Read Cold Hunter's Moon Online
Authors: K. C. Greenlief
Cold Hunter's Moon (20 page)
NOVEMBER 25âSWENSON
Lacey was having the most wonderful dream. She was toasty warm in a double sleeping bag in the northwoods. She was being kissed passionately, just like in the romance novels, and her breasts were being caressed. She was excited and way beyond ready to move on to better things when she heard a ringing in her ears.
This is it
, she thought as she rolled herself full length against her lover. Suddenly the kissing stopped and the wonderful hands and warm body withdrew. The ringing in her ears became the sound of an alarm clock.
This is it
, she thought as she rolled herself full length against her lover. Suddenly the kissing stopped and the wonderful hands and warm body withdrew. The ringing in her ears became the sound of an alarm clock.
“Turn it off. Let's stay here and make love all day,” she said, reaching out to embrace her lover.
“Shit” was the response.
“Dammit.” Lacey sat up so fast she was dizzy. “What happened?” she asked, pulling down her sweatshirt. She buried her face in her hands.
“The alarm went off,” Lark grumbled.
“No, I mean what the hell just happened here?” she asked, her voice drifting out between her palms as she attempted to rub her face awake.
“I'm not sure,” he said, reaching out to put his arm around her and then quickly pulling back. “I'm really sorry about this.”
“Hell, it's not your fault.” She pulled her left hand away from cradling her head just enough to look at him. “I must confess, I was enjoying myself until the stupid alarm went off.”
“I thought I was dreaming,” Lark said, his face beet red.
“Me, too.”
They sat there for a few minutes in awkward silence.
“Well, at least the house is warmer.” Lacey said, sketching her arms up in the air. “I feel like I need a cold shower, but considering it's still a bit chilly, I'll forgo it.” She smiled at Lark's back and left.
“Jesus Christ,” Lark mumbled, staring down at the floor. “What the hell is wrong with me?” He went to take his own shower.
Refreshed from standing under the hot shower spray, but no less embarrassed, Lark dressed and went downstairs to get the coffee started. Once again, Lacey had beaten him.
“How the hell do you get dressed so fast?” he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“My youthful beauty demands little primping,” she said, not taking her eyes off the
Wausau Herald
. Her damp hair was fanned out around her face and curled down the back of her navy knit dress in an unruly mass. She looked as if she had on a hint of lipstick and mascara, but no other makeup was noticeable.
Wausau Herald
. Her damp hair was fanned out around her face and curled down the back of her navy knit dress in an unruly mass. She looked as if she had on a hint of lipstick and mascara, but no other makeup was noticeable.
Lark sat down at the island across from her, saying nothing. He picked up the section of the paper she had left lying on the counter.
“Don't throw up when you read the headlines,” she said from behind the paper.
He unfolded the front page. SECOND UWâMADISON COED FOUND DEAD IN MASON COUNTY screamed out at him.
“They have almost as much information as we do,” she commented as she refilled her coffee mug and went into the family room to flip on the television.
“Assholes.” Lark said, scanning the article.
Lacey flipped between the three network stations, looking for a local news update.
The
Herald
had an excellent biographical sketch of Terry Foltz but they did not have the link with the other UWâMadison students who lived in Big Oak.
Herald
had an excellent biographical sketch of Terry Foltz but they did not have the link with the other UWâMadison students who lived in Big Oak.
All three news stations were carrying the same information. The Rhinelander station had sent a reporter to the Foltzes' house. Her live report consisted of telling the world that the Foltzes were in seclusion and not available for comment.
“Sharks,” Lacey snapped. “Now everyone knows where these poor people live. No one gets a moment to grieve in peace anymore.” She turned off the television and slammed the remote down on the sofa.
“We'd better get going,” Lark said, filling a thermos with coffee. “This is going to be another long day. We've got to get back here and interview those kids before they go back to school tomorrow.”
