Dead Rapunzel (22 page)

“Okay.” Judith's voice was so small, she sounded like a terrified child.

“Todd,” said Lew, “please drive Judith and Mallory to the hospital and stay with them until I get there. I'm not sure who Vern will go after next. Until we find him, I want Judith in protective custody.”

“Got it, Chief.”

Lew strode out into the late-afternoon sun. She got into her cruiser and headed in the direction of the Wisconsin Silica Sands office. Checking her watch, she saw it was already three-thirty. She hoped Charlene didn't quit early on Friday afternoons.

To Lew's relief, Charlene was still at work. The front-desk receptionist called back and Charlene appeared. “Chief Ferris, what a nice surprise.” Charlene paused. “You look worried. Is something wrong?”

“Nothing for you to be concerned about,” said Lew. “But I could use some information that relates to an investigation that I have underway. I'm hoping you have time to help me out.”

“Certainly, I owe you one,” said Charlene with a smile. “Come back to my office and we'll see what I can do.”

As Lew sat down across the desk from her, Charlene said, “I don't know if Dani told you, but we did locate my birth mother. I've sent a letter to her through the Catholic Charities office that handled my adoption and I hope to hear something back from her soon. But you should know that even if the woman doesn't respond to my letter, it helps so much to have some idea who my birth parents were.”

“Good, I was hoping Dani might be able to help you,” said Lew.

“So what's up that I might be able to handle for you?”

“I'm trying to locate a person who may have brought a soil sample into your offices for testing. This would be within the last couple of weeks. Is information like that easy to find?”

“Nothing comes into this office that isn't entered into our database,” said Charlene, swiveling her chair toward the computer screen mounted on her desk. “We enter all the information: size of samples, locations, and dates. If you can give me an address, I'll see what we've got.”

“I'm hoping this works,” said Lew as she opened the file holding Rudd Tomlinson's death certificate. She read off Rudd's full name and the home address. “One of my deputies found what looked like tools used to take soil samples on this property. But not a professional effort—kind of makeshift.

“The land is posted, and I'm concerned that someone has been trespassing on private property. I can't be sure the person taking those samples would have brought them here, but—”

“I wouldn't be surprised. You have no idea how many people are checking to see what kind of sand they have,” said Charlene. “Honestly, some come in with zip-tops full of sand and dirt.” She studied the screen. “I can tell you one thing—our company has not done any sampling in that area. And if we did, the property owner would be notified of our interest and we would submit a legal request for permission before proceeding.”

She looked up from the screen. “I see no indication that a request for soil testing came in from a Rudd Tomlinson.”

“That doesn't surprise me,” said Lew. “Is that the only way you would know if soil on her property has been tested?” She started to get up from the chair. She was anxious to get to the hospital and see how Greg was doing.

“Hold on, Chief Ferris, I'm not finished,” said Charlene, gesturing for her to sit back down. “Now I'll search by address. This is similar to reverse phone searches, a process with which I'm sure you're familiar. All samples submitted must include a description and location that the receiving clerk can document in the plat book. If the person was kind enough to give an approximate location . . .

“Yes, here it is. A sample for that location was dropped off ten days ago by a Mr. Vern Steidl on behalf of a client for whom he is planning to build a warehouse—would the client be your party, Rudd Tomlinson? He got the results a week ago today. The sand was rated ‘excellent.'”

Charlene looked over at Lew. “Mr. Tomlinson is going to have to make a tough decision: his property is sitting on Northern White sand, which is the best for oil fracking. The clerk made a note here, too, that the property has easy access from the water. Must be near a lake, maybe? That could be a terrific savings, as they could avoid the cost of paying for right-of-way, of cutting a road in, the whole shebang.”

“Interesting,” said Lew. “You probably can't tell me the value of such a finding.”

“No,” said Charlene, “not until the owner takes the next step, which is to pay our engineers to survey and test the entire property to see how much sand is there. Quality is only half the equation—
quantity
is the key.”

