08-A Thousand Bones, page 24
They entered the shade of beech trees, moving steadily downward. The trees grew thicker, the light thinner. Joe had been to the dunes before, a sweet afternoon of sightseeing and sweaty kisses last August with Brad. She knew the park was more than dunes, that it encompassed everything from apple orchards to serpentine streams. But she was unprepared for the sight that greeted them as the ranger walked on.
They were entering a thick stand of trees, a mix of beeches, maples, and birches. It looked very similar to the woods of the original search area, but the air was very different here—swirling and gritty with windborne sand.
The ranger had stopped at a thick birch tree. Joe and Rafsky broke through the brush and stepped forward.
“Is that what you were looking for?” the ranger asked.
Rafsky nodded and glanced at Joe. She knew what he was thinking, that this carving looked very different from the others, which meant they might now be dealing with copycats.
She scanned the surrounding trees. But what if this was the real thing? There were more than seventy thousand acres in the park, most of it sandy bluffs, but there were other pockets of woodlands. There were even trees in the dunes themselves, half-buried black, spindly trunks. The constant winds and the shifting sands made for an ever-changing landscape. Finding any bones here would be near impossible.
“Ranger, can you give me any estimate how old this carving might be?” Rafsky asked.
Joe felt Leach, Mack, and the other state investigator crowding in to listen. The young ranger looked nervously at them. “Well, sir, this is an old tree as far as birches go, and they have a life span of about a hundred years.”
“We’re thinking of something more recent,” Rafsky said.
“I’d say within a couple of weeks.”
“How can you be sure?” Joe asked.
“Birch has a very soft bark, ma’am,” the ranger said. “Heck, you can make a mark in it with your thumbnail.” He pointed to the carving. “And it scars up easy, just like human skin. You cut something in it, and then the scar forms and gets thick and ropy. The tree keeps growing around the cut marks, which makes the lines expand and distort. This has no scar, and it’s still fresh. Hasn’t been here but a month or so.”
“You seem to know a lot about this,” Rafsky said.
The ranger gave a quick nod. “I study arborglyphs, sir. In my spare time, I mean.”
“Arbor what?” Leach asked.
“Tree carvings, sir. They’ve been used for centuries by all kinds of cultures. Art, messages, or just a way to keep from going crazy in the wilderness.” His smooth face colored slightly. “Tree carvings aren’t just kid’s stuff.”
“No, they’re not,” Rafsky said quietly. He walked a few paces away. The other state guy followed him.
“Can I ask what this is about?” the ranger asked. “All the flyer said was it was in connection with a crime.”
“It’s a homicide, son,” Leach said. “Is your boss on his way?”
“Yes, sir. He’s coming from Empire. Should be here any time.”
Leach nodded and motioned for Joe and Mack to follow him over to where Rafsky stood with the other investigator. As Joe got closer, she heard Rafsky call the other man Captain.
Rafsky did a quick round of introductions, first offering the name of the older man, Captain Kellerman. When Rafsky got to Joe, he added that she was the one to grab onto the carvings’ significance. Rafsky went on to give his captain a short update. Joe could tell by Kellerman’s slightly disapproving expression that he knew about the search at the Collier cabin but did not know Rafsky and Leach had sent flyers to other agencies.
“You think that was wise?” Kellerman asked.
Rafsky nodded. “I do. And it got us some results.”
The brisk wind was blowing Kellerman’s comb-over into his eyes, and he held it down with his gloved hand. “It’s also going to get a lot of press,” he said.
“It already has,” Mack said. “The Chicago Tribune guy got here this morning. Annabelle Chapel’s father is on his way.”
“We might need to rethink our investigative structure on this,” Kellerman said.
Joe’s eyes went to Rafsky. Was he being replaced by someone more media-savvy? Or was Kellerman looking to take over?
“Now wait a minute,” Mack said.
Kellerman glanced at Mack as if he were an intruder, then looked back at Rafsky. “It’s the right move, as I’m sure you all can appreciate,” he said. “Do you agree, Norm?”
