Ice Lake: A gripping crime debut that keeps you guessing until the final page

“We’re not buying crack?”

“His car’s not there. Come on, I’ll treat you to the finest potato pancakes in north-east Pennsylvania.”

They exited pothole city and swung onto Main Street. Trooper Cirba drove slowly as he texted something on his cell phone. Here the town looked every bit like the Pocono Mountain dream that real estate agents and holiday home builders put on the front of their brochures. All the buildings on Main Street were old-school wood and painted the same brick red. There was a quaint hardware store, the kind you could imagine buying nails by the pound, that outside had a display of weathervanes. There was a fruit and vegetable stand laid out so pretty that it looked like a postcard. Next to that was a sporting goods store and then a pizza shop. It all had that mid-Atlantic rustic charm that made city slickers sigh.

The Oaktree Diner was at the end of the street. Harry and Trooper Cirba entered and walked to a booth in the back. A 70-year-old guy with a grey beard and a matching grey braided ponytail said: “Uh oh, it’s the fuzz.”

Cirba reacted with a tolerant smile.

The Oaktree Diner was one of those small-town American diners with so many items on their menu it made you wonder if the cook was an eleven-armed alien.

A middle-aged, tired but friendly waitress plonked down two ice waters and filled their coffee cups while saying: “Hiya, Ed, who’s your friend?”

“Darlene, this is Harry. Harry, Dar—”

“He calls us all Darlene in here,” the waitress said cutting him off. “I’m Sue.”

“Pleased to meet you, Sue.”

“So, is Ed here buying you a last meal before he hauls you off to jail?”

“I came because I heard you have the best potato pancakes in the Commonwealth.”

“Well that’s no lie. Anything else?”

“He’ll have the meatloaf,” Cirba said.

“Apparently, I’m also having the meatloaf.”

“Now don’t let him push you around, sweetie, just ’cause he wears one of those funny hats. You have whatever you like.”

“I will have the meatloaf,” Harry said returning the menu.

“Same for me,” the trooper echoed.

“Comin’ right up.”

After she had left Harry said: “You gonna let her diss the hat like that.”

“She’ll have a parking ticket on her car in the morning.”

Harry laughed. “If you hadn’t taken me to that other part first, I would have said this place was perfect small-town America.”

“Used to be. Not anymore.”

“You grow up around here?”

“Yeah, well, about thirty miles west. Around here, that’s next door.”

“You sure you’re not just being nostalgic about your childhood?”

“Oh, no, there’s been a real demographic change. With the rise of the Internet, lots of the financial types can work mostly from home. If they have to go to Wall Street it’s only two hours away. That commute is too much for every day but once or twice a week it’s manageable. People often moved here because their children in New York and New Jersey were falling in with bad kids. Problem is that a lot of the bad kids were actually their own children. Now we have the bad kids. These days we got tons of drugs up here we never had before, and we’ve even got gangs. There are kids wearing colours at the high school in Hilltop.”

“Like Sharks and Jets?”

“More like Crisps and Bloods.”

“Sounds bad.”

“It is. Maybe it’ll settle down, but at the moment people don’t know how to cope.”

Lunch arrived and even though it most certainly would not have made the American Heart Association’s recommended menu, it was awfully delicious.

As Cirba pushed away his plate with a satisfied sigh, Harry said: “I thought you were on a diet?”

“I’m on a diet when Mrs Cirba is cooking. The less I eat of her food the better.”

“So I can’t mention to your wife about Nirvana or that you eat lunch at the Oaktree Diner?”

“You wanna get found in the woods like Big Bill?” Cirba’s phone beeped. He checked the text, then opened his wallet and threw money on the table. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Feather.”

Back in the squad car Harry asked: “Who or what is Feather?”

“Feather’s the pothead that wasn’t home before. Officer Barowski just texted me to say he was back in town.”

“Interesting name, Feather.”

“It’s short for his nickname from when he was young – Featherbrain. Strangely, he likes the moniker enough to have it tattooed on his neck.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“You know, a lot of people live up here because they want a simple life, and that’s all well and good, but there is a minority who are here because they are just simple. Feather is part of that – more tattoos than teeth brigade. Prepare yourself.”

* * *

They parked on the street and Harry jogged three paces behind Trooper Cirba as he walked up Feather’s driveway. Inside the house, what sounded like a pack of wolves went ballistic. Venetian blinds parted enough for a peek and then closed.

