Grand Lac

CHAPTER 1

The big turbo hanging from the wing outside his cabin seat provided a surprisingly quiet, constant and reassuring hum. There they were at thirty-thousand plus feet in the air in a shiny aluminum tube heading west toward the setting sun. Mostly west. Minneapolis to Salt Lake City is also a little south. Sure, there were other people on the plane. Including his principal companion of many years, Marjorie Kane. She was in the seat next to him smiling with, he assumed, a certain anticipation. Marjorie loved to travel. He knew that. She spent most of her misspent youth traveling. Sometimes just a step or two ahead of the law. Even so, she’d never got over her enjoyment of new experiences, new places, and new people. So, he assumed, she’s smiling this bright morning because they were going somewhere she’s never been before and it’s been a while since the couple had done any traveling at all. She would also get to reconnect with her cousin, Edie, whom she hadn’t seen in a long time. And that, despite the situation.

So, what were these two doing that bright summer day flying to, where? Right, Spokane, as in Washington State. After a brief stopover to change planes in Utah. Don’t ask. After they debark in Spokane, they’ll drive a rental east into the mountains to their ultimate destination, Grand Lac, Idaho. That’s French for big lake. Apparently.

This man, relaxing as best as possible, owes this adventure, starting with this not terribly comfortable airplane ride, to the lovely lady seated beside him.

And to an unsolved murder.

A quick bit of background. The man is a private consultant. No, not a P.I. His name is Alan Lockem. He lives and works mostly in the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and Saint Paul. That’s in Minnesota, for those of you who may be geographically uncertain. He’s unlicensed. That’s never been a problem. He has a rep because he’s good at what he does, although you won’t find any profiles of him in the tony magazines on display at the checkout counters. Or in the tabloids, for that matter. He’s particularly careful about that. Some of his law enforcement acquaintances back in Minnesota have less flattering labels for him. And that’s okay too.

Some people call him a salvage expert. Others say he’s the quintessential outsider. He doesn’t much care what you label him. When you do call him, it’s because something in your life has gotten out of hand, gone awry, maybe even crashed and burned. When he gets a call, it’s usually emotionally wrought, at least on the caller’s end. Sometimes it involves death, sometimes just serious chicanery. In any case, when, and if, he takes the case, somebody pays. Sometimes in cash, sometimes in other ways. Somebody always pays.

A couple of years ago he was at loose ends and a friend offered him a gig watching a table display of some fine jewelry while locals gawked and coveted and sometimes even bought pieces. Along about halfway through the evening, as he tells it, this lovely lady strolls by in her little black dress. Now this particular dress was floor length, strapless and showed a lot of well cared for flesh above her considerable bosom. Defined a nicely shaped bottom as well.

Now, this man, this gentleman named Alan Lockem, judging by outward appearances, considers himself a connoisseur of the female form, having once been a free-lance photographer. And at his age, well-above middle, you might say, ogling female flesh isn’t as frowned upon when the ogler sports a luxuriant head of hair and a well-trimmed goatee. Both silvery-white. And he hadn’t let his body go to pot, as it were. Advancing age forgives a good deal.

Well, this particular female got to chatting with the gentleman and one thing led to another so that after the jewelry gig closed they had a few drinks, some laughs and wound up the night in her large, very comfortable bed. It was there he learned that Ms. Marjorie Kane had once traveled professionally as a headline stripper named Kandy Kane. It was a moniker she hated but that didn’t stop her from perfecting a topnotch act that drew crowds and large venues and the big bucks. Because she took the trouble to perfect her dancing, Marjorie Kane made most of the nubile youngsters who were out there on the runways look like awkward gawky striplings. Of course, that’s what they mostly were.

When this gentleman met Marjorie, she was having a problem with her last ex-husband. Because he is a fixer, remember, and because he knows things, he was able to clear her calendar, so to speak, in pretty short order. Because they hit it off, after a couple of years of on-and-off contact, they mutually decided to de-complicate things by moving in together. By then, he was delighted to have discovered a sharp analytical brain under her thick, naturally blond, tresses.

That’s how they became a team, Lockem and Kane. He wanted to call them Kane and Lockem, but Marjorie insisted they’d do better if the male member was out front. And so, at an age when a lot of folks of their advancing years were settling down for their last decades, dreaming of placid sunsets and liquid diets, Lockem and Kane geared up for adventure.