Before Rafsky could answer, Mack stepped forward. “This has been our case—”
Kellerman’s eyes cut to Mack. “Who are you again?”
“Detective Julian Mack,” he said. “I’ve been working this case for six years, and I—”
Sheriff Leach quieted him with a raised hand. “Captain Kellerman,” he said, “we’re a small department, but we’ve made good progress in only a few weeks on a case no one thought would ever get this big. I would like—”
“No one cares what you would like, Sheriff,” Kellerman said. “The bottom line here is you just can’t handle this. You don’t have the manpower, the resources, the—”
Rafsky started to speak, but Mack was first. “Maybe not,” he said. “But we have one thing you don’t. The only positively identified victim in this whole mess. All you got is that carving back there.”
“Look,” Kellerman hissed, “that carving is going to blow this wide open. This is a fucking national park. What are you going to do when they start finding carvings in other counties and other cities?”
“Captain—” Rafsky started.
“I don’t care about other agencies,” Mack said. “They can solve their own homicides with their own carvings. I have two goddamn carvings and one jawbone that belongs to Annabelle Chapel. And that makes the Chapel case our damn case!”
“Listen to me,” Kellerman said through clenched teeth. “You can’t make your case without the cooperation of other agencies.”
“I don’t need other agencies,” Mack said. “I got Ken Snider in my jail. And you got no authority to take him anywhere.”
“Mack, back off,” Leach interrupted, taking a step between the two men.
But Kellerman already had a finger pointed in Mack’s face. “You’re going to screw this up,” he said. “And it’s going to blow apart any chance for any of us to put this asshole away.”
“We caught him,” Mack said. “He’s ours.”
Kellerman drew in a slow breath and held up his hands. “Okay, go ahead,” he said. “Keep Chapel. Keep Snider. Get your goddamn headlines. But don’t expect any more help from the state. No more searchers, no more forensics, no more investigators. No more nothing.”
“Who needs you?” Mack shot back.
“Stop,” Rafsky said suddenly. He drew a ragged breath that brought a small cough. “Captain, may we speak privately?”
Kellerman had a hard time pulling his glare from Mack, but he nodded and followed Rafsky to the top of a small hill a few yards away. Joe watched them as they stopped under a beech tree, talking quietly, heads down. Every few seconds, Kellerman would look over at Mack and Leach. Then his eyes found her. She knew Rafsky was talking about her. Knew it was good.
Kellerman tightened his shoulders, his eyes drifting to the sky. Rafsky said something else, gesturing back to Joe and the others. After a moment, they came back down the hill.
“Sheriff,” Kellerman said with a stiff nod, and he walked off toward his car.
They all looked at Rafsky.
“I made a deal,” he said.
“What kind?” Mack asked.
Rafsky coughed again, a deep, hacking rumble that made his eyes water. “I get to stay in Leelanau, in the same capacity I am now.”
“Advisor,” Mack said.
“Whatever.” Rafsky sighed. “In any event, things can remain as they have been. In exchange, Kellerman asks one thing. That you transfer Ken Snider to Grand Traverse County jail in Traverse City.”
“Why?” Mack asked.
“Security, mostly,” Rafsky said. “It’s bigger and better controlled. Pretty quick, the details of what Snider has done will come out, and people will get crazy. And I don’t think you have the capability to fully protect him if someone wanted to take matters into their own hands.”
“Well,” Leach said, “he’s being arraigned here tomorrow. We’ll take him right from court down there. I’ll give the sheriff there a call this afternoon.”
“Good,” Rafsky said.
Mack shook his head and wandered off toward the cruisers. Leach thanked Rafsky and followed Mack. Rafsky turned and walked back to the ranger, still waiting by the carved birch tree for further instructions. Rafsky spoke to him for about five minutes, then came back to Joe.
“I came down here with Kellerman,” Rafsky said. “Would you mind dropping me back at the Riverside so I can get some rest? I want to be at the arraignment in the morning.”
Joe nodded, and they started back to her cruiser. “Can I ask you something?” she asked.
