Authors: Victoria Houston
After sitting down to the conference table, opposite Lew and Osborne, Dan had placed the box of trout flies on the table in front of Lew. “My girlfriend gave me these,” he said. “But I’ve just started fly-fishing and I have no idea what most of them are. I recognize the two Woolly Buggers—but the rest? The boss told me you fly fish. I was hoping maybe you could help me figure these out?” His eyes begged.
“Well, let me see,” said Lew, sounding flattered. She slid the box towards her and opened the lid. “Very nice. Your friend spent a little money—these were tied by an expert.” She held the box open towards Osborne. “Look at these, Doc. Who cares if they catch fish—they’re beautiful!”
“Lewellyn, have you ever met a trout fly you didn’t like?” said Osborne, admiring the tidy rows of miniature works of art.
“I have. But not these. Now, Dan, since these are all dry flies, they’ll float on the surface of the water or you may need to dip them in floatant. You know what I’m talking about?” She gave him a questioning look.
“That much I do know.”
“Okay, then here in the first row you have …” As Lew named the trout flies and estimated their hook sizes, Dan took notes. His penmanship was cramped but meticulous. Twice he asked for the correct spelling.
Observing his efforts, Lew said, “Dan, if you work that carefully in the crime lab, I won’t doubt a single result you give me. But the wise fly fisherman is not a perfectionist. Standing in a trout stream isn’t just about matching a hatch or catching a fish, you know.
“It’s about focus, about taking time to see and to listen.” She handed him the box. “And it’s about survival, too. Getting through those rocks and holes and hidden ledges that lurk below the surface—just waiting to rip your waders.” The sparkle in Lew’s eyes reminded Osborne of how hungry she always was to get into the water, fly rod in hand, anxious to cast and cast and move through the current until she disappeared from sight.
And while he was never certain of the quality of his own casting or his choice of trout fly, of one thing he was certain: she would return. It surprised him every time how the sight of her shadow against the moonlight filled his heart.
“Sounds like you’d rather be fishing right now,” said Dan.
“Oh, you better believe it. Maybe later tonight—nah, more likely tomorrow …”
“Well, I hear what you’re saying,” said Dan with an easy grin. “But I want to start out right.”
“Speaking of which—
we’d
better get started.” Lew pointed at his briefcase.
“Oh yes, sorry folks, we do have work to do, don’t we.” Dan pulled out a sheaf of papers. “I have the preliminary autopsy reports that the lab faxed in late last night—do you have copies?” Lew and Osborne nodded. And so they had begun.
“But I see here that DeeDee Kurlander had water in her lungs,” said Osborne as Dan grew close to the end of his review of the pathologists’ findings regarding DeeDee Kurlander and Nora Loomis.
“I noticed that, too,” said Lew. “What does that mean exactly? Could it be that she was strangled and lost consciousness but died in the water?”
“I’ve asked about results like that myself,” said Dan. “And what I’ve been told is that drowning is more complicated to determine than most people think. The pathologist doing the autopsy has two theories: Either the corpse was submerged for a period of time during which it’s possible for the lungs to passively fill with water; or, it entered the channel upright and as air escaped, water entered the lungs. That, plus the fact the victim’s body had more muscle than fat is why her body did not float. You’ll note the examiner states he’s confident that that’s postmortem fluid.
“Now, as I mentioned earlier, the Loomis woman,” said Dan, “had a profound bruising of the skull, with death caused by intra-cerebral bleeding. Shards found embedded in her skull match the base of the broken lamp that was found nearby. But both victims had strikingly similar avulsions—severe lacerations with tissue torn away from the underlying bone. We’re waiting for the test results but we’re pretty sure the avulsions on both victims were inflicted by the same weapon—post-mortem.”
“That’s what we thought just eyeballing those punctures and lacerations,” said Osborne. “I was reminded of an animal I saw years ago that had been attacked with one of those old wooden muskie gaffs. The kind with the metal hook on one end. I know that sounds bizarre—”
“Could be, could be,” said Dan, nodding. “Or an ice pick. There are holes on both victims consistent with the same sharp object. And we’re fortunate that whoever killed DeeDee Kurlander didn’t reckon on that boat getting in the way. If her body had not been snagged under the log where the action of the boat kept it secured, it’s very likely the current would have carried it down to Moccasin Lake where it may not have been found for days.
