Bones under the ice, p.1
Bones Under the Ice, page 1
Copyright © 2023 by Mary Ann Miller
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, businesses, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-60809-537-7
Published in the United States of America by Oceanview Publishing
Sarasota, Florida
www.oceanviewpub.com
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To my family and friends Dreams really do come true
CHAPTER ONE
SHERIFF JHONNI LAURENT half-strode, half-slid down the huge pile of snow, her breath streaming out in a white plume. A February blizzard had blown through northern Indiana the night before. The gusting winds had now died, but the late morning temperature was plummeting. She glared at the pesky reporter perched at the bottom of the hill, pelting questions.
“What’s going on? What’d you find?” Ralph Howard shouted. “When can I take pictures? My deadline’s in two hours.”
“Your deadline is not my concern,” she snapped back. “The internet does not get to inform next-of-kin.”
“The kid who found the body saw a hand sticking up in the pile of snow,” Ralph Howard persisted. “Can you determine the sex or age of the victim? I need to get a few shots. I’ll hold off publication until this afternoon.”
“Absolutely not. I have no idea what’s underneath that mountain of snow or how long it’s going to take to extract the body. Get back and stay back.” Laurent pointed to the parking lot. She waited until he trudged back to his car, slammed the door, and crawled out of Webster Park’s snow-covered parking lot. As far as Laurent was concerned, freedom of the press didn’t start until after next-of-kin notification. And that was part of her job.
Tucking her long braid inside her fleece-lined jacket, Laurent climbed the pile of snow, knelt once again, the ice-crusted snow cracking under her knees. She was glad she had worn the extra layer of snow gear. She’d need the warmth and moisture protection today. Laurent leaned forward and peered at the slender frozen hand—wrist broken, fingertips resting on the icy ground. Squinting against the glare, she noted the hand was blue, not black, which meant the victim had died before severe frostbite set in. She had seen this before. Frozen extremities. Fingers, toes, top of the ears, tip of the nose—all blackened with frostbite. Old man Dawson lost both pinky fingers and the tip of his right ear rescuing a baby calf and its mother in the last blizzard.
Was there an entire body encased in the snow and ice? Laurent brushed away more snow until the frozen limb was exposed to the elbow. The victim wore a white, puffy coat and purple nail polish. Female.
Laurent swallowed and blinked away tears before they froze. In the small farming community of Field’s Crossing, Indiana, there wouldn’t be a lot of women wearing purple nail polish and certainly no one over the age of forty, possibly even thirty. So young. This was going to hurt. The family, the community, herself. And to make matters worse, today was February 2. A day she dreaded. A reminder of her failure. Exactly thirty years ago she’d given up her baby girl for adoption.
Laurent rose to her feet, head pounding. She had a nasty cold. Her head hurt and she couldn’t breathe through her nose. Every time she swallowed, shards of glass stabbed her in the throat. February in Indiana. Everyone had a cold.
She slid her sunglasses down from her forehead, stomped to her SUV, and grabbed the radio, one foot perched on the running board. “Dispatch. Get a hold of Caleb Martin. I don’t care what he’s doing or where he’s at. I want to talk to him. Send Greene and Dak out to Webster Park. Tell them to bring hand trowels, ice picks, buckets, something to kneel on, and the camera. Also, advise Henry Linville we’ll need to use his refrigerator box to thaw a body.”
“Ten-four, Sheriff.”
“Tell Ingram he’s going to have to handle everything else until we can extract the body. Call me immediately if anyone reports a missing person. Contact Starr at the village office and get her started on the welfare safety checks. Make a list of everyone who doesn’t answer. After Ingram deals with the fender benders, have him start knocking on doors. Greene and Dak should be able to give him a hand this afternoon.”
Laurent grabbed her silver Yeti from the cupholder, slammed the SUV door closed, and strode to the group of parents gathered next to an overturned picnic table. She estimated thirty children had been sledding in the park while ten adults huddled in a circle sipping coffee and chatting. She would need to be careful with what she said.
