Dead Water by Victoria Houston Read Free Book Online Page A

being careful to avoid the area that Ray was examining. As he walked by the ruts, Osborne shook his head. He would have missed them completely.
    “Now isn’t this interesting.” Again Ray pointed. Again Osborne could barely make out any pattern whatsoever. “Whoever it was got out of their vehicle here … messed around over here … and set off thataway.” He looked up in the direction of the trestle. Then he looked down again. “Doc, what ya got in that bag? Anything I can use to measure the depth of these footprints?”
    “Depth?” said Osborne. “Depth? How the hell can you see depth in these?”
    “Like I said, Doc. When the good Lord gave out eyes, I thought he said ‘knives’ and asked for some sharp ones.”
    Lew groaned.
    “Okay, okay, I’m sure I’ve got something.” Osborne unzipped his black bag and tossed a probe at Ray. “Here, it’s marked in three-millimeter increments. Will that work?”
    Ray measured one set of footprints, then another, hidden behind a clump of brush and leading up to the rail bed. At that point, even Osborne could see where the tracks led up, forcing the sandy soil into clumps. Or did they lead down? Osborne couldn’t be sure.
    As Ray worked, moving slowly and methodically, the haze from the sun and dull buzz of the katydids lulled Osborne into a heavy-lidded sense of sleepiness. Blinking, he tried to stay alert while Ray hovered over another set of footprints. A sudden poke in the ribs startled him.
    “Doc!” The smile in Lew’s eyes woke him right up.
    “Yessiree.” Ray straightened up and stretched his back. “Looks to me like the same in … di … vid … ual emerged from their vehicle here.” He pointed. “Then took up a burden through the tailgate there.” He turned. “And scooted up thataway. Then …” He stepped sideways. “Over here … we have the return trip. Lighter.”
    “Can you tell how much of a weight difference between the two?” asked Lew.
    “Nope, but it was more than taking a leak.”
    “Any chance you can state that in a way that I can put it in my report?” asked Lew.
    Ray winked. “Sure. Got your notebook?”
    Lew reached into her back pocket. Face serious, Ray remeasured, then jotted down each calibration. “If Wausau can’t figure it out, talk to a structural engineer. One of those guys can tell ya the weight difference. In fact, talk to Pete Phelan. He helped me file for the patent on my walleye jig. He can figure that out.”
    “I’ll put through something for your time,” said Lew when he had finished. “I’ll have Roger photograph these, and I’ll make sure Wausau takes molds.”
    “Better make sure old Roger gets out here before it rains,” said Ray.
    Lew looked up at the heavy sky. The crisp blue of the morning had disappeared in a weather change typical of the Northwoods. “Damn, I’ll bet I can’t get him out here in time. Ray, you have your camera in the truck?”
    “You betcha.” In addition to guiding, harvesting leeches for walleye guys, digging graves, and shoveling snow, Ray also picked up a few bucks selling wildlife photos to local printers for their cheap calendars. He always kept a camera jammed under the driver’s seat, and while he often hit Osborne up for a tube of toothpaste or some dental floss, he never seemed to be out of film. Ten minutes later, they were looking down at the body from the trestle.
    “Oh yeah,” said Ray quietly. “Doesn’t take a goombah to tell you what happened here.”

seven
“Fish die belly-up and rise to the surface, it is their way of falling.”
André Gide
    A small crowd had gathered around the second victim. An ambulance was parked in the grass nearby, but the EMTs were leaning against their vehicle.
    “Good,” said Lew, “Lucy got to ‘em. Looks like they haven’t touched a thing.”
    As Lew and Osborne got out of the cruiser, a man in his late forties, lanky in dusty denim jeans and a well-worn Levi’s shirt, walked toward them with his hands in