Ivan became paralyzed by what his eyes told him.
He wasn’t immediately sure what he was seeing. He wasn’t a Chicago homicide detective. Luckily, Angus McCoy was.
Ivan didn’t recognize murder when he saw it. Luckily McCoy knew what he was seeing when he looked at the scene of a homicide.
The feet didn’t tell him how the man in the tent died. The feet and a fire spread so it would burn out of control indicated a killer with a plan. McCoy’s plan, if he wanted to solve the murder, was to preserve the scene for a thorough investigation. “I’m a Chicago homicide detective, Ivan. Listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you,” McCoy said, once Dylan retreated behind him. “Don’t move until I instruct you to do so.”
McCoy moved over to the tent. With two fingers he pulled back the tent flap to look inside. He knelt to reach inside the tent to make sure the vic was deceased. Once he established that, he stood and took in his surroundings. He studied what was now a crime scene. It’s what he was accustomed to doing. Even the smoke and poor lighting didn’t discourage him, although he’d be able to get a better look once the fire was put out. What he saw now might make a difference later.
Ivan managed to slow the fire down. He heard the firefighters on their way to put out the fire. The only thing Ivan could do at this point was contaminate the crime scene. He couldn’t put the fire out. McCoy had the usual questions.
Who was he?
Why was he killed, and who had a motive as well as the opportunity to kill him?
These were important questions, because most murders were carried out by someone who knew the victim. You started an investigation with the people closest to the vic. You moved outward from there to establish a reason someone might want him dead.
McCoy worked hundreds of homicides in Chicago over the years. The killer always left evidence behind. His job was to find it. Even on vacation, McCoy had the irresistible urge to investigate. Things he observed now might be important to the case and the man or men who would conduct this murder investigation.
His first job was to secure a crime scene. If there was evidence, it might be lost if someone disturbed the scene. Even with a fire burning around them, the scene needed to be preserved as is.
McCoy took note of the sirens he heard in the distance. Help was on the way. He’d seen everything he could see until there was more daylight and less smoke.
McCoy thought about being in small-town America. The quality of the investigation depended on the quality of the investigator. He’d seen Sheriff Davis in action. Odds were he wasn’t capable of doing a thorough investigation.
What McCoy discovered before the sheriff arrived could make a big difference in the case being solved. Sheriff Davis didn’t seem secure enough to want or accept outside help. This was his turf. He’d want to protect his turf from outsiders. McCoy might be all wet, but he didn’t think so.
Ivan stared at McCoy. He could hear the sirens and they were close. He put out the fire around the tent but the underbrush had caught by then. The fire was spreading among the trees. He’d let the fire department take care of it. He hoped it was before the campground burned to the ground. Ivan stood across from McCoy and watched his contemplative reaction to what he saw inside the tent. Ivan didn’t need to see inside the tent. He was still working on the affable camper on 9, who just revealed his true identity.
Ivan hadn’t seen anything but smoke hovering over the site when he got there. He went to work trying to put out the fire. Once McCoy arrived, he drew Ivan’s attention to the problem. Ivan was sure the fire was the problem, but the bare feet were the problem.
Ivan waited for McCoy to speak. He didn’t know what else to do.
“Ivan, move onto the path, please. This is a crime scene. You need to leave as little evidence of your presence as possible. Try not to step on footprints that are already here,” McCoy said, his eyes sweeping the campsite for anything that stood out.
“You’re lucky I found the body. In my experience, being front and center in a homicide investigation, in a place like this, isn’t a good move. Small town justice can be long on small and short on justice.”
“He couldn’t have died of a heart attack?” Ivan asked.
“Heart failure would be my bet,” McCoy said.
Ivan was confused.
“How’s that homicide?”
Ivan looked at the feet sticking out of the tent. It didn’t tell him anything. No one sleeps through a fire four feet away, unless he sleeps the sleep of the dead. Ivan had no trouble believing the guy was dead.
