Dead Man's Lake (The Braddock & Gray Case Files Book 5) Read online

  Dead Man’s Lake

  A Braddock & Gray Case File

  H.P. Bayne

  Copyright © 2021 by H.P. Bayne

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover art by H.P. Bayne with art licensed through depositphotos.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by H.P. Bayne

  1

  Adam Charles steered over the ice, one hand balancing a small container of maggots on the centre console as the half-ton bounced across heaves and dips.

  His usual fishing hole lay up ahead, the tiny ice-fishing shack marking the spot. It was mid-morning, and the sun was out, reflecting off the snow in a way that had him reaching for his sunglasses. He usually planned an earlier start, preferring to be out here with his line in the water before sun-up. But he had his son this weekend, and as excited as Tristan was, nine-year-old boys weren’t as easily convinced about the benefits of early rising.

  Adam glanced toward his son. If Tristan sensed his eyes on him, he didn’t let on. He was beaming, eyes fixed on the shack ahead.

  “How’s fishing been?” Tristan turned to him at last, bouncing a little in his seat.

  Adam smiled. “Been good. Mostly pike biting. Last weekend, I got a trout. Nice one too. Thought we could fry it up tonight unless you catch us something today.”

  Tristan nodded, rapidly enough to reveal his enthusiasm for the plan.

  Most kids of Adam’s acquaintance didn’t mind casting a line in a few times, even if they soon tired of hanging out on a frozen lake with limited internet service and nothing to listen to but stories and a battery-powered radio tuned to an oldies station. Not Tristan, though. He happily stayed out here all day, would stay longer if Adam didn’t insist they needed to go make themselves a proper meal at home. What was more, Tristan actually enjoyed eating the fish he caught—didn’t even mind the gutting and cleaning process.

  Tristan was a smaller, younger version of Adam. While that might present some frustration to Adam’s ex, it suited him just fine. He never felt so proud as when other fishermen remarked on the fact Adam had a son who actually wanted to be out here with him.

  “It would take an act of God to get my kid to come fishing,” one man said virtually every time he stopped by.

  “Not my Tristan,” Adam would say. “He’s a better fisherman than I am.”

  At which, Tristan would grin, and Adam would match it with his own identical expression.

  A handful of fishing shacks were out here besides their own, scattered around this part of the large lake. Someone had annoyingly plunked a structure down very near to Adam’s since the last time he’d come. With no sign of anyone there at the moment and no vehicles present next to it, Adam entertained a fantasy involving him nosing his truck up next to the small building and pushing it to the middle of the lake.

  Tristan huffed a breath and tapped the window. “Why is that guy so close?”

  Adam corralled his own annoyance at the situation, locking it away before answering. He was, after all, the adult. “Plenty of room for all of us. Anyway,” he added with a wink, “he’s not here yet. Let’s get ourselves set up fast so we can catch all the fish before he comes.”

  Tristan laughed. “Yeah!”

  Twenty minutes later, they were shut inside the shack and gradually warming, thanks to the propane-powered space heater. Adam had drilled the fishing hole back open and the two of them sat on either side of it, lines in the water, in companionable silence. Adam would ask later how Tristan was doing in school, how his mom was, how he was getting along with his stepdad and stepsiblings, whether he still liked the same girl in his class. But for now, they would sit here quietly, happy to be together.

  Adam checked his watch. Shortly after ten in the morning. A good, long day lay ahead of them, the stretch of hours a blessing.

  Two hours later, Adam removed his line and dug into the cooler for their lunches. He’d made sandwiches and had poured hot chicken noodle soup into a pair of thermoses for them.

  He offered it to Tristan, who shook his head. “Ten more minutes, Dad,” he said. “I’ve got a feeling.”

  Adam uttered a closed-mouth chuckle, the sound rumbling up from his chest. “Don’t wait too long. Soup’s still warm, but it won’t stay that way.”

  With a nod, Tristan turned his attention to his fishing pole.

  Adam had polished off his lunch before Tristan even removed his line from the water.

  “Still have a feeling?” Adam ribbed him.

  “Five more minutes,” Tristan replied.

  Adam stood. “Okay. I’ve got to go visit the little boy’s tree. When I get back, you’d better eat something.”

  Tristan gave a grunt without otherwise replying, and Adam left the shack to make the short walk to shore and the clustering of willows which served as their bathroom. He walked in, following his old trail in the snow into the midst of the brush, branches tugging at his coat and jeans as he pushed through. Reaching his usual spot, he unzipped and relieved himself, then kicked snow over the expended urine before turning to go back.

  He ducked again and shouldered his way through the willow. Free of the trees, with the lake’s ice beneath him, he straightened and made his way back toward the shack.

  A man stood next to it, facing him.

  Adam jumped. He didn’t recognize him, and his pulse quickened, wondering if Tristan was okay. Something about the man was off.

