Ray found dry kindling and matches in the plastic garbage bag. He started a fire in the stove and backed out of the hut.
“You want a space blanket?” Sue asked after he emerged from the hut.
“Sure,” he responded. Sue dug through her backpack and handed Ray a small packet. He unwrapped the tightly folded package and pulled the thin sheet of silvery plastic around his shoulders. They stood on the shore and waited for the chopper. At the sound of its approach—the thumping of its blades in the heavy air—Sue fired a flare. The projectile arched out over the lake and fell toward the water. Sue glanced back toward the hut to ensure they were out of earshot.
“Is Arnie going to make it?” she shouted over the roar of the approaching chopper.
“It’s a crap shoot,” said Ray.
The pilot turned the bright orange helicopter in their direction. They could see him wave through the Plexiglas bubble. As the pilot carefully oriented his ship, Ray and Sue moved out into the clearing near the shore and waited for the rescue basket to descend.
“Any word on Vedder?” Sue asked as she sorted some photos.
“I just called. They’re trying to stabilize him, doing blood warming.” Ray sipped his coffee. “It doesn’t sound good.”
“Kim?”
“She’s there. If he doesn’t make it, well.” Ray dropped his head toward the table, rubbed his forehead with his forefingers and thumb; a wave of fatigue swept across his body. Looking up, he continued, “That poor woman, her life has been one tragedy after another. I wonder how she’ll get through this one.”
Sue let his comment hang for a long time, finally saying, “Here is the inventory of clothing for Ashleigh and David. You’ll notice that we only found one sandal, a women’s size eight Chaco for the left foot.”
Ray looked at the list of clothing for each victim, followed by the other items collected at the scene.
“Did you process the shoe we recovered in Arnie’s hut?”
“Yes, it appears to be the mate—right foot, same size and model of Chaco with a similar amount of wear. I can take this further if need be,” said Sue.
“So, assuming that the sandal is a match, we have evidence that Arnie was probably at the crime scene. Warrington told me Ashleigh was someone who had been kind to Arnie and that he was often seen hanging around near her cottage,” Ray paused. “And Kim Vedder talked about Arnie’s fascination with the dunes and beach in that area. He would spend nights there, looking at the stars, sleeping, and not coming home until after dawn.”
“Any chance Arnie is the killer?” Sue’s tone suggested her own doubt.
“Check Arnie’s clothes for traces of blood; I think the perp would have been covered with blood.” Ray stopped briefly and looked directly at Sue, “Can you imagine him overcoming two physically fit adults?”
“He would have had the element of surprise,” she countered.
“True,” answered Ray. “But, think about him pulling Dowd’s head into that position or overpowering Ashleigh. He has the strength of a child, a fairly fragile child at that.”
“Okay,” agreed Sue, “not likely. But maybe he saw something, like the killer.”
“And I think that’s very possible. Here is a scenario. Arnie is up at his perch high on the dunes. He sees Ashleigh and David Dowd coming down the beach. Her long hair is pretty distinctive, and he might have even been using his telescope. According to Nora it was close to dusk when she encountered the couple, so his view would have deteriorated in the fading light. He sees the attack, or he wanders down in the dark and finds them. He might have even come on the scene the next morning.”
“How do you explain the sandal?” asked Sue.
“I don’t know, perhaps he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing, just picked something up and ran.” Ray slowed, “Arnie is a fragile kid. Just seeing the bodies would have been enough to put him in a complete panic, and if he saw the attack, well… ” He remained quiet for a few moments as he visualized Arnie at the scene.
“Why wouldn’t he try to get help? That would have been such a natural thing to do.”
“He isn’t normal. His thinking is confused.” Ray looked across at Sue’s neatly organized evidence stacks. He gestured with his hand, “So, what else do you have?”