What Ivan didn’t know, and McCoy didn’t reveal, was that there was the handle of a knife sticking out of the man’s chest. Homicide detectives weren’t in the habit of telling people of interest the details about the crime. The killer would know the cause of death. He’d know heart failure occurred when he put the knife in his heart.
He was almost positive Ivan didn’t know about the knife. He watched Ivan discover the feet a minute after he did. You can’t fake being surprised. Ivan saw the feet, realizing no one sleeps through that kind of commotion.
McCoy felt guilty including Ivan among the possible suspects, but everyone in and around the murder scene when the police arrived was treated as a suspect until they could be excluded. He was sure Ivan would be excluded.
Ivan had access to all the campsites. That gave him opportunity. Now, if he had a motive, the case would be practically solved. Access and motive were big factors in who did a crime like this.
McCoy let his mind meander over the possibilities. Having been around Ivan for the past several weeks, McCoy knew Ivan didn’t kill anyone. Could Ivan kill? To protect his son, or Clay, he was capable of killing someone. McCoy was a keen judge of character. He wasn’t in the habit of falling in with a potential villain.
At one time, he’d have absolutely, positively, ruled Ivan out. Eliminating someone as a suspect narrowed the search. Ruling someone out as the perpetrator was just as important as nailing the perpetrator to the wall. You did that with the evidence.
The knife had been plunged into the center of the man’s chest. The placement of the knife indicated to McCoy that he died instantly and didn’t cry out in the night, but in this environment, one cry might be a bird or some wild creature that took charge of the night.
Homicide was McCoy’s business. He was paid to know murder. He noticed that the body was warm, and the killer wasn’t far away. He was likely on his way back to where he came from. He would be driving under the speed limit and he’d be driving with care. Once he hit the nearest expressway, he’d feel safe. No one could prove where he came from or where he was going, once he joined the traffic.
Clues didn’t glow or blink red. They were found by careful scrutiny. Everything he needed to solve the crime was right here at the crime scene. McCoy had minutes before Sheriff Davis took the helm. McCoy would offer to assist him. He’d be refused and then McCoy would wait for a prosecutor to be assigned to the case, and he’d come forward to tell that man what he knew.
McCoy used his eyes to search. It wasn’t his job to uncover things out of order or something the killer may have inadvertently left behind. Even the best killers left clues.
Murder was a messy business.
McCoy was annoyed when Ivan interrupted his observations.
“The fire is getting out of hand, McCoy. I don’t want the woods to burn. It ruins the idea of a wilderness site,” Ivan explained.
“Ivan, the condition of this wilderness site is the least of your worries at the moment. This guy had the misfortune to die on your turf. I can hear the fire engine. They’ll have the fire out in no time.”
Ivan thought the way most men might think in conditions like these. There were no thoughts of his future, or of the past he put behind him. There was a fire and he wanted to put it out.
Harry hadn’t called Ivan yet. There had been no time. He would call Ivan today.
It was already too late.
Ivan’s future was decided before the meeting with the director. Harry was told as much, even if he didn’t quite catch the meaning in the words of a man who had the power to do whatever he liked, and neither a Chicago homicide detective nor a US Senator could stop it now. Ivan’s fate was in the disturbing winds the director brought to Harry’s office with him. This fire could only be put out by one man.
“I could just throw some more water on the tent so it doesn’t catch fire,” Ivan said, wanting to do something.
“No, you can’t. Stay where you are. I do this for a living and this is going to get messy before it’s over. The local sheriff will want to haul someone’s ass in to prove he’s on the job. Your footprints are all over the place. An investigator is going to want to know why. I can tell them why, because I saw you try to put out the fire. After your footprints are explained, the investigator will look for a motive and also opportunity. As for opportunity, the guy is camping a hundred feet from your front door. You see where I’m going here? Like it or not, you’re involved. Let the firemen do their job and you stay out of it. I know what I’m talking about. You need to listen to me.”
“I believe you,” Ivan said. “I’ll stay out of it.”
