John Lenahan - Ice Lake - A gripping crime debut that keeps you guessing until the final page

“We’re on it tomorrow,” the girl said but she seemed more enthusiastic about it than Ryan.

Harry patted Ryan on the shoulder. “Environmentalism is a bitch. You go easy on yourself, OK?”

Ryan shook his hand and then came in for a quick manly hug. “Thanks.”

* * *

“What did you and Ryan chat about in the woods there,” Cirba asked as they pulled out onto the Five Mile Road.

“Just a little emergency psychology. The boy is freaked. I just helped him off the ledge a little bit.”

“Did you learn anything new?”

“Nothing, except what you heard about Bill knowing about this fracking stuff. Did you know about it?”

“No, and how come Bill knew before me?” Cirba said in a faraway voice that denoted he was thinking. After a while he said: “You can sleep in tomorrow. I’m going to check with land registry in the morning and see who owns the Horseshoe.”

“On Saturday?”

“Hey, this is a murder investigation.”

* * *

Harry had a look over at MK’s house as he put the key in the lock to see if any lights were on. They weren’t and he sighed knowing that he wouldn’t have done anything if they were. Inside, he kicked off his shoes and made himself a cup of tea. Then, as always, he logged on to the FBI’s Lost and Found Child Database but couldn’t keep his eyes open even for that. He brushed his teeth, threw off his clothes and squeaked into bed. He was asleep instantly and dreamt he was back in the strip club. This time he got that private dance.

Harry sat on the sofa, still wrapped in his quilt, and drank tea while staring out at the morning through the glass wall. Underneath a rising mist, Ice Lake was a mirror. Harry fantasized that it was a giant portal to another world, a world where this was his house and his son was sitting beside him snuggled up under the quilt… But he had learned long ago that thinking like that was the route to madness.

He used the quiet and the picturesque view to attempt a meditative state of mindlessness that one of his old hippy girlfriends had tried so hard to get him to obtain. Harry had only ever achieved leg cramps. Although he never got to the desired mindlessness, he often found that thinking about thinking cleared his mind and allowed him to organize the problem at hand. But he just didn’t have enough information about the problem of who killed Big Bill to even theorize anything.

Since it seemed like a sacrilege to allow the screech of a TV to disturb the calm, he slipped on a tracksuit and running shoes. With a circumference of just over a mile and a half, Ice Lake was a perfect morning jog. Harry decided on a counterclockwise route and even at this early hour he found himself nodding hello to half a dozen pedestrians, joggers, and dog walkers. At three-quarters of the way around Harry was looking for an excuse to rest and found it when he saw the bakery truck pulling out of old Todd’s Ice Lake Café.

* * *

This time old Todd was behind his counter to greet Harry – if not in the friendliest way.

“You still around?”

“I was lured by the scent of fresh donuts.”

“Yeah, happens all the time. I think they put the same addictive drugs in them that they put in cat food.”

Harry tossed a couple of bucks in the chamber pot and was surprised when Todd waited on him. He poured a cup of coffee and plopped a donut on a paper plate.

“So you’re a conspiracy theory fan?”

“I bought a bunch of that gourmet shit for my cat and now she won’t eat anything else.” Todd licked the glaze off his fingers. “I like a good theory if it fits.”

“Maybe she just has expensive tastes.”

“She’s a fucking cat.”

The donut was fresh and sticky. Harry, too, found himself licking his fingers. “So, Todd – you don’t mind me calling you Todd?”

“What else would you call me?”

“Right, so Todd, do you know anything about fracking going on around here?”

“Yeah, they’re doing it up at the old stone quarry.”

“You seen it?”

“Tried to but they got shitloads of security up there. They’re worried some hippy treehuggers will sabotage it. I hope they do.”

“Not a fracking fan?” Harry said.

“Something that causes earthquakes can’t be a good thing.”

“You think fracking causes earthquakes?”

“I fucking know so. Never had one here until that shit started. I’ve felt two since.”

“You sure it was an earthquake? There’s a train track nearby, could have been a heavy freight train.”

“I grew up in California, Philly boy. I know what a fucking tremor feels like.”

“Did you hear about them planning to open up a fracking well at the Horseshoe?”

Todd placed his coffee cup back on the counter harder than he meant to. “No. Where’d you hear that?”

“A hippy tree-hugger told me.”

The door of the store opened and Mayor Boyce walked in.

Todd saw him and said: “More bad news.”

“Hiya, Mr Cull, you enjoying the cottage?”

“Very much so, Mayor.”

“Please call me Charlie.” The mayor sat and placed two dollars in the chamber pot and helped himself to a coffee and a donut. Todd didn’t wait on this customer. “So what’s the other bad news, Todd?”

“Did you know about fracking up at the Horseshoe?”

If the mayor tried to hide his surprise at the question, he didn’t do it fast enough. “Where did you hear that?”

Todd pointed at Harry.

“Mr Cull, how did you hear about this?”

“Big Bill told some of the local kids the night before he was killed. You knew about it?”

“I can’t comment,” the mayor said.

“Confidentiality clause?” Harry asked.

“Something like that,” the mayor said.

“So are you the broker?”

“Again,” the mayor said, “I really can’t—”

“Of course he’s the fucking broker,” Todd interrupted. “Charlie here’d sell a blind man’s dog if it’d make him a buck.”

The mayor, who usually seemed amused by Todd’s animosity, shot the old man a look that could kill.

“Can you at least tell me who owns the land the Horseshoe is on?” Harry said.

Before the mayor could answer, Todd said: “Shit, I can tell you that for free. All that land was bought up by old man Thomson.”

“Big Bill’s father?”

“Grandfather,” Todd said.

The mayor stood. “I really must excuse myself from this conversation.” He picked up his donut and began to walk out of the store.

“You mean you have to call your oil company buddies and tell them that the cat’s out of the bag?” Todd called after him. When the door closed the old guy added, “Two-faced political corporate fuck puppet.”

“You know, Todd,” Harry said, “you really shouldn’t hold your feelings inside so much. You should say what you mean.”

Todd then did something that surprised Harry – he smiled, a perfect white-denture smile. “How about I fry us up some Spam sandwiches?” he said.

* * *

Harry walked back to the cottage. MK drove up behind him in her pickup truck. She was wearing her nurse’s uniform.

“Aren’t you supposed to be running if you are dressed like that?” she called from the driver’s window.

“Just had one of Todd’s McSpam sandwiches. Thought maybe running was a bad idea.”

“Wow, you got Todd to cook for you? He only does that for pretty girls. He must be sweet on you.”

“Yeah, but he’s not my type.”

“And what is your type, Mr Cull?”

“I like nurses.”

“And here is me thinking you liked strippers.”

“Only the ones dressed like nurses.”

“You boys find any of those last night?”