She took a sip of hot tea from the Yeti and set it in the snow next to her foot before pulling out her notebook. “Thanks for waiting, everyone. I need to get some information. First, who found the hand?”
“We did.” Two red-cheeked boys stepped out of the crowd, their mothers’ hands on their shoulders.
“I like your Spider-Man skullcap.” Laurent slid a gloved hand into her pocket and rocked back on her heels. “What’s your name?”
“Danny Gibson. My mom got it for me because I got all As and Bs on my report card.”
She lifted a hand for a high five and then nodded at the other boy hopping from foot to foot. “What’s your name? You have Batman snow pants. Awesome.”
“Tyler Hayes. Batman can beat Spider-Man every time.” He punched Danny in the arm.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“We were racing down the hill,” Danny said. “I got flipped over. I thought it was a rock, so we climbed back up to dig it out, except it wasn’t a rock.”
“I beat him down the hill,” Tyler said.
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Doesn’t count.”
Laurent picked up her thermos and sipped her hot tea and tried to hide her smile. Boys. Always trying to one-up each other. “When did you get here?”
“We’d have been here earlier, but Mom said we had to wait for Field Street to be plowed all the way to the park,” Danny said.
Danny’s mom’s breath whooshed out in a long stream. “We got here around ten, and even then, none of the side streets were plowed. What’s going on? Do you know who it is?”
“I’ll know more in a few hours. Were you the first ones to arrive?”
Four heads nodded.
“Did you see anyone leaving the park when you got here?”
Four heads shook.
“How long is it going to take to dig it out? Is it just an arm or is there a whole body buried under all that snow?” Danny asked. “Can we watch?”
“Please, Sheriff. This is so sick,” Tyler said.
“I’m sorry, boys, but no one can watch. I’m not sure what we’re going to find.” Laurent raised her voice. “Folks, I want everyone to go home. No sledding at Webster Park until I say so. Build a snow fort in your front yard. Have a snowball fight with the neighbors. If I catch anyone out here, I’ll ask Principal Li to assign detention.”
Laurent finished her hot tea as kids and parents piled their sleds into minivans and pickup trucks, then she walked to the SUV, her feet squeaking on the snow, and slid behind the wheel. Her heart ached and her eyes blurred. She had been a deputy sheriff for fifteen years before being elected sheriff and had never recovered the body of a child. Grabbing a tissue, she blew her nose. Pulling nasal spray out of her pocket, she inhaled. As she waited for the cold medicine to take effect, she popped two sinus headache pills, smeared Vaseline under her sore nose, and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. Tomorrow was her day off, and she’d been looking forward to staying in her flannel pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and robe all day, binge-watching her favorite Netflix series, The Great British Baking Show. Not anymore.
Finally able to breathe through her nose, she pulled her headband down over her ears, flipped up the hood of her parka, and switched into snowmobiling gloves. Sliding out of the front seat, she popped open the trunk and grabbed four stakes and a hammer and paced off twenty steps in all directions around the frozen limb, her back to the hand. As she pounded the stakes into the frozen ground, ice chips flying, Laurent wondered how long the body had been encased in the snow and ice and how long it was going to take to dig out. What did the snow and cold do to the body? And what kind of parents didn’t know where their daughter was?
Giving the last stake one more whack, Laurent piled snow around the bottom of it and paused to catch her breath. The entire recovery area had been trampled by sleds and boots and debris. If there were any clues as to why the body was buried here, they’d be hidden under the snow or would have been carried farther down the hill by the sleds.
Hearing the crunch of tires on the snow, Laurent glanced toward the park entrance. Caleb Martin, Public Works Director, was heading toward her in his orange county pickup—plow in front.
“What can I help you with, Sheriff?” Caleb asked as he pulled alongside the SUV and rolled down his window.