Marjorie Kane had relatives out west, out where the antelope graze, in some mountainous spot called Grand Lac, Idaho. One of them was now accused of murder most foul and is soon to be tried in a court of law. If the relatives are correct, he’ll be railroaded to jail for something he did not do.

This relative, one Samuel Black, has been accused of shooting some local nimrod named Jack Ketchum, a rancher in the area. Both men are—were—avid big game hunters—only one is alive now, of course. Both men were handy with weapons, as apparently are a lot of folks in Idaho. Lockem had been given to understand that this was not an old-west-style shoot out, however. Mr. Ketchum apparently was scoped out and gunned down with a slug through the chest from some distance. Maybe a half-mile or even longer. That seemed to indicate planning and selection of the killing scene. So, premeditated murder.

Be careful out there, one of his cop friends told Lockem when he got word Lockem was leaving town, flying off to Idaho for a while. Lots of hunting out there. People with weapons. Well, that’s all right, Lockem said. I’m something of a hunter, too. I hunt predators. I hunt in the forests and the arroyos of the city, where two-legged targets sometimes shoot back.

CHAPTER 2

Spokane was hot, sunny and dry. The car rental place in the air-conditioned terminal was not busy and the couple was promptly on their way. Marjorie was at the wheel of a lovely dark blue late-model Lincoln Navigator. It had all the bells and whistles Ford designers and engineers ever thought of, a big step up from Lockem’s sporty vintage Austin Healy 100-six back home in his garage. This thing was a tank. They hummed east along the highway, straight toward the looming Rocky Mountains. A comfortable hour and a half ride and after rounding yet another outcropping of granite saw, across this humungous piece of water, a town. Grand Lac. Their destination. Leaving the freeway, they dipped down to lake level and crossed a bay on a long straight concrete bridge. It reminded Lockem a little of the concrete causeway between the tip of Florida and Key West. The town of Grand Lac is one of the northernmost vacation destinations in the country. It’s an easy drive up the valleys to the Canadian border. The lake for which the settlement is named is a big, sprawling glacier lake with a ragged, wandering shoreline in a deep valley of the Rocky Mountains. There are long stretches of open water that attract sailors and there are islands and many tiny bays that attract secrets. The single stretch of sand beach lies at one edge of the city limits and is walled off by parkland and the railroad spur.

The surrounding mountains attract skiers year-round although the resorts are not listed among the premiere of the premier. Grand Lac is served by a very small airport and the Northern Pacific Railroad. The airport operates during daylight hours and the train arrives from east or west around midnight, assuming it’s on schedule. Apart from the resorts, logging and a little mining, ranching and associated business activities keep folks busy and mostly out of trouble. There are a number of retirement establishments as well. Once Kane and Lockem arrived, they noticed that their age cohort fit in well.

There are advantages to being members of the younger geriatric set. Retirees are often considered harmless, having lost their edge, and most of their influence, if they ever had any, and are likely to be targeted as victims. Fit as they are, governments and many people tend to ignore or dismiss them. But as Marjorie Kane once remarked, We develop magical powers, because we become invisible. It’s a mistake many people make.

In the case of Lockem and Kane, truth was a whole different circumstance. True, they looked aged. Well preserved, perhaps, but older. Lockem sometimes smiled at the idea. If you could see those tanned and toned long legs my companion wears when she dances, he mused or practices her Tai quon do, or wraps them around my waist in the shower, you’d change your mind. As for Lockem, long years of many jobs plus some specialized training helped him keep his edge. He was, Lockem might say immodestly, still quick on his feet.

First, let’s check in at the NoName Hotel. Then, I think, a quick reconnoiter of the center of town is in order, murmured Lockem, perusing a detailed map of the local area. I always like to develop a good mental picture of my new surroundings. Once I became comfortable in a new location, reacting appropriately in a crisis is more easily accomplished and less dangerous.

Thus endeth the first lesson, interjected Marjorie with a grin.

As was his habit, Alan Lockem did a quick visual scan of the lobby as they walked to the registration desk. No alarm bells sounded. The couple was greeted warmly by a tall smiling woman with a cap of closely cropped, very black hair and deep blue eyes.

Their hotel suite was comfortable enough and Marjorie quickly found an acceptable network for her wireless laptop connection. The couple almost never carried files on these jaunts, unless it was to provide cover. Marjorie had a tricked-out laptop computer and a small printer that gave them whatever they needed when they traveled out of town.

Casually dressed, they scampered down two flights to the street and surrounded themselves with street traffic. In short order they had identified the city offices and places where the local law seemed to hang out when not actively patrolling. They also found a nice watering hole that served an acceptable brand of good scotch (for Lockem) and an equally nice Pinot Noir for Marjorie.

