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  “Betty showed up at the Ransons and begged Ann not to press charges. Without the Ransons, we didn’t have anything on him that would stand up in court.” He paused to take a breath and held up his hand to keep Flo quiet. “Mrs. Ranson tried to get Betty to sign Lonnie in for detox, but she would only do it if Lonnie would go in voluntarily and he refused.”

  “It’s a damn shame that asshole didn’t get so drunk that he shot himself and put everyone out of their misery. He’s such a snake that shooting him would be considered justifiable homicide by everyone but Betty.” She glanced at Lark. “I’ll bet you’d be real surprised at how fast the number of summer cabin robberies would drop if he wasn’t around. He’s also quite the poacher.”

  “Can you prove any of this?”

  “Do you think he’d still be here if I could?” she grumbled. “I hear things. You fit them together and they point to Lonnie. How can he stay drunk and not work but still have a roof over his head? Betty takes all the overtime she can get but her paycheck only stretches so far. There’s other money comin’ into that house and Lonnie’s not doin’ any legit work for it.”

  “Thanks for the heads up, I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” Lark said as he got up.

  “Hold it,” she said, pointing her finger at him as she got another call. He sat back down and watched her take a message.

  “I hear those two bodies from out at Wazowski’s had on UW-Madison clothes.”

  “You heard right,” he said, not bothering to ask how she got the information. Somehow she always knew everything.

  “My Frank’s on a long haul and won’t be home’til tomorrow afternoon, so I was free last night. I went over to the library and looked through the high school yearbooks. I made a list of the kids from here who went down to UW—Madison. I added the summer kids I know about.” She held out three handwritten pages stapled together. “Both Jim and Paul are on the list.”

  Lark thanked her, took the list, and got up to leave. Before he could get away, she handed him the message slip she’d just written. “I told him you’d call him before eight.”

  The message was from Joel. Lark noted that it was seven-thirty and called him back. Joel answered on the second ring. “You becoming a donut-shop cop? Based on when the lovely Lacey told me you left here, you shoulda been there when I called.”

  “I was waylaid, but not by the donut shop,” Lark grumbled, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his legs. “Our dispatcher did some detective work last night.” He told Joel about the list she’d given him.

  “Well, from what you’ve told me, the FBI probably doesn’t have more accurate information.” Joel chuckled. “Between her names and the list from Lands’ End we’ll be drowning in data. I’ll see if we can spring someone in Wausau to help with the phone calls. Speaking of Wausau,” Joel added, all business, “looks like our body was only out there two or three days.”

  “That jives with the snowmobile the Ransons heard.”

  “What’s even more interesting is that both bodies have the same injury patterns. Depressed skull fractures of the right frontal and right parietal areas. For the medical terminology challenged, that’s the right front and side of the head. They both have right humerus fractures, that’s the upper arm, and right femur fractures, the big bone in the upper leg. The skeleton of Red Boot has a couple of old right radius and ulnar fractures, that’s lower arm, that may help us with identification.”

  “Do they think the fractures were the cause of death?” Lark heard Joel shuffling papers.

  “Jesus, I can hardly read the notes I just took,” Joel grumbled. “The long bone fractures didn’t do any healing at all and the skull fracture was very depressed. The lab concluded that Red Boot died right after they happened. The skull fracture is probably as close to the cause of death as we’re going to get.

  “The injuries on Yellow Mitten were all blunt. No penetrating wounds. She was hit with something very hard: crowbar, ball bat, a heavy piece of wood. According to the bruising around the wounds and the state of the fractures, she probably died a couple hours after she was hit. Looks like she was moved. She was on her back for a while and then dumped on her stomach. They can’t say for sure how Red Boot was injured because there isn’t any soft tissue to examine, but the fracture patterns look very much the same.”

  “Both have right-sided fractures and the head injuries are frontal and right side?”

  “You got it, Kemosabe, probably a lefty.”

  Lark was trying to remember if either of the Ransons were lefthanded. He wondered about Lonnie and closed his eyes, trying to remember how he handled his rifle.