“There’s a body frozen under the snow pile. I need to retrieve it and place it in storage and to collect anything that doesn’t belong with snow and ice. Can you bring me a sheet of plywood to slide her onto?”
“Her?” One of Cal
“Purple nail polish and a white coat,” Laurent said. “I don’t suppose you keep track of where all this snow comes from? Maybe you have a wager on who can build the highest pile of snow the fastest so we can tell who built this particular mountain.”
“Wish I would have thought of that. The boys would’ve bet on it. I’ve got all the plows and dump trucks working, and we’re moving snow as fast as we can. But this might help—we’ve only cleared Field Street and Leeson Street, so all the snow will be from those two areas.”
Laurent tipped her sunglasses down and stared at him, her five-foot, ten-inch frame dwarfed by Caleb’s over six-foot one. “That’s two miles of snow. Who’s driving right now? Can you walk me through the process?”
“The quad-county area has twenty-four snowplow drivers or dump truck drivers. Most of them are in Field’s Crossing, but there’s at least one plow and one truck in every county. I can’t be in four places the morning after a heavy snowfall,” Caleb said.
“I’ll have to talk to all of the drivers assigned to Field’s Crossing.”
The sheriff and the road commissioner stopped outside the staked-out area, the yellow tape fluttering in the slight wind, the arm and broken wrist exposed.
“How many years have the dump trucks been dumping the excess snow in the park so kids can sled down the hill?” Laurent said.
“We used to toboggan here. Who’d have thought that someday I’d be building this pile.”
Wind blew Laurent’s hood off, exposing her wind-burned cheeks to the cold air. She was glad her teary eyes were hidden under her sunglasses. The snow swirled at her feet as she stood shoulder to shoulder with Caleb in quiet silence, the enormity of the task in front of her temporarily robbing her of speech. She shivered. The high temp today was going to be thirty degrees, and with the wind feel lower. The cold rarely bothered her, but being outside for the next several hours was going to take all of her strength. Mentally and physically.
Caleb cleared his throat. “Do you want me to help dig her out? I’ve got shovels in the back of my truck.”
“Thanks for the offer, but Greene and Dak are on their way. I’d like to use the back of your truck to transport her to Henry Linville’s. He’s agreed to store the body until it thaws.”
“That old hearse shouldn’t be on the roads. Let me empty out the back.” Caleb walked to his truck. “Before I go, I’ll plow out the parking lot, the entrance, and one lane on Webster Street. Back in an hour.”
“I know today’s going to be a busy one for you. When you get a minute, would you email that list to me?”
“Do you recognize her?” Laurent asked.
Deputies Mike Greene and Dak Aikens joined Laurent and the three officers knelt on both sides of the body, sifting snow handful by handful. After Caleb Martin left, she’d given herself a mental shake and banished all thoughts of what lay ahead. Right now, she needed to focus on retrieving the body without further damage and making sure she and her deputies collected any potential evidence. She was assuming this was an accident, but if it wasn’t … She shook her head. Thinking negative thoughts got her nowhere. There was nothing to indicate this wasn’t an accident—some kind of terrible, awful accident.
“No. I don’t know who she is.” Dak rose to his feet, snapped more pictures, and then ducked outside the yellow tape, aiming for a wider angle. “If we did, it would be easier to figure out why she’s here. There are no other vehicles in the parking lot. Did she walk or was she dropped off?”
“I’m betting she’s a townie,” Greene said.
Laurent shifted six inches to the right. “You’re probably right. God, this ground is cold. Knee pads would be nice.”
Deputy Mike Greene was a few years older than Laurent and had been with the sheriff’s office for thirty years. She barely beat him four years ago in the election for sheriff, and he made no attempt to hide his bitterness. Now he was running against her again. The election was a month away, and the stress brought on by the thought of another campaign battle tightened her shoulder blades and threatened a back spasm. She sat back on her heels and rolled her shoulders, face tilted to the weak morning sun.