“Given that it’s summertime and the lake is as warm as it is, just a day or two of eagles nipping and those lacerations would have been nicely camouflaged by natural predators. But the pathologist was able to confirm that they were inflicted post-mortem, and by a human.”
“So if the Moraiarty boy hadn’t gotten drunk and let the boat drift up channel, Chief Ferris might have a missing person on her hands—but no dead body, is that correct?” asked Osborne.
“Right.”
“Post-mortem, huh. You have to wonder about that kind of mutilation,” said Lew. “Is someone deranged? I mean, to mutilate a body after death? That’s beyond rage or anger. And why two women who didn’t even know each other? What’s the connection?”
“You’ve got one sick cookie out there, Chief.” Dan gathered the papers on the table in front of him into a neat stack as he said, “We’ve got the trace evidence bagged and ready for analysis. We should be working on it as soon as we’re back in Wausau. At least I will.”
Picking up the box of trout flies, he gave it a light shake before stuffing it into his briefcase. He smiled at Lew and said, “Thanks, Chief—I owe you for helping me look like I know what I’m talking about. It’s the father of the girl who gave me these that I need to impress.”
“Isn’t that always the case,” said Osborne. All three laughed.
Standing up, Dan said, “Folks, I know Chuck’s not the easiest guy to work with, but you can be sure
I’ll
be on the phone with whatever we find ASAP.”
“You have my cell number,” said Lew.
“Yep.” Dan gave a quick glance over notes from his colleagues before placing them in the briefcase. “Did I mention we got nail scrapings from both victims as well as hair samples at both sites? If any of those match up, it might make your job easier.”
“One question before you go,” said Osborne. “I was puzzled by the lack of lividity on the body of DeeDee Kurlander. Isn’t that unusual?”
“Not if the victim was killed so close to water that the corpse was submerged immediately,” said Dan.
“Which underscores my decision to hire Ray to scout the bank along that channel,” said Lew, pushing back her chair.
At that moment the door to the conference room blew open and three men in business suits rushed in. Right behind them was Marlene, arms waving, headset askew.
“Chief Ferris, I am so sorry,” she said. “These guys would not wait. I told ‘em you were in a meeting but they ran back here anyway.”
“We have a problem,” said one of the men.
“That’s obvious,” said Lew as she ushered Dan to the door. “Dan, thank you and please thank your colleagues for tackling this as quickly as you have. Be sure to tell Chuck I said ‘thank you,’ too. We’ll talk later.” She waved him out, then turned.
“OK, Bob, what’s up?” The three were all familiar faces, all presidents of local banks. Each was as clean-shaven, pink-cheeked and shirt-and-tied as the other, but where bankers do their best to exude confidence, these three were so rattled they were vibrating.
“Chief Ferris,” said Bob Carlson, taking on the role of spokesman for the three, “you and I know each other since you bank at First National, but have you met Rick Bonds from Mid-Wisconsin?” Carlson pointed, “And Charlie Madson from the credit union?”
“How do you do, gentlemen,” said Lew with a round of handshakes. “And are the three of you familiar with Dr. Osborne, our deputy coroner?”
“Oh sure,” responded the three in unison as they plunked themselves into chairs and leaned forward, elbows on the conference table. Having seen two of the men and the third one’s wife as patients over the years, Osborne joined the chorus.
Carlson took the lead. “We’re here to report bank fraud involving tens of thousands of dollars, Chief. Each of our banks has been hit in the last two weeks. And it’s on-going! We need your help.”
“Sorry, fellas, but—”
“Chief Ferris, please,” Carlson raised a hand, “hear me out, okay? The three of us were having drinks at Business After Five last evening—you know the monthly get-together sponsored by the Loon Lake Economic Development Agency—when we discovered that every one of our banks has lost between
twenty and seventy thousand
dollars. For a town this size, that is one shitload of money, Chief.”
“FBI,” said Lew. “Bank theft is a federal offense and not within the jurisdiction of the Loon Lake Police Department. I’m sorry.”
“We know that and we called the FBI,” said Carlson. “They’re all tied up with Homeland Security issues along the Canadian border. They said it’ll be two
weeks
before they can get someone down here!” Carlson’s voice broke. Whether from anger or despair, Osborne couldn’t tell.