“Feather,” Cirba shouted. “I don’t have a warrant. I just want to talk.”

“How come you told him you don’t have a warrant?” Harry asked quietly.

“He just saw me and is now about to flush all of his junk down the toilet. I want him to talk to me, not to be mad at me.”

The door opened a crack and half of a scrawny unshaven face appeared. “You promise, Officer Ed, you got no warrant?”

“I swear, Feather. I just want to talk.”

“’Bout what?”

“Big Bill.”

Feather’s face disappeared from the doorway. “Sheeeet, you think I killed Big Bill?”

“Did you?”

Feather’s face reappeared in the crack. “Nooooo. He was my bro’.”

“I’ll take you at your word, Feather. Can we come in and talk about it?”

“Not ’less you have a warrant. I know the law. If I let you in you can bust me for anything you see.”

“I just want to talk, Feather. I won’t see nothing. Hell, you can even smoke a joint while we talk if you like. I know we’ve had our differences but I’ve always been square with you – right?”

“That’s no lie,” Feather said, pushing the door closed and undoing the safety chain. “Not like that fuckwit Barowski. Wait here while I put the dogs away.”

They waited while Feather screamed at his baying hounds. The front door opened and Harry got his first look at the man called Feather. He was one of those guys that was probably still in his twenties but had been so tough on himself that he looked a decade older. He wore a red plaid shirt and baggy blue jeans. His hair was in the style of an unkempt Jesus, and his fingers were nicotine stains on top of home-made star tattoos.

He pushed open the screen door and said: “Entre chez Feather. Hey, can I smoke crack while we talk?”

Cirba stepped into the house and said: “Don’t push it, Feather.”

The place was neater than Harry expected.

Feather noticed the two of them looking around. “I got a cleaning lady.”

“I’m impressed,” Cirba said. “You have to give me her number.”

“You can’t afford her,” Feather said while flopping into a pink overstuffed sofa and putting his feet on the Ikea coffee table. He shrugged. “She works for dope.”

Harry and Cirba sat in matching pink armchairs.

“You’re very forthcoming.”

“Who he?” Feather said, pointing at Harry as if he had just noticed him.

“He’s with me. A trainee of sorts.”

Feather snorted out a laugh. “A troopee?”

Harry nodded.

Feather opened a drawer on one of the side tables and took out a pre-rolled joint. He looked around to see if the two cops were going to stop him. When neither did, he lit it and said: “This is fun. Well, Mr Trooper and Mr Troopee Junior, you’re obviously not here about my proclivity with controlled substances so wad’d’ya want to know?”

“Bill wasn’t a user?”

“He smoked a joint every once in a while, but who doesn’t? You’d be surprised the upstanding citizens I have dealings with.”

“So you’re saying Bill wasn’t a user?”

“If it was night-time and we were playing Cinch or somethin’, he’d smoke a joint but he’s been boring for a long time.”

“How about meth?”

“Na, he never liked that stuff. He sold a bit of weed years ago. Hey, didn’t you bust him for that?”

“Wasn’t me,” Cirba said, “but I know about it.”

“Not long after, the crystal came round and he decided he didn’t want nothin’ to do with any of it.” Feather said “crystal” with a French accent. “He wouldn’t even shift weed. When Billy got an idea in his head there was no punchin’ it out of him.”

“You known Big Bill for a long time?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, we went to Oaktree Elementary together. We hung out. In junior high we boosted a few cars together.” Feather pointed at the trooper. “That was the one you busted him for.”

Cirba nodded.

“After that, old man Thomson wouldn’t let him hang with me, but we still did. We sold a bit of weed together until his big brother found out. That time Frank and old man Thomson came round with fucking baseball bats. I thought Frankie was gonna really do my noggin’ in. Ya know? He’s a crazy fuck. The old man stopped him though.”

“So you didn’t hang out after that?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, but not much. I’d see ’um in a bar or maybe up the Horseshoe. He was friendly but our bidness days were done.”

“So you’ve had no dealings with him in how long?” Harry asked.

Feather lit another cigarette. “Not since then.”

“You haven’t sold so much as a joint to him since you were teenagers. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Absolutely.”

