“Don’t you mean that most had avoided her?”
“Let’s not go there right now,” Mary said, glancing at Pam who was talking to the dispatcher. “Barb was like a little kid at Christmas and her excitement was contagious.”
Pam hung up the phone as she made notes on a pad mounted on the wall. “Mary, I’m really sorry I ran out on you. Did I miss much?”
“We had coffee and everyone went home after that. You were here for the games and gifts. That was the biggest part.”
“And I’m here for the cleanup,” Pam said. “Hand me the dishrag.”
“You don’t need to.”
“Why don’t you start putting away the clean dishes,” Pam said. “I’m washing.” She spoke with kindness, but also with authority. Floyd smiled as the two women dove into the stacks of dirty dishes while he retreated to the living room.
“Floyd, I made a note of the car owner’s name on the pad next to the phone,” Pam said. “He’s Steven Parker, with an apartment on Groveland Avenue in Minneapolis. You had a message at the courthouse from the BCA. They got a match on the prints from the envelope. It seems Mr. Parker has a record in Minneapolis for soliciting a male prostitution decoy.”
“Too bad we didn’t talk to him a couple days ago so we could’ve saved the time and money of tracking down his prints on the note and envelope,” Floyd grumbled.
“I wonder where the K-bar knife is?” Pam asked, handing a glass platter to Mary. “Kathy said she used it to break into the Passenger Lake cabin. If it’s not there, I suppose it’s wherever Aaron is.”
“Unless,” Floyd added, “it’s still wherever Aaron stopped at Round Lake.”
Floyd took the phone book out of the drawer and flipped through the pages until he located the name he was seeking. He dialed the number and waited.
“Who are you calling?” Mary asked.
Floyd put a finger into the air. “Hi, Alex, this is Floyd Swenson. I talked to Karen a couple days ago about some pictures we found on Ken’s camera — the one she sold at the garage sale. It’s caused us to reopen the investigation into Aaron Roberts’ disappearance, and I’m trying to track down some loose ends. Several people have mentioned Ken’s military knife and I was wondering if it was among Ken’s gear when you went through it?”
Floyd put his hand over the receiver and said, “He doesn’t remember it, but he’s asking Karen.”
“Yeah, Alex, it was the long knife with saw teeth on the backside.” Floyd listened again, and then said, “Thanks for checking. I’ll let you know if we turn up anything.”
“There wasn’t a knife in either the stuff Ken left behind, or in the gear the Army shipped back to them after the accident so that matches Kathy’s story about Ken not returning to the scene.”
“Kathy told us,” Pam explained to Mary, “that she’d used the knife to break into the Passenger Lake cabin, so whoever has the knife was with Aaron after Kathy left.”
“Unless it was left at the cabin,” Mary suggested.
“I’ll talk to the old guy who owns the cabin again,” Floyd said. “You ask Kathy if she’s got the knife.”
“Are you kidding?” Pam asked. “There’s no way I’m talking to Kathy again after the scene at her house. I’ll talk to the old guy and you talk to Kathy.”
“I’ve got seniority,” Floyd said as he ducked out of the house and sprinted to his cruiser.
“Dammit!” Pam said. “I always get the crappy jobs no one else wants.”
Mary smiled and took a plate from Pam’s hand and wiped it. “Floyd says you’re a pretty good investigator. I suppose that finding the key clues in the crappy jobs is what solves the crimes.”
“You sound like Floyd,” Pam said with irritation. “He always recites some philosophy when I get mad.”
“Does it work?”
“Sometimes I get a gem out of his words. Most times I think he just likes to talk and I’m more polite than the guys.”
“What do the guys do?”
“They ask him if he’s been smoking evidence out of the property room.”
Mary smiled and said, “There was one thing you missed. Barb was packing up her presents and she tipped over the box with the sheer black nightgown. When she picked it up Joanne made some comment about putting spice into their wedding night. Barb told her she might have to try it out before then. That gave the women quite a laugh.”
“Poor Sandy. He’s going to get so much grief when I tell the other deputies.”
“That would be cruel.”
“Yes, it will be.” Pam punctuated the comment with a sly smile.
Floyd pulled into the driveway of the red cabin on Passenger Lake. Before he got out of the cruiser Ron Birkholz had the front door open and the three-legged cat came hopping out.
“I haven’t had this much company in the last ten years.” The owner held out his hand and said, “Glad you’re back. You were here the other day with that blonde with the goofy tattoos.”
“Hello, Mr. Birkholz.”
“C’mon in and please call me Ron.” Birkholz walked back to the cabin before Floyd could answer. “I’ve got coffee on if you’d like a cup.”
Ron poured two cups of coffee and set one in front of Floyd. “What crime we solving today?” He pushed a well-worn vinyl-covered chair back for Floyd and sat on the other side of a scarred drop-leaf table.
The inside of the cabin was Spartan. A row of pegs near the back door held a variety of jackets, rain gear, and caps. The kitchen area was small with appliances that appeared to date from the 1940s. The red linoleum floor matched the counter tops, and the open area beyond the kitchen morphed into a living room that probably had once been a porch. The threadbare furniture looked like it had been rejected from a garage sale. Large windows and French doors looked out over a deck with Adirondack chairs, and Passenger Lake beyond.
“It’s the same question,” Floyd said. “I have more information and that may lead to answers.”
“Fire away,” Birkholz said, taking apparent pleasure from the company and being the center of attention.
“We checked the rope you gave us, and it has human blood stains. After talking to a lot of folks we got someone to admit they broke in here the night the kid was tied to the tree. Was there much damage?”
“Not really. If they hadn’t left the front door unlocked and eaten a can of Spam I might never have noticed. I never even called it in because it wasn’t like I was out a lot of money or had any damage to speak of. I kinda figured some kids had been ice fishing and needed a place to warm up.”
“The girlfriend opened a window with a knife and let the injured guy in to warm up. She apparently started the furnace and put the guy into bed with an electric blanket going. When she came back the next day with bandages, the guy was gone and so were the sheets from the bed. We’re looking at a couple of possibilities: One is that the guy got warmed up and was afraid someone might come back to get him, so he stole some clothes from the cabin and walked down to your neighbor’s garage where he stole their ATV. The other is that someone other than the girlfriend came back and took the guy and the sheets with him. Can you help us nail down one or the other of those possibilities?”
“If sheets were missing, I didn’t notice. My wife used to strip the beds most times when we left for the winter, but sometimes she didn’t. By spring, I doubt that either of us would’ve noticed the missing sheets. I sure don’t remember her complaining about a set of missing sheets. As for missing clothes,” Ron pointed to the row of pegs by the door. “We keep an assortment of Goodwill-quality stuff around for the kids and grandkids when they’re here fishing. Sometimes it stays and sometimes it gets carried away. I don’t notice and care even less. He could’ve cleaned the rack off and I wouldn’t have cared a bit. I’d just go to the Goodwill store and pick up some cheap replacements.”