“Could be any of several reasons: post-hibernation feeding, mating season, protecting freshly-hatched young.”
“Do you think there’s a breeding population in the lake?” Slater asked.
“Of the monster?” Mo said, confused. “Well, there has to be one somewhere, doesn’t there? Unless you think this one beastie is a thousand or more years old. But whether it’s in our lake or not? Who knows?”
Aston took a sip of his coffee, considering his next question. The brew was strong and bitter, and he surprisingly found it to his liking. He hadn’t drunk instant in years.
“Is there anything else you can tell us about this exodus?”
“Not about the exodus, but I can tell you people die on the lake this time of year.” Mo’s face became serious as he stood, moved to the nearest bookshelf, and took down a large scrapbook. “Take a look at these articles, and mind the dates.” He handed the book to Slater.
A yellowed newspaper clipping from 1972 told of two teenagers who had vanished while boating late at night. Their boat had been found, but no bodies. Page after page, one or more for almost every one of the last forty-plus years told of people going missing while on or around the lake, and all dated at roughly the same time of year.
The last item was the most disturbing: a hand-written entry about the body of a fisherman that had been found on the lakeshore the previous year. Rather, half of his body had been found. The cheap Polaroid photograph pasted into the book provided mute testimony to that fact.
Slater made a gurgling sound in her throat and turned her head.
“Bitten clean in two!” Mo said.
“How do they know he was bitten?” Aston asked. The photograph was taken from above the victim’s head and showed little in the way of detail, even for a Polaroid.
“What else would do that to a man? Besides, I know for a fact he was bitten in half because I’m the one who found the body. It was ragged, like something had clamped down on him and thrashed around until he tore in half. But the bones? They were sheared right through, not snapped. Terrible thing.”
The gleam in his eyes said Mo considered it anything but terrible.
“Was an autopsy performed?” Slater asked. “The results could be helpful.”
“Should have been.” Mo rested his mug on the upturned crate that served as a coffee table, steepled his fingers, and leaned in close. “But I think it was covered up. The story never appeared in the news. Nowhere at all. I looked.”
Aston took another swallow of coffee and considered this. Why would a small town hide such a secret? It had no tourism industry to be harmed by the revelation. “Who do you think might have covered it up?”
Mo crinkled his brow, the lines in his forehead deepening.
“The man I reported the death to — Superintendent Rinne.”
Chapter 18
Aston was glad to get back out into the fresh, crisp day after they’d thanked Old Mo and made their retreat, but he was frustrated. If anything, they had emerged with more questions than they’d taken in. The animal migration story was a useful scientific tidbit, however. It gave him pause that they really might be dealing with something strange. And the annual deaths, the body torn in half. How did a town this small cope with the fact that someone died almost every year on or near the lake? Sometimes several someones. Aston couldn’t help thinking he’d have moved away at the first opportunity, but perhaps most of these people simply didn’t have that option, maybe for financial reasons, or simple familial loyalty and staying where they had always been. The idea of tradition had a lot to answer for in its various incarnations.
As they made their way back to the harbor, Aston decided he was really getting suspicious of everything to do with Superintendent Rinne too. The local police chief gave him the creeps on many levels. There was obviously mutual dislike, but he couldn’t blame Rinne for that if the lawman suspected them of lying to him about their reasons for being here. But Aston’s distrust ran deeper, and not based on that quip about Nazi blood. It was something else, more immediate and contemporary, that bothered him about the gruff official. He smiled inwardly, self-awareness rising. He had often run afoul of the law, since his teens and on into adulthood. He needed to remember that his distrust of the police was because they were a hornets’ nest he regularly poked. But even taking that into account, something discomforted him about Rinne. Even if the man wasn’t the local Superintendent, Aston was pretty sure he wouldn’t like the guy.
Slater broke his reverie. “We’d better get back.” She scanned the jetties with their large variety of watercraft. “Where’s his dinghy?”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Dave’s dinghy.” Slater waved a palm left and right. “We should have checked when we arrived, but it’s only just occurred to me. If he came to town, why isn’t it here?”
Aston pursed his lips, scanning the vessels to confirm it wasn’t in sight. “I don’t remember seeing it.”
“Me either.”
“Maybe we’ll find Dave back at the boat, waiting for us.”
Slater looked at him for a moment, and then turned her gaze out over the iron-colored waters of the lake. “No, we won’t.” She turned hard eyes back to him. “Will we?”
Aston licked his lips, ineffectually as his mouth was suddenly dry. “No. No, I don’t think we will.”
“Shit, Dave.” Hurt lay heavy in Slater’s voice.
Aston put a hand on her shoulder, went to give her a hug.
She pulled away, striding off toward their dinghy. “Come on. Let’s not waste time.”
They motored back to the Merenneito in silence. It was easy to forego speech over the noise of the small outboard, but Aston was a little concerned at Slater’s coldness. Was she just concerned for Dave or was she making it very clear that last night was last night and he wasn’t to think any differently? She might, of course, be cool with him for both those reasons. He shook himself. There was no point in pining like a bloody teenager for her and she was right that they had bigger things to deal with. Play it cool, Sam. You might get to fool around with her again, but not if you’re an idiot about it.
Holloway appeared on deck as they drew near, his face stretched with a wide smile.
Slater turned to Aston with a frown. “What’s he so happy about?”
Aston shrugged. “Who the hell knows? Maybe his stocks went up a point.”
“Welcome back!” Holloway called to them. “Why isn’t Dave with you?”
“We can’t find him,” Slater shouted back.
Holloway moved to the side and lowered the cradle to help them rehang the dinghy. Sudden, almost oppressive silence descended as Slater killed the engine.
“Can’t find him?” Holloway asked, his voice subdued.
“No sign anywhere,” Aston said. “Just vanished.”
“Do you think he abandoned us?” Holloway asked.
Slater climbed aboard and Aston followed. “Maybe,” she said. “We don’t have anything to go on. No sight of him.”
“Unbelievable. I can’t abide irresponsible, unprofessional behavior!” Holloway spat. “It’s just as well you’ve proven you can manage without him thus far. Looks like you’ll have to carry on that way. Are you up for that?”
Slater nodded curtly. “Yes, we’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
Clearly she didn’t want to discuss the matter with Holloway and Aston couldn’t blame her. The billionaire’s effusive nature and innate selfishness made him the last person Aston would ever want to talk to about anything serious. Let him concentrate on his folly.
True to form, Holloway practically danced across the deck, Dave’s disappearance forgotten in an instant. The beaming smile was back. “Well, we’ve certainly had some interesting happenings while you’ve been gone. Come on and we’ll give you the good news.”