Man in the Water, page 2
Shortly after, the county’s Water, Parks, and Trails Unit appeared—two deputies in a car and a few more in boats that had come up the St. Croix.
“They’re the ones who investigate deaths and accidents on the river,” Officer Stoll told me.
They converged on the man in the water. Photographs were taken; measurements were made. At the same time, a deputy started shooing people off the pier.
“There’s nothing to see,” he said. Swear to God.
* * *
Nina and I made our way to my friend’s boat. The name printed across the stern read DEESE AND DOSE.
“Permission to come aboard?” I was told you’re supposed to ask that before stepping on someone’s boat; a form of knocking, I was told.
“What have you done now?” Deese said. “Is this one of your”—he quoted the air—“‘cases’?”
Like you should talk, my inner voice said.
Not too long ago, I had used DNA to connect him to a couple of half brothers and a sister that he didn’t know he had. They grew close. Eventually, Deese traded a chunk of his liver to one of them for the boat, which wasn’t nearly as mercenary as it sounds. His newfound family had more money than everyone you had ever known combined and was exceedingly grateful and generous. Complicated story.
While we were chatting, the medical examiner arrived and the body was retrieved from the river; three men pulled the dead man up as gently as possible. Given his dark winter clothes, from a distance Mr. Woods looked like a small whale. I couldn’t see his face as they laid the body across the dock.
“Is this your idea of a boat-warming gift?” Barbara said.
“That’s not funny,” Nina said.
Her tone of voice changed the mood. We were brought aboard and taken down the narrow companionway into the salon. The four of us fit comfortably around a folding table. Surrounding us was the stuff of the boat’s galley—refrigerator, stove, microwave, coffeemaker, stainless-steel sink with a single lever faucet, and storage cabinets. Forward was a stateroom. The partition was open and we could see the queen-size bed, cabinets, a flat-screen TV, and a head, what they call a bathroom on a boat. Drinks were dispensed.
“What did the deputy ask you?” I said.
“He wanted to know if I saw anything, if I heard anything,” Deese said.
“Did you?”
“No. Well, not today; not this morning when we arrived. Thursday I saw a couple of people wandering around, though. Brad Heggstad, who runs the marina, plus a few others. I didn’t pay any attention to them. I figured they were from the other boats. You see people on the pier all the time during the summer, but…” Deese gestured at the ceiling of the boat’s cabin, although, I’m sure he meant the sky. “People say I splashed too early, only there were already a dozen or more boats here before I arrived.”
“Can you describe the people?”
“Nah.”
“Men? Women?”
“No, what I told the deputy during the interrogation.”
“Interview,” I said.
“What’s the difference?”
“Out here in the open it’s an interview. It becomes an interrogation when it’s conducted in the house where there’s no one to see.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“How ’bout you, Barb?” I asked. “Did you see anything?”
“Yes, I did, thanks for asking.”
“Wait,” Deese said. “You did? Why didn’t you speak up?”
“The deputy didn’t ask me,” Barbara said. “He only spoke to you like I wasn’t even there. Remember? Asked for your name, which he wrote down, but didn’t ask for mine.”
Ah, geez. C’mon.
“What did you see?” I asked.
“I didn’t see anything this morning, either,” Barbara said. “As far as I could tell we were the only ones here, which I thought was kinda creepy. Thursday, I saw the same people that Dave saw. Yesterday, though, I saw a couple, a man and a woman, walking together. They were holding hands.”
“When was this?”
“Friday. Right before we left. When was that, Dave? Seven? Seven thirty? I remember thinking—Friday was a lot warmer than today, but I thought ‘a skirt?’ The woman was wearing a skirt in winter in Minnesota and I couldn’t remember the last time I wore a skirt in winter in Minnesota.”
“You wear skirts in the winter,” Dave insisted.
“Only when my husband takes me to someplace nice which, let’s face it, he hasn’t done lately.” Barbara blinked several times at Dave. “Hint, hint.”
“Where would you like to go?” Deese asked.
Barbara pointed at Nina.
“How about Rickie’s?” she said. “I bet we could get a good table. We know people.”
Usually that would generate a response. Nina would say something like, “Maybe if you tip the hostess a twenty,” something like that, only she didn’t speak. Instead, she just stared into her drink.
“Tell me about the couple,” I said.
“Honestly, McKenzie, I wasn’t paying that much attention. All I can tell you is that he was taller than she was and they were walking that way.”
Barbara pointed at the hull of the Deese and Dose, yet I knew that beyond the hull was the far side of the marina where the body was discovered.
“And you didn’t tell the deputy,” I said.
“Like I said, he didn’t ask.”
“If they talk to you again, tell them.”
“Do you think it’s important?” Barbara asked.
“The woman, the vic’s wife, she was wearing a skirt.”
I glanced at my own watch and did the math. Nina and I had arrived at Heggstad Marina at about eleven. When the woman approached us, she said she had been waiting for her husband for over a half hour. Make it ten fifteen to be on the safe side. Only Barbara said she and Dave were the only ones at the marina since …
“When did you arrive this morning?” I asked.
