Murder in the Merlot (Ray Elkins Thriller Series) (Ray Elkins Thrillers Book 8) Read online

  FOR BEACHWALKER

  WHO HELPS THIS ALL HAPPEN

  1

  Sheriff Ray Elkins guided his patrol car—strobes on the overhead light bar flashing—along the twisting ribbon of the state highway that snaked around the shoreline of Cedar County, a long thin peninsula that extends into northern Lake Michigan. He glanced across the quiet water in the bay, then slowed and turned inland. He left the level shoreline and climbed into the rolling interior—countryside covered with orchards, vineyards, and farms. He worked his way through a maze of narrow asphalt roads, slowing as he turned onto Pelkin Hill Road, a washboard of gravel and potholes bordered on each side by fencerows thick with underbrush.

  At the base of the hill he brought the vehicle to a crawl, then carefully turned onto a two-track and threaded his way through two fieldstone columns, an old wooden gate angling away from one of them. He stopped near the rear of an old rusting Chevy pickup. As he climbed from his car, the door of the pickup swung open.

  “Ray,” said Marty Donaldson, as he moved toward the back of his truck.

  “Are you okay?” asked Ray, starting to take in the scene. Donaldson was breathing in short, quick gasps. His face was flushed, the front of his blue cotton work shirt darkened with perspiration.

  “Such a shock…”

  “Are you okay?” Ray asked again, noting the stainless steel bracelet with a caduceus hanging from Donaldson’s left wrist.

  “I just need to catch my breath.”

  “Dispatch said you found a body.”

  “It’s just beyond that car.”

  Ray leaned away from the truck and peered at a red Audi sedan.

  “Man, woman?”

  “See for yourself,” answered Donaldson, cementing himself against the back of his pickup.

  Ray looked at the area beyond the vehicles and braced himself. This was the one area of police work he struggled with, confronting death.

  He walked past Donaldson’s truck and the Audi, wet with the thick morning dew. He found the body a few yards beyond in the grass and weeds at the side of the dirt lane. A female form was face down. Most of the torso was covered by a bright red dress in a shade similar to the color of the sedan. He crouched near her head, noting the long blond hair and silk scarf as he reached around the woman’s neck with his index and middle finger to palpate for a pulse. The skin was cool and moist. Ray knew she had been dead for hours. He stood and carefully surveyed the body. As he backed away, he noticed a crimson stiletto shoe laying off to the side of her left foot.

  Returning to Donaldson’s side, Ray said, “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  “After breakfast I ran down here to check on the merlot grapes. I’ve been doing this morning and night for close to a week. They’re almost ready to pick. The first thing I find is that the gate is open.” He motioned with his right hand in the direction of the gravel road. “We don’t lock it or anything. But we keep it closed when we’re not working in here, mostly to discourage kids from parking here at night, you know, beer cans and cigarette butts. Not that it happens a lot, but once a summer is enough if you’re the one who has to clean things up.

  “The next thing I see is that car,” he pointed over his shoulder in the direction of the Audi. “Then I check the car. It was covered with dew, couldn’t see much through the windows. So I’m thinking it’s been here for a while, maybe all night. I open the door. It’s empty except for a few things on the passenger seat. Then I start looking around. The first thing I noticed was the dress. The bright red. I moved closer to get a better look. I reached down and touched her skin. She was cold, way cold. I think I sort of freaked out. I yelled at her, hoping she’d wake up. I think I was sort of in shock, not making much sense.”

  Donaldson paused, working to catch his breath. “This is the stuff of movies. I couldn’t believe it. It took me a few minutes to comprehend what was really happening. Then I went back to the truck and called 911.” Donaldson pulled himself into a seated position on the bed of the truck, resting one arm over the right side. A pair of washed out jeans extended to the top of his worn work boots. His head was covered by a faded green baseball cap with a soiled block “S” at its center.

  “My evidence tech and the medical examiner are on their way, Marty. While we’re waiting, I’ve got a few routine questions we can work through.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Donaldson leaned against the inside of the truck box.

  “Did you see anyone or any cars on your way here this morning?”

  “No. Early morning. Nothing much is moving yet. Don’t think I saw anyone between our place and here.”

  “This woman, have you ever seen her before?” asked Ray.

  “I don’t think so. It’s not like I took a good look at her, and I couldn’t see her face much, but no. Did you see those shoes? Not up north.”

  “Any possibility she might have visited your tasting room or winery?”

  “Possible, but if she did, I wouldn’t have seen her. I don’t get in there much during harvest time. My wife and daughter-in-law mostly look after those things this time of year.”

  “How about the car? Have you seen it around?”

  “No.”

  Ray looked up at the carefully terraced hillside where long rows of grapevines clung to evenly spaced trellises that ran across the steep slope. “How long have you had this property?” he asked.

  “I bought it about ten years ago. Couldn’t afford it today. Since our big, multinational neighbor arrived, land good for grapes has skyrocketed.” He paused, “It was just an old orchard with mostly dead trees when I started. I had to clear them out, bulldoze the terraces, build the trellises, and do the planting. So much work, Ray, over lots of years. But it looked like the perfect terroir for reds, so I planted it with merlot and cabernet franc. My hunch was right. We’re starting to make great wine from this hillside.”