“Do you think we can get a print off the hand?” Dak asked.
“If we try to move the fingers, they’ll snap like pretzel sticks. We’ll have to wait until she thaws.” Laurent brushed more snow off the victim’s face. “How long has she been here, do you think? She’s frozen solid and partially attached to the ice on the ground. This didn’t happen this morning. I think she’s been here for at least a day, maybe two. I wonder if Caleb did any plowing on Wednesday night before the blizzard. Was she scooped up by one of the snowplows and dumped in the park? Truckload after truckload of snow piling on top of her? Or was she already here, walking through the park, and somehow got buried under a snow drift?”
“I don’t know her, but teenagers are dumb enough to go out in a blizzard.” Deputy Mike Greene stood and kicked a pile of snow, throwing up a cloud of white. His corn-colored hair stuck straight out from under his headband. “Why in the hell can’t people die when it’s warm and sunny? Winter in Indiana sucks.”
“Farm kids are smarter than that and their parents would’ve had them home and battening down the hatches, but I’m with you. I think she’s from town.” Dak stood outside the yellow tape. “Done with that round of pictures. Now what?”
The three officers had chipped around the buried victim until a large chunk of snow and ice with the entire body embedded broke loose. The young girl lay with her knees tucked under her chin, right hand propped up, the broken wrist stiff. Tiny ice crystals had formed in the corners of her eyes, and her eyelashes were frozen to her cheeks. The long bangs were brittle. A pink skullcap was perched on the back of her head—part of it frozen into the ice. A scarf was wrapped around her neck, a few strands of hair caught in the teeth of the coat zipper, and her ripped blue jeans were tucked into ankle-high Rockport boots, the laces loosened.
“She looks like she’s sleeping,” Laurent said. “Like she had no idea what was happening.”
“How can you fall asleep outside when there’s a blizzard raging?” Greene snorted.
“Sleeping pills.”
“Suicide?” Dak’s large gloved hands balled up.
“Please, dear God, no.” Laurent scooped up a handful of snow, packed it into a snowball, and hurled it. “We’re not jumping to any conclusions. First, we need to find out who she is. I’m going to search for a cell phone. It may be somewhere in the snow, but let’s hope it’s in her pocket.”
Laurent slid her hand into the pocket of the white coat. No phone. She patted the pant leg of the torn jeans. No phone. She brushed a strand of the victim’s hair, the brittle pink breaking into several pieces. She held up a hand. “I’m waiting. I don’t want to break any bones or snap off any more hair searching for a cell phone that may or may not be on her person. We’ve done everything we can for now.” She pushed to her feet, the warmth of her breath creating a cloud of white in the frigid air.
“I hate to state the obvious, but she’s got no signs of frostbite,” Dak said. “Even through the camera lens, I didn’t see any. But, look at this.” He handed the camera to Laurent.
She thumbed through several shots, raised both eyebrows at the observant deputy, and crossed over to the girl’s head. Bending over, she peered closely at the side of the head. “Shit. I see what you mean.” She handed the camera back to Dak. “The autopsy will determine the cause of death. For now, we’re going to treat this as an unfortunate accident. We’re not going to speculate and rile up the community with talk of suicide or murder. That round indentation in the side of her head could be anything.”
“You think she was killed?” Greene said. “That’s crazy. She’s a stupid high school girl who got caught where she shouldn’t be and paid the price. For all we know, that’s a birth defect.” The belligerent deputy stamped his feet and muttered under his breath.
Laurent glared at her deputy. “Let Dr. Creighton do his job. Keep your opinion to yourself until he can perform the autopsy.”
“How are we going to move the body?” Dak asked.
“Caleb Martin’s bringing a sheet of plywood. We’ll slide her on and he’ll drive her to Henry Linville’s to thaw.” A horn sounded from the park entrance, and Laurent waved the road commissioner over. “Here he is now.”