“Nine, nine thirty,” Dave said.
“Did you spend much time on deck?”
“No, mostly we were below. It’s cold outside.”
“What are you thinking?” Barbara asked.
“I’m not thinking,” I said.
“Yes, you are. I can tell by the way you stare off into the distance like you’re reading a billboard except there’s no billboard.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Yes, you do,” Nina said. “Only I hadn’t thought of it in quite that way.”
She raised her glass toward Barbara as if she had just been given a gift. I was pleased to see the slight grin on her face.
“What I’m thinking is that this is none of my business,” I said. “What I’m thinking is that we should get this boat on the river. There’s a bar in Prescott serving Bloody Marys with my name on them.”
“Yeah, about that,” Dave said.
“What?”
“I took the temperature of the water in the marina. It’s probably warmer in the middle of the St. Croix, only here it’s thirty-two degrees. There’s a chance the icy water could damage my engines, so I figured we might hang around here.”
Thirty-two degrees. If a man jumps, falls, or is pushed into water that cold, he’ll experience shock, nearly always accompanied by an involuntary gasp, what they call a torso reflex, in which he’ll swallow water—it takes less than a half cup of water in your lungs to drown. He could drown in a minute. If that doesn’t do it, he’d lose muscle control in what? Just a few minutes more, anyway.
So the vic somehow ends up in the river, I told myself, swallows enough water to kill him, yet somehow manages to make it to the ladder. Only time and the weight of his now waterlogged clothes work against him and he drowns before he can climb up, gripping the side rails of the ladder that might have saved him.
“Look,” Barbara said. “He’s doing it again.”
“Now what are you thinking, McKenzie?” Nina asked.
“I’m thinking how glad I am that we didn’t bring a boat-warming gift,” I said.
TWO
Maryanne Altavilla was the smartest person in the room no matter what room she happened to be in. It was a big reason why she was the chief investigator in the Midwest Farmers Insurance Group’s Special Investigative Unit at the tender age of thirty-one, which you might have found impressive if you didn’t already know that she was promoted to the position when she was twenty-seven.
I opened the door to our high-rise condominium in downtown Minneapolis before she knocked; the security people had called before sending her up. She was wearing a heavy winter coat and boots because it was snowing. The temperature had gone from a high of eighty-eight degrees to a low of thirty-one in less than forty-eight hours and now it was snowing. On April 16. It made even the heartiest Minnesotans ask, “Why do we live here again?”
When Altavilla saw me, she said, “Mr. McKenzie.”
“Really? Mr. McKenzie?”
I opened my arms and she stepped into them.
“I’m trying to be professional,” she said as we hugged.
“You mean this isn’t a social call?”
“How’s Nina?”
“Spectacular.”
“Is she here?”
“Yes.”
Altavilla stepped out of my grasp.
“I need to speak to both of you,” she said.
Nina moved toward the door as Altavilla removed her coat to reveal a severe black jacket and skirt and a white dress shirt. Her hair was the same color as the jacket and skirt; it was pulled back into a ponytail.
“Oh my God, Maryanne,” Nina said.
She and Altavilla hugged, too, although theirs seemed to carry greater affection.
“How long has it been?” Nina asked. “At least two years.”
“At least. Can I talk to you guys?”
“Of course.”
Our condo had a master bedroom and guest room with en suites, plus a bathroom for visitors. Beyond that, we didn’t have rooms so much as areas—dining area, music area where Nina’s Steinway stood, office area with a desk and computer, and a kitchen area that was elevated three steps above the rest. The south wall was lined almost to the ceiling with books. The entire north wall consisted of tinted floor-to-ceiling glass with a dramatic view of the Mississippi River where it tumbled down St. Anthony Falls. Across from it was our living area where a sofa and chairs were arranged around a fireplace. Nina led Altavilla to a chair and sat across from her. I sat next to Nina.
Altavilla carried a large black bag that hung from a thick strap resting on her shoulder. She opened the bag and removed a notepad and pen.
“What’s going on, Maryanne?” I asked.
“I have copies of reports filed by officers of the Stillwater Police Department and deputies with the Washington County Sheriff’s Office. They state that you and Nina discovered the body of Earl John Woods, an African-American male, age sixty-two, at approximately eleven thirty A.M. on Saturday, March twenty-fifth at the Heggstad Marina just outside Stillwater.”
“Earl John Woods,” Nina said. “A name to go with the face.”
That caused Altavilla to pause.
“But Nina, according to the reports, you couldn’t see his face,” she said.
“I do in my dreams.”
I rested my hand on her shoulder.
“You never said…”
“You have enough dreams of your own to worry about.”
“Nina…”
She rested her hand on top of mine.
“It’s all right.”
“I could come back another time,” Altavilla said.
“Tomorrow won’t be any different than today, Maryanne,” Nina said. “Earl John Woods, you say. We knew the name from when the police interviewed us, only I never really connected it to the man in the water. That’s kind of odd, don’t you think? Something else—you say he was a Black man?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t actually know that until this minute, yet in my dreams, he was Black. How is that possible?”
Neither Maryanne nor I had an answer for her.