Harry looked to Cirba and said: “OK, I know you gave your word not to bust this clown but can we haul him in for questioning?”

“Hey,” Feather protested.

“Look, Featherbrains,” Harry said standing, “there’s a dead guy and you’re fucking lying to me. Cuff ’m, trooper, let me have him in a proper interrogation room and I’ll find out what he knows – along with the location of his meth lab if you’re interested.”

Cirba stood up and reached for his cuffs.

“Hey hey, chill. OK, OK I sold him some grass like a month ago.”

Cirba and Harry sat down again.

“What is he?” Feather said, pointing to Harry. “Some sort of fucking Jedi?”

“That just about describes him – so don’t screw with us, Feather. How much?”

“He bought an ounce.”

“Was that his usual?”

“No, I’ve been straight with you, man. He hasn’t bought nothing in years. I mean sometimes when I saw him he’d bum a joint for old times’ sake, but he wasn’t getting any shit from me.”

“So why the change?”

“He said he needed it to pay his lawyer with.”

“His lawyer?”

“That’s what the man said.”

“Why was he seeing a lawyer?”

“He wouldn’t tell me. I asked him if he was in trouble and he said on the contrary, that he was great. He said he was, ‘sorting his life out’.”

“Who was the lawyer?”

“Didn’t say. Didn’t ask.”

Cirba looked to Harry, who nodded.

“Who would know?”

“Word had it he was seeing a chick that worked down at the Dew Drop Inn.”

“A stripper?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Name?”

“I want to say Harmony.”

“Harmony what?”

“What do you mean ‘Harmony what’? How many strippers do you know got a last name?”

“Where were you Wednesday ’bout eleven?”

“Here watching the golf.”

They both gave him a sideways look.

“What? You think I’m too much of a lowlife to dig golf?”

“Anything else?”

“No, I told you everything, and that ain’t no lie.”

“Say that to him,” Cirba said, pointing to Harry.

Feather looked him straight in the eye and said: “That’s all I know.”

Harry held up his hand like he was Obi-Wan Kenobi and said: “This isn’t the meth dealer you are looking for.”

They all stood up.

“And I ain’t no meth cooker no more neither.”

“Don’t go straight on me, Feather, you’ll put me out of work.”

“It ain’t by choice. All this shake and bake shit has ruined the crystal biz.”

“Shake and bake?”

“The fucking Internet, man. Buy some drain cleaner, some Colman fuel, and a pack of lithium batteries and you can make your own meth. Fucking whole market’s collapsed. I’m gonna move to California and open a legal grass store.”

Cirba chuckled. “You will be missed, Feather.”

* * *

Back on the Five Mile Road, Cirba asked: “Was he being straight about not cooking meth anymore?”

“I’m sure he was telling the truth about that shake and bake thing, but I’m not so sure he’s not entering the priesthood soon. So it sounds to me like we’re going to a strip club tonight.”

The trooper sighed and said: “Not a word to Mrs Cirba.”

“Aw, come on. This is in the line of duty. She can’t complain about that?”

“Not a word, you hear me.”

They stopped at the Oaktree supermarket and Harry bought bachelor-pad essentials: round beef, rolls, sliced cheese, food, chips, and diet root beer. Then they stopped into the Hillside Tavern for a six pack.

“I was gonna bring you here for dinner, but if you’re lucky, MK will cook you something after floating. I’ll pick you up at 10. Wear something strip clubby-ish.”

“Hot damn,” Harry said, rubbing his palms together. “Cirba and Cull back on the town. Watch out Oaktree.”

“When you see this strip club you’ll realize that it’s you who should watch out.”

Chapter 4

The spring-fed lake was icy and Harry wished the inflatable water lounger that he found under the deck had more air in it. After unsuccessfully trying to travel feet first in the direction of the four women floating about a hundred feet out, he turned his under-inflated vessel and paddled backwards with more steam.

“You’re about halfway there,” he heard MK call. “A little more starboard, sailor.”

Harry looked over his shoulder, almost tipping himself overboard, and adjusted his trajectory. The four women were all on identical water loungers that were far more luxurious than his. Theirs had high backs and sunken cupholders in the armrests and were tied together with rope around a central floating ice chest.

A large woman with scraggly grey hair and an orange one-piece bathing suit was unceremoniously trying to untie herself from the rest. Harry heard her saying: “Well, I object.”

