Victoria Houston - Loon Lake 14 - Dead Lil' Hustler Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Victoria Houston
the vicinity of crime scenes. She handed him a pair of Nitrile gloves. “No unnecessary moving of that body and no fingerprints.”
“Oh gosh—you really think someone might have killed this person?” asked the woman. “We’ve been thinking whoever it is must have gone through the ice by accident.”
“Very likely that is what happened,” said Lew, “but just in case…”
Pecore yanked the sterile gloves from her and pulled them on. “I really don’t think this is necessary, Ferris,” he said, deliberately dropping her title, “but you’re in charge.”
“Yes, I am,” said Lew, staring down as Pecore prodded at the remains enough to determine the obvious: The snowmobiler was dead, the remains skeletal.
“You know, Chief Ferris,” said one of the rangers also watching Pecore’s movements, “if that snowmobile suit had not snagged on a sunken log running along the bank there, we might have been out of luck finding the victim. Those suits weigh a lot when they’re dry. Waterlogged I’ll bet they have to be heavy as rocks, enough to keep a body anchored on the river bottom.
“The Pine is only eight feet deep at its deepest—but, hell, that’s deep enough to hide a body.” He looked at the couple. “We’re lucky you two came kayaking down this way. Summers not too many people use the Pine River—it’s slow and buggy. But winter it freezes early and can be a speedway for snowmobilers—
if
you know how to find it.”
“You can see the snowmobile submerged over there,” said the woman, pointing toward the middle of the river. “It’s pretty close to the surface and the water is so clear you can see the key in the ignition.”
“My opinion? He drowned,” said Pecore getting to his feet. He pulled off the Nitrile gloves and thrust them into the pocket of his dirty blue windbreaker. “Chief Ferris, you give me the paperwork later and I’ll fill in the death certificate.”
“Whoa, how can you say that?” asked one of the rangers. “Look at the skull—the right side is half blown away. I don’t think it’s a drowning.”
“I agree with my colleague,” said the second ranger who had been quiet since they arrived. “If we had rocks where the body might have been pushed around by a current, maybe, but this is all swamp grass and tag alders along here.”
“Animals,” said Pecore, challenging anyone to argue. “Predator activity. That’s what happens when people die outdoors.”
“Coyotes don’t swim,” said one ranger.
“Neither do wolves,” said the other. “At least I don’t think so.”
“Bears,” said Pecore. “One swat from a bear can do that.”
“Pecore, please, don’t overreach your capabilities,” said Lew. “All I need from you is the official determination that the victim is deceased. Period.”
“Okay, forget I said he drowned,” said Pecore with a shrug of his shoulders.
After pulling on a new pair of Nitrile gloves, Lew knelt to roll the figure over. Time, water, and weather had worked on the remains so there was no odor. She unzipped the front of the snowmobile suit and felt for an interior pocket. Her fingers touched a wallet. She pulled it out and opened it. In it was a laminated driver’s license. Lew got to her feet.
“Mr. Pecore,” she said. “I got news for you.”
Pecore snorted. “Yeah?”
“We have to get the Wausau boys out here ASAP.”
“Oh, for chrissake.” Pecore threw his hands up in disgust. “Do you know how long that will take? I have medical appointments later today and first thing tomorrow. I can’t be standing out here all day. Chief Ferris, you are making a mountain out of a simple snowmobile accident.”
Lew shrugged. “Maybe.”
She turned to the rangers and the two kayakers. Holding out the license, she said, “I am familiar with the name of this victim. He has been on the missing person’s list since February.” As she spoke, jaws dropped in unison. “The name is Peter Corbin and he is—was—a
“Oh gosh—you really think someone might have killed this person?” asked the woman. “We’ve been thinking whoever it is must have gone through the ice by accident.”
“Very likely that is what happened,” said Lew, “but just in case…”
Pecore yanked the sterile gloves from her and pulled them on. “I really don’t think this is necessary, Ferris,” he said, deliberately dropping her title, “but you’re in charge.”
“Yes, I am,” said Lew, staring down as Pecore prodded at the remains enough to determine the obvious: The snowmobiler was dead, the remains skeletal.
“You know, Chief Ferris,” said one of the rangers also watching Pecore’s movements, “if that snowmobile suit had not snagged on a sunken log running along the bank there, we might have been out of luck finding the victim. Those suits weigh a lot when they’re dry. Waterlogged I’ll bet they have to be heavy as rocks, enough to keep a body anchored on the river bottom.
“The Pine is only eight feet deep at its deepest—but, hell, that’s deep enough to hide a body.” He looked at the couple. “We’re lucky you two came kayaking down this way. Summers not too many people use the Pine River—it’s slow and buggy. But winter it freezes early and can be a speedway for snowmobilers—
if
you know how to find it.”
“You can see the snowmobile submerged over there,” said the woman, pointing toward the middle of the river. “It’s pretty close to the surface and the water is so clear you can see the key in the ignition.”
“My opinion? He drowned,” said Pecore getting to his feet. He pulled off the Nitrile gloves and thrust them into the pocket of his dirty blue windbreaker. “Chief Ferris, you give me the paperwork later and I’ll fill in the death certificate.”
“Whoa, how can you say that?” asked one of the rangers. “Look at the skull—the right side is half blown away. I don’t think it’s a drowning.”
“I agree with my colleague,” said the second ranger who had been quiet since they arrived. “If we had rocks where the body might have been pushed around by a current, maybe, but this is all swamp grass and tag alders along here.”
“Animals,” said Pecore, challenging anyone to argue. “Predator activity. That’s what happens when people die outdoors.”
“Coyotes don’t swim,” said one ranger.
“Neither do wolves,” said the other. “At least I don’t think so.”
“Bears,” said Pecore. “One swat from a bear can do that.”
“Pecore, please, don’t overreach your capabilities,” said Lew. “All I need from you is the official determination that the victim is deceased. Period.”
“Okay, forget I said he drowned,” said Pecore with a shrug of his shoulders.
After pulling on a new pair of Nitrile gloves, Lew knelt to roll the figure over. Time, water, and weather had worked on the remains so there was no odor. She unzipped the front of the snowmobile suit and felt for an interior pocket. Her fingers touched a wallet. She pulled it out and opened it. In it was a laminated driver’s license. Lew got to her feet.
“Mr. Pecore,” she said. “I got news for you.”
Pecore snorted. “Yeah?”
“We have to get the Wausau boys out here ASAP.”
“Oh, for chrissake.” Pecore threw his hands up in disgust. “Do you know how long that will take? I have medical appointments later today and first thing tomorrow. I can’t be standing out here all day. Chief Ferris, you are making a mountain out of a simple snowmobile accident.”
Lew shrugged. “Maybe.”
She turned to the rangers and the two kayakers. Holding out the license, she said, “I am familiar with the name of this victim. He has been on the missing person’s list since February.” As she spoke, jaws dropped in unison. “The name is Peter Corbin and he is—was—a