  “Are Yellow Mitten’s fingerprints out yet?” Lark asked.

  “Nationwide, but don’t be surprised if that turns up a big fat nothing. How many college girls do you know who’ve been fingerprinted? I’ll have the office fax you a summary of this as soon as it’s transcribed. Gotta go, the lovely Lacey is done with her shower and raring to go,” Joel said, laughing.

  “Just behave yourself, Grenfurth, and remember your wife is a great friend of mine,” Lark said with mock concern. As far as he knew, Joel hadn’t seriously looked at another woman since he’d gotten married, but you’d never know it to hear him talk.

  “The lovely Lacey would never look twice at me. She goes for the Gorgeous Georges of the world. You should see the Mr. Body Beautiful she just dumped. My nontraditional physical appearance and inner beauty are lost on her.”

  Lark hung up the phone and shook his head to get his mind back on business. He sorted through the papers on his desk for the Lands’ End number. It was almost eight, and he wanted to get as much as possible done before things shut down for Thanksgiving. He unearthed the number and yelled at Flo to send Paul and Jim out to the Ransons’. After a pit stop at the coffeepot, he was on the phone to Lands’ End.

  He was put through to Janey Dawes, the director of merchandising. She told him the Madison television channels were carrying a brief news story about two bodies discovered in northern Wisconsin. Lark told her he couldn’t comment. Janey confirmed that almost all of the five thousand size-seven red boots had been sold through the catalog four years ago. The remaining one hundred and two pairs had been sent to their outlet in Madison.

  She was willing to fax him the list of catalog customers who had purchased the boot as long as none of the data was publicly released. Lark agreed. They ended their conversation with him reaffirming that he wanted the names faxed even though the list was one hundred and forty pages long.

  Before he hung up, he asked if the state police had called about a red Lands’ End coat. Janey said they hadn’t. She told him she needed the request by noon to get him the data before Lands’ End closed for the holiday.

  Lark checked his watch, noting that it was eight-thirty and called his house. He caught Joel just before they walked out the door. He agreed to light a fire under Wausau to get the information requests out to L. L. Bean, Eddie Bauer, and Lands’ End.

  Lark got off the phone and warned Flo that the fax from hell was coming. She rolled her eyes and told him he was just a little late, that it had already started. She also told him that if this was going to go on all day, someone had better run to the office supply store because they only had one ream of paper left. Swearing, he left to make the half-hour run to Park Falls.

  When he got on the road, he realized he’d forgotten to tell Joel that the media had wind of the case. He leaned forward to look up through the windshield at the continuous cloud cover and the steadily falling snow and decided that no one in their right mind would come to Big Oak in this weather for a story. But Lark had never known any press people in their right minds.

  He called Flo on his cellular to tell her he needed two additional officers to secure the Ransons’ property. She got a good laugh out of that, saying all their officers for the day would be working this one case. She quit laughing when he told her that the Madison television stations were already broadcasting the story.

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sp; It was a good thing they were on the cellular or her “Oh, shit” would have gone out on the police band. Then some idiot with nothing better to do would bring up swearing on the radio at the next public works meeting. Flo assured him she’d get someone out there ASAP.

  Lark decided he’d better stop at the Ransons’. It was only five minutes out of his way. There were three news vans with satellite dishes parked on the berm of Big Oak Road, and two more vans in the driveway. He met John Ranson’s truck a hundred yards down the drive. John backed up to let him through just as Lark’s cellular rang.

  “Sheriff.” Flo sounded very concerned. “I’ve got Mrs. Ranson on the phone.”

  “Tell her I’m out in her driveway with her husband. Get on the horn and see if anybody wants overtime. See if the other counties or Park Falls can give us some help. We’re going to need two more people out here.” He shut off the phone before she could respond with another expletive.

  John climbed into Lark’s Jeep, scanning the area like he was looking for terrorists. “I’ve got more officers coming,” Lark said. “I’m really sorry about this.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” John said. “I grew up in a small town and my father was a deputy sheriff for years. If it gets too crazy, I’ll pull some of my guys off the job and bring them over.”

