William Krueger - Thunder Bay

I’d never again have to worry about turning my back on Henry Wellington’s bodyguard. Edward Morrissey was dead.

When I resigned as sheriff of Tamarack County, I gave as my reason the ill effect the position had on my family and personal life. In light of all that had happened in the weeks before my resignation, most people seemed to understand. For a couple of months, Captain Ed Larson, who headed up major crime investigations for the sheriff’s department, performed the duties as acting sheriff. But Ed made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want the job permanently. When the county commissioners finally got around to holding a special election, one of my best deputies ran for the position and won: Marcia Dross. I’d hired her as the first female law enforcement officer in the department. Eight years later, she became the county’s first female sheriff.

She stood just inside the doorway of Meloux’s cabin, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, listening while Ed sat with me at the table, taking me through the questions. She was tall, with hair the color of an acorn and cut short. When I was sheriff, I wore the uniform. The guy before me had preferred three-piece suits and looked like a banker. Dross had her own look. She generally wore jeans, neatly creased, a tasteful sweater or flannel shirt from the likes of Lands’ End, and a pair of chukka boots. The ensemble looked good at a town meeting, but wasn’t at all out of place at a crime scene in the Northwoods.

The motorboat the department used for patrolling Iron Lake had come up from Aurora. Morrissey’s body, zipped in a bag, had been loaded aboard and transported to the marina in town where it would be transferred to a hearse and taken to Nelson’s Funeral Home, there to be kept in cold storage until a decision had been made about whether to perform an autopsy. Cause of death was pretty apparent, and Tamarack County’s budget would be sorely affected by the cost of the autopsy, so my sense was that in this case, the postmortem examination would be relatively perfunctory.

I’d told Ed everything I’d observed that morning. I’d also told him about my trip to Thunder Bay. He was going over it all again to be certain of the details and to try to make sense of the attack on Meloux. He’d already interviewed the old Mide, who’d been taken into town to give a full, written statement. Jo was going to meet him there to make certain he had legal representation. Meloux had told Ed everything, so I didn’t see any reason to hold back.

“Did Morrissey see the watch?” Dross asked. It was the first question she’d offered in the interview.

I nodded. “When Wellington tossed it to me.”

“You’re sure he hadn’t seen it before that?”

“When I met him at the marina in Thunder Bay, he gave me the box and indicated he didn’t know what was in it.”

“Considering what he tried here, he doesn’t strike me as a man whose word ought to be taken at face value,” Dross said. “Where’s the watch?”

“Meloux has it.”

“Worth much, do you think?”

“You’re asking the wrong guy, Marcia. To me, the prize in a box of Cracker Jacks is a big deal.”

“What I’m getting at-”

“I know what you’re getting at, and I don’t know. I suppose Morrissey could have been after the watch, but I can’t imagine it’s worth a man’s life.”

In the cool corner of the cabin where he lay, Walleye moved and whimpered a little. Meloux and I had taken a good look at the wound. The bullet had grazed a path a few inches long across the dog’s left haunch. It had stopped bleeding, but stitches would be a good idea. I told Meloux when he left for the sheriff’s department not to worry, that as soon as we could, Stevie and I would get Walleye to a vet.

“It’s possible the watch was more important to Wellington than you realized,” Larson said. “Maybe he sent Morrissey after it.”

“And killing the old man was the way?”

“That could have been Morrissey’s idea,” Dross said. “Where were you exactly when you handed the watch back to Meloux?”

“Sitting right here at this table.”

Dross walked over and looked through the window toward the rocks where Meloux had been attacked.

“Morrissey had field glasses,” she said. “He could easily have observed the exchange of the watch and known it was in Meloux’s possession.”

“Okay,” Larson said, moving us along, “the watch is a possible motive. What else?”

“Have you got an idea, Ed?” I asked.

“As a matter of fact. How about rage?”

Ed Larson was the brightest officer in the department, always had been. When I was first elected sheriff many years ago, I’d sent Ed to Quantico to learn from the FBI. He’d gone back periodically for training in profiling and other areas related to law enforcement. He didn’t just look at the known facts of a crime. More often than not, he had a pretty good speculation about the psychology behind the crime. This time, however, I wasn’t so sure.

“Rage?” I said.

“Directed at the father who wasn’t there his whole life, then suddenly shows up out of the blue. You said Wellington’s mental state was precarious.”

“I said he wasn’t hitting on all cylinders, but I didn’t say I thought he was capable of murder. Especially the murder of his father.”

“You didn’t say it,” Dross threw in, “but what do you think?”

“I spoke with the man for ten minutes. I honestly couldn’t say.” Dross nodded, returned to the wall, crossed her arms, and leaned back. “Clearly we need to interview him.”

Larson stood up. “I’ll call the provincial authorities as soon as I get back to the office, start setting things up.”

Dross said, “It’s incredible that an old man like Meloux got the drop on somebody like this Morrissey.”

“Incredible?” I shook my head. “There’s almost nothing about Henry Meloux that would surprise me anymore.”

We were the last to leave the scene. Larson and Dross walked ahead of me on the trail through the meadow and into the trees, which was the only way to get from Meloux’s back to the road. Those who came to see Meloux came on foot. I walked more slowly than the other two, keeping company with Walleye, who was limping. I considered carrying him, but it wouldn’t have been comfortable for either of us. We just took our time.

When we reached my Bronco, the road was empty, though a cloud of yellow dust kicked up by the sheriff’s vehicle still hung over it. Morrissey’s SUV had been impounded, would be gone over for evidence. I helped Walleye up onto the seat, then set out for the Kricks’ resort, where Stevie was waiting for me.

Melissa pointed me to the dock. I found Stevie sitting with his feet dangling in the water. From there, Crow Point, where Meloux’s cabin stood, was a small sliver of dark land far in the distance. He was looking in that direction when I came up beside him.

“It’s all over,” I said quietly.

He jumped up and hugged me.

I bent and kissed the top of his head. “Melissa said she told you Henry was okay.”

He turned his face up toward mine, and I saw the ghost of worry still there. “I was still kind of scared.”

“She say anything else about what happened at Meloux’s?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you come on home with me and I’ll tell you everything. Walleye’s waiting for us. He’s hurting a little. He could use some good attention.”

“Oh boy.” He grabbed his sneakers and socks and ran ahead, toward the cabins.

First stop was Hakala’s Animal Clinic. We were walk-ins and had to wait a bit. I dialed the number for Jo’s cell phone. She told me that she and Meloux had finished at the sheriff’s department and were at the house. She said the girls were at Sam’s Place and had everything there under control.