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  Savage Lake

  An Ellen Rockne Mystery #2

  Dan Ames

  A USA TODAY BESTSELLING BOOK

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Also by Dan Ames

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  Copyright © 2018 by Dan Ames

  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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter One

  Most people thought horror movies exaggerated the begging and pleading of terrified victims.

  The man knew they weren’t exaggerating at all. In fact, they may have downplayed it, if anything.

  “Please,” the girl said, whimpering against the side of the boat. “You—you don’t have to do this, please don’t, please—” She shivered from the cold, or maybe it was fear. Didn’t matter. She’d stop shivering soon enough, the man knew.

  The young woman’s begging sent a rush straight through his body. He’d never felt true power until he’d tasted this. It was stronger than any alcohol and just as addictive.

  He’d drugged her earlier, a sad necessity that had slurred her speech and made it almost impossible for her to move with any kind of coordination. She’d tried to buck him off her, to fight, but her movements had been sluggish and weak. It thrilled him, but if she’d been stronger... more aware… His groin tightened at the thought.

  Too late now.

  He shook his head. Next time maybe…

  Pushing aside the lost opportunity, he tied her hands behind her back and wrapped the rope around her torso. After a perfunctory look at his work, he continued flipping her over and back again before threading the rope through the section already wrapping her wrists and then yanking upward to tighten the knot again.

  The girl started to cry as he moved down to work on her feet, tying them together.

  “I’ll do anything,” the girl begged, sobbing.

  He moved his flashlight so he could see her. Her face had been so pretty. Now it was red, blotchy and tear-stained.

  “Please, please, I don’t want to die.” Her voice rose up in pitch. “I don’t want to die.”

  He glanced at her again, letting her cries wash over him. The location he’d chosen to dispose of her was far enough away from other people, be it businesses or houses, that no one could hear. That, at least, he’d done right.

  He gave himself another few seconds to drink in her whimpers and then left her lying facedown against the deck as he fetched the last item from the back of the boat and carried it over.

  The rectangular block had been so heavy when he’d first loaded it in the boat, but now it seemed to weigh nothing. Light as a feather. Adrenaline, he knew, was making him feel strong, invincible even.

  He set the block down, just in the girl’s line of sight. Her eyes widened when she saw it. And he saw the understanding in her eyes. She knew what was coming. Knew her fate.

  His lips curved into a smile.

  “Help!” she shrieked or tried to. Her voice was hoarse, and the word came out thick and slurred. “Help! Somebody, please! Please, please, help…” Her cries dissolved into sobs.

  He sighed heavily as he began to tie the cinder block to her feet. He relished each scream the girl gave but was embarrassed for her as well. Did she have no pride, no backbone?

  But then, if she did, he supposed he’d have gotten bored of this long ago. Half the fun was getting a victim to the point of tears. Seeing their weakness compared to his strength.

  He rolled the girl over and ran his thumb over the tears that were leaking down her face, staining the soft skin. “Now, now, Charlotte,” he told her.

  She whimpered and her body shook. Not a shiver anymore. A tremble. Fear taking hold of her. Fear that would have locked her in place even without his ties, like a mouse caught in the stare of a snake.

  “We’ve had our fun,” he said, smiling down at her, his face a mask of false kindness.

  She deserved that. She’d done her job by serving his needs.

  Charlotte shuddered.

  “But I think it’s time we parted ways, don’t you?” the man asked.

  She shook her head—or tried to. Her neck seemed stiff, her body almost rigid. “N-no, please, you can—you can do what you want, I—I won’t fight you, you can d-do it again—”

  He shook his head and clucked his tongue. “Offering yourself up? Have you no pride? No morals? Are you a whore? A slut?”

  She cried anew. Whispered, “I’m—I’m not…”

  “You’re not what?”

  “A slut,” she murmured, as if just saying it shamed her.

  He shook his head, speaking gently as if to a child. “But you are. Offering yourself up like that to me just now? Not that I’m surprised with how flirtatious you were earlier.”

  The girl, pathetic lump that she had become, had no response. None worth noting anyway.

  “It’s your fault,” he told her. “If you hadn’t been so eager for attention, you wouldn’t be facing these consequences.”

  He sighed, sliding his hands down to the hem of her dress. “But, since you’re so eager… I suppose I can’t deny someone their last request.”

  He clamped a hand over Charlotte’s mouth as her eyes went wide. She tried bucking him off, but she was weak, weaker even than before. And he was strong. Powerful. In control.

  He smiled as he entered her. Her breath puffed against his hand and she tried to bite him, tried to shake him off. It was all so futile and so truly sad and pathetic.

