“Got me. He might have floated a long ways—maybe even from the Cities. Some dangerous things go on up there.”
“I wonder.” Claire chewed on her lip. “Seems too far. I’m guessing he was dumped in the lake not too much upstream from here. The current just isn’t that strong in this part of the lake. How many days dead do you think he is?”
“I skipped that class in forensics, but I’d guess a week at the most. He still looks human.”
“An inflated human,” Claire said. “Okay, Bill, enough stalling. Do you want me to give you a hand?”
With her gentle threat, Bill slowly lowered himself over the side of the boat. He clung to the edge, not wanting to let go, she guessed. She desperately wished that they had more help, but as Bill had said earlier, they’d just have to punt. There was no crime scene to protect so they might as well bring the body in themselves.
After the Pierce County deputies had realized it wasn’t their body, they made a quick getaway. Then an inopportune call had taken the Lake City water patrol boat away to rescue some fishermen who had capsized. That left just Claire and Bill to manage lifting the body into their boat.
Bill wrapped a rope around the body, then tied a couple knots in it. When a gentle wave came along, he got a splash of water in his face. Claire could tell by the tightness in his face how much he hated being in the lake.
She gently pulled on the rope attached to the floater and snugged him up next to the back of the boat. What they were about to attempt to do seemed impossible—the body was literally
dead weight and she wasn’t sure how they were going to leverage it into the boat without tipping the whole thing over.
The boat did waver once or twice, but the whole maneuver went much more smoothly than she could have hoped: She pulled, Bill pushed and the body slid over the gunwhale and flopped into the bottom of the launch between the motor and the next seat. The sight of the engorged body up close was bad but the smell was much worse, enveloping her in a rank odor that made her gag.
Bill got to the ladder and clambered up it. “Holy Jesus! Let’s get moving so we leave that stench behind.”
Claire was staring at the end of the red-haired man’s legs. “Look at that, Bill. What the hell happened to his ankle? It looks like it’s been shredded or chewed on by something.”
After pulling off the red hood of his Gumby suit, Bill looked where she was pointing. He stared at the marking around the ankle of the floating man’s leg. “Really hungry snapping turtle?” he suggested.
Claire wasn’t sure if it was the second mention of the snapping turtle—one of the world’s ugliest creatures—the chewed-on leg, the intensely hot day, or the putrid smell, but all of sudden everything inside her was pushing out. She managed to get her head over the side of the boat before she threw up.
Bill watched her, then said just one word. “Chum.”
C
laire was late, really late, and she was still a few minutes from home. She glanced at her watch again as if she could force time to slow down. But no, it was almost eight o’clock. She should have called. But there was nothing she could have told them that they didn’t know—I’m running late, so sorry.
She could have said, I’m stuck in the middle of the lake with a dead body, but somehow she didn’t want to tell them that over the phone. Bill had ungraciously agreed to wait for an ambulance to haul the body to the morgue or she wouldn’t have gotten away even this soon.
Meg was going to be chillingly furious. Meg’s birthday party. Claire’s baby’s birthday. No way could Meg be sixteen years old. Rich would be calm, not say much, but he would be disappointed. Meg, on the other hand, would let it out. In that respect, Meg followed in her mother’s footsteps. But maybe with Curt there she would restrain herself somewhat.
Claire swung into the long driveway and stopped the squad car right in front of the house. Curt’s car was parked behind Rich’s. Good, he was still there. She grabbed the present she had wrapped for Meg that morning and ran into the house.
“Hey, birthday girl.”
Three faces turned to look at her. Claire felt sweat pouring down her back. What was this sweating business about? She had never been so hot before in her life.
“Finally,” Meg said and turned back to her plate.
“We tried to wait,” Rich started to say.
“Hi, Mrs. Watkins.” Curt gave her a big smile. He was a long green-bean of a kid, and cute as they come.
A huge bouquet of sunflowers sat in the middle of the table shoved down into an old canning jar. She would fix the bouquet later. No need to make Meg feel inadequate on her special day.
Claire walked up behind her daughter, dropped the present in her lap and said, “I’m sorry. The usual. Work.”
