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

  “As in what?”

  “Personality. Behaviour. Manner.” If Marvin wanted to clip his statements, two could play at that game.

  Marvin frowned. “Dunno.” He stalled out there, but Dez didn’t fill in the gap, hoping Marvin would eventually.

  Finally, Marvin took the bait. “If I had to describe him, guess I’d say he worked hard, loved the lake. It was home to him. He lived here, so it had to be. He had two cabins, actually. One this side of the lake, other on the opposite shore—both old hunting cabins he took to calling his own.”

  Now that Marvin had started talking, he seemed to be on a roll. Dez didn’t interject, happy to let him keep going as long as he could. “Drove this beat-up old truck. Probably broke down as much as it ran. Job like this doesn’t pay a lot, so he did all the repairs himself in a shop he fixed up on other side of the lake. He lived there mainly. Guess he used the place over here when he had to work this side. Better to have a place nearby, especially in winter if he couldn’t make it back around for some reason. It’s a long way on foot when it’s below freezing or you’ve got a snowstorm coming in.”

  Marvin stopped there, and Dez sensed he was indeed finished this time—at least without further prodding.

  “What year did you start working here?” Sully asked.

  “Eighty-three or eighty-four. Seems a lifetime ago.”

  “And how long did you work with Walter?”

  “Not long, less than a year. We got hired on about the same time. Their old caretaker retired, and they needed a couple sets of hands to spruce the place up. Some plans had fallen through on a sale, but the owners at the time were hoping someone else might step in—maybe the government. They were looking to do some work this side—build the parking lot, put up the fish-cleaning shack and toilets, set up the hiking trails, that sort of thing. Make it more appealing to a purchaser, I guess.”

  “What got you and Walter interested in working here?” Dez asked.

  Marvin stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Dunno about Walter, but I’d been down on my luck, lost a previous job. The job at Crystal Lake worked out good. They kept me on at the end of the summer and fall, on a casual basis at first, just when extra help was needed. Walter had things under control in the winter—until he didn’t. A big snowstorm blew through one night. The next day, a couple of guys who came here to tow away their ice-fishing shack called to tell me the lot hadn’t been cleared and they’d gotten stuck. Seemed unusual because Walter was always on top of it. Government road crews took care of the roads around the lake, but Walter looked after the parking areas. First thing, he would be out with his front-end loader, pushing snow. Not that day.”

  Dez’s heart thudded in his chest. Though he had a feeling he knew the answer to his next question, he asked anyway. “What happened to him?”

  “No one knows. One day, he was there, next he wasn’t. Walter just disappeared. No one ever found him.”

  14

  Sully resisted the urge to meet Dez’s eye.

  They had it. They finally had it. An identity for the ghost he’d been seeing—the ghost others had been seeing for the past few decades.

  The Ice Man had a name.

  “What efforts were made to try to find him?” Sully asked.

  “I looked. I checked both his cabins and the area around them. Came up with nothing. I thought about reporting it to the police, but he was a grown man and a very capable one at that. He struck me as knowing how to survive on his own in the woods, even in the worst weather. This was a guy who described being caught in a blizzard for damn near a full day and night, surviving by digging himself a hole in a snowbank and lighting a candle for warmth. His pockets were always full of stuff. Very prepared. He was like that.”

  “But when he didn’t show up, you must have reported it,” Dez said.

  Marvin shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  Sully’s brows shot up his forehead. “You didn’t report it? Ever?”

  Marvin faced him and crossed his arms, eyes narrowing into a glare. “Nope.”

  Dez mirrored the posture. “Why not?”

  “He was extremely private, barely tolerated me. He went out of his way to avoid people who used the lake. Most people didn’t even know he was there. He particularly loathed the police and all authority. Told me so once. He wouldn’t have thanked me for involving them. I figured wherever he was, he was where he wanted to be. Walter did exactly what he chose to do, every time.”

  “Sounds like you didn’t really like the guy,” Dez said.