“That is duly noted, Helen,” MK said.

Helen produced a cute little canoe from under her legs and began to paddle angrily back to the shore. She stopped to point at Harry. “No offence but I’m not staying if you’re here.”

“How could he possibly take offence from that?” the younger woman replied.

As he watched Helen motor back to the shore, Harry asked: “Was it something I said?”

“Don’t mind her,” the oldest woman said. “Helen has social skill problems.”

“Yeah,” the blonde one said. “She doesn’t have any.”

“Now, now, Helen’s not so bad. She just doesn’t like… well, people, but I’m working on her. See, floating’s supposed to be just us girls,” MK said.

“Should I paddle back?”

“No, I invited you and if Helen doesn’t like your company then it’s her loss. Now would you like a beer, wine, or a gin and tonic?”

“I didn’t realize there was a full bar out here. I didn’t bring any money.”

“I’ll put it on your tab.”

“Beer, please.”

MK fished a beer out of the floating cooler, twisted off the cap and handed it to Harry who again almost fell in.

“Easy there, fella.”

MK pointed to the floater next to her. She was an attractive woman in her fifties with black hair peppered through with grey. “This is my biggest sister, Eileen, and this,” she said pointing to the other woman, who looked a lot like MK except for the eyes, “is my next big sister, Vicky. Harry, these are the Keller girls.”

“Ladies,” Harry said, tipping an imaginary hat.

“So, you’re the new man next door?” Eileen said, eyeing Harry as if he was for sale. “You’ll do. How long you up fur?”

“Don’t know, really.”

“Harry’s a cop. He’s investigating the shooting,” MK said.

“I’m not a cop.”

“OK, but you’re like a cop. You’re doing cop stuff with Ed.”

“I never said that.”

“Oh, give me a break, Harry. This is like the first murder in forever. Ed doesn’t have time at the moment to take you to lunch for old times’ sake – you must be working on Big Bill’s murder.”

“I guess I must be. So, did you do it?”

MK laughed. “A floating interrogation? This must be a first.”

“I find if my suspects are in bathing suits then they often have little to hide.”

“Well in that case,” Vicky said suggestively, “I guess you would prefer if we were skinny floating.”

“Since this is my first float I think we had better keep our accoutrements on.”

“‘Accoutrements’,” Eileen sang. “MK, he’s a fancy one.”

“So, who do you think killed Big Bill?”

“Oh, don’t ask Eileen,” Vicky said, “she’ll just blame it on Frank.”

“Frank Thomson?” Harry turned to Eileen. “You think his brother shot him?”

“If there is evil in the world,” Eileen said, while somehow producing a dry cigarette and lighting it with a Zippo, “then Frank is involved.”

“Oh, don’t listen to her,” MK said. “Frank’s her ex. She’ll probably blame him for 9/11 if you ask.”

“I didn’t see him on that day. Did any of you?”

“Any other suspects you can think of?” Harry asked.

“How about Vicky?” Eileen said. “She used to sleep with him.”

“Shut up,” Vicky squealed, splashing her sister and extinguishing her cigarette.

This instigated a splashing session that threatened to once again capsize the only male of the group.

“You slept with all of the Thomson boys, didn’t you?” MK added.

“You shut up too. I never slept with Frank – yuck.”

“Stop, stop,” Harry pleaded. “Hold on – is there another Thomson boy?”

“Yeah, Jonny, he was the youngest.”

“Was?”

“Car accident – you know the purple hitch-hiker?”

Harry nodded.

“He was the driver that took the arm off.”

“Shame,” Vicky said. “He was a good kid. So was Big Bill. They were both just a bit wild – and that’s no lie – like they was raised by wolves. And we know they weren’t; they grew up next door to us.”

“Where was that?”

“Right here. You’re renting the old Thomson house. Frank’s your landlord. Didn’t you know that?”

“Ah no, I didn’t.”

“Well I’m goin’ in,” Eileen said. “Thanks to Vic’ I don’t have any dry ciggies.”

“Yeah I gotta go too. It’s clam night at the Hillside.”

“Who ya meeting?” MK asked as her sisters untied themselves from the anchor line.

“What makes you think I’m meeting anybody?” Vicky said.

“’Cause you’re you.”

The sisters produced little oars just like the one Helen had and paddled back to shore as they sing-sang in unison, “Have fun, MK.”

