shape of the pelvic bone. In her doodle, it looked like a big bow.

“As I had surmised yesterday at the scene on the lake, I feel very confident in saying that the bones belonged to a young woman.”

Claire couldn’t help thinking that “belonged” was an odd word to use about something that actually made up a part of the person. And the use of the past tense was also disconcerting. “Can you estimate the age?”

“Well, I say young, advisedly. At this time, I would put her age between twenty and thirty. Her bones had fully matured and there is no evidence of any arthritis or osteoporosis yet.”

“Okay, that helps.”

“But I’m afraid that you do have some sort of case on your hands. Unfortunately, the back of the skull had sustained some trauma. I would say that it was hit with some sort of blunt instrument—a board, a bat—which causes hairline fractures throughout the surface of the skull. The impact, rather than being focused on one spot, is generalized across the base of the skull.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “What I saw was a depressed skull fracture, which is comminuted, with broken portions of the bone displaced inward. The way I read it, it was done with a lot of force. This was a bad fracture and put a lot of pressure on the brain.”

Claire sank down into her chair. “And do you still think that she was alive? That she was, in fact, burned to death?”

“I’m afraid I do, but the good news is that with this kind of fracture I doubt very much that she would have been conscious. I suppose whoever put her there might even have thought she was dead. With that kind of trauma to the brain, there is a very good chance that she was not cognizant of what was happening to her.”

“I hate to think … .” Claire said.

“I will continue to gather my notes and will send you a full report by the end of the week, but I felt that you should know this as soon as I was comfortable with my findings. This will give you something to go on.”

“Listen, we’ve got a missing person report just filed—a young woman about this age. Are you able to check dental records against the teeth you have?”

“Yes, if you can find out who her dentist was and get her most recent dental records, I can see how they compare to her remaining teeth.”

“All right. Sounds like a plan. I’ll locate the dentist and talk to you tomorrow.” Claire took a deep breath. “Thank you for getting back to me so quickly.”

Right after Claire hung up, Amy walked into the department. She headed Claire’s way.

“What’s the news?” Claire asked.

Amy slouched over, leaning on the corner of Claire’s desk. “She didn’t show up for work.”

“Our missing woman?”

“Yup, Tammy Lee was supposed to work the evening shift at the Pump and Dump. Fran claims that she’s been real reliable. Her mom told me that she has done a walkabout before. But also that lately she’s been working really hard to pay for her wedding. Which would make it unlikely that she’d skip work and not at least call.”

“Got some news on our bones.”

“And?”

“Woman in her twenties, that’s what the good doctor thinks so far.”

“Hmm.”

“Can you find out who Tammy Lee’s dentist is?”

“Hey, Grandma.”

A thin old woman looked out at him from the doorway, her eyes squinted in a glare. Her gray hair was pulled back in a thin ponytail, and she was wearing a faded blue sweatshirt with a big daisy on the front. “Who are you?”

“Don’t you know me? It’s Dougie.” If he hadn’t been standing at her door, he wouldn’t have recognized her, either. Grandma Schubert looked so much smaller than he remembered, and she looked about twenty years older than the last time he saw her, which had only been about five years ago. Before Mom and her had had the big fight. He couldn’t even remember what they fought about. But he knew they hadn’t talked since.

“Dougie. I haven’t seen you in forever. Come on in. What’re you doing here?” She shuffled back and let him enter her house.

He walked into the kitchen. The place looked clean, hadn’t changed much since last time he was there, but it didn’t smell so good. Like someone had forgotten to empty the kitty litter box for a couple months or so. “Just thought I’d stop by. I’m going to see a buddy of mine from the army. He lives pretty close to here and you were right on the way.”

“You were in the army?”

“Yeah, fought over there with the jinglies in Afghanistan for two long tours of duty.”

“Way over there?”

“That’s where they sent me.”

She walked closer to him and touched his face. “You’re not old enough to go to war, are you?”

“I’m twenty-two, Grandma. You can join the army when you’re seventeen and a half.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

What he really wanted to do was fall asleep on her couch, but he figured he better talk to her for a while. “Sure. You got any grub?”

“I could make you some toast. With peanut butter.”

“Sounds good, Grandma. How’ve you been?”

She wasn’t walking so good, more like a shuffle. Didn’t help that she was wearing big furry slippers. She put two pieces of bread in the toaster, then turned and leaned on the counter, her arms folded. “I’m not so good, Dougie. I got that cancer. Been eating me up.”

“Really? You got cancer?”

“Yeah. They’ve been giving me chemo, but it’s worse than the cancer.” Suddenly, she turned sharp and said, “But don’t you go telling your ma. I don’t want her to come sniveling around here just because I’m sick. She’s not getting this house or anything from me.”

“I won’t tell her.”

Grandma smiled and he could see what she used to look like for a moment. “You’re a good kid, Dougie. Always were a good kid. How is your ma?”

“She’s okay. Me and her kinda had a fight, too. I’m not doing so well myself since I came back. Don’t seem to wanta do anything.”

“You got bad nerves?” The toast popped up and she slathered it with butter, then peanut butter.

“I guess you could call it that. It’s got some fancy name—posttraumatic syndrome, you know how those doctors are.” He tried to keep the thoughts from coming, thoughts of the life outside the wire, deep in the suck of it all.

When she put the plate of toast down in front of him, something in him started to crack. He wanted to go back to when he was ten and he would come to visit, and she would mess up his hair and tell him to wash his hands before he ate. He wanted it to be before all the stuff he had seen and couldn’t get out of his head.

“You eat that now, Dougie.”

“Thanks, looks good.” He took a bite, chewed it slowly, then swallowed it. His head fell forward and he started to cry. “I don’t know what to do, Grandma. I don’t seem to be able to come back.”

“Is this Bria Johansen?” Amy asked when a woman answered the phone. She had a clear picture of seeing Bria at their five-year high school reunion. She had worn a long black sweater with a fur collar that had seemed incredibly stylish to Amy, who had thrown a light blue cotton sweater on over her jeans. She had made Amy feel as awkward as she had always felt in school.

“Yes, this is she.”

Amy recognized the voice—breathy, but rather sophisticated. Hard to believe that she had gone to school in Pepin County. “This is Deputy Sheriff Amy Peterson. I’m calling about your sister.”

“Hey, Amy. My mom said you stopped by. She hasn’t shown up yet? I wish I could say I’m surprised, but this is not unusual for Tammy.”

“Well, she didn’t show up for work and her fiancé Terry is getting quite worried. Can I ask you a few questions?”