Ivan looked at the fire and he felt the heat.
A minute later the fire engines screeched to a halt on the road a few hundred feet away. There was commotion as men were immediately rolling out hose and heading into the woods.
“Go back to the shop. I’ll be there once I take care of this. Don’t talk about the body to Dylan. He doesn’t need to know anything. The less he knows the better off he is. Do you understand, Ivan? Your kid doesn’t need to get involved. You are involved.”
“OK, thanks, McCoy. I owe you. I guess I’m a bit shaken by this,” Ivan said, feeling like he was out of his depth.
Ivan headed back toward the beach.
The trash buggy sat next to campsite 5. They needed to finish collecting the trash. He wasn’t ready to get back to it. He walked to the shop. McCoy coughed and stood fast. He found the body. As a homicide detective, even while he’s on vacation, he knows to stay put until the man who would work the case arrives, even if that man was a cowboy who worried more about his image than protecting anyone.
McCoy knew where he was and while he had nothing at all to do with the goings on at the cove, the sheriff probably wasn’t acclimated to homicide. If he could get him going in the right direction, that’s the most he could hope for, but he knew men like Sheriff Davis. He’d immediately see McCoy as a threat to him.
The sheriff would be there before McCoy could do a thorough search in the daylight. He watched as the firemen knocked down the fire in about five minutes, once they rolled out the hoses.
Ivan kissed Clay’s cheek on his way to the coffee pot. He would need to tell Clay something. Dylan knew about the fire, not the body.
“Aren’t we quiet this morning,” Clay said. “I nearly get run over by the only two fire trucks anywhere near the cove. You come in, and you don’t have anything to say about it?”
“Yeah, Dad, what’s going on? Why’d McCoy run me off? I just wanted to help you.”
“Haven’t I been close to enough fires for this month?” Ivan said. “There’s a fire on wilderness 2. The fire department is putting it out, and I needed a cup of coffee. End of story.”
“Where’s McCoy? I thought he lived here,” Clay said.
“Did you know he was a cop? McCoy? He’s schmoozing with the men in uniform. I needed a cup of coffee.”
Ivan picked up the registry. He turned it around to look for who Tag put on wilderness 2.
“Did you know he was a homicide detective?” Ivan asked more assertively this time.
“He may have mentioned it,” Clay said coyly.
“He’s a what?” Dylan asked.
“He says he’s a homicide detective,” Ivan said.
“How did that come up?” Clay asked, already suspecting that more was going on than Ivan was telling him.
“I can’t say,” Ivan said.
“You can’t say a lot this morning, My love. I guess I’ll take my kid to school and go do some work. Tag will be here as soon as his mama calls to tell him there’s a commotion at the cove,” Clay said.
Clay stood, leaned across the gigantic mahogany desk to kiss Ivan’s cheek.
Ivan watched his men leave. They’d want to know why he didn’t tell them about the body on wilderness
2. Tag burst through the front door in full stride.
“What’s up, Boss? Mama called and said the fire trucks were at the shop. She saw the smoke from
Harry’s kitchen.”
“You must have passed Clay and Dylan. They just left. What did they tell you?”
“There’s a fire on wilderness 2. I saw the fire trucks.”
“There’s a fire on wilderness 2. The firemen are putting it out.”
“You rented wilderness 2 to Lib Samon?”
“Freaky dude, Boss. Bald as a cueball. Big black bushy beard. I couldn’t take my eyes off that beard. I thought for sure something might jump out of that beard, Boss. I put him on wilderness 2. He asked for wilderness 1. I put a nice couple there the day before. They left yesterday. I haven’t seen the dude with the beard since I put him on wilderness 2. Don’t hurt my feelings none. Freaky dude, Boss.”
“He asked for wilderness 1?” Ivan asked. “He must have been here before. He won’t be here again.”
“He started the fire?” Tag asked. “I had the feeling I’d seen the guy before. Scary dude. I’d have remembered that beard, though. That was one hellacious beard, Boss.”