  He looked directly at Ray. “And now this. I don’t understand. Why here? Why in my little corner of the world?”

  2

  When the first road patrol unit arrived, Ray escorted Marty Donaldson to the passenger side and held the door open for him. “Share with your wife what’s happened and try to relax. I’ll need to talk with you again.”

  “When can I get started harvesting?”

  “Possibly later today, Marty. Tomorrow for sure.”

  Ray bent down and looked past Marty to the young officer behind the wheel. “Run Mr. Donaldson back to his house. And, Brett, I want you to walk him in.” He closed the door and watched the deputy reverse out of the two-track and head up the gravel road.

  He was running the plates on the Audi when Detective Sue Lawrence, his young second-in-command, arrived. Elkins gave her a quick summary of his conversation with Donaldson as they stood at the back of her Jeep. After pulling a camera from its padded case, she asked, “Did you check the body?”

  “Briefly. I felt for a pulse. The body was cold. She’s been there for hours. I had a quick look around and got out of there. I didn’t want to mess up your scene.”

  “You actually touched the body?” she asked.

  He gave her an affirmative nod.

  “Any signs of violence? Wounds, blood…”

  “I don’t think so. I didn’t linger,” he answered as he led her past the Audi and pointed to the patch of bright red in the tall grass.

  Ray stood back and watched Sue photograph t
he area around the body, admiring her efficiency. The sun was just breaking the top of the ridgeline, warming the hillside, burning the dew off the grape leaves—most cloaked in late-season dull green, some already turning to yellow. He could smell autumn in the air, leaves at the early stages of decay.

  The click of the shutter was occasionally muffled by the sound of traffic from the distant county road, a north-south artery that ran along the center of the peninsula. Sue carefully moved around the body, staying back a half-dozen or more feet and getting photos from various angles.

  Finally coming to Ray’s side, she said, “I’ll get more photos when Dyskin starts his examination.”

  “See anything?”

  “Nothing remarkable about the body. And there’s not much else to work with here. No footprints. No litter of any type.” She looked at the Audi. “Do you have a name?”

  “Gillian Mouton. New York City address. Googled her. Only one Gillian Mouton in the U.S. Apparently, she’s some sort of wine expert.”

  “Let’s look over the car while we wait for Dyskin.”

  They walked around the Audi, wiping away the dew to look into the windows. Keys dangled in the ignition. A purse lay on the passenger’s seat. An iPhone rested next to the purse on the gray leather upholstery.

  Their attention shifted to the rattles and groans of an approaching vehicle on the rough gravel road. The medical examiner’s ancient Lincoln Town Car slowly turned into the vineyard. Dr. Dyskin, a nylon running suit hanging on his narrow frame, emerged from the car. He retrieved some coveralls from the interior, then perched on the driver’s seat and slowly pulled them on, first one leg, and then the other. Ray looked over at Sue. He could see her impatience with Dyskin’s leisurely pace.

  Finally, Dyskin rummaged around in the cavernous back seat and retrieved a black baseball cap. “What do we got?” he asked as he approached them.

  “A woman, probably in her early thirties. No obvious injuries,” answered Sue. “The body is just ahead,” she said, leading the way.

  Ray watched the process many yards back. Dyskin carefully examined the body, starting with the scalp and methodically working his way to the feet. Ray could hear Dyskin muttering to himself as he went. Then he rolled the body over and repeated the process, paying special attention to the area around the neck. Sue captured every aspect of the exam with her camera.

  Eventually Dyskin slowly stood. He bent over and brushed the soil from the knees of his coveralls. Picking up his bag he came to Ray’s side, Sue following closely.

  “I’d say ten to twelve hours, based on body temperature. I probably can get it a bit more accurate by looking at the overnight temperatures. I’d say sometime between ten and midnight, give or take an hour either way. The body got a name?”

  “We’re working on that. The Audi was rented to a Gillian Mouton.”

  “Nice name.”

  “Cause of death?” Ray asked.

  “Only speculation at this point, only speculation. I could find no wounds, fractures, nothing of that sort. And this doesn’t look like an OD or anything of that nature. I’m curious about the neck area, not too obvious, but….”

  “The silk scarf. Could that have been used as a ligature?” asked Sue.

  “I don’t think so. I mean, if you used a piece of silk like that, pulling it really tight, wouldn’t it…? What I’m trying to say is it looks like it’s just been ironed. It doesn’t appear to have been strained or distorted in any way. This looks like a strangulation, I’m wondering about a chokehold.”

  “Chokehold?” asked Sue.

  “Used to see a lot of those in the bad old days. Used to be common practice by law enforcement to subdue uncooperative suspects. Problem was, suddenly they’d have a body on their hands, but there was no visible trauma to the area. They’d usually try to pass it off as a heart attack. We’d identify the real cause of death during the post.”

  Dyskin looked at Ray. “Very suspicious death, Elkins. Send this one to Grand Rapids for a forensic autopsy. Pity. Very pretty woman, even in death.”

  “Any chance the body was moved?” asked Ray.