  Still, he enjoyed it enough. Worth at least that last little bit of effort on his part.

  When he’d finished he pulled her dress back down, gave her a last chiding look and picked her up. Her previously stiff body was soft now, almost boneless, like a rag doll. What little fighting spirit she’d had was gone. No reason to keep her any longer. Time to say his goodbyes and move on.

  “Thank you,” he told her. “It was such a lovely evening.” It had been, although it could have been better, but telling her that would have been rude.

  He took a moment to memorize her face: the dark hair, the wide, tear-filled brown eyes, the pale and tear-streaked skin.

  Her fight was gone. She hung limp in his arms, her eyes dead, just as her body would be soon enough.

  So sad. Such a waste. But this girl was spent. Used up.

  Bracing his feet f
or balance against the moving water beneath them, he leaned forward and dropped his arms. Her body plopped into the water and she floated there, water slapping against her face. She opened her mouth, to scream he assumed, and water rushed into her throat. He considered standing there watching, waiting to see her drown. He’d never done that before, but as she thrashed he decided against it.

  He couldn’t bear her lack of dignity any longer.

  He bent again and retrieved the cinder block, then he tossed it over too.

  The boat rocked for a moment with his movement, but he held his balance as he watched the block and the girl both drop deep into the depths of the water.

  Girl and block gone, the surface of Lake Michigan turned tranquil once again.

  Chapter Two

  After so many years on the job, there are times where I had to remind myself of who and what I was.

  It’s not the times you might think, though. I didn’t really need to give myself a pep talk before going into a suspect’s home or anything.

  Nah, it was usually things like this where I had to tell myself, Ellen, you’re the goddamn chief of police.

  Coaxing a deer out of someone’s kitchen does not rob you of that dignity.

  The deer looked at me with her big doe eyes, questioning and judging at the same time.

  The home’s owner, Mrs. Liebowitz, placed a hand over her heart and fluttered her fingers. “They’re so gentle,” she said. “I know that. But this one, in my kitchen… eating my wax fruit.” She gestured to her fruit-strewn floor.

  I nudged a misshapen pear with my toe.

  “It can’t be good for her, can it?” Mrs. Liebowitz glanced from the fruit to the doe to me.

  I closed my eyes for a second, looking for the calm resolve I guessed removing a deer from someone’s kitchen was going to require. When I opened them, Mrs. Liebowitz and the deer were sadly still both there. And both were staring at me.

  I sighed. “Probably not, but it doesn’t look as if she actually ate them.” I rolled an orange an inch or so across the tile and looked back at the other human occupant of the room. “Does that make it better? Can she stay then?”

  I stared at her, purposely keeping my eyes wide and expectant. This was ridiculous. We both knew the deer’s health was not Mrs. Leibowitz’s primary concern. The woman had a deer in her kitchen. She wanted it out. Why not just say that?

  “Well… no… I mean… deer belong in the wild… they aren’t pets… I can’t… I have people…coming…”

  I rolled my eyes inwardly, grunted out another sigh and let her off the hook. “Got it. Fine. Do you have any…” What would lure a deer? I glanced back at the wax produce on the floor. “Do you have any real fruit?”

  Mrs. Leibowitz twisted in place to open a cupboard. When she turned back there was a can of crushed pineapple in her hand.

  One of my officers, Peyton, appeared in the doorway that lead from kitchen to living room. “Maybe you could throw it at her,” she suggested, pointing toward the can of pineapple.

  I gave her a look that I hoped relayed my appreciation of her oh-so-helpful suggestion.

  Mrs. Leibowitz, busy digging around in a drawer, seemed oblivious to our interaction. “I have a can opener somewhere.”

  I placed a hand on Mrs. Leibowitz’s arm. “Maybe carrots? Or lettuce? Something fresh?”

  The homeowner frowned. “Oh. No. It just goes bad.”

  I took a quick glance around the room and out the door through which the deer had originally entered.

  “Is that a bird feeder?” I asked.

  “Yes. I love birds. Squirrels too. They are so funny. We get whole families… At least I think they are families… What they will do to get into—”

  I held up my hand cutting her off. “What was in the feeder?”

  “Um, corn.”

  “I’m guessing you ran out?”

  “Yes, the past few days. It has just been disappearing so fast. I haven’t been able to keep up.”

  I gestured to the deer. Mrs. Leibowitz’s gaze followed my motion.

  “Oh, you think…”

  I did think. “And you left the back door open because…?”

  “I went to get—” She glanced to a large paper feed bag that was leaning against one wall.

  “More corn?”

  “Yes.” She flushed. “You don’t think the deer…?”

  Followed her inside to helpfully shorten Mrs. Leibowitz’s trip? I did, but that didn’t matter now. What did was that we now knew what had lured the deer inside to start with and hopefully, how to lure her back out.

  I motioned to the bag and instructed Peyton to take it out back and pour a trail of corn from the back door to the woods. “Not a lot,” I added. “Just enough to get her out of the house.” I didn’t want to add to Mrs. Leibowitz’s obvious deer problem by giving the creatures even more reason to see her house as a source of treats.

  Peyton followed my direction because she was a good cop who actually cared about Good Isle and the people who lived here. She grabbed the bag of corn and dragged it out the front door. I heard it thump down the front steps and a few minutes later we could see her in the backyard, tossing out handfuls of corn. Not exactly what I’d told her to do, but close enough.

  The deer saw her too.

  I motioned with my head for Mrs. Liebowitz to step to the side, blocking the door that lead to the rest of the house and waved my arms over my head. “Run,” I yelled at the deer, really not sure what one said to a deer whose welcome was worn out. “Get the corn. Get the—”

  The deer got my gist. Or maybe she just wanted the corn. Either way, she turned in place, flipped up her tail and bounded out of the kitchen door.

  I lunged forward and slammed the door closed behind her.

  Mrs. Leibowitz was offering me some kind of molded gelatin salad as payment for my help when someone pounded on the door behind me.

  Peyton peered through the glass at me. I pulled back Mrs. Leibowitz’s pink curtain sheers so I could see her more clearly.

  “We just got a call,” she yelled. “Donovan’s on the line. A fisherman found a body this morning. As in, a person. Dead.”

  Chapter Three

  Nothing is far from anything else in Good Isle. Mrs. Leibowitz’s place was about as far out as you could go though without being in another police district. Lucky for me it was just within my area of responsibility. I’d have hated to miss that opportunity to up my deer wrangling skills.

  Once in the car, Peyton reached to flip on the sirens. I stopped her.

  “What?” she asked. “Someone’s dead.”

  “And I doubt they are getting any more deceased. Besides, sirens will just pull in the gossips. Let’s try to keep this as low key as we can.”

  It was probably a lost cause, but a police chief can dream.

  Even without sirens going, we arrived at the docks in under fifteen minutes. Also, even without sirens there was a crowd gathering. So far only a dozen or so people, but cell phones were out. The number would triple in minutes.

  I hopped out of the car and waved my hands at them. “Get back.”

  People stared back at me, their expression not all that different than the salmon many of them had come here to fish.

  Officer Fred Donovan trotted up looking flushed and more than a little harried. He was middle-aged with a slight paunch and kept his receding hairline hidden under a ball cap when he wasn’t working. Today it was fully visible as was the sweat running down his forehead and into his eyes. He swiped it away with the back of his hand and graced me with a glower.

  “I told Peyton I could handle this.”

  “Did you?” Donovan wasn’t my biggest fan. But then I didn’t have a ton of good thoughts about him either.

  He glowered some more, but gestured for me to follow him. I did, making my way around discarded coolers of dead fish and silent gawkers.

  I motioned to a uniformed officer and then gestured to the crowd. “Get them out of here. Set
up some barriers or something.”

  “But…” Someone objected in the crowd. I didn’t bother addressing them or even to look to see who it was. I kept walking.

  “Richie Tobin found the body.” Donovan nodded to a man, maybe sixty who was sitting on a bench with his face cradled in his hands. “He was out fishing.”

  I shifted my gaze to Lake Michigan. “Where?”

  Donovan made a face. “On the lake.”

  I took a breath for patience. “Where on the lake?”

  “Don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

  Patience, I told myself. Where a body was found could tell you a lot. Especially once we knew how long it had been since it was dumped. Had it drifted, been weighted down? Taken into the deep for a leisurely disposal or rolled in from the shore? All of that could tell you something. Something that might make the difference between looking at one suspect over another.

  I didn’t waste any of that on Donovan though. I kept walking. The body was still in Tobin’s boat. I steeled myself as I approached. Any dead body was disturbing, but one that had been left in water for any period of time? I knew this wasn’t going to be pretty. I locked my facial expressions to something I hoped showed respect and little other emotion.

  She was fully dressed in some kind of bedraggled dress and lying face up. I avoided her face for a moment and concentrated on the rope which was wrapped around her midsection and tied to her hands. The end had been cut. My immediate assumption was that something heavy had been on the other end of that rope. Something the killer had hoped would keep her weighted down and away from discovery.