Shelf Ice (13 page)

“How do you feel about that?” asked Ray.

“Tell you the truth,” Reverend Tim said in a quiet voice, “I don’t think they’re the same thing. We’re trying to get men’s souls, not just their attention.”

“Where do we find Mr. Gunne?” Ray asked, after peering at his watch.

“Follow me, I’ll give you the Cook’s tour on the way.”

They crossed the atrium again and entered an office complex. They paused briefly at each door as Tim identified the different work areas: media production, marketing, computing, donor services, the nursery and Sunday school area, and finally the administrative offices.

 
They entered an office suite that looked like a high-end law office: thick carpeting, walnut paneling, and elegant furniture. “Shirley,” said Tim, addressing a petite brunette in a carefully tailored suit, “is Reverend Rod available?”

The woman held Ray and Sue in her gaze for a long moment, and then looked back at Tim and replied. “I’ll see,” she answered, her tone flat, without affect. Leaving her desk, she disappeared down a hallway. A minute later she reappeared, “Follow me, please.”

They were ushered into a tastefully decorated office. “Sheriff Elkins and Miss…” Tim looked at Ray for help.

“Detective Sergeant Sue Lawrence,” Ray provided Sue’s title.

“Rodney Gunne,” said the man as he stood. He buttoned his suit coat and came around the side of a long modern desk. He shook hands with Ray, briefly making eye contact, and then carefully scrutinized Sue, taking her hand and holding it briefly.

“The Sheriff’s here to talk about that woman who did all that artwork,” Reverend Tim explained.

“I’ve just learned about that situation,” said Gunne. “Most tragic. She’s already in our prayers.” He looked at Reverend Tim, “Thank you for escorting the sheriff and Ms. Lawrence in. I’ll see you later today.” His eyes moved to his secretary, “Shirley, hold my calls and catch the door as you leave, please.”

At Gunne’s direction they settled into two large leather chairs that faced his desk, and he returned to his chair.

“How can I be of assistance, Sheriff?”

“What do you know about Brenda Manton’s condition?” asked Ray.

“I’ve just learned about this. I had a call from Elise Lovell. She was Ms. Manton’s assistant during the creation and installation of that wonderful fabric art. Apparently Elise was with the family this weekend. I understand that Brenda will be taken off the machines and allowed to die sometime today.” Gunne brought his hands together in front of his chest in a prayer-like manner. “This is incredibly difficult to comprehend. Brenda was such a gifted artist and such a wonderful person. Some things are beyond human comprehension.” After a long pause, he asked, “How can I be of assistance, Sheriff?”

“We’re in the early stages of the investigation, and we’re talking to anyone who has recently had contact with Brenda Manton. We’re looking for anything that might help us identify who was responsible for this crime.”

“I don’t know if I can be of much help. She was one of many contractors on this project,” he opened his arms as though giving the benediction.

“Why don’t you just talk about her for awhile,” urged Sue. “Give us some background. Perhaps something will come to you that might prove to be helpful. How did you meet Manton?”

“When I was called to this project, I wanted to break all of the paradigms and construct a very different place of worship. I didn’t want any of the old iconography, and I didn’t want to use materials that you usually find in a religious building. As the name implies, this church represents a new kind of relationship with God. We offer a new and positive message. I wanted the building to reflect this ministry.”

“How did you meet Brenda?”

“I was just getting to that, Sheriff. I saw a few small pieces of her work at a gallery in Birmingham.” As he spoke, he looked directly at Ray, only occasionally making eye contact with Sue. “I had gone down state to meet with my decorator to get ideas. I loved Manton’s work and wondered if she could scale it up to my vision of our interior wall coverings. I was surprised to find out that she lived locally.

“She came to visit when the building was little more than a steel exoskeleton. She’s a wiz at computers and computer art. She quickly produced renderings of what her art would look like and how she would place it and light it. I was knocked over the first time I saw them on that big laptop she was always carrying. We were on the same page right from the beginning. She was totally empathic to what I was trying to attain. So for a period of time we were almost in daily contact, but since her work was completed I’ve only seen her occasionally. Brenda sometimes brought prospective clients here. This is the single biggest installation of her art.”

“Have you ever been to her house?” asked Sue.

“Early on, yes, only a few times. She would design the panels, and she would show me what she was proposing on a huge screen she had.”

“Have you been there recently?” Ray asked.

“No, not in months. There was no need. Her work was completed.”

“So you didn’t form a friendship beyond her work here?”

“No, Ms. Lawrence. I like to think that we, Brenda and I, were friends, but our relationship was professional. That said, she was a person I greatly admired. And what has happened is incomprehensible.”

“Did she ever share any fears or anxieties?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Might she have formed a relationship with any of the people who worked here during the construction?”

“If she did, I was not aware of it.”

“I’ve heard that there’s the possibility of having a memorial service for Brenda here?”

“Yes, Mrs. Lovell mentioned that this morning. I think the family has yet to make a decision. Brenda was not a member of our flock. But her family and friends would be welcome here. I don’t think she was very religious, but Brenda was a very spiritual person. I had hoped that she would someday join us.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about her?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think so. Like I said, Ms. Manton was one of dozens of contractors on this job.” After a long pause Gunne said, “Sheriff, if there isn’t anything else, my calendar this morning is overfilled.”

“Thank you for your time,” said Ray.
 
He dropped his card on the clear expanse of walnut. “If anything occurs to you that you think might help, give us a call.”

20.

“What did you think?” asked Ray as he fastened his seatbelt.

“You should find out where he gets his hair cut. Nice suit, too. There was quite a contrast between Reverend Tim’s red suspenders, flannel shirt, and jeans and Gunne’s ensemble.”

