Sue shook her head. “It can wait till tomorrow, Ray. Tonight I need to hang out with my dog, go to yoga, stop off at the bar with the girls for a couple of glasses of wine, take a long hot bath and sleep for 10 hours. Then I can think about this case again. And I’m coming in late tomorrow—using a couple of hours of comp time.” She gave him a long, measured look. “And you better get in a kayak before you explode, while there’s still some light. I’m going to start processing this scene.”
Ray stuck his hands in his pockets and took a step backwards. “What’s your plan with the media?”
“I’ll send a one- or two-sentence press release,” Sue said, heading back to her Jeep and back to business. “Something to the effect that the ‘body of an elderly man believed to be Vincent Fox has been found. More information will be available after formal identification.’”
“That should be enough to get us through several news cycles. I’ll contact his daughter and have her identify the body. Then I’ll have it sent to Grand Rapids for an autopsy.”
“Thanks,” she said, and walked away from him to let the EMTs know the body was ready for transport.
12
Ray sat in his car and watched Brett and Sue begin to process the scene. Then he pulled on his seatbelt and slowly drove away. He knew that Sue was right. Spending the evening in the office trying to puzzle out who might be responsible for the crime, especially when they were both exhausted, would be a waste of time. He headed home.
When he reached the top of his drive, there was Hannah Jeffers waiting for him. His kayak was already secured to the roof of her Subaru wagon. They exchanged a friendly embrace.
“How did you get into the house?”
“The side door of the garage was unlocked. Your place never seems to be secured. You’re either very trusting or extremely careless,” she said, chuckling. “Doesn’t your department do those homeowner security workshops?”
Ray just shook his head, making no other response.
“Of course, you don’t have much that anyone could fence. Your 12-inch flat screen wouldn’t bring much, and no one wants books or classical CDs. But you do have an iPad; that’s worth stealing.” She gave him a poke in the chest. “Get into your dry suit,” she said. “We don’t have many hours of light left.”
Ten minutes later, Ray tossed his gear bag and two paddles in the back of Hannah’s vehicle and settled into the passenger’s seat. But she didn’t start the engine.
“Bad day?”
Ray did not turn to meet her gaze. “I thought we had an agreement to never talk about our work days, especially when we are on our way to the lake, on the water, or après kayaking.”
Hannah started to laugh. “Where did that come from? You’re making it up.” She reached over and felt for a vein on his neck. “The good news is you’ve got a pulse, but it’s a bit too rapid. I’d like to take your blood pressure. You seem hypertensive.”
“Come on, Hannah,” Ray said, pushing her hand away gently, “get this crate in gear. Once I get out on the water everything will be okay. Cut straight across to 22, then head south. There’s something I want to see.”
They drove for a while in silence, the windshield wipers providing a slow and slower tempo as the drizzle turned to mist.
“So you had a bad day?” Hannah asked again.
Ray took a deep breath, exhaled. “One of the worst.” He turned in his seat to face her. “I told you about Vincent Fox the other night?”
Hannah nodded, glancing at him. “Yes, I remember. The old guy who wrote about the Capone treasure.”
Ray told her about recovering Fox’s body, and the charring on the bottom of one of his feet. “It reminds me of something I saw in France.”
“What’s that?”
“When I was in the army, stationed in Europe, I toured a historical farm somewhere in France. The outbuildings had been restored to how they appeared in the 16th or 17th century. There were wonderful descriptions on everything, with translations in English, German, Spanish. One display talked about some outlaws of the time, La bande d’Orgeres, who attacked wealthy farmers and held their feet to the fire until they disclosed where their gold and valuables were hidden. My memory is that this kind of extortion took place shortly before the beginning of the French Revolution, and that these activities were a precursor to the bloody events that followed.”
“You think that’s what happened to Fox?”
“Who knows?” Ray said. “It’s such an old technique, been around since medieval times, probably before. And now, possibly right here in Cedar County. Hard to be optimistic about human progress.” Hannah snorted. “So, what would be the physiological effect of that kind of torture?” he asked.
Hannah’s eyes were locked on the twisting county road in front of her. “You don’t need a medical degree to figure that one out. Elderly man, high-stress situation. Heart attack, stroke. By his age lots of things are just waiting to fail. The autopsy will probably provide a reliable answer.” She grimaced. “Medieval, that’s the perfect word. It’s hard to imagine the horror they put this poor man through.”
The mist had faded to almost nothing, and Hannah turned off the wipers. Again they were silent as the orchards faded away to piney scrub and marsh. “I understand you’re upset,” she said at last. “My question is, is our destination connected with this case?”
Ray chuckled. “Maybe. I’m not sure. Given all the money involved, Fox probably got himself involved in something drug-related.” He told her about Ma French finding the large stash of cash on the grounds of the Hollingsford Estate and explained he wanted to paddle to the estate from the Lake Michigan side for a look around.
“It’s really isolated,” he said. “Of course, in the summer you can get there by crossing a small lake—Lost Lake, that’s what it’s called—in a boat or a canoe. In the winter it’s skis, snowshoes, or a snowmobile across the ice. These days, the ice is probably too thin.
“Why not hike in? Can’t you just go around the Lost Lake?”
“Most of the surrounding area is marshland and swamp. There are places where you can slip into mud up to your waist. No thanks.”
“Looks like we have some chop,” Hannah said, pulling into the parking area.
“Not too bad,” Ray responded. “And given the direction of the wind, we will be protected by that headland for launch and landing. There’s a storm coming in tonight, but we should be off the water long before it comes onshore.”
Hannah parked the Subaru in the launch and they both got out to offload the boats. “Do we need lights?”
“Wouldn’t hurt.”
“I don’t think the batteries in this thing are any good,” she said, fiddling with the navigation light attached to her life vest.
“I can’t help you out. I don’t have any in my gear bag,” Ray said, pulling on his gloves. “They’re really only for visibility, but this time of the year there’s never anyone on the water. Mine works, and I’ll put a flashlight in my day hatch.”
They paddled north for more than an hour along the miles of empty shoreline, beach. and low dunes without a single cottage. They landed on the south side of the small stream that emptied from Lost Lake.
Hannah pulled off her PFD and spray skirt, and tossed them into the open cockpit of her kayak. “What are you looking for?” she asked.
“There is supposed to be an old cemetery up on that bluff overlooking the lake. That’s where Ma French found the cash. My best guess is that whoever is connected to the money is accessing the area on a snowmobile or ATV. Probably coming from the north.”
“Why didn’t we…?”
“The put-in would have been more than twice as far, and we wouldn’t have had enough daylight. We barely have enough as it is. We better get going.”