Rafsky had a Kleenex to his nose and nodded.
“Were you going to get pulled off this?” she asked.
Rafsky took a moment to blow his nose. “You’re very perceptive,” he said.
“Why did he want to remove you?”
“Not photogenic enough for the TV cameras, I suppose.”
“What did you say to get him to let you stay with us?” she asked.
“I told him you’d transfer Snider.”
“It was more than that,” she said.
He hesitated and sighed. “I promised him I would not let Mack blow it.”
Joe was quiet. She knew it wasn’t just Mack that Rafsky was talking about. It was all of them.
“That carving doesn’t look anything like the Hunger Moon ones,” she said. “You think it’s a copycat?”
Rafsky shook his head slowly. “I don’t know.”
“If it’s not, it shoots our theory to hell that Snider only killed in February,” she said.
Rafsky pulled in a deep breath before he looked at her. “Sometimes these bastards change their MO,” he said. “Their urges get stronger, or something happens that sets them off. Maybe that’s what we’re looking at here.”
Joe was quiet, looking out at the trees and beyond to the dunes.
“What’s the matter?” Rafsky asked.
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “This one isn’t like the others. It’s so fresh, so new. I keep seeing Snider up here just a few weeks ago and some girl—” She looked up at him. “This one happened while I was here in Echo Bay, and I just can’t stop thinking about what she must have felt.”
Rafsky hesitated. “Frye, we’ve got Snider. If he killed someone here, she was probably the last one. It’s over.”
35
Joe stepped from her cruiser and paused. The mothers were huddled outside the station entrance, facing a man with a microphone. Behind him was another man holding a large camera. On the side of it, Joe could see the letters WLS—Chicago.
She ducked in through the back door. She was heading down the hall toward Leach’s office when the scream came from the basement.
“Where’s my fucking lawyer?”
Snider.
“Where is he, damn it!”
Joe bolted down the stairs. Holt was standing in front of Snider’s cell, his expression helpless. Snider spun to Joe. “I want my brother, and I want him fucking now!”
Snider’s cell was strewn with newspapers. He snatched up one and waved it at her.
“What is this shit?” he demanded. “What the hell are you people trying to do to me?”
Joe motioned Holt to go get Leach, then moved closer, trying to figure out a way to question Snider without breaking any rules. “We’ll get your lawyer,” she said calmly.
“Fuck him!” Snider shouted. “Fuck him and all of you!”
Snider threw the paper at the bars, then sank to his bunk, shoulders heaving with angry pants. The paper landed front-page up. It was that morning’s Banner, and on the front was a photo of one of the February carvings and Theo’s headline: mysterious carvings linked to girls’ murders.
Joe drew in an angry breath. Damn it.
“Joe?” Leach called. “Get up here, now.”
When she got upstairs, everyone—Augie, Holt, Mike, and Mack—was standing in a semicircle in the hallway. Leach held up the newspaper.
“Who leaked this?” he demanded. When no one spoke, Leach’s eyes went to Mack.
“You think I did it?” Mack asked.
“You’ve done it before,” Leach said.
“I never leaked a goddamn thing,” Mack said.
“I swear, Mack, if I find out—”
“I ain’t the one sleeping with the goddamn editor of the stinkin’ rag,” Mack said.
Leach’s eyes swung to Augie.
Augie went pale, and drew in his lower lip. Joe knew Augie had seen them making copies of the flyers yesterday, and maybe Holt told Augie about the carving he had sawed off the Colliers’ cabin. But Leach had seemingly forgotten that Theo had developed her pictures of the carvings weeks ago. Even without Augie’s help, Theo would have made the connection eventually. This was partly her fault.
“Sir,” Joe said.
Leach ignored her. “Augie, have you shared any information on this case with Theo?”
Augie hung his head and crossed his arms. “Yes,” he said softly. “I didn’t know the flyers were confidential.”
“It clearly stated on them that they were for law enforcement eyes only,” Leach said. “I know you know what that means.”
Augie nodded.