“Here,” she slid a drawing across the table, “is the diagram of the crime scene. You can see the position of the bodies, clothes, food, and wine bottle. There was a small pocketknife next to the cheese, one of the Swiss army ones with a corkscrew. Not big enough to be the weapon.” She lifted up a plastic bag. “That’s about it. We searched the whole grid in that diagram, even raked through the sand on our second go, just some typical beach debris. Then we used a metal detector—can tabs and bottle tops. The hours of heavy rain didn’t leave much. The photos,” she pushed a stack of 8-by-12-inch glossies in his direction, “are keyed to the numbers on the diagram.”
Ray sat silently and studied the diagram, then he carefully looked at the photos, examining the scene again, taking in all the details, attempting to visualize the murderous rage of the perpetrator. He closed his eyes and put himself on the beach. He could smell the damp shore, hear the lulling waves and the lovers breathing, sense the shared pleasure, and then feel the sudden yank, slash, and pain.
“And here,” Sue, interrupting his musing, slid a second diagram across the table, “I’ve placed the scene against the wider area using a geographical survey map as the basis for this diagram. The purpose was to look for possible routes to and from the scene. The most obvious one, of course, is the beach, but there’s also this trail.” She reached across and traced the path. “It starts here at the parking lot, runs through the woods behind Nora Jennings’s cottage and up along the ridgeline. Then it turns and runs back across the dune and into a two-track that winds back to the highway.” She hesitated. “But I’m probably telling you something you know.”
“This was one of my favorite beaches when I was a kid. I’ve covered that trail hundreds of times.”
“We searched the trail from one end to the other.”
“Find anything?”
“Nothing unusual, just ordinary litter left over from the summer. Food wrappers, pop and beer cans, plastic water bottles, discarded clothing, and a few condoms off to the side.” Sue had a look of mild disgust on her face. “I’d hoped that our perp might have dropped something, or perhaps we’d even find tire impressions in the protected area in the woods, but nothing. We’ve checked the beach in both directions for about a mile, and sorted through the trash basket in the park. I don’t think there’s much,” Sue paused, a look of frustration covered her face. “If the perp didn’t take the knife with him, it would only take a few minutes to bury it and with miles of beach and dune… ”
“Or,” Ray continued, “he could have thrown the knife out into the waves, or even swam out, past the second bar, and buried it.” He looked at Sue. “So, what’s your theory? How do you think this was done?”
“I think they were either followed or the perp knew where Ashleigh would probably take someone. The killer could have pursued them up the beach, but I think the trail would have been a better bet.”
“But… ”
“Right, the perp would need some knowledge of the area.”
“But probably not too much,” said Ray. “If they parked in the lot, the trail is marked with a map posted at the trailhead. Plus, once you get out beyond the forest you can see for miles from the top of the dunes.”
“Wait. I’m telling the story,” Sue smiled. “I think the perp took the trail. From the top of the dune it’s easy to watch someone coming up the beach. He waited until they were engaged, probably slid down one of those gullies, and then crawled up through the dune grass from the lake. Approaching at that angle he wouldn’t be spotted until the last second.” She pushed over the pile of photos. “Look at the position of the bodies, the assailant would have attacked from this line,” she used her finger as a pointer, “slashed victim one, and then stabbed victim two. Just the way Dr. Dyskin described it.”
“And how about Arnie?”
“He could have been up there too. There’s a lot of real estate. And I doubt if the killer would have been aware of his presence.”
Ray was silent as he considered this scenario. Finally he asked, “Ashleigh’s car?”
“The Volvo was locked. I assume Ashleigh locked it.”
“Because?”
“There was a backpack and some other fairly expensive camping equipment in the rear. I opened it with keys we pulled from her jeans. I’ve dusted the car, her prints are everywhere. Dowd’s are on the passenger’s side. There are some others, random, and mostly partial. I don’t think the killer touched the car.”
“What else?”
“We’ve checked the other cottages along the ridge, they’re all closed for the season. And I talked with Nora again. She’s sure she didn’t see anyone else that evening. Said there were a few people around earlier, but they were long gone by dusk.”