  “Hopefully, that won’t be necessary,” Lark said as they pulled up in front of the house. Ann met them at the door.

  “I told the reporters they were trespassing. I took down their license numbers and told them I’d have them arrested if they didn’t get off our property. They left pretty quickly but I don’t think they’re clear on where the property lines are.”

  “We’ll move them off,” Lark said. He gave Ann his business card after writing on the back. “If they give you any more trouble, call the dispatcher or me at the number on the back of the card.”

  Lark and John drove up to the two press vans still parked in the Ransons’ upper drive. John made it clear he’d bring charges against anyone trespassing on his land.

  Once they realized there was nothing to see from Big Oak Road, the press left. Lark had his doubts that they’d find any motel rooms nearby and hoped that thoughts of a family Thanksgiving would draw them back to their homes. Nevertheless, he assigned an officer at each end of the Ransons’ property and added two extra people to the search. It was almost ten before he got back on the road.

  On the drive back from Park Falls, he called the University of Wisconsin—Madison campus police to see if they had the information on missing students ready to send. He caught the captain just before he went out of state for Thanksgiving. He informed Lark that there were four females and one male unaccounted for in the past four years. He agreed to fax information on each case to Lark. He had already faxed copies of their medical histories to Wausau. The chief gave him a cell phone number where he could be reached if anything looked promising. Lark thought back to the days before fax machines and cellular phones and wondered how anyone got anything done.

  When he returned to the office, the fax machine was humming like it was about to take flight. He had calls from all of the area newspapers and most of the television stations in Wisconsin and Minnesota. He mentally began composing a press release.

  He also had a message to call Janey Dawes. He picked up the Lands’ End fax and leafed through it as he waited for the last two pages of the University police fax to come through. Finally, a place to start.

  He got hold of Janey about eleven-fifteen. “I hope your day is better than mine,” he said when she answered.

  “It probably is. We’re winding down for the holiday. I’ve got your coat information. That anorak is a standard in our line and it’s been made for several years. The product number they gave us narrows it down to three production years, 1996 through 1998, and twenty thousand size-twelve coats. Eighteen-thousand-three-hundred-twelve of them were sold through the catalog and the rest sent to the outlets. That will be another five hundred and twenty fax pages once I get them off my printer.”

  Lark groaned.

  “You sound like my printer. It’s groaning, too.”

  “Five hundred pages?” Lark said, stunned. “I’m tempted to send someone down to Dodgeville rather than put my dispatcher through that. She’s liable to take out a contract on me.”

  “I’ve got a better idea—that is, if it’s not out of line.”

  “Let’s hear it, I’ll consider just about anything at this point.”

  “My husband and I are coming up to Rhinelander for Thanksgiving with his parents. We’re leaving after work tonight and should get up there by ten. I’d be happy to bring the list with me if you could send someone over to get it. We’re always up till at least midnight.”

  “Janey, you’re a lifesaver,” Lark said, wandering over to the map on his office wall to see how long it would take him to get there. “How about if I stop by around eleven tonight? That’ll give you a little extra time in case the weather gets worse.” He looked out his window and noticed that the snow had stopped, but the sky was still covered with a blanket of low-hanging, dark gray clouds. He got directions and gave her his cell phone number just in case their plans changed.

  WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON

  NOVEMBER 22—THE RANSOMS

  After John and the sheriff left, Ann went to the family room to get the antiques ready to deliver to the Martens. They had vacationed in the area for years, and when their last child went off to college two years ago, they sold their home in Milwaukee and built a house on Big Oak Lake. Abraham Lincoln Marten, otherwise known as Linc, and his wife Melissa were the only black family in the area. Linc, a family practice physician, worked at the clinic in Big Oak. Melissa worked part-time as a substitute schoolteacher.

  Ann had found Linc two cobalt blue medicine bottles for his collection. Melissa collected cookbooks and Ann had found her two colorillustrated, advertising cookbooks from the early 1900s that she didn’t have.