  He stood rigidly upright with his arms hanging at his sides. Lifeless. From where Adam had stopped short, it seemed as if small pieces of the man’s face were gone, like it had fallen off. But it was the ice that really struck Adam—or rather, the fact it covered the man from head to toe. It clung to his jeans and his red-and-black checked jacket, coated his brows and beard and turned his hair into an array of white spikes.

  As Adam staggered forward, he found more to concern him. The man’s mouth was drawn back in a horrifying grimace, lips pulled taut and teeth clenched together between them. And his eyes, which Adam would have at first described as a pale blue, were actually covered over by a milky film—the sort of film he’d seen on dead bodies in horror movies or cop shows.

  Adam was looking at a dead man.

  Biting back a scream, he shook himself, knowing his son was within hearing distance. If it weren’t for the fact Tristan was here, Adam would have sprinted for his truck, jammed the keys into the ignition and got the hell out of here.

  That wasn’t an option.

  It really wasn’t an option. His son was in the shack right next to the man, and his safety came before anything else.

  Adam ran to the shack, struggling to keep from looking at th
e dead man and failing miserably. Every passing second with the ghastly image in his peripheral vision etched the memory deeper into his brain.

  He knew exactly what he would see when he closed his eyes tonight.

  After passing within feet of the spectre, he opened the door and hurried through. Though he wasn’t a religious man, as he slammed the door shut behind him, he caught himself praying to God the dead man would stay outside.

  “Dad?” Tristan asked. “I caught something … kind of weird.”

  Adam halted his son with a raised hand. “Just a second, Tris.” He edged forward, toward the wall on the right. A small window allowed light in and would provide Adam with a glimpse in the direction where the man had stood. He moved silently, listening. The snow settled over the ice would make it impossible for anyone to walk silently. If the man had moved, Adam would have heard it.

  Yet, when he peered out the window, he saw nothing. The man, who moments ago had appeared an eerily solid mass, was gone.

  “Dad?”

  Adam held a finger to his lips. “Ssh.”

  “What’s wrong?” Tristan whispered.

  Adam didn’t answer. Not yet. He didn’t want to scare the boy, but he wasn’t sure how he was going to avoid it. They couldn’t stay here, not now. Adam wouldn’t have a moment’s peace sitting here, wondering.

  Yet he had to know. If the man outside wanted to harm them—to harm Tristan—Adam needed to act.

  He searched the dim interior, ignoring the questions on Tristan’s face as he scanned their belongings for something to use as a weapon. His eyes settled on the small makeshift club he used to kill the fish they caught, and he snatched it up before turning back to the door.

  “Dad?” Tristan’s voice contained a ring of fear.

  Despite wanting to say something to alleviate his worry, Adam could think of nothing that wouldn’t be a boldfaced lie. “Stay here,” he said and took a deep breath, then a second, releasing each in a huff through his nose. His nerves as steady as they’d ever be under the current circumstances, he threw open the door and burst outside.

  The man was gone. He wasn’t where he’d been standing. He wasn’t anywhere else, either. The lake, as far as the eye could see, was bare, save the distant fishing shacks. The one so near his was still empty as well, the padlock visible even from here.

  As Adam scanned the spot where the man had stood, he saw no trace of footprints, nor any leading from the location.

  Nothing to tell him what he’d seen had been anything more than a particularly vivid hallucination.

  His skin prickling, Adam lowered the bat, letting it dangle at his side as if it weighed half a ton.

  “What the …” He let the statement trail off, turning his mind over what he’d seen.

  Or hadn’t seen. He’d been having trouble sleeping lately. Was it possible his mind had been playing tricks? Sure, the man had looked real enough, but a sleep-deprived mind could spark hallucinations.

  And everyone, after all, knew the stories around here. If his brain was going to conjure something up, it had plenty of fodder.

  No man. No footprints. Nothing to indicate he’d ever been here.

  Adam drew in a long breath, held it as he urged his heart rate to slow. That’s all this was. Just a trick of the mind. Nothing more.

  “Get a grip on yourself,” he muttered. With a shake of his head, he gave a humourless chuckle and returned to the shack.

  Tristan’s eyes were wide when Adam pushed the door open.

  “It’s all right,” Adam said. “I thought I saw something, that’s all.”

  “What was it?”

  Adam shook his head. “Nothing much. Don’t worry about it.”

  He’d never been much of a fibber, had promised his kid once he would never lie to him. It felt wrong now, being anything less than honest. But this was different. Better Tristan not know. No sense scaring him when there was nothing to fear.

  He sought instead to distract him, to turn his mind from questions Adam didn’t know how to answer. “What were you trying to tell me?”

  “I said I caught something weird. Not like a boot or anything. Something else.”

  Okay, this Adam could cope with. He’d check out Tristan’s unusual catch, they’d have a laugh about it and they’d go back to fishing. As if everything were normal.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s see what you found.”

  Tristan lifted his ice-fishing pole from where it lay next to the hole. Adam took it from him, eyes travelling the length of the line to what had caught on the hook.