“What this time?” Meg asked, without picking up the present. Claire couldn’t tell how she should play this. She didn’t talk a lot about her work at home, but she also didn’t keep it a secret. The body floating in the lake would be written up in the paper, she was sure. They would probably need help identifying the man so the more public awareness, the better. Might as well use it and see if she could distract Meg from her poutiness. “A dead man was found floating in the lake. Right around the Point No Point buoy, but it turned out he was ours—I mean Pepin County’s. No one we know. At least I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell because he was pretty bloated. No matter where he was killed, he was found in our jurisdiction.”
“So he was killed?” Rich asked.
“Shot in the belly.”
“Gross, Mom. Can’t you wait until we’re done eating?” Meg
said the words like they were pieces of bone she was biting down hard on.
Claire was so hungry she wanted to fall into her waiting chair and stuff the bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich into her mouth, but even more she wanted to change clothes. The dead man’s smell was still clinging to her uniform.
“I’ll just be a minute.”
“Want a beer?” Rich asked.
“Desperately.”
“Me, too. And Curt.” Meg added.
As Claire walked up the stairs, she heard Rich say, “You can split a beer. Since it’s your birthday. Then cake.”
Good, she hadn’t missed everything.
Claire pulled off her clothes and let them fall in a puddle to the floor. Later, she promised herself. She grabbed a clean white blouse and a pair of cut-off jeans and slipped her feet into flipflops. Much better. She went into the bathroom and washed her face and hands, then washed them again, feeling like she would never get the man’s decay off her skin.
Leaning into the mirror, she undid her ponytail. She was sick of her long hair. The dark hank lay on the back of her neck like an old ratty fur. Maybe it was time for a change. She was getting close to fifty, and her daughter was almost grown up.
“Mom,” Meg yelled up the stairs. “We’re waiting to open presents.”
“Hold your horses.”
“Did you get me a horse, finally?” Meg asked, with a slightly lighter tone in her voice.
Claire descended the stairs and sank into her chair—one hand grabbing the cold beer while the other clamped onto half a sandwich. The beer made it to her mouth first.
“I can open my presents now, can’t I? I don’t have to wait until you’re done eating.”
“Please, open away.”
First came Rich’s present. Meg ripped the wrapping off the rectangular shape with one yank and held up a mushroom identification book, the latest edition. After showing it around, Meg paged through it enthusiastically—it was a hobby the two of them shared, much to Claire’s pleasure. The bounty they brought back from the woods was delicious: morels in the spring, chanterelles, boletes, and hen of the woods in the fall.
“Cool,” Curt said as she handed him the book. “I’d like to learn more about mushrooms, too.”
The next present was from Curt. Claire was nearly as anxious to see this as Meg. The present might give her some inside information on how serious their relationship was. As much as she liked Curt, she hated to see Meg so wrapped up in one boy. At her age she should be playing the field. However, down in Pepin County, there wasn’t much of a field to play.
Curt’s present was in a small box, wrapped in newsprint with red wings stamped all over it. Claire wondered if his mother was one of those women who were into stamping.
Meg tore the paper off, then waited a moment before taking the lid off. Claire hoped it wasn’t too similar to what she had gotten her daughter. Then Meg opened the box and lifted out a small silver pin. Claire couldn’t quite make it out. It looked like a bird.
Meg’s face was filled with joy. “Curt, it’s perfect,” she said. “Where did you find this?”
“Online. Thought you might like it.”
“What is it?” asked Rich.
Meg held it out for him to see. “It’s a peregrine falcon. Our bird. You know the ones that fly off of Maiden Rock. They’re special to us.”
Claire held out her hand and Meg passed the pin to her. Silver bird with wings outflung. Lovely.
Meg moved on to Claire’s present, also a small box. Its wrapping was also discarded quickly. Claire hoped what was inside wasn’t too sentimental for her growing daughter. Meg lifted out an oval locket on a thin gold chain. “Mom, is this grandma’s locket?”
“Yes, I thought it was time for you to have it.”
Then Meg opened it up and looked at the two pictures that Claire had cut into the right shape to fit inside the frames. One was a photo of Steven, her father, holding Meg when she was just born. The other was Rich and Claire, hugging. Her parents. All three of them.