Ray slid down in his chair. “You’ve been thorough. Damn,” he muttered. “There just isn’t much here.” He paused, removed his glasses, and rubbed his right eye. “If we could find the weapon, that might give us some direction. Let’s do a search of the water contiguous with that part of the shore, out to the second bar. And sweep a broader area of the beach with the metal detectors. But… ”
“But what?”
“The proverbial needle, isn’t it?” Ray said. He looked at his watch. “Ready to face the cameras? We’ve got about fifteen minutes until the news conference,” he said, pulling several sheets of paper from his printer tray. “Here’s the statement I’m planning on reading. Why don’t you give it a quick read and tell me if you think I need to make any changes?”
“This is the part I hate,” Sue said.
“It won’t be bad,” Ray offered reassuringly. “I’ll take all the questions. And at this point we don’t have much that we can tell them.”
“Ray. Sorry, I didn’t see you come in. I was getting counseled on my love life,” Grochoski said laughing, as he picked up a remote and turned down the volume. He reached under the bar to get a coffee cup. “I made this about half an hour ago, it’s probably still okay,” he said as he filled the large, white ceramic mug. “If it has gone bitter, just say the word, and I’ll… ”
“It’s fine, Jack,” said Ray after he carefully tested the coffee. He laid two photos on the bar.
Grochoski pulled a pair of glasses out of his shirt pocket, unfolded them, and slid them in place, using his forefinger to adjust them on his nose. “Horrible thing,” he said, looking at the pictures. “We never used to have this kind of stuff. Maybe in Detroit, but not here.”
“You’re familiar with the people in the photos?”
“Yes, the girl especially, Ashleigh. She was a… well, I won’t say a regular, but she was in here once or twice a week. She’d have a meal, sometimes pick up a six-pack. She was a real cutie, full of life.”
“And the young man?”
“I’ve only seen him a few times. He was a friend of Ashleigh’s. He was always with her when he came in. He wasn’t a local. I think I’d only seen him on weekends.”
“Were they here on Saturday?”
Jack pulled at his right ear as he thought about it. “Saturday, yes, came in for lunch. Ashleigh loved our hamburgers. She liked to joke that she’d had burgers all over the world and mine were the best.”
“What time did they come in?”
“It was early. Noon rush hadn’t started yet.”
“And they left?”
“Probably one or shortly after. They had some burgers and fries, couple of shells of beer. They were sitting over at that table near the window. Seemed to be having a serious conversation. Ashleigh wasn’t her usual self, joking and all. And when they left she didn’t come over and say goodbye like she always did. She was always teasing me, calling me Mister Jack.” His eyes glazed over, sadness ran across his craggy face. He brightened a bit. “Mr. Jack— the name’s sorta caught on. Some of the regulars are calling me that now.”
“Did she seem upset?”
“I can’t say for sure. We had a lot of lunch trade, locals and color-tour folks. I didn’t have much of a chance to see what was going on.”
“How long has she been a customer?”
“Well, the news said she’d been at Leiston three years. That seems right. The first year she was probably in here a bit more.” “Men. Did you know people she was dating?”
“Didn’t seem to let any grass grow under her feet. She was here with a variety of men, but most weren’t from around here. Except for Jason Zelke, of course. I think she was sweet on him for a while. Didn’t seem to last, though.”
“When was that?”
“Zelke, let me think.” Jack started to chuckle. “You know, Ray, they say that your mind is the first thing to go, but hell, I got a lot of other things going, too.”
Ray smiled, then returned to the question at hand. “Zelke?” he repeated.
“Pretty sure it was last winter. Might have been winter before that.”
“Who else did she come in with?”
“Mostly people from the school. The first year she’d come in with Warrington, the headmaster. All seemed proper and above board. I mean they were usually with other people from the school. They weren’t hiding in the corner like some couples, but I sorta wondered. His wife caught them together once; they had a bit of a domestic,” he pronounced the word slowly and rolled his eyes, “right over there at the table by the jukebox. I think that she was in her cups when she got here. Did a lot of yelling. He did his best to get her out of here in a hurry.”