Murder on Stockton Island

By Dave Sullivan

Another Jake Kingsley Apostle Islands mystery! A body is found on Stockton Island! The victim is a friend of retired Minneapolis trial lawyer Jake Kingsley and his colleague, Professor Charles Stanton. Who killed her and why? Their investigation leads through the high societies of Duluth, Minnesota and Lake Superior's Apostle Islands. Big money and greed, scorned love and pure cussedness are among the motives driving the various suspects. Sabotage and danger threaten to stop Jake and Charles from finding the ultimate solution. Retired forensic scientist and Bayfield resident CoCo Cadotte joins in the pursuit of the answers. The final solution is revealed in the Great Room of the Lightkeeper's Lodge of the Inn on Madeline Island.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dave Sullivan
• Release date: Nov 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370217656

Dave Sullivan

Dave Sullivan is a retired Minnesota State District Court Judge. After practicing law for thirty years in Duluth, Minnesota, he was appointed to the District Court Bench and was chambered in Duluth for ten years until his retirement in 2006. Dave and his wife, Kath, live in Madeira Beach, Florida and Bayfield County, Wisconsin.

Book preview

FOREWORD

This is another story that takes place in the Apostle Islands on Lake Superior’s Wisconsin South Shore. It is fictional. The characters are fictional, save a few historical figures whose names are repeated here.

The area of the Apostles, is very real and more beautiful than the reader can imagine just from reading this book. Raspberry Bay, Point Detour and Raspberry Point are real, but the village of Bay Harbor in Raspberry Bay where Jake Kingsley’s Ketch Resolution is docked is entirely fictional. The Chequamegon Band of Lake Superior Chippewa and the Hermit Island Casino are likewise fictional for this story and other Jake Kingsley Apostle Island mysteries.

Maggie’s on Manypenny in Bayfield is real and the food is excellent. The marina on Madeline Island is real, flying the yacht club flag of MIYC. Hermit Island is a beautiful little island off the mainland at Red Cliff Bay. The island once had an operating sandstone quarry and a three story house called Cedar Bark Lodge. There is not now, has not been, and doubtless never will be a gaming casino and hotels built there.

The tragedy on Stockton Island confronts Jake Kingsley and friends with a problem the solution of which proves difficult to find.

These islands have a magical mix of nature, wilderness and human history. Favorable winds, sunshine, pristine waters and lush green islands make it a peaceful, relaxing hideaway, normally, that is, until what happened that summer. . .

Dave Sullivan

October, 2016

CHAPTER ONE

A Sunday morning near Raspberry Island.

The peace and tranquility that the Apostle Islands always seemed to provide was, for Jake Kingsley, the resolution of all life’s problems. Out on the water aboard his forty-two foot Ketch, Resolution, among these lush green jewels of Lake Superior’s South Shore, all was well with the world and all was well with Jake … until that Sunday morning when they found the body on Stockton Island.

After a blissful Saturday of solo sailing around Bear Island and Rocky Island, Jake had put into the small, protected bay by the sand spit on Raspberry Island’s southeast corner. The big plow anchor grabbed the sand bottom, holding Resolution while Jake enjoyed a quiet dinner aboard. In the morning, after a cold Lake Superior swim in to the beach, he was enjoying a quiet cup of coffee in the cockpit, when his reverie was interrupted by the crackle of the tinny speaker of Resolution’s marine radio.

Resolution, Resolution, Resolution, the radio crackled. This is Hanson's Marina, KLR 7491, on Channel Sixteen. Pick up, Jake."

Jake thumbed the microphone. Resolution, WYP 3624, on Sixteen, he said. Hi, Bert.

Go to six-eight, Jake, said Bert Hanson.