As Claire watched tears fill Meg’s eyes, she guessed she had done okay.
“Mom, this is just what I wanted, even though I didn’t know it. Thank you.” She came to her mother and gave her a big hug. Even kissed her on the head. What more could a mother ask for?
“What I thought I wanted was a new Prius,” Meg said as she went to sit back down. “Silly me.”
Rich pushed back from the table and said, “How ‘bout some cake? Claire, are you sticking around or do you have a date with a dead man?”
“Nope, I asked Amy to sit in with the medical examiner. I’m done for the night.”
All three pair of eyes turned to look at her. “Mom, for real? You’re letting someone else do something?” Meg asked, incredulous.
Rich gave Claire a good-for-you look.
* * *
Medical examiner Janet Davis’ green rubber gloved finger tapped the rib cage of the opened torso as she explained, “Water gets into the lungs one of two speeds: slow or fast.”
This was Deputy Sheriff Amy Schroeder’s first time attending an autopsy on her own. She had watched a couple with Claire Watkins and had always found them a challenge. For one thing, the morgue was a long narrow room with no windows in the basement of the hospital, which kept in the dank and a disturbing vinegary smell that she never wanted to pull too deeply into her lungs. The shallow breathing she was forced to do didn’t help her feel very comfortable.
Amy didn’t know whether she should laugh or not at Janet’s comment. But she decided what the heck. After all, the guy was dead. She let out a small chuckle. “Wow. These technical terms. What do you mean—slow or fast?”
“Well, if you must have technical terms,” Janet said, snapping the green rubber glove, “How about the difference between gooshing or seeping?”
“What we want to know for starters is, was he dead when he hit the water?” Amy knew this was the first thing that Claire would ask her.
Janet peered into the gaping chest cavity. A small woman,
she needed to stand on her tiptoes for some of the work she did. “I would have to say, yes, from what I can gather, he was already dead. Although there is water in his lungs, I think that it seeped in during his long immersion in the lake. The technical term we use to describe this process is infiltration.”
“It’s going to be tough to identify this guy. Any birthmarks?” Amy asked.
“He’s got an odd mole here on his rib cage. But I’m not sure that anyone would notice it. Even his mother or wife. But then there’s the tattoo,” Janet pointed at the dark mark on his shoulder.
“Great. A tattoo is perfect. What is it?”
“Well, I think I know, but come here and look yourself. Tell me what you think it is.”
Amy walked around the steel table and bent over to get a better look at the tattoo. Janet turned the light on it. The tattoo was dark. It seemed to be done in only one color, but hard to tell what color it was, blue or brown or black. Then she decided it was green. But the shape looked like an hour glass: large, then small, then large again. Suddenly the image came into focus and she saw what it was: branches, trunk, roots. “I think it’s a tree.”
“Yeah,
that’s what I was guessing too. Unusual for a big burly guy to have a tree tattooed on his shoulder. I’ve never seen one before, but this new crop of guys getting tattooed aren’t going for the usual mermaids and eagles. I’m seeing more dragons and, believe it or not, swallows. So a tree might be perfectly usual.”
“While the tree won’t help us find him, like a navy insignia would, it certainly will help us make a positive identification
when it comes to that.” Amy’s eyes strayed down his body. “Any chance you can tell me what happened to his ankle? I told you what Bill said about it.”
Again Janet looked at the mentioned body part even though all that was left of it was bone. “Not a snapping turtle, as your compatriot suggested. I’d say something was tied around it, probably attached to some kind of weight. Look here.” Her green rubberized finger pointed at the edge of skin over the ankle bone.
Amy leaned in, trying not to breathe. She could see the skin looked stretched at the edges, worn through to the bone in places.
The medical examiner continued. “I’m guessing somebody didn’t want this body to be found.”
* * *
Rich smelled Claire’s wet, sweet hair as she lay drowsing next to him. She must have been beat, because she asked him to keep a watch out for Meg and then fell right to sleep. It was nearly midnight—Meg’s birthday curfew. The book he was reading wasn’t bad, but he kept losing his place and staring off into space. He felt restless and not particularly sleepy.