“No, he didn’t start the fire. He’s lying over at wilderness 2 dead as roadkill,” Ivan said.
“He’s dead?”
“Very,” Ivan said. “Don’t say anything. Did you know McCoy is a homicide detective?”
“McCoy? No. The guy who drinks coffee with us every morning? No, he’s too kewl to be a cop, Boss. He’s a regular guy. McCoy?”
“Says he’s a cop. Acts like he’s a cop. He’s over there waiting for the sheriff, that’s what I figure. Says I want to steer clear. My footprints are all over the place. I tried to put the fire out. Didn’t see the body. McCoy was right on it. If he isn’t a homicide detective, he gave a good impression of one. He ran me off and said to stay here. The trash buggy is on the beach. I’m only half done with the trash.”
After the firemen knocked down the fire, the most senior member of the crew stepped onto wilderness 2 and faced McCoy.
“I thought Ivan might be here,” the older man said. “We were just here last week and here we are again. I’m Chief Boyle. And who are you?”
“I’m Angus McCoy, homicide detective for the Chicago Police Department.”
The fireman smiled. The words amused him in some way.
“You’re what?” he asked with a friendly demeanor about him.
It was about that time that the chief’s eyes settle on the motionless feet sticking out of the tent.
“He’s dead?”
“Yes, he’s quite dead. I told them to call 9-1-1. I see they sent your fire trucks. I don’t suppose they’d send the sheriff?”
“Oh, no, they didn’t call Sheriff Davis this time of morning. He comes on at eight. The only way he’d answer a call for a fire, is if his house was the one burning. Do you want me to radio for him? He’d really be pissed off,” the fire chief said, looking at his watch. “At six forty-five in the morning.”
“Someone besides me needs to see this body. I’m willing to hang around and offer some pointers, but I have no authority here. The medical examiner needs to be called too.”
“You’re saying he didn’t die of natural causes? No smoke inhalation or something of that nature?” the chief asked.
“He was murdered?” McCoy said. “Take my word for it.”
“Sheriff Davis isn’t going to like this,” the chief said. “He’s not going to like this at all.”
“The dead guy in the tent didn’t like it much either, but he’s still dead, and the sheriff needs to take charge of the crime scene.”
“I’ll be more than happy to radio the night deputy. He can call the sheriff. Not something I’m going to do.”
The chief was somewhere between amused and concerned when he left wilderness 2.
McCoy stood guard while he waited for the sheriff.
It took another half hour for the sheriff to arrive at the Cove Dive, Surf, and Bait Shop. The bell over the door jangled as Sheriff Davis stepped inside.
“Why is it, every time I get a call to come to the cove, I find you in the middle of whatever is going on?” Sheriff Davis asked.
“Nice seeing you too, Gerry. How’s it hanging?”
“Do you know what time it is?” the sheriff asked.
“I see by the old clock on the wall, it’s 7:17,” Ivan said.
The sheriff looked around for a clock, but then realized he was being had.
“I didn’t come here to listen to you wax poetic. Why am I here? I was sound asleep. My deputy called. ‘See the man at the cove,’ You’re the only man at the cove who I know might need the sheriff. Why am I here?”
“I’ll play along. Why are you here, Gerald?” Ivan asked.
“What’s going on, Aleksa? I’m not on duty until eight. They told me I should see the man at the cove.”
“Yes, well, there is a guy on Wilderness 2 who’ll explain it. I just collect the trash,” Ivan said.
“Give me a hint. What is this about?” the sheriff asked.
“There was a fire on wilderness 2. The fire trucks left ten minutes ago. I don’t feel comfortable saying anything else. If you’ll go out this door, walk on the beach past wilderness 1, you’ll see where the fire was burning on wilderness 2. A guy named McCoy is waiting for you there. He’ll explain the situation to you. Anything I say wouldn’t help you a bit.”
“Was the fire arson? There’s been more than one arson since you came back, Aleksa.”