They pulled out of the garage into another overcast day. What had looked like a winter wonderland last night now looked like a scene from the movie
Fargo
; everything; everywhere, with the exception of the brown trees, was white. Big, fat snowflakes fell on a never-ending sea of snow. The road crew that plowed Lark's driveway had left a tunnel of snow almost as high as the roof of the Jeep.
Fargo
; everything; everywhere, with the exception of the brown trees, was white. Big, fat snowflakes fell on a never-ending sea of snow. The road crew that plowed Lark's driveway had left a tunnel of snow almost as high as the roof of the Jeep.
“It's a wonder that everyone up here isn't on Prozac,” Lacey commented as they drove to the station. The roads were surprisingly clear. There were still quite a few trucks parked up against the piles of snow left by the road grader. White fields were dotted with blaze orange specks that materialized into men with guns as they grew closer.
The station was abuzz with activity. After being reassured that everyone was working on routine stuff, Lark pulled George aside and asked him to set up appointments with all the UWâMadison students who lived in Big Oak. Ten minutes later he and Lacey were on the road to Eau Claire.
As they drove through town, Lacey was amazed at the number of vehicles with deer strapped to their tops. “This is disgusting,” she said, craning her neck to watch an old station wagon drive by with a very small doe strapped to the roof, its head hanging down over the passenger side of the car as if it were looking into the window. “This feels like a sick
Far Side
cartoon.”
Far Side
cartoon.”
“Be careful, Detective Smith, this is a multimillionâdollar industry in northern Wisconsin. It's sacrilege to criticize it,” he said sarcastically.
“Yeah, uh-huh, I hear you. You must be running for election soon.”
“Sooner or later, if I want to stay in this garden spot,” he said with a sigh. “What I'm thinking about right now is that one of these guys who comes up here for deer hunting, a guy who will be leaving here today or tomorrow, may just be our killer.”
“Don't even think that. It has to be someone local.”
They agreed that so far they did not have a motive for the crime, let alone means and opportunity for anyone. Once their discussion of Patterson and Foltz flagged, they talked about the recent shootings. They both agreed that the connections between the cases was the snowmobile. After discussing the prevalence of snowmobiles in northern Wisconsin, they agreed that rather than checking out everyone who owned one, they would determine if the suspects had one.
They arrived at the Eau Claire state police headquarters only five minutes ahead of the Pattersons. Joel had called ahead and arranged for Captain Leonard Minor, the officer who had worked with the Pattersons when their daughter had first been reported missing, to sit in on the interview.
Despite the seriousness of the moment, the nursery rhyme “Jack Sprat could eat no fat and his wife could eat no lean” ran through Lacey's head as she shook hands with the Pattersons. Allan Patterson, was a long, tall study in brown. He was at least six-foot-six with a shock of straight brown hair that hung down on his forehead and huge, soft brown eyes set deep in a long, narrow face. His forehead was creased with worry lines which matched the long frown lines around his mouth. He shuffled into the center of the interview room, his shoulders hunched, his hands jammed in his pants pockets. Two camel wool coats hung through the crook of his right arm.
Yvonne Patterson followed close behind. At five foot four, she struggled to keep up with her husband's stride. Lacey was struck at how beautiful she was, complete with greenish brown eyes shimmering with tears and dark brown hair streaked with gray swirled artfully around her face. Her voluptuous frame was draped in a calf-length, dark brown cashmere skirt and sweater set. Although she now had the body of a Ruebens model, it was obvious from her style and grace that she had not always been built that way.
Everyone found a seat around the oblong table. After introductions, Lark started the interview by telling the Pattersons how sorry he was about their daughter.
“I think I knew she was dead but it helps to know that we can put her to rest,” Mrs. Patterson said, her voice quavering. She pulled a tissue from the box on the table and dabbed at the tears that overflowed her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks.
“When will we be able to bring her home?” Allan Patterson asked in a deep but gentle voice. He leaned over and massaged his wife's shoulder.
“Maybe early next week,” Lark said, observing the tenderness between them. “I've read the files, but I'd like you to tell me what you remember about your daughter's disappearance.”