“Chief Ferris,” said the banker from Mid-Wisconsin, “would it make a difference if I were to tell you that two of the accounts that were opened and emptied within the last thirty-six hours were in the names of your murder victims? DeeDee Kurlander and Mrs. Loomis.”
Lew stared at him. “I knew DeeDee had opened an account with a large amount of money that was withdrawn on what now appears to be the day after she died but—” Lew turned to Osborne. “Do you know anything about Nora Loomis, Doc?”
“I do. You don’t because we haven’t had a chance to review my notes from my meeting with her son late last night,” said Osborne. “And, yes, he expressed concern over a twenty-thousand dollar checking account that his mother had opened without telling him. And Rick is correct—the money was withdrawn yesterday afternoon.”
“Before or after the call from Sharon Donovan?” said Lew. “Gentlemen,” she addressed the bankers, “we don’t have an exact time of death yet from the crime lab but we do know when Mrs. Loomis’s body was found.”
“The withdrawal was made just after noon,” said Rick.
“In that case, gentlemen, it does make a difference. But difference or not—the reality is I run a small-town police department. Even though I’ve added two deputies and have the Wausau Crime Lab assisting with these homicide investigations, we are overwhelmed. I don’t have to tell you this is the height of the tourist season—with all the problems that brings. I’ve got my two full-time officers up to their ears in drunk drivers, shoplifters, teenagers smoking marijuana in the McDonald’s parking lot … And that is aside from domestic violence, a flasher at Kribbetz Pizza and tourists doing 50 mph in a 25 mph zone. So unless you gentlemen are willing to do some of the legwork—”
“That’s why we’re here!” said Carlson. “Whatever we can do to help.”
A soft trill filled the room and Charlie Madson from the credit union reached for his cell phone. He checked the number on the digital read-out, then listened.
“Thank you,” he said, ending the call. He looked at the faces around the table. “People, we have three more accounts opened and emptied. Another forty-seven thousand buckaroos down the goddamn drain. We’re looking for an expert counterfeiter, because these checks are clearing the issuing banks. It’s the firms they’re drawn on whose internal accounting staff is flagging them when they don’t match the bookkeeping records. Thank God for electronic banking, or it would take days for this to surface. Chief Ferris, you are looking at three men who could lose their jobs if we don’t find a way to stop this. Our banks are FDIC liable for every penny missing.”
“Charlie, call your office back,” said Lew. “Check the names on those accounts. Let’s see if any ring a bell.”
Madson did as she asked. The names were local residents, one woman and two college students. “One of the kids is in the credit union right now filling out a report for us. What’s interesting is all three have accounts with other banks that haven’t been touched. Each of these was a new account opened within the last couple weeks.”
“At least you’ve got a live one filling out a report,” said Lew. “I was starting to worry that every emptied account might lead to a homicide. Tell me this, are the accounts opened in person and do we have a description of the party opening those accounts?”
“Well,” said Rick, “it’s the blessing and the curse of electronic banking. The accounts are opened electronically but the deposits are made at busy drive-ups. As are the withdrawals. As best we can tell, whoever is doing this uses one of the drive-up kiosks that are a distance from the teller windows and they do it during daytime rush periods. The glare off the car windshields makes the security camera worthless. Also, they withdraw the money in increments so that activity isn’t flagged until the account is empty. Is that how it’s been happening at your banks, fellas?” He looked at the other two bankers, who nodded in agreement.
“But not any longer,” said Bob. “We’ve closed down all but our two closest kiosks and we’re taking no significant deposits into new accounts via the drive-ins. Still, it’s hard to police everything.
“This time of year with people buying property, changing jobs, kids going off to college—we open so many accounts every day that my staff does their best just to get the paperwork filled out and filed with the deposit. They really don’t pay too much attention beyond making sure the check looks legitimate—and these are very sophisticated operators. The checks may be fraudulent, but the way our system works you can’t tell that for several days. Plus, they’re using the names and Social Security numbers of real people with good credit records.”
“Okay, gentlemen,” said Lew, “here’s what you do. Go back to your offices, contact each of the people whose names are on those emptied accounts and list all personal information you can think of—we’re looking for a pattern.”