saw a manila file that deserved to be tossed in the garbage, he saw a person, someone he had treated through good times and difficult times in their life. He saw their family, he saw their signature on a check, he saw the venison chops they used for barter when funds were low. His dental files were not just files, they were tokens of the profession that he had loved.
However he may have disappointed Mary Lee as a husband, he had rarely disappointed a patient. He had been a very good dentist.
So he had conspired with Ray to have the tall oak file cabinets, each drawer holding the original files and dividers, delivered on a day when Mary Lee was on a day trip with her bridge club. Working fast, they had put up sheet rock at the very back of the garage—right behind the area where he stored the snow blower, lawn equipment, outboard motor, canoe and gas grill during the winter months.
A few days later, they were able to cut a doorway into the attached shed that he used for cleaning fish. Since Mary Lee alleged she could smell fish guts just walking by the shed windows, there was minimal risk she would violate his space: the files were safe. And—since he had met Lew and been deputized to take over whenever Pecore was recovering from having been over-served or had sunk to new levels of incompetence—they had proved more valuable than he had ever expected.
Once he was on his feet, Osborne moved so fast he tripped over the dog. Mike reared up, eyes curious and tail thumping on the floor. He needed out.
Fine, an excellent excuse to check for Abe’s file right now. He pulled on his robe and headed for the back door. It was three in the morning with a soft rain falling. So what if he got his feet wet? Lew was expecting him for the morning meeting with Bruce from the Wausau Crime Lab and who knows what he might find. Or not.
CHAPTER 17
B ruce Peters and Osborne pored over the yellowing dental chart, shoulders touching as they stood side by side in the morgue at St. Mary’s Hospital. This wasn’t the first time they had worked together in the hospital’s morgue, the use of which would be billed to the Loon Lake Police Department on an hourly basis.
“Looks pretty damn good to me,” said the young forensic specialist. He turned raised eyebrows to Osborne.
Osborne swore Bruce spent his life with his eyebrows raised: in query, in joking, in sheer wonderment over women and fish. A year ago, he’d discovered fly fishing and the love of his life simultaneously (the girl of his dreams had spotted him in the Prairie River taking a casting lesson from Lew and decided right then that she would marry him)—upon which he took to badgering Lew on both subjects.
She answered the fishing questions, but when he puzzled over his newfound love life she would give a sly grin and pass him off to Osborne—who was no help whatsoever and suspected he was being set up.
At first Osborne had resented the younger man, seeing him as an interloper siphoning off too much of Lew’s time and possibly flirting. After all, if Osborne was dazzled by her skills in the trout stream—and constantly amazed at the effect her dark eyes had on him—wouldn’t every man feel that way? Would age make a difference?
But after working together on a tough murder case the previous winter, he came to see Bruce as a big, friendly mutt of a guy: nerdy, skilled and quite competent. A distinct improvement over the general arrogance of the other Wausau boys who were addicted to making dumb jokes about women in law enforcement.
More important, he was eager to barter forensic expertise for tips on the art of fly fishing. Now that Lew did appreciate, even if it meant dealing with a tsunami of questions having little to do with the investigation at hand.
“Sure, Chief Ferris, I can handle the forensics on that break-in,” Bruce would say, only to follow with, “if you promise to tell me what might be hatching on the Elvoy tomorrow night … Oh, and which of these
However he may have disappointed Mary Lee as a husband, he had rarely disappointed a patient. He had been a very good dentist.
So he had conspired with Ray to have the tall oak file cabinets, each drawer holding the original files and dividers, delivered on a day when Mary Lee was on a day trip with her bridge club. Working fast, they had put up sheet rock at the very back of the garage—right behind the area where he stored the snow blower, lawn equipment, outboard motor, canoe and gas grill during the winter months.
A few days later, they were able to cut a doorway into the attached shed that he used for cleaning fish. Since Mary Lee alleged she could smell fish guts just walking by the shed windows, there was minimal risk she would violate his space: the files were safe. And—since he had met Lew and been deputized to take over whenever Pecore was recovering from having been over-served or had sunk to new levels of incompetence—they had proved more valuable than he had ever expected.
Once he was on his feet, Osborne moved so fast he tripped over the dog. Mike reared up, eyes curious and tail thumping on the floor. He needed out.
Fine, an excellent excuse to check for Abe’s file right now. He pulled on his robe and headed for the back door. It was three in the morning with a soft rain falling. So what if he got his feet wet? Lew was expecting him for the morning meeting with Bruce from the Wausau Crime Lab and who knows what he might find. Or not.
CHAPTER 17
B ruce Peters and Osborne pored over the yellowing dental chart, shoulders touching as they stood side by side in the morgue at St. Mary’s Hospital. This wasn’t the first time they had worked together in the hospital’s morgue, the use of which would be billed to the Loon Lake Police Department on an hourly basis.
“Looks pretty damn good to me,” said the young forensic specialist. He turned raised eyebrows to Osborne.
Osborne swore Bruce spent his life with his eyebrows raised: in query, in joking, in sheer wonderment over women and fish. A year ago, he’d discovered fly fishing and the love of his life simultaneously (the girl of his dreams had spotted him in the Prairie River taking a casting lesson from Lew and decided right then that she would marry him)—upon which he took to badgering Lew on both subjects.
She answered the fishing questions, but when he puzzled over his newfound love life she would give a sly grin and pass him off to Osborne—who was no help whatsoever and suspected he was being set up.
At first Osborne had resented the younger man, seeing him as an interloper siphoning off too much of Lew’s time and possibly flirting. After all, if Osborne was dazzled by her skills in the trout stream—and constantly amazed at the effect her dark eyes had on him—wouldn’t every man feel that way? Would age make a difference?
But after working together on a tough murder case the previous winter, he came to see Bruce as a big, friendly mutt of a guy: nerdy, skilled and quite competent. A distinct improvement over the general arrogance of the other Wausau boys who were addicted to making dumb jokes about women in law enforcement.
More important, he was eager to barter forensic expertise for tips on the art of fly fishing. Now that Lew did appreciate, even if it meant dealing with a tsunami of questions having little to do with the investigation at hand.
“Sure, Chief Ferris, I can handle the forensics on that break-in,” Bruce would say, only to follow with, “if you promise to tell me what might be hatching on the Elvoy tomorrow night … Oh, and which of these
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