“It was a Tuesday afternoon and I was out grocery shopping for Thanksgiving.” Yvonne smiled sadly at Lark. “It's Gemma and Allan's favorite holiday. We eat the same thing every year, no substitutions allowed.” Her husband squeezed her shoulder. “When I got home, it was about three o'clock. Gemma had left a short message on our answering machine saying that she was headed home but was going to stop and visit a friend and maybe stay overnight.” She stopped talking, overcome with tears.
Worried for his wife, Allan slid his chair closer to comfort her. “We didn't think too much about it when she didn't show up Tuesday night, but we got concerned when she didn't make it in on Wednesday evening. Minnesota and northern Wisconsin got a lot of snow that Wednesday and we were worried that she'd gotten stuck or had an accident.”
Yvonne squared her shoulders and examined the black smudges on the water-logged tissue before reaching across the table for another. She smiled at Lacey. “I knew I shouldn't have worn makeup.”
Lacey reached across the table and patted her hand.
“As I look back on this, I realize that I should have known something was wrong when she didn't call us on Tuesday.”
“Why's that?” Lark asked.
“Because she said she'd call me back later and she didn't.”
Allan nodded his head. “Yvonne's right. Gemma was very responsible. She would have called us if she had been able to.”
“Do you remember any of her friends from the Big Oak area?” Lark asked.
Mrs. Patterson stuffed her tissue into the cuff of her sweater and reached down for her handbag. “I brought my notes.”
“We went through Gemma's date book looking for names,” Allan said, relaxing back into his chair now that his wife was less emotional.
Yvonne unfolded several pages of notebook paper with sections highlighted in yellow. “Let me see,” she said, poring over the first page.
“Sandi Waltner,” Allan said, glancing at Lacey's notes. “I know her father. He owns a marina in Big Oak. I can't imagine her being a part of this. Sandi has been to our house a couple of times.”
“She was always a wonderful guest. She came with Katey Lowery, another friend of Gemma's from Big Oak,” Yvonne said, flipping to another highlighted page.
“Did they both visit your home?” Lark asked.
“Yes, do you need to know when? I can go through Gemma's date book if it will help.”
“I'd like to look over her date book myself. There are copies of pages from them in the police files but not a copy of the whole thing. You never can tell what might be helpful,” Lark said.
“We'll get it over to you tomorrow,” Allan said.
“David Banski is also in my notes. She gave him a ride to Big Oak once,” Yvonne said.
“I can't imagine what kind of an animal could do this,” Allan said, his hands gripping the arms of his chair.
“Honey, let's get going so we can spend some time with Mike,” Yvonne said, one hand resting on his wrist, the other caressing his shoulder.
“In a minute,” he said, staring at the calendar hanging on the wall across from him.
Not taking her eyes off her husband, Yvonne said, “Mike, our son, also went to UW. He's working with his dad at the marina. He and Gemma were very close, and finding Gemma's body has brought all the pain of her disappearance back for him. He's having a hard time right now.”
Allan stood up and shook hands with Lark and Lacey. “Thank you for your time. Yvonne's right, we have to take care of the living. We'll get that date book to you tomorrow.”
Allan reminded Lacey of an automaton, emotionless, going through the motions of being polite. Yvonne shook hands with Lark and gave Lacey a hug. “I don't know how you do this. I couldn't deal with all this sadness. I'll say a prayer for you both.”
Lacey grabbed a tissue as she watched them reach for each other's hands as they passed the interrogation window. “Sometimes I don't know how we do it either,” she mumbled.
Lark, his face grim, headed for the door. “I'm going to see if I can catch them before they leave and get a copy of her notes. There might be something in there that can help us.”
By the time he came back with the copies and a refilled thermos compliments of the Eau Claire state police, Lacey had composed herself. They walked out into air laden with the smells of burning wood and snow. The moisture in the air was so thick that you could almost reach out and grab a handful of it.
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