  Ann had also found her a box full of old Valentines and holiday postcards. Melissa made decorative boxes in her spare time. She covered them with copies of old Valentines, postcards, and pictures from her collection of old magazines. They were selling like hotcakes in gift shops in the northwoods.

  Ann dug out Steve Waltner’s Flow Blue bowl and got the invoice ready, then packed up the two deliveries and drove to the Martens. Normally, their house was less than ten minutes away, but snow was pelting down and it took her more than fifteen minutes to get there. Their driveway was a white tunnel with hills of snow on either side. Two snowmobiles sat on a trailer in the parking area. The house, a modern cedar and stone two-story with a wraparound deck, was built near the shore of the lake on a ten-acre parcel of land. The back exterior wall jutted out like the prow of a ship. Ann could look across the lake at night and see the entire two-and-a-half story back of their house lit up.

  Melissa met Ann at the door in jeans and a smudged sweatshirt. She had wrapped a towel around her paste-splattered hands to open the door. After shedding her winter gear, Ann followed her down to her workroom in the basement. Ann took one look at the Christmas boxes spread out all over the counters and began to salivate.

  “I swear, I don’t know why I come over here. It always costs me money. I’m going to have to have one of those,” Ann said, pointing to a small heart-shaped box covered with Santas.

  “I’ll make you a hell of a deal,” Melissa joked, working the picture of a fat, rosy-cheeked Santa over the curve of a box lid. When the picture was in place, she smiled at Ann. “The Artist’s Gallery in Wausau is screaming at me to get these done.” She began to apply another Santa to the lid. “Three of the kids decided at the last minute to bring friends up for the weekend. Jack and Bill and their friends will get in tonight; Shelley is driving up from Madison tomorrow with two of her girlfriends.” She stood up, stretched, and walked over to the sink to wash her hands. Deciding it was time for a break, Melissa made hot chocolate. While they drank it, she oohed and ahhed over her ne
w cookbooks and Linc’s cobalt bottles.

  Ann left about three o’clock and drove to Big Oak to drop Steve Waltner’s bowl off at the marina. The office was open but both Steve and his assistant were gone. The guy manning the gas pumps declined to take the package, saying he was afraid it would get broken. He told Ann he would have Steve call her. Once again, Ann wondered if the rumors she’d heard about Steve and his assistant were really true.

  WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON

  NOVEMBER 22—SWENSON

  Lark spent most of the afternoon cross-referencing lists. He compared the five names from the campus police against the list of boot purchasers faxed from Lands’ End. No match. He compared the campus police list against the list of UW—Madison students from the area that Flo had provided. No match. No one from the Mason County list had purchased the red Lands’ End boots.

  He was interrupted several times. L. L. Bean had manufactured 7,500 pairs of the size-six black boot Yellow Mitten was wearing. Most of them were sold through their catalog. Eddie Bauer had made 15,000 of Yellow Mitten’s medium-size coat, most of them also sold as catalog purchases. Eddie Bauer agreed to Express Mail the customer lists to him.

  About three-thirty Wausau called to tell Lark they might have a match between Red Boot and a medical record from the University police. Gemma Patterson, a student missing since 1997, had fractured her right radius and ulnar when she was fifteen. They were waiting for her X-rays and dental records to make a final determination. Lark culled through his other two lists but didn’t find any link to her.

  He realized he hadn’t had any lunch and was headed to the Big Oak Diner when Joel and Lacey walked into his office about four-thirty. He forgot about being hungry and poured what must have been his tenth cup of coffee for the day. Joel was updating him on their search when Flo called Joel to the phone.

  Joel didn’t seem to be in his usual jovial mood when he got off the phone. “I’m going back to Wausau tonight. My oldest has chicken pox and Molly’s mother is on her way up from Indiana for Thanksgiving. I’ll stay home tomorrow, and if you need me I’ll drive back on Friday. Lacey, can you stay and give Lark a hand with this?”