“Sir,” Joe said again.
“What?”
“Theo had pictures of the carvings weeks ago,” she said. “He’s the one who developed my film, remember?”
Leach stared at her.
“I had no idea of the meaning of them then,” she said. “None of us did. I’m not surprised Theo put things together.”
Leach gestured to the newspaper. “The carvings were our link to both Snider and the bones,” he said.
“We still have that link,” Joe said.
“Yes,” Leach said. “But what do we do when copycat carvings start popping up all over the state? Send a team after every one?” Leach sighed in angry frustration. “It was the only thing we had to hold back from the public.”
They were quiet. A phone was ringing somewhere. From the basement, Joe could hear Snider hollering again.
“His damn lawyer even gave Theo a quote,” Leach said, holding up the paper. “Listen to this: ‘These carvings are just old Indian lore,’ attorney Roland Trader said. ‘The police are using them to scare people into believing my client is some kind of monster. This is all nonsense. The next thing you know, they’ll be bringing in a psychic.’”
“He knows the carvings aren’t nonsense,” Joe said.
“That’s not the point,” Leach said. “The point is that Roland Trader has made us look like fools to the whole state.”
“Maybe we are,” Mike said.
Leach’s eyes shot to Mike.
“Maybe we should’ve let this go a long time ago,” Mike said. “Maybe we’re in over our heads.”
Leach started to fire something back but stopped himself, and Joe sensed that he agreed with Mike. Leach had seen the mothers and the Chicago reporter outside. She never thought she’d admit it, but now she was glad that Ken Snider was being transferred. Maybe some of these people would go home.
“Augie,” Leach said, “you’re on suspension.”
Augie nodded and slipped away down the hall to his radio console. Leach looked at Joe. “We will talk later.”
Snider let out another holler.
“Mike,” Leach said, “shut that damn door to the basement, and then hook up with the search teams at the Collier cabin. Get me an update.”
“It’s supposed to snow tonight. I think the search is winding down,” Mike said.
“Don’t think, find out,” Leach said through gritted teeth. He turned to Holt and Joe. “Holt, find Adderly and tell him I need to talk to him immediately. Joe, call Roland Trader at his hotel and tell him his brother is screaming for him.”
“You want me to tell him we’re transferring Snider tomorrow?” she asked.
Leach nodded. “Maybe that will get the weasel over here.”
Joe went to her desk, shrugged out of her jacket, and called the Dunes Motel. Roland wasn’t in his room, and she left a message with the clerk, telling her it was urgent. As she hung up, she heard Augie frantically telling someone he was not allowed in the rear of the station. She stepped into the hall.
A man. Tall and heavyset, in a camel cashmere coat. Variegated brown and gray hair. He was pulling off black leather gloves, searching for someone to talk to.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’m Arthur Chapel. I want to see Detective Mack, please.”
Before Joe could reply, Leach appeared. Chapel looked at Leach’s badge, then to his face. “Are you in charge here?” Chapel asked.
Leach nodded, introduced himself, and motioned to his office. “We can talk in—”
Leach was interrupted by Snider, screaming again from the basement. It was muted now behind a door but clearly audible.
“Where the fuck is my lawyer?”
“Who is that?” Chapel asked.
“Let’s just go to my—”
“Is that the man who killed my daughter?”
“Mr. Chapel—”
“I want to see him,” Chapel said.
“You can’t do that,” Leach said. “It’s—”
Chapel pushed past Leach and started toward the stairs. Joe stepped forward, blocking his way. “Please, Mr. Chapel,” she said.
Chapel stared down at her. His eyes were swimming with everything from confusion to anger—and a dull pain. He shut them as he tried to gather his composure. Snider’s voice drifted again through the hall, then fell silent.
“This is unbearable,” Chapel said. He turned back to Leach. “I don’t understand. My daughter’s been missing for six years. Then I get a phone call from someone telling me a bone has been found and it’s hers. Now I have reporters asking me what I know about other bones and other girls and carvings on trees, and I have to tell them that I know nothing.”