Spooky, my inner voice said.
“Maryanne, why are you here?” I asked.
“I wanted to confirm that the statements you gave are accurate before the lawyers make their determination.”
“Before the lawyers make their determination?” I said.
“Yes, although I’m pretty sure, based on the intelligence I’ve gathered so far, I know what they’re going to decide.”
“I don’t understand,” Nina said.
“Maryanne,” I said. “What did the ME rule?”
“Oh, he didn’t.”
“Now I don’t understand.”
Altavilla rummaged through her bag and found another sheet of paper—why all this information wasn’t stored on her phone, I couldn’t say. She found the sheet of paper, yet quoted it from memory instead of reading it verbatim.
“The Ramsey County medical examiner serves as the medical examiner for Washington County as well as Aitkin, Blue Earth, Cass, Clay, Crow Wing, Freeborn, Hubbard, Kanabec, Le Sueur, Martin, Murray, Nicollet, Nobles, Redwood, Waseca, and Wilkin Counties.”
“Maryanne—”
“The ME ruled that Earl John Woods, aka E. J. Woods, died by drowning, with hypothermia listed as an associated significant condition. However, the manner of death was classified as undetermined. There was no alcohol in his system; no drugs. There was no sign of trauma. He didn’t hit his head on the dock and roll into the water; there were no contusions or lacerations.”
“I get it now.”
“I don’t,” Nina said.
Maryanne said, “When existing evidence supporting a specific manner of death—natural, accident, suicide, or homicide—is unavailable, the ME will rule that the manner of death is undetermined, which is the same thing as saying that they don’t know why the man died, only what killed him.”
“Which means your lawyers will decide based on what’s best for the Midwest Farmers Insurance Group,” I said.
“That’s what they’re paid for.”
“I know you’re both getting tired of hearing this, but I still don’t understand,” Nina said.
“The lawyers will rule that Earl Woods died by suicide,” Altavilla said.
“Which means they won’t pay off on his life insurance policy,” I said.
“Oh, they’ll pay,” Altavilla said. “Only not as much.”
“He didn’t have a suicide exclusion?”
“That expired long ago. He set up the original policy with Midwest Farmers in the 1990s. However, he added a double indemnity rider just over a year ago.”
“Really?”
“Makes an insurance investigator go ‘hmm.’”
“Did he have any health issues?”
“None that I’m aware of, although I’ll keep searching, especially since Midwest Farmers will probably be sued the moment the lawyers make their determination. You know how it works.”
“I don’t,” Nina said.
I turned toward her.
“The way it works…” I said.
“No.” Nina pointed at Altavilla. “You tell me.”
“Nina, how often do I get a chance to prove how smart I am?”
She patted my hand and said, “Maryanne, be a friend.”
“I love you guys,” Altavilla said. “Double indemnity is an accidental death benefit rider. It provides an additional payment if death occurs as the result of an accident, often double the face value of the life insurance policy.”
“How much is Mr. Woods’s policy worth?”
“The original policy was for $500,000.”
“That’s a lot.”
“No, not really. The average life insurance payout was $618,000 the last time I checked. What’s unusual is the rider itself. Most people who have double indemnity riders work in dangerous occupations like construction or mining or they have really persuasive insurance agents. That’s because only about five percent of all deaths in the United States are ruled accidental. In Mr. Woods’s case, the DI rider boosts his payout an additional $500,000.”
“A cool million,” I said.
“However, double indemnity is usually not paid if the death occurs as a result of illegal activities or self-inflicted injuries,” Altavilla said.
“That’s why you expect to be sued,” Nina said.
“Wouldn’t you file a lawsuit? Half a million dollars is a lot of money and nobody wants to be told their loved one committed suicide.”
“Now I understand.”
“Unfortunately, it’s going to get worse for you. I’m sorry, but Mr. Woods’s beneficiaries will absolutely be sending lawyers to interview you, not to mention the other insurance companies.”
“What other insurance companies?” I asked.
“Turns out Mr. Woods was stacking.”
Nina shook her head.
“That means he had multiple life insurance policies, at least three besides the one he opened with Midwest Farmers,” Altavilla said. “All activated within the past two years.”
“The past two years,” I repeated.
“Yes.”
“For how much?”
“I don’t know yet. Could be millions.”
“Is that legal?” Nina asked.
“Yes, only you’re not supposed to have policies totaling more than your net worth. The industry believes the purpose of life insurance is to replace income, not generate wealth. If a policyholder qualifies for, say, $500,000 and has a policy from Company A for $100,000, Company B will usually only go as high as $400,000.”
“Why didn’t that happen in Mr. Woods’s case?” Nina asked.
“Insurance agents are paid by commission and they mostly only care if you can pay your premiums, so…”
“Let me guess,” I said.
“Yes, McKenzie, the policies all have two-year suicide exclusions.”
“What does that mean?” Nina asked.
“An insurance company usually will not pay a death benefit if it can prove the insured died by his own hand within the first two years of coverage, although most will return the premiums that were paid. After two years, they usually decide that the insured had not intended to take their own life when the policy was activated and will pay.”