Back at the hospital, Lew waited with Kenzie for Greg to come out from under the anesthesia. Curtains had been pulled around his bed in the ICU. While Lew and Kenzie sat side by side in chairs, a cot had also been brought in for Kenzie to spend the night. Her therapist had gone home after making sure that Kenzie was able to ask Greg's surgeon the right questions. On learning that her husband might be out of the hospital within four days and a full recovery was expected, Kenzie was a new person—efficient, caring, and gracious with the hospital staff.

“No drama,” Kenzie had said apologetically when Lew arrived after leaving Charlene's office. “I got myself under control, Chief Ferris.”

Next, Lew had arranged for Judith to spend the night or nights, depending on when they were able to apprehend Vern, at the Loon Lake Inn. “I can't have you out at the main house by yourself,” Lew had said when Judith tried to argue that she would be fine and four functioning shotguns were housed in the cabinet in what had been Philip's den.

“Absolutely not,” Lew had said with an alarmed laugh. “You are staying safe here in town, and Officer Adamczak will be patrolling the Inn's parking lot and hallway around your room through the night.”

“This is ridiculous,” Judith had argued.

“No, it isn't,” said Lew. “Vern Steidl is an angry and vicious man. We can't be sure what he will do next. Rage does not make for rational thought, Judith. Because you may have replaced Rudd in his mind as the person responsible for ruining his life, you could be his next victim, and I refuse to let that happen.”

What Lew chose not to add was that she remembered well the rage that had filled her entire being when she learned of her only son's death in a knife fight. If she had been anywhere near the kid who had killed him that night in the parking lot of a beer bar—that kid would have been dead, too. It had taken hours for her to regain her sanity.

Who knew what Vern Steidl was thinking?

Once Judith agreed and resigned herself to a night at the Inn, Lew had sent Osborne and Mallory home. So it was that as it neared midnight, it was just Lew and Kenzie keeping the sleeping Greg company.

His hands moved and Lew stood up. “Call the nurse, Kenzie. Greg may be coming out from under the anesthesia.”

Once the nurse had checked his vital signs and Greg's eyelids flickered, Lew asked the nurse, “Is it possible to know if he can hear me?”

The nurse leaned over the bed, grasped one of Greg's hands, and said in a loud voice. “If you can hear me, Greg, will you squeeze my hand?” He did.

“He can hear,” said the nurse. “I need to check several things before you talk to him. Greg, can you tell me your date of birth?”

Greg mumbled.

“Good, can you tell me who is our president?”

Again a mumble but the correct answer. After asking several more questions the nurse turned to Lew and Kenzie. “He's doing well. He's alert but very weak.”

“Do you think it's okay for me to ask him a few questions—ones he can answer ‘yes' or ‘no'?”

“I'll check with the doctor on call. He discussed the case with the surgeon before he left tonight. Let's be sure that it's okay before you do anything.”

Lew waited. The nurse returned within ten minutes. “If you can communicate so that he doesn't have to talk much, that would be best. I do need to get him to take sips of water, too. So, please, keep it short.”

With Greg's right hand in hers, Lew leaned over the bed. “Greg, I need to ask you just three questions. Simple answers are all I need because we can discuss the details when you are feeling better. If you can, please answer ‘yes' with one squeeze of my hand or ‘no' with two squeezes. Is that okay?” He squeezed her hand once.

“Was it your father, Vern, who shot you?” One squeeze.

“Do you think he knew about the mask?” One squeeze.

“Is it possible he was driving Kenzie's car, the red Accord, this past Tuesday morning?” One squeeze.

“Thank you, Greg. That's all the information I need.”

She decided not to add that those three answers from a key witness made it imperative that the Loon Lake Police apprehend Vern Steidl and charge him with murder and attempted murder.

“Chief Ferris,” said Kenzie, “Vern would have found that mask easily. If you check our basement, it's well organized. All our bins are clearly marked, like, for Christmas and Halloween. All he had to do was go downstairs when we weren't looking.

“I remember now that he came over last week and wanted to borrow tools from Greg's workshop, so he was down in the basement by himself.”