  Sully understood the meaning behind the question. His own thoughts had strayed that way, to the possibility Marvin knew more about Walter’s final whereabouts than he was letting on.

  “I didn’t particularly,” Marvin said. “But I did respect him, which is better than liking someone in my books. What’s your point? You hinting around that I had something to do with him going missing?”

  Sully could imagine the response forming on the tip of Dez’s tongue, so jumped in before he could get a word in. More flies with honey. “We’re not hinting at anything. We’re just asking questions, that’s all. If you believed he was capable of looking after himself, we have to believe you.”

  And Sully did. Despite the fact something terrible had happened to Walter, he certainly gave every indication of strength—plus the fact he’d lived out here year-round, on his own, suggested Walter lived his life with independence, tenacity and knowledge of his surroundings.

  Yet, somewhere along the way, independence, tenacity and knowledge of his surroundings hadn’t been enough.

  “Did he have family?” Sully asked.

  “He never said. If he did, he had nothing to do with them. Or maybe they had nothing to do with him. Who knows?”

  Who knows is right, Sully thought. For his part, he was inclined to think it didn’t matter. He’d finished going through the missing persons cases listed on the police chiefs’ site, and none of them had been Walter McCrory. No one—not Marvin and certainly not any members of a McCrory family—had made a missing persons report to the police. In the end, he’d died alone and he’d stayed that way in death.

  Only, it seemed alone wasn’t truly what Walter wanted, not if he’d gone to so much effort to appear to people over the years. Not if he’d tried so hard to drag Sully down into the water with him.

  “With Walter gone, I’d imagine you got a job at the lake full-time,” Dez said. “Eventually, that meant government pay, pension, paid holidays?”

  Marvin snorted. “Right, livin’ the dream. You make it sound like I’m rolling in it.”

  “No, but you can get by pretty comfortably, better than being a caretaker for various private companies,” Dez said.

  Marvin glared up at him. “You are suggesting I had something to do with it. You’re out to lunch, boy. Way out. The money at the time was shit. I didn’t get the kind of benefits you’re talking until the government took over the area. Besides, I had no gripe with Walter. He was square with me. All I cared about.”

  “Why stay if you don’t like it?”

  “Who says I don’t like it? I stay because I do. The place suits me.”

  An argument could still be made here, about why police were never notified or how Marvin could have simply gone on with his work with minimal concern for his only colleague. Regardless of how capable Walter was in life, he could have needed help. He did need help. No one had been there to give it, and now he was spending his afterlife searching endlessly for it.

  It was heartbreaking. Suddenly, Sully wanted nothing more than to be out of Marvin’s sight.

  Unfortunately, the matter of Walter’s former home remained.

  “The fire at the cabin,” Sully said. “Do you know what happened?”

  Marvin shook his head. “I haven’t been out there since I went searching for him back then. Didn’t know it had burnt. Could have been some kids screwing around or it could have been lightning. It was nothing that got my attention, so ei
ther the kids put it out after or, if it happened during an electrical storm, rain doused it. All I know is when I went out there to look for him, it was standing.”

  “When exactly did he disappear?” Sully could guess the answer but had to cover all bases for the investigation.

  “I don’t recall the exact date or anything, but it was this time of year, during spring thaw. I remember everybody bitchin’ how Father Winter was getting one last kick in, sending a snowstorm just as the ice was starting to break up.”

  “Do you think it’s possible he tried to make his way across the lake and went through the ice?” Sully asked. He’d asked the question as a test, leaving room for Marvin to take advantage of a plausible, non-criminal explanation for Walter’s inexplicable vanishing.

  “No, not Walter,” Marvin said. “He knew better. No way in hell he would have walked across the lake at that point. Don’t know what happened to him, but it sure as hell wasn’t that.”

  Sully puzzled over it as he slid back into the passenger seat of Dez’s SUV.

  “The guy’s a jerk,” Dez said as he started the engine. “Can you imagine Lachlan just disappearing and you and me not saying anything about it to anyone? Who does that?”