You are drawing notice, my dear, Lockem murmured.

Are you sure she isn’t checking you out?

I wonder what the local attitude is toward same-sex marriage.

Unless it affects our present task, I’m only passingly interested, Marjorie said. Lusty and upfront about her sexuality, Marjorie Kane had the goods, but she also had the smarts and education so she fit in pretty much anywhere it was called for. Her experience as a stripper had helped her develop a keen sense of awareness in social and business situations. Lockem wasn’t bad at divining evil intent, but Marjorie was a star.

The woman at a table across the room had been staring at Marjorie just a bit too long. Now she said something to her companion and came across the room. Standing quietly among a small crowd, say, she would have been unremarkable. But when she walked there was an instantaneous change. Not exactly cat-like, she had an obvious sinuous quality to her stride.

Excuse me, I’m probably wrong, but I have a feeling I know you. The woman stopped with her right hip just an inch away from Lockem’s fingers at the table edge. She addressed her opening comment to Marjorie.

I doubt it, Marjorie said coolly. I’ve never been to Grand Lac before in my life.

No, no, I don’t mean here in Grand Lac. I think I recognize you from somewhere else. Seattle, maybe?

Marjorie shrugged. I’ve been to Seattle a few times, but not recently.

Well, sorry to have bothered you. The woman went away and Marjorie leaned into her companion. See the way she walks? Not long out of the business, I’ll bet.

Mmm, Lockem inhaled his companion’s perfume. Is that a new scent?

She elbowed him gently in the ribs. Pay attention. She walks like a dancer. I expect if we check we’ll discover she and I were on the same bill at some club in Seattle.

But that must have been years ago.

Of course. You know I haven’t taken my clothes off in public since you and I hooked up.

Lockem smiled. There was that day we were on the beach at that little lake outside of Hackensack last July. He smiled wider at the memory. She smiled back.

Marjorie’s cell phone trilled softly from the depths of her purse. She fished it out and looked at the screen. Then she took the call. Hi there, Edie. How are you holding up?

Yes, we’re getting settled in. We have rooms at the No Name, that independent in town. She listened. No, hon, I told you. It’s better, especially now, that we stay away from you for the time being. She listened some more. I know you have the room, sweetie, but we’re just fine. For a day or two at least. We need to sort of blend in like a couple of tourists. Assess the lay of the land. For the time being. Yes. I’ll be sure to call you every day. Try not to worry.

Annie Fanny, she said putting her phone away.

Excuse me?

Marjorie nodded toward the woman who had come to their table. Annie Fanny. That was her stage name. We were on a couple of bills together. Back in the day. The woman and her companion were standing, preparing to leave. The woman glanced back over her shoulder and sketched a sort of goodbye wave by wiggling her fingers at Lockem and Kane.

I can see why she got the label, he said, watching the woman switch her prominent behind back and forth as she and her companion left the restaurant.

Hon, that’s nothing. You should see her in a sequined thong prancing around a stage. Drove the kiddies wild with that ass. Looks like she’s staying in shape, too.

Lockem turned his head and looked at his lovely companion. Tsk. Such language. I assure you I’m more than happy with the bottom presently within reach. Kane bobbed her head. In spite of protestations to the contrary, she loved compliments about the state of her body. It was understandable. For several years, Marjorie’s livelihood rested almost totally on lusty male appreciation of her physical attributes displayed on stages.

Well, to business. Edie doesn’t understand why we aren’t bunking with them, but she won’t rush down here to greet us until we give her the word. What next? Kane tapped a few symbols into her cell phone.

Let’s go wander these blocks over east of us. And I want to get a look at City Hall.

* * *.*

City Hall and the lockup weren’t far away. Nothing is too far away from anywhere else in Grand Lac. The town is in a valley, surrounded by the northern Rocky Mountains and higher by a thousand feet than where the two live. Doesn’t seem much, but the sun is brighter, the air lighter, and any kind of strenuous exercise is quickly more difficult. Most traffic goes north and south, following the rivers and a few mountain passes. The topography restricts flexibility of access unless you happen to be a moose or a mountain goat. Was that important? Probably. A block from City Hall around a corner, they sauntered east. Shouting rose up ahead in the next block. They drew closer and found two men who were blocking the sidewalk. They confronted each other almost jaw to jaw. They wore straw Stetson-style hats, Edwardian-style coats, although nobody out here called them that,