“That’s an interesting question,” Ivan said. “I can’t say.”
“I’ve seen fires before. I’ll stay here and drink some coffee. You don’t act like you’re serious,” the sheriff said. “Who’s McCoy?”
“That’s an interesting question, too. You need to talk to him. I’m not sure what’s going on, but he’s a cop. He’ll explain it,” Ivan said.
“A cop is waiting on wilderness 2?”
“Yes, from Chicago and he got here before you. Did I mention the body on wilderness 2? I think that’s the problem,” Ivan said.
“A body? A dead body? Did he burn up in the fire?” the sheriff said. “Why didn’t you tell me that right off?”
“McCoy, the cop from Chicago, sort of took charge of the body. I don’t want to say anything that disagrees with his assessment of the situation, Gerald. He wants to talk to you about the body, since you’re the sheriff here.”
“What are you looking at?” the sheriff barked at Tag.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Tag said, resting his chin on his palm as he leaned on the counter top.
“No one said anything about a body,” the sheriff objected. “I’m the sheriff. Why wasn’t I told about it before?”
“I don’t know what anyone else told you. I’m telling you, there’s a body on wilderness 2. I’m not prepared to say anything else,” Ivan said. “I’m getting a headache, Gerald. Please go to wilderness 2.”
“McCoy just happens to be passing by? He’s watching the body no one bothered to mention to me?” the sheriff asked.
“I don’t think it’s going anywhere, but that’s about the size of it.”
“Come on, Aleksa. Show me where?” the sheriff ordered. “This sounds like a practical joke to me. You better not be putting me on. You’re coming with me.”
The sheriff turned toward the door before turning to point a finger at Tag.
“You’re staying here,” he bellowed.
“Yes, Sir,” Tag said, not quite sure what he was agreeing to.
Ivan stood on the path at wilderness 2. Sheriff Davis did his usual John Wayne walk onto wilderness 2. Two firemen were standing next to the fire pit looking at the bare feet sticking out of the tent.
McCoy watched the sheriff coming toward him.
“You found the body?” the sheriff asked McCoy.
“Yes, I’m Detective Angus McCoy, homicide, Chicago PD.”
“You just happened to be passing through? A little off your beat, aren’t we?” the sheriff asked. “What are those two doing?”
“Chief Boyle left us here in case the fire flared up. Once we came to this point, he,” the fireman pointed at McCoy, “told us to stay put.”
“Why do you have them standing around here?”
“Their footprints. Ivan was here trying to put the fire out. I saw the fire and alerted him to it. The smoke obscured the visibility. As he put water on the fire, that’s when the smoke cleared enough for me to see the guy’s feet. I told Ivan to back away, because of the possible footprint evidence. Now that you know these guys have also been on the site, you can eliminate their footprints as evidence. Otherwise, the crime scene hasn’t been disturbed ” McCoy explained.
“Why are you here?” Sheriff Davis asked McCoy.
“Can we move now?” the same fireman asked.
“Go. Go,” Sheriff Davis said while flicking his wrist at them. “You were telling me how it is you’re here?”
“Vacationing. I have coffee with Ivan in the morning, after he picks up the trash. I was walking a few dozen feet behind the trash buggy, when I saw the smoke. I ran toward the fire. They were on the beach, Ivan and his son. Ivan told Dylan to go to the shop, dial 9-1-1, and wait there. Ivan worked at putting out the fire. I saw the body. I calculated he wasn’t sleeping. I pulled back the tent flap,” McCoy said, turning back the tent flap for the sheriff to see inside.
Both McCoy and the sheriff looked in at the body with a substantial knife sticking out of his chest.
“You check his pulse?” Sheriff Davis asked, needing to say something.
“I knew he was dead. The placement of the knife told me that. He didn’t react to what was going on around him. Yes, I felt for a pulse. That’s routine, but I’ve seen vics who looked dead and weren’t. He was dead. His body was warm. I’d estimate he hadn’t been dead an hour. Your medical examiner can decide for himself. I immediately told Ivan to go to the shop and wait for you there. I stayed put.”