  “Apparently, Marvin does.” Sully had given it more thought as he and Dez had watched Marvin return to his vehicle and leave. He’d considered it further for the short time it took him and Dez to walk silently back to the SUV. “I get the feeling what you see with Marvin is what you get. He’s not a very nice guy and he’s probably lousy at personal relationships, but it doesn’t mean he did anything really awful. He didn’t handle Walter’s disappearance the right way, but that doesn’t mean he had something to do with it. Right?”

  Dez backed out of the spot and steered toward the road. He gave it a couple of seconds before heaving a sigh. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Most jerks who kill try to come off as Mr. Innocent the second they’re confronted. Of course, we can’t rule out the possibility Marvin’s smarter or better prepared than other criminals. I mean, he’s had since the mid-eighties to go over how what he’d say and how he’d react if confronted about what happened to Walter.”

  A fair enough point, and one Sully had to accept. “Okay, so we won’t rule him out completely. What about the thing he said about Walter hating police and authority?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You think he could have a police record? If so, there’d be a mug shot available, additional information about him.”

  Dez beamed. “Good thinking, Sull.” Then his face dropped. “Makes more sense for you to take that one, I guess. I haven’t seen him.”

  Sully had thought the same thing, even entertaining the idea of turning a trip to the police station into an all-afternoon affair, thereby putting off contacting the reporter for another day. But Marc’s words came back to him. Spring thaw was happening, and the Ice Man—Walter McCrory—was about to disappear for another year. Time was not on their side.

  “Do you mind checking in with Forbes?” Sully said. “You can text me a photo of Walter if you find one.”

  “Gladly,” Dez said, his expression backing up his one-word statement. “What are you going to do?”

  Sully grimaced. “I guess I’d better go talk to Sarah Leffler.”

  Sully put off calling the Tribune newsroom until he was back at his own vehicle, alone. Calling Sarah with Dez next to him was a disaster waiting to happen, He wouldn’t hear the end of it for weeks to come.

  Even now, Sully held off for a few minutes until he got his head screwed on a little better. He knew what he had to do, and that was to trade on the name he’d unwillingly made for himself at the trial for Lowell Braddock. Outed as a psychic who saw ghosts and had played a massive role in revealing one of the biggest and most horrific scandals in the city’s history, he’d become what his mom called “a media darling.” He’d been repeatedly sought out for interviews. While reporters hadn’t exactly stalked him, they’d been persistent for a while.

  Talking to a reporter now felt like opening a big can of worms he’d struggle to find the lid for.

  But there was more on the line than his own comfort, and when it came to the ghosts, his comfort had always come a distant second.

  He’d located the number for the newsroom a few minutes ago, had even tapped it into his phone but had paused before hitting the green talk button. Finally, mind made up, he pressed it. Watched as the screen changed.

  Calling.

  Calling.

  “Tribune city desk,” said a tinny female voice.

  “Hi. Is Sarah Leffler available, please?”

  With any luck, she was out on assignment.

  “One moment,” the woman said.

  Sully’s heart sank.

  A moment was all it took. A quick transfer, one ring and a second female voice, younger-sounding than the first, came on the line. “Tribune, Sarah Leffler speaking.”

  “Hi. This is Sullivan Gray. Not sure if you remember who I am but—”

  “Of course I remember.” Her tone was one of attempted cool. It failed. He could picture her sitting up straight, reaching for the recording device she no doubt kept plugged in to her desk phone. “How can I help you?”

  “I’d rather not discuss it over the phone. Could we meet somewhere?”

  He’d let her pick the place and was grateful she hadn’t chosen a coffee shop.

  Unfortunately, the place she picked was the Tribune.

  “We’ve got a couple of interview rooms here,” she’d informed him. “We can speak privately—unless you don’t want to risk anyone knowing you’re coming here.”

  Likely the exact offer she’d made Greg, and he’d taken her up on it.

