Authors: Victoria Houston
Dead Water (34 page)
“Yeah. Wow,” said Zenner again.
“Yeah, wow,” said Nick, equally impressed.
“Boys.” Lew’s voice took on a stern tone. “I don’t like to shoot people.”
“Yeah, but—” Zenner started to say something.
“Enough said. Okay?” Lew cut him off sharply.
From the adoring look on Zenner’s face, Osborne knew it would be a long time before the boy would find a girl who could measure up to his fascination with Chief Ferris. He might have to compromise.
Two hours later, the noise level was so high, a laughing nurse came by to shut the door. Zenner and Nick were deep into a computer game on Gina’s laptop computer, which, rested on the food tray for Nick’s bed. All the paper plates and dirty dishes had been packed away, and the adults, relaxing back in their folding chairs, were chatting happily.
Suddenly Gina reached around her chair for the case she used to carry the laptop. Tucked into a side pocket was the Federal Express envelope that had arrived on Lew’s desk early the previous morning. She dumped the contents onto the empty bed. “Ray,” she said, “tell me what you think about this.”
She arranged the three photos in a neat line, then stepped back. “Now tell me, please. Why couldn’t I recognize Winston?” she asked.
Osborne looked over her shoulder as she laid a fourth and smaller photo beside the others, saying, “Lew gave me this one, too.” It was the photo of Hank Kendrickson holding his brown trout at the entrance to Lost Lake. The other three were of Michael Winston. He was dressed for business or a social event and shot from different angles, but always in black and white.
“I’d suggest,” said Ray thoughtfully as he ran his finger along the outlines of the face in the photos, “you think like I do when I’m tracking. I look for the outer curves. See the outline of his temples? That’s a line that defines and cannot be altered. Here, Gina … the brow over his eye socket, the curve of the cheekbone, the shape of the skull. It’s easy to be distracted by hair color and facial expressions, but those can be changed. The contours cannot.”
“He tried,” said Osborne. “He had four molars removed and his jaw shortened.”
“Still …” Ray set his hand on Gina’s shoulder. “I’ll bet anything that if you had looked at this man’s head
from the back,
you would have recognized him.”
“But I would never think to do that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Who would?” said Ray.
“I know I sure wouldn’t,” said Lew. “That’s an interesting point, Ray. I have to remember that.”
“Hell,” said Gina, “when are you ever going to see a sick unit like Michael Winston around here again?” She glanced over at Lew. “Don’t you wonder what makes a person do the things he did? I looked into his childhood when I did the story on him. He seemed to have a normal, upper-middle-class upbringing….”
Lew shrugged. “Gina, if only we knew the answer to that.”
Gina picked up the photo of Hank with his fish. “When was this taken? It had to be after he shot Sandy Herre, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know that we’ll ever be sure,” said Lew. “My theory is that Hank knew from Sandy that she liked to fish that general area. After he shot her at his place, he studied the gazetteer maps and decided to dump the body back in there hoping, if it was found, that people would think she had had a fishing accident of some kind. He took his boat up to the entrance early the next morning to make sure nothing had gone wrong. He wanted to be sure the body hadn’t drifted downstream.”
“And he couldn’t resist fishing?” asked Joel Frahm from where he was leaning against the windows. “That’s pretty cold-blooded.”
“That was his cover if he was seen,” said Lew. “When no one saw him, he figured he could really cover his tracks by saying he caught that trout up at the Deerskin.”
“Which reminds me, Doc,” said Ray from where he stood beside Gina, “is Marlene still in town?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“I promised to take that little guy fishing.”
“There you go,” said Osborne, “a promise is a promise.”
“What little guy is that?” asked Nick, a petulant tone in his voice.
Just then a nurse opened the door and stuck her head in. “Visiting hours are over in thirty minutes, folks,” she said. “Can you wind this down? We have a young man who needs his meds and a good night’s sleep.”
“Okay, okay,” said Ray, moving around the bed to stand beside Nick. “Before we all go home, I have a toast.” He reached for the remaining plastic cups and quickly passed them out. Then he poured everyone an inch of Sprite.
“Wait, wait,” said Gina, “I have something to say before that.” She stood up as straight as she could, though it didn’t help much, as she was still the shortest person in the room. “I just want to say that I’ll be back in two weeks to close on my new cabin.” She tipped her eyes toward Ray. “I am the proud owner of the old Gilligan place, right next door to Ray on Loon Lake … and everyone here is invited to a picnic at my place on the Fourth of July.”
“Hear, hear,” said Lew, “and with that may I say—”
A sudden sob stopped her short.
“I-I-I won’t be here,” he said and brushed the sleeve of his hospital gown across his nose. “Sorry.”
“What do you mean?” said Ray, reaching for Nick.
“Zenner came by this morning and we were fooling around on line and … and we, um, we checked my birth certificate,” said Nick. He looked up at the tall figure beside his bed. He put his hand over the one that rested on his shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to tell me.”
Osborne glanced over at Lew. On the phone earlier that day, she had confirmed their suspicions: The DNA test results proved that Ray was not Nick’s father.
“Nick,” said Ray softly. “Something you need to remember in life: The facts aren’t always what they’re cracked up to be.”
“What does that mean?” the boy sniffled.
“What you did for me yesterday, Nick … I may not have been there when you were born, kid. But I want to be your father. I want you to be my son. We proved that yesterday. You
are
my son. I’ll be adding on to the trailer, y’know. So you can have your own room. I’ve checked it out with your mother; she’s okay with it if you are.”
“Wait, how—?” Lew started to say something but Osborne made a quick move to get her attention. He knew Lew and her dedication to enforcing shoreline restrictions. That would not be a happy chat. Better later. She saw the look in his eyes and dropped the subject.
Ray raised his plastic cup. “A toast everyone … to Nick.”
After the Frahms had left and it was obvious that Gina was going to wait for Ray, Osborne picked up the cardboard box with the dirty dishes. “I’ll take care of these.”
Lew waited for him in the hall. She peered into the box in his arms. “Doc, what are you doing with those?”
“I thought I would take ‘em home, wash ‘em up and drop ‘em off at the convent tomorrow.”
“Like some help?” She slipped a hand under his elbow as they walked down the corridor together.
“I certainly would,” he said. “Perhaps you’ll stay awhile? We can discuss Ray’s pending violation of your shoreline restrictions.” He grinned down at her.
“Nah, let’s discuss Ray and Gina,” she said with a wink.
I have a better idea
, thought Osborne,
let’s discuss you and me.
As if she could read his mind, Lew gave his elbow a gentle squeeze.
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Published in Electronic Format by
TYRUS BOOKS
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
4700 East Galbraith Road
Cincinnati, Ohio 45236
www.tyrusbooks.com
Copyright © 2001 by Victoria Houston
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction.
Any similarities to people or places, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
eISBN 10: 1-4405-3147-1
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-3147-7
This work has been previously published in print format by:
The Berkley Publishing Group
A division of Penguin Putnam, Inc.
Print ISBN: 0-425-18003-4
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