“Did he see the body?” the sheriff asked, indicating Ivan.
“He saw the feet, once I stopped him from doing anything else that could contaminate the crime scene. I heard the fire trucks and he wasn’t doing that much good. The firemen had it out in ten minutes.”
Ivan heard every word and he agreed with most of it. McCoy talked loudly so he would hear his version of what took place.
“Tell me again, why’d you make Ivan leave?”
“As you can appreciate, it’s a crime scene. He was putting his footprints all over it,” McCoy said.
“There could be footprints from the perp. You can eliminate prints made by the firemen and Ivan, and the vic, of course. Any other print will likely belong to our killer,” McCoy said. “I’ll be here for a few more days before we, my wife and I, return to Chicago. I’ll assist in any way you think is helpful, as a professional courtesy.”
“I do appreciate that. I think I can handle it from here,” the sheriff said.
Sheriff Davis held the tent flap back now, as McCoy stepped aside. Putting the upper half of his body inside the tent, he felt for a pulse. He backed out of the tent.
“For my report,” he explained, sounding officious. “He’s dead. Body’s cold. He died sometime last night.”
McCoy heard every word. He thought to himself, this clown doesn’t have a clue.
McCoy said nothing else. He had the urge to make a comment about the guy being dead, but he didn’t. The sheriff might decide he needed help. Creating bad blood between them served no purpose.
“He was still warm when I found him. I checked the skin to determine how long he’d been dead. As you can see, rigor is just now setting in, which indicates he’s been dead for about two hours. I found the body about an hour ago. He was killed between five and six.”
“Oh, yeah,” the sheriff said. “Ivan, who is this guy?”
“Tag registered him Sunday evening. I didn’t see him. Name’s Lib Samon. Tag called him unusual. Bald head, big beard.”
“What’s his name?” the sheriff asked.
“The register said, ‘Lib Samon.’ I checked as soon as I left here.”
“Phony,” McCoy said. “Might be an anagram. That’s not someone’s name, although you have a lot of strange folks that might make up a moniker like that. He looks the type.”
“How do you know that?” Sheriff Davis asked with curiosity in his voice.
“I’ve been a cop for a long time. I know a phony moniker when I hear one,” McCoy said. “That isn’t the name his mama gave him.”
“Which means?” Ivan asked.
“There’s a reason. I don’t know if it has anything to do with him getting himself killed, but it could figure into the equation. People change their names to become invisible; sometimes to separate themselves from an inconvenient past.”
“It’s the name he wrote on the registry. Each guest signs his own name. That way I know the proper spelling.”
“He’ll have a car, won’t he?” the sheriff asked. “I’ll need to look his car over for clues.”
“I don’t know which one is his. He had to drive here. Where would he walk from?” Ivan asked. “Tag might have seen his car. It’s probably on the lot next to the entrance to the Conservancy.”
“Ivan, take a look. See if you recognize him. You don’t mind looking at a dead body, do you?”
“No. Gerry, I’ve seen bodies before,” Ivan said, holding back the tent flap to gaze inside.
McCoy watched Ivan’s face. He looked for any sign of recognition. As he calculated, there was no sign he knew the guy.
“His mother wouldn’t recognize him. Bald head and enough hair on his face to qualify for shearing,” Ivan said. “I don’t know the guy,” Ivan said, dropping the flap. “I’ve never seen him before.”
Ivan hesitated and turned back to pick up the flap again.
“There’s something familiar about his features. He might have been here before. Not looking like that, but without the beard,” Ivan said, dropping the flap again.
“We can go ask Tag what he noticed about Mr. Lib Samon,” the sheriff said.
Ivan was trying to picture the body without the beard. “I know this guy,” Ivan said after a long silence.
He went to the tent and held back the flap a third time.
Angus McCoy’s and Sheriff Davis’s eyes were on Ivan now as he looked at the corpse.