“So that’s the Keller Sisters?”

“We’re infamous in five states.”

“I can see why.”

“You want another beer?”

The sun was getting low in the sky and didn’t have the heat that Harry would have preferred, but the lake was so beautiful and the company so delightful, he had to say yes.

“So, do you have any theories on who killed him?”

“Oh, my god,” MK said, “this really is an interrogation.”

“No, well, sorry. It’s just I like your company and I’ll have to ask you sooner or later, so I thought I’d get it out of the way now.”

“Should I have a lawyer present?”

“Does your lawyer float?”

“Yeah that is a problem. To answer your question, no. Frank is a mean asshole but a killer – naaah.”

Harry took a swig of his beer, breathed in the pine-scented breeze and watched the sun dance on the rippling water. “You ever get tired of this?”

“No, that’s the magic of the place. It stays pretty wonderful. Sure, when I was a teenager, maybe, but that was when I hated everything. Once my brain started working again I saw this place for what it was.”

“A little corner of paradise,” Harry finished then added, “and that’s no lie.”

* * *

Back on shore MK asked Harry if he wanted to get clams at the Hillside but Harry confessed that Trooper Cirba and he had a date. He counter-proposed that if MK provided the charcoal he’d barbeque. MK offered her gas grill and Harry prepared a feast of burgers and potato chips.

MK took a bite of her cheeseburger and had to lean in over the picnic table to stop ketchup from falling down her front. She wiped her chin with a paper towel and said: “I’m not going to sleep with you, you know.”

Harry choked a little bit on his burger and had to swig some beer before he could reply. “Ah, OK.”

“Well, since you wanted to get the interrogation thing out of the way I thought I would just get that clear.”

“Right well, thank you, I think. Once again – was it something I said?”

“Oh, don’t take it personally, I just don’t sleep with renters. One of my rules.”

“It’s just as well, the bed in my room is unbelievably squeaky.”

“I know.”

“And how do you know that?”

“My sister, Vicky, has no problems sleeping with renters.” MK looked sideways at Harry and smiled. “You still have time to get to the Hillside for clam night.”

“Thank you but no. I’m very happy with the company right here.”

They clinked beer bottles.

“So is there a Mrs Cull?”

“Who is interrogating who? Should we get back out on the inflatables?”

“It’s just that now you know you have no chance with me, you can tell the truth.”

“Sounds logical. The answer is no.”

“An ex Mrs Cull?”

“Ah… yes.”

“And any little Cullettes?”

Harry paused and had to look away for a moment before answering, “No.”

“So what happened?”

Harry blew out a long sigh and said: “I didn’t live up to her expectations.”

“You cheated on her?”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re a man; it’s the law of probability.”

“No, I didn’t cheat on her. I – I don’t do that.”

“A man that doesn’t cheat. That makes you a rare breed.”

“It’s not that I don’t cheat… it’s more basic than that. I don’t lie. Or at least I try not to… at least Monday to Friday.”

“You only lie weekends?”

“Yes, and only to strangers.”

MK put down her burger and leaned in looking straight into Harry’s eyes. “You’re serious?”

“I am. Dealing with lies is my job. I’ve seen how much misery it brings to people so I just don’t do it.”

“So you never lie?”

“That is my goal.”

“So what if I asked you if my butt looked big in this outfit.”

“I’d probably say something like, ‘I think you would look good even if you wore a plastic garbage bag’.”

“But you didn’t answer the question.”

“Hey, just because I tell the truth doesn’t mean I go up to people and say, ‘I see you are forty pounds overweight and you buy your clothes at Kmart’.”

“But if I pressed you on it?”

“If you really want my opinion on the girth of your backside I’d tell you. I wouldn’t be doing you any favours if I said you had a nice ass when the whole world could see you looked like the back of a bus.”

MK stood, turned and then craned to see her posterior. “You think my ass looks like the back of a bus?”

“I was being hypothetical. But if you like I will give you a review of your south-facing view. Since you have pointed out that I am not going to be having any intimate knowledge of any of your body parts, you can be assured the critique will be honest.”

“No. If you’re not going to lie, I don’t want to know.”

“You sure? I can tell you now it’ll probably be quite favourable.”

“But that seems to me to be a tough code to live by. I don’t think I could do it.”