  “No. Look at the position of the limbs. My guess, she was strangled and dropped. She met someone here. They walked a few yards, and she was grabbed from behind. Let’s see if the autopsy proves me right about the chokehold part. I’ve bagged her hands, lovely set of claws, nary a chip on the paint job. Don’t think they’ll find anything. The perp cut off the blood to her brain. It was over real fast. If my theory is correct, you’re looking for a cold-blooded killer. Shooting someone is relatively easy, killing up close…the perps are really damaged. Be careful.”

  Dyskin looked back at the body for a long moment. “If you can’t find anyone local to ID the body, her kind will have dental records.”

  Ray walked Dyskin back to his car. As Dyskin was pulling off his coveralls he said, “You don’t like bodies, do you?”

  “I’ve never gotten used to it, starting with my first night in a patrol car when I had to help pull a badly mangled teenager out of a tree after he crashed his motorcycle.”

  “The early ones are the hardest.” He paused for a minute and put his arm on Ray’s shoulder. “The population of the planet turns over every hundred years. That’s the reality. Our job is to get justice for people like this woman who didn’t get their fair share of years. And that part you and your impatient young friend are very good at.”

  3

  “I’ve ordered a tow truck. I’d like to get this car to a secure place so I can process it later,” said Sue Lawrence as she scanned the exterior of the Audi. “That said, let’s get the phone and her purse.”

  Sue retrieved a cardboard evidence bin with assorted paper bags from her Jeep and penciled in the site, time, and location on one large and one small bag. With Ray’s assistance, she placed the phone in the smaller of the paper bags and carefully finessed the purse into a larger one, placing each bag into the bin. Then she gently lifted a soft, black sweater from the seat, exposing a manila folder. After opening the folder and inspecting the contents, Sue looked over at Ray. “Almost too good.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s all here, everything, starting with her flight numbers and rental car confirmation. Then there’s the information on her local lodging.”

  “Where was she staying?” asked Ray.

  “The Manitou Resort, Eagles Nest condos. Probably has a great view of Lake Michigan.”

  “What else?”

  “It’s her day-by-day schedule, everything. The list of wineries she was visiting, addresses, and contact names. She also has time slots with labels like blog, Facebook, and e-mail. This woman was a highly organized workaholic. Sixteen-hour days, nothing was left to chance.”

  “Almost nothing,” observed Ray. “How about yesterday afternoon?”

  She looked back at one of sheets in the folder. “Ursidae Winery in the afternoon. Early dinner with Phillip Lovell.”

  “Anything else?”

  “She has a work period scheduled from 9 P.M. to 11 P.M. Then the schedule resumes this morning at seven, again a time designated for Desk Work with winery visits starting at 11 o’clock.”

  “Are Marty Donaldson or the Terroir Nord Winery on the list?”

  “Yes, Terroir Nord is mixed in with lots of others scheduled for Monday and Tuesday.”

  “We’ll have to pursue that later. We need to talk with Phillip Lovell,” said Ray. “But before we do, I’d like to get a search warrant and check her condo. We need to secure anything that might be helpful. Obviously, she’s got a computer there. I don’t want it to go missing. How about the trunk?”

  Sue toyed with the remote until the lid popped. A small backpack and a pair of hiking shoes rested at the center of the carpeted space.

  Sue inspected the shoes carefully, one at a time. “High quality, seem to be bro
ken in.”

  Then she looked at the contents of the backpack. “Jeans, shirt, hoodie, small camera, flashlight, and a container of Mace.”

  “So she was probably here to meet someone,” said Ray. “She was going to change her clothes. But what was going to follow? What were her plans?”

  “She should have carried the Mace on her person,” said Sue, returning it to the backpack.

  The two-story condo rented in Gillian Mouton’s name consisted of one large room on the first level with a kitchenette tucked away in one corner and a carpeted stairway that led to a loft bedroom. The lakeside wall of the unit was glass, floor to ceiling.

  “What an incredible view,” observed Ray, moving toward the windows. “You can see the entire length and breadth of the Manitou Passage.”

  “Two wine glasses on the table, one with lipstick,” said Sue, focusing on the task at hand. “And the remains of a roach on a saucer, again with lipstick. And her computer.” She opened the cover on the MacBook Air. “Well, that’s handy, she didn’t bother with a password.” Sue perused the page. “She was working in Word.” Her eyes scanned the text. “Looks like the draft of an article or blog entry on Michigan wine.”

  Closing the cover again, she scanned the area. “We’ve got the empty glasses. Where is the bottle?” She moved around the kitchen area. “Not on the sink or counter…or in the trash.”

  “I’ll check the fridge,” said Ray. He opened the door and looked into the interior, then peeked into the freezer. “Lots of wine, none of it has been opened. There’s nothing else. No food and no stash of drugs in the freezer.” He looked across the counter that divided the kitchenette from the rest of the main room. “So we know she entertained someone here. I wonder what time?”

  “I would bet before dinner, if she went to dinner.”

  “Let’s do a walkthrough.”

  “I’ll get these prints and bag the roach. You look around.”

  A few minutes later Ray leaned over the loft railing. “There’s something up here you should see.”