“Yes, that marriage isn’t going to last long. Whatever Gunne needed from Tim, well…”

“And did you see the way he checked me out. I haven’t been so carefully undressed in a long time. Glad I had clean underwear on.”

“How do you feel about that? I suspect I’m about to get a blast of feminist anger.”

Sue chuckled, started the engine. “Hey, he’s handsome, beautifully dressed, and that fragrance—four notches above Old Spice and Brut. It’s been a long, barren winter, Ray. Sometimes you’ve just got to enjoy whatever comes your way.”

“We need to know a lot more about Rod Gunne.”

“Did you see his diplomas? I think I memorized the pertinent data. When we get back to the office I’ll see if they’re real and do a complete background check.” She looked over at Ray. “Where are we going?”

He opened a map and showed her their final destination. “When you come off the highway here, it’s a seasonal road. I’m not sure how far we’ll get. We’ll walk or ski from that point.”

“Molly’s directions weren’t too specific?”

“No, but she did say that the tree house was in a stand of oak overlooking this creek.” He pointed with his finger. “So we make that our northern boundary and work back and forth. Hopefully we will locate the tree house, and maybe the elusive Tristan.”

Sue turned and drove just off the highway, encountering deep drifts where she stopped. “I don’t think we can get much farther without taking the chance of getting royally stuck.” She looked over at Ray and asked, “Skis or snowshoes?”

“I’d like to do skis. But I think we’ve got to use snowshoes, the snow in the woods will be too deep.”

Before they started on their trek, Ray opened a detailed map and laid it on the hood of the Jeep. “Let’s go east down this trail. Right here,” he pointed to a small squiggle in the map, “where the trail forks, we’ll want to go north. It should be up in here somewhere, maybe two, two and a half miles. If we get to the stream, we’ll follow it to the lake. I’ve got a compass, you’ve got a GPS. We’ve got lots of daylight left. Just a walk in the park on a lovely winter day.”

“Sure,” said Sue.

They took turns breaking trail, quietly moving through the deep snow and heavily forested, rolling terrain. Occasionally they would stop to rest and drink water, and then start off again. They stopped at the edge of a deep ravine that dropped down to a narrow, gently murmuring stream in an otherwise silent landscape.

“Where to now?” asked Sue in a low voice.

Ray looked west. “Let’s go down stream about fifty yards, and then work south a few hundred yards, then work back to the stream. I’ll let you do the magic with the GPS.”

He waited for Sue to set up the instrument and then followed her as they worked their way west and then south, their eyes searching the tree-tops in the old-growth oak, ash and pine forest for anything that looked unnatural.

“Nothing here,” said Sue, catching her breath. “Let’s go to the top of that ridgeline and work back toward the stream. And it’s your turn to lead.”

Ray slowly climbed the hill, carefully planting his poles, laboriously pulling his snowshoes out of the deep snow, his legs beginning to scream with pain. He stopped at the top and waited for Sue, taking a moment to absorb the quiet beauty of the scene.

“Energy bar?” asked Sue, using her teeth to help tear open the wrapper.

“I’m okay,” said Ray, taking the time to catch his breath and drink some more water.

After a few minutes they started off again. As they neared the ravine again, Ray slowed, then stopped. He pointed to the top of a massive, gnarled old oak.

“Eagle’s nest?” asked Sue in a low voice.

“Look again.”

They worked their way to the base of the tree.

“Very clever, really good work. And look, he’s got a zip line rigged.” Ray’s eyes traced the course of the thin, narrow cable. He pointed to where the zip line was anchored on the other side of the stream.
 
“There’s his escape route, down across the ravine where he can jump into a kayak or canoe. Or maybe he keeps a mountain bike stashed somewhere when there is less snow.” He pointed to an indentation in the snow. “And there’s his path from the stream up to the tree. It’s pretty drifted over. Looks like it hasn’t been used in awhile.”

“How does he get up there?”

“Interesting question. I imagine some kind of climbing technique.”

“What do we do now?” Sue asked quietly.

“If he’s as wily as Molly has suggested, and he’s up there, he knows where we are. I guess we could try yelling up to him. Probably it should be you rather than me. He might relate better to a woman. Tell him we’ve come about Brenda, we need his help.”

Sue moved back from the tree and cupping her hand near her mouth shouted toward the structure at the top of the tree. Then they stood and waited in silence, listening and watching for any sign of life from the carefully crafted dwelling.

“What do you think, should I try again?”

“Go ahead,” said Ray.

Sue’s second attempt didn’t get any response either.
 
“I could put a few rounds up there and see if any blood comes down. It would show up nice in the snow.”

“Your humor is deteriorating. We better get going while we still have some daylight,” said Ray. “Let’s stop at my house and find something to eat.”

“Okay, but I’ve got to pick up Simone from doggie daycare first.”

21.

Sue had been working at the computer for more than an hour when Ray returned to the office.

“Do you always have leftovers like that?” asked Sue as they settled in for an evening of work before Molly’s arrival at 10:00.

“I thought I should feed you after that hike.”

“And that tart was just amazing. Where do you get things like that?”

“It’s a long story.”

“And Simone really likes lamb. She may never eat dog food again.” Sue looked over at the terrier curled tight and sleeping on an overstuffed chair in the corner of Ray’s office.

“I feel guilty about not staying to help you clean up, but I did make good use of the time. I ran Rod Gunne’s name on NCIC.”

“And?”

“Nada. But Google is so wonderful. It may not list all of one’s felonious records, but you can find almost everything else.”

“Like?”

“How about an undergraduate degree from Northwestern in, let me get this right,” Sue looked through some pages she had printed off,
 
“
radio/television/film media production and analysis.
 
And for Rod Gunne’s graduate work, an MBA with a specialization in concert management.”