  His heart slammed against his ribcage, the pole slipping from his fingers. He stepped back, away from the pole and hook as his wide-eyed focus held firm.

  There was no question in his mind what he was looking at. Black and red checks stood out in a stream of sunlight coming through the window.

  It was a piece of the dead man’s jacket.

  2

  Dez Braddock looked up from the stove at the sound of his wife’s footsteps entering the kitchen of their Kimotan Rapids house. Eva had still been asleep when he got up, and he’d tried not to wake her while he stepped into their bathroom for a shower. It had been a late night for her, aiding the KRPD’s gang unit with an after-hours search warrant.

  Dez smiled a greeting. “How’d it go last night?”

  “Pretty well,” she said. “We took five mid-level players off the streets and a large pile of meth, firearms and ammo. Almost had a higher-up, but he bailed right before we got there. Not to worry. One of his guys ratted him out. The G-unit has enough to bust him on some serious charges. Just need to find him now. What about you? How was your day yesterday?”

  Dez turned back to his fried eggs, flipping them as he replied. “Nothing exciting.”

  It was true. Working for renowned retired-cop-turned-PI Lachlan Fields came with some pretty decent jobs, but there were plenty of duds too. Yesterday had involved Dez and his brother, Sullivan Gray, spelling each other as they conducted surveillance on a man suspected to be faking an injury to draw workers’ compensation. They’d grabbed a few photos, suggestive but not conclusive. Dez guessed he knew what Lachlan would have them doing later today.

  Eva slid her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his back. “You still miss being a cop, don’t you?”

  “Days like yesterday, you bet I do.” He placed the cooked eggs onto a plate, then returned the pan to the stove before turning to meet Eva’s embrace. He leaned down to kiss her, taking solace in the softness of her lips and the aftertaste of toothpaste.

  “God, you guys,” came a voice from the other side of the room. “You’re too old for that.”

  Dez glanced up and chuckled as Kayleigh, their nine-year-old daughter, walked in, just out of bed if her tussled hair was any indication. Dez pulled a cup from the cupboard as Kayleigh removed a carton of orange juice from the fridge.

  “We are not too old,” he said.

  Kayleigh rolled her eyes though a smile plucked at her lips. “Whatever, Dad.” She filled her cup, then replaced the carton in the fridge before carrying her juice upstairs, presumably to get ready for school.

  Eva returned her attention to Dez. “Are you really that bored working for Lachlan?”

  “I don’t mind it most of the time,” Dez said. “But things have been slow lately. Besides, Lachlan always gives us the jobs he doesn’t want.”

  “He’s the boss. It’s his prerogative.”

  “I know, but still.”

  Eva patted his chest. “I’m sure it’ll pick up soon. It always does.”

  “I hope so.”

  The doorbell rang just as the sound of the water running suggested Kayleigh was in the shower.

  Dez glared at the front door. Their dog, Pax, came bounding down the stairs, barking. “That kid always gets here a solid half-hour before Kayleigh’s ready to leave.”

  Eva’s smile was a knowing one. “He wants to make sure she doesn’t leave for school without him. Fa
ce it, Dez, he’s got a crush. Our girl’s a looker.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Rolling her eyes, Eva yelled at Pax to quiet down. “They’re nine. Relax.”

  “They won’t be nine forever.”

  Eva gave Dez a warning look before heading for the stairs to go get dressed. “Be nice.”

  “I’m always nice.”

  Dez waited until his pj-clad wife was out of sight before answering the front door. “Hi, Tristan.”

  The kid took part in the usual brief, playful wrestling match with Pax. Then his eyes travelled up Dez’s body, neck craned back in an attempt to meet his eye. It was a difficult task even for many adults, Dez’s six-and-a-half feet making him stand out in a crowd. Added to his solid frame of muscle, he thought he made for a fairly imposing man—of particular benefit now that his little girl was the object of at least one crush.

  Tristan, it seemed, hadn’t gotten the memo. He beamed. “Hi, Mr. Braddock. Can I come in?”

  Tristan always asked. As much as Dez felt called upon to play Protective Dad, this kid had a way of disarming and drawing a smile from him.

  “Yeah,” Dez said. “Come on in.”

  Tristan took off his shoes and trailed Dez into the kitchen. “You having breakfast?”

  “Yep,” Dez said. Another thing that rarely failed—Tristan almost always made it here in time for breakfast. “You eat yet?”

  “Not really. I wasn’t exactly hungry yet.”

  Giving a slow nod, Dez eyed the kid. Sure, you weren’t hungry, he thought. You just knew the offerings would be better over here.

  Tristan hefted himself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island and watched as Dez popped the bacon he’d already fried into the microwave to warm up. No point waiting on Kayleigh; she’d become a finicky eater and rarely ate more than a bowl of cereal in the mornings. The bacon and eggs were for Dez and Eva—and, apparently, Tristan.