“That helps, Kenzie. Now you get some rest tonight, too. This has been a heck of a day.”

Getting to her feet, Lew gave Greg's hand a gentle pat as she let go. “You've been a great help, Greg. Now please get your rest. The surgeon will be here to see you early in the morning. The good news is that he expects you to have a full recovery. And Kenzie will be here with you until you're ready to go home.”

Lew turned to Kenzie, who was sitting beside her, tears of happiness brimming in her eyes. “Will you be okay?” she asked the young woman. Kenzie nodded and moved over to take her husband's hand.

It was two in the morning when Lew finished the paperwork that had to be completed before she slept. She checked the APB reports from the sheriff's department and she added to the report of Greg's shooting that had to go out to surrounding law enforcement departments. Most critical was that any police officer or sheriff's deputy sighting Vern be aware that he was “armed and dangerous.”

Driving home, all Lew could think of was the comfort of her warm bed. She was exhausted.

Lew pulled the cruiser through the open doors of the old barn. The farmhouse may not have come with a garage when she'd bought it ten years ago, but the barn worked well, sheltering both the cruiser and her pickup from rain, snow, and wind.

After closing the barn doors behind her, she hurried along the walk she had shoveled from the barn to the front porch of the farmhouse. Clouds obscured any sign of a moon or stars, signaling the approach of a snowstorm.

Should be good sleeping tonight, thought Lew as she entered the screened-in porch. She took off her boots before unlocking the door to the house. Anxious for warmth, she pushed the door open and flicked on a light as she walked into the kitchen.

A rush of cold air surprised her. Dammit, she cursed silently, all that money to convert from a wood burner to a gas furnace and it has to go out on a night like this? Drat.

Oh, well, how cold can it get? I have lots of quilts and it is way too late to drive out to Doc's. Actually, she thought as she looked around the kitchen, it doesn't feel that bad. Maybe I didn't turn the thermostat up high enough. Walking into the living room, she checked the thermostat and turned it up a couple notches. That should do it.

Walking through the living room to the bedroom, she noticed that the bathroom door was half closed, which wouldn't help in keeping that room warm. She pushed it open. Curtains were blowing in front of the window. Had the wind forced the window up? She reminded herself that the rusty latch on the lower sash needed replacing—sooner rather than later from the looks of it.

As Lew moved to shut the window, the shower curtain hanging around the claw-footed porcelain tub was yanked back.

She screamed. Vern Steidl stood in the tub, a revolver in his right hand pointed at her chest. “Shut up, Ferris, and stay right there,” he said as he leaned forward to lift one booted foot, then the other, out of the tub.

He motioned with the gun for her to stand back against the sink on the wall behind her. “Move real slow now. Hand me your gun, your cell phone, and your pager. Then keep both hands up where I can see them.”

One glimpse of his fervid eyes and Lew did not hesitate to follow orders. The gun was a persuader, too, even if his hand was shaking. She recognized the revolver from her training: a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum Model 66, known as a Combat Magnum. Those suckers did serious damage.

Without saying a word, she did as she was told: She undid the belt holding the holsters for her gun, the pager, the walkie-talkie, and her cell phone and handed it over. Looking past Vern, she could see where the rush of air had come from: Wind had had nothing to do with it. He had pushed open the bathroom window and crawled in.

Silently Lew cursed the snow bank outside, which was high and hard as a result of snow skidding off the roof. It had been easy for him to get in and she was the numbnut who didn't get around to repairs needed on a hundred-plus-year-old farmhouse. Lesson learned.

As Lew stood still with her hands held high, she hoped her fright at the unexpected sight of a man standing in her bathtub would deceive him into thinking she was truly frightened, frightened in the way most women he knew would be. She wasn't. Not anymore. Now that she had him in
her
sights, she had one goal in mind. And her fatigue had vanished.

Nudging her with his gun, Vern pushed her toward the living room.

“Sit right there and keep those hands up.” He backed into the kitchen while keeping his eyes on her. At the door, he gave a quick glance to the right as if he expected someone to be standing out on the porch. He walked back into the living room.