Bert Hanson is the proprietor of Hanson's Marina and Boatyard located in the village of Bay harbor in Raspberry Bay on mainland of the Bayfield Peninsula. It is just over three miles on the water from Jake's overnight anchorage. Hanson spent twenty years on the police force of the City of Chicago. Several times cited for bravery and heroism, he finally retired to operate his father's marina in Bay Harbor. His wife Sandy welcomed the retirement. She welcomed ridding their life of the dangers Bert had regularly faced for so long. Together they served the sailors, fishermen, residents and tourists of the Apostle Islands. Jake pictured Bert at the other end of the radio transmission chomping on his usually unlit cigar, even at that hour of the morning. As tough as he was, the toughness vanished in the presence of children. He loved kids. In the summer months, kids played on the beach. They hung around the marina and the Ship's Store where Bert and Sandy kept plenty of candy. They called him Uncle Bert.

Jake turned the channel selector to Channel Sixty-eight. Resolution on Sixty-eight.

Hanson's on six-eight. Jake, have you ever heard of a cell phone when you're out there? I tried three times and got your voice mail.

I don't think about it, Bert. I don't want to drop it in the water.

I'd keep it handy if I was you.

Bert, if you were I, you wouldn't be there at the marina and you wouldn't be married to the incomparable Sandy Hanson.

Bert's silence told Jake his attempt at humor was being ignored.

Your favorite FBI agent, Special Agent Denton is looking for you, Jake.

Why?

Might be something about the body on Stockton Island.

A body on Stockton Island? Jake started the auxiliary diesel. He went forward to lift the anchor. Back in the cockpit, he steered Resolution out of the small bay toward Raspberry Bay and the mainland. He called Bert back, this time with his cell phone.

Bert, you have Denton's number?

Bert read him the number.

Jake would go to see Special Agent Denton right away, but he wanted his friend Professor Charles Stanton along. At this time of year, Jake lived aboard Resolution. So, he was traveling in his home. He had everything he needed. Nothing required him to return to Resolution’s slip in Hanson’s Marina in Raspberry Bay. He could simply pull up to the gas dock, pick up Charles and go.

There are twenty-two islands in the archipelago called the Apostle Islands. These islands, dubbed Les Isles des Apôtres by early French missionaries have been home to the Ojibway or Chippewa Indians since before the time of Columbus. Madeline Island is the largest. About fourteen miles long. it is the only remaining island with private residences and private ownership, although a few life estates still exist on other islands. All of the others are now part of the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore which is part of the National Park Service. Some of the islands and a considerable part of the tip of the Bayfield Peninsula on the mainland are original lands of the Chequamegon Band of Lake Superior Chippewa. Those islands and part of the mainland property are incorporated into the National Lakeshore. They are managed partly by the Park Service with the consent of the Band but they remain Indian property in what is identified by the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) as Indian Country. Nestled around the northern tip of the Bayfield peninsula, the islands provide recreational sailing, fishing, canoeing and kayaking. Commercial fishermen work their boats and nets throughout the islands for Lake Superior white fish and lake trout, both considered among the most delectable in the great lakes.

Except for the many sandy beaches, thick forests cover the islands right to the water's edge. This apparent untouched wilderness is misleading. Once in the depth of the forests, one encounters signs of previous inhabitation by man. Now abandoned fishing camps, Brownstone quarries that once supplied the cut blocks of brownstone used for construction of homes and mansions in the east, and the remains of homes like the three-story Cedar Bark Lodge on Hermit Island.

Jake Kingsley was a Minneapolis trial lawyer. After twenty years, he became disenchanted with the practice of law and, in particular, the way others practiced it. He retired to live on a sailboat in the Apostle Islands where he had grown up in the summers. Resolution is a cutter-rigged ketch with two masts and with two jibs forward. She carries a mizzen, a main sail, a small, self-tacking jib that serves as a staysail cleated to its own track on the foredeck and a big Genoa jib which is roller-furled on the forestay. Her cream-colored hull is what the yacht builder called Narragansett White. Her sail covers, sail bags and the foot and leach of the roller-furled jenny are a rich brown matching the color of the broad hull stripe just below her rail.

In the light morning breeze, Jake chose to motor straight into Raspberry Bay. On the way, he dialed Professor Charles Stanton on his cell phone.

Hello? said Charles.

Charles, this is Jake. Are you busy?

Of course, my boy. I am busy having breakfast and enjoying the view from my living room. I am watching the sailboats glide between me and Raspberry Island. Very soothing.