  Sully told her the Tribune would be fine. Now he wasn’t so sure. Stopped outside the building in a fortunate parking spot, Sully stared up at the imposing structure, mind working overtime. As far as he knew, the Tribune had been in the same building for most, if not all, of its long existence. The paper’s name was even carved into the stonework above the door. Secrets had been uncovered and divulged behind those walls and windows, tragedies dissected, lives changed forever. As much as Sully enjoyed reading the paper these days, he still held the keen memory of being its main subject for a time, his own once-secrets splashed across the front page. While he didn’t hate the media, he did fear them.

  Then again, what did they do that he hadn’t been doing his whole life? Gift like he had, he was in the business of unmasking secrets and disrupting lives. And he was here because he was mid-way through doing exactly that.

  Resolved, Sully stepped out of the SUV and made his way toward the building.

  A friendly receptionist directed him into one of several plush chairs in the lobby, which was where Sarah Leffler found him.

  Stunningly attractive, she stood approximately half a foot shorter than him, but her presence was larger than life as she strode in purposefully and extended a hand. He rose from the chair and shook.

  “Sarah Leffler,” she said with a warm smile. “Please, follow me.”

  He did, doing his best not to focus on her curves as he walked behind her. Though he’d looked her up so he would recognize her when she came for him, the photo hadn’t managed to do her justice. The bounce to her step could probably be put down partially to her age—she appeared to be close to his own, in her late twenties—but it also spoke to personality. Her face, when she turned to hold a door for him, was open and kind, her smile carrying genuine warmth rather than mere excitement about a potential exclusive. Her eyes—a soft brown—held his and didn’t waiver.

  Sully had learned early in life how to read people. Once a survival mechanism, it had since become more a useful tool. Rarely did it fail him, and it told him everything he needed to know now.

  He liked Sarah Leffler. Really liked her.

  Damn.

  She ushered him through the busy building until they passed through a set of glass doors beneath a sign stating “Editorial.”
/>   “We’ve been in the same building for over a hundred years now,” she said. Then she turned to him and laughed. “I say that like I’ve been here the whole time.”

  He liked the sound of her laugh, of the self-deprecating humour that followed.

  He gave himself an inward headshake. Wow, Dez was right. He really didn’t get out much.

  Sarah showed him into a small, comfortable room a few steps inside what he took to be the editorial department. A short distance away, the buzz of the newsroom sounded—laughter, a few people calling out to each other about an early file on a city hall vote, one or more TVs going, the incessant clicking of fingers on keyboards. Once Sarah shut the door, sealing the two of them inside the small interview room, the noises faded away.

  Sarah took the lone chair in the room, leaving a plush sofa for Sully.

  “It’s super-comfortable,” Sarah said. “Many a reporter has crashed on this thing over the years.”

  “Yeah,” he commented upon sitting. “It is.”

  Awkward preamble out of the way, Sarah sat forward, toned legs crossed and notepad in hand. Sully hadn’t noticed the notepad before. It signalled they were about to get down to business.

  “Gotta tell you, I’m intrigued,” she said. “I didn’t cover the trial or anything, but I read my colleague’s articles. I’m sorry about everything that happened to your family, by the way.”

  If her sympathy was a put-on, she was damn good. “Thanks.”

  “I’d be surprised if that’s why you’re here,” she said. “If it were, you’d have asked to talk to Leah. Even so, do you mind if I ask you something?’

  He shook his head. No, he didn’t mind at all.

  “What’s it like, what you can do?”

  No doubt in the question, no suspicion that what he’d told the court might not be entirely on the level. He still ran into those people, the ones who believed he’d pulled the wool over the world’s eyes. There were those who clung to disbelief and doubt like a security blanket. For them, anything not aligned to their views or their perceived place in the world was something to be shouted down and maligned. Not even the strongest evidence would be evidence enough. Sully could show them a world beyond this one, could introduce them directly to the people who dwelled there, and they’d still fail to see.