I’m one of those boats, Charles, motoring straight at you under bare poles.

Jake looked up to the high promontory ahead on his left. Covered with a mixture of green-leafed hardwoods and darker evergreens, Raspberry Point rose high above the water, glimmering in the morning sun. The village of Bay Harbor was nestled against its west side in the shadow of Raspberry Point. Hanson's Marina and store occupied the shoreline. With its rock filled breakwater and numerous docks, it provided a small harbor and moorage for recreational sailors, fisherman and commercial fishing boats. Row after row of small cottages dotted the hillside. By mid-morning, as the sun rose higher, the marina, village and cottages would be basking in sunshine.

From Jake's viewpoint from water level, Raspberry Point was like a mountain, straight ahead. Charles lived in a cottage that was not in Bay Harbor, but up beyond the village and farther east to the top of the point, itself.

I'm coming in from Raspberry Island, he told Charles.

After retiring from the University of Minnesota School of Law, Charles Stanton leased land from the Chequamegon Band of Lake Superior Chippewa. He built a rustic cottage with large windows, sliding glass doors and a cedar deck facing the islands. No one else had a home on Raspberry Point. The members of the Chequamegon Band had not leased or sold land there before, although often requested. For some reason, they liked Charles. They liked his love of the islands. Jake knew Charles spent many hours enjoying his spectacular view, that is, when he wasn’t sailing with Jake on Resolution. Charles was basically a happy, fun loving man whose love and respect for his fellow humans was without compare.

I see you! Charles' voice boomed through the phone. I got you with the glasses and now have you on the spotting scope. Charles always had a pair of high powered binoculars ready by the windows and a large tripod-mounted telescope aimed at the channel between his home and Oak Island. Looks like you're alone. Coming back to port?

Yes, I am alone. Going to Hermit Island. Have you heard what's going on?

I heard something about an accident over on Stockton Island. The marine radio is all abuzz with Coast Guard calls and the usual recreational sailor gossip. Haven't heard much real information, though.

The Coast Guard, the Park Service or someone, called in the FBI. Jack Denton called Bert to find me, said Jake. Want to come along?

Charles didn't hesitate. You bet I do!

Meet me at the fuel dock at Hanson's in fifteen minutes. We'll be out overnight, maybe a couple of days. Your bedding is already onboard, but Charles, bring a change of clothes and your toothbrush.

Jake, Jake, I have a toothbrush on Resolution. I'm ready to go. I'll see you in fifteen minutes.

Bert Hanson and Charles Stanton were waiting on the dock as Resolution approached. Both big men.

Bert Hanson was a bull of a man. Not that tall at five feet nine inches, he weighed 200 pounds and not any fat on him. He wore blue work pants, tan leather deck shoes and an open collar, short-sleeved khaki safari shirt. His shirt hung over the top of his work pants and belt if he had one. A pair of reading glasses was stuffed in the pocket of his safari shirt. Bert was bald on top with iron gray hair cut short on the sides and back. From hours in the sun and on the water, his face and arms were like seasoned leather. He had more hair on his arms than on the top of his head and the open collar of the safari shirt bristled with thick, dark chest hair. He stood, waiting, arms hanging at his sides, big hands ready to take a docking line.

Charles Stanton, on the other hand, did have some fat on him. He was taller than Bert at what Jake knew to be a height of five feet ten and a half inches. Charles never let him forget that all important half inch. Charles was not as bald as Bert, but definitely thinning on top. His hair was in the process of turning from gray to mostly white. He wore horn rimmed glasses and sported an enormous white walrus mustache. Charles wore khakis, dark leather deck shoes and a patterned, short-sleeved sport shirt. In his hand, he held a black Greek Fisherman's cap.

Jake brought Resolution to the fuel dock, handed Charles the stern line and moved forward to give Bert the bowline.

Bert cleated the bowline as Charles scrambled onboard.

I'd offer you a faster boat, Jake, he said, but ours is up at South Twin Island waiting for the work crew on that Park Service project. With our boat, you'd get to Stockton in about half an hour. I've never timed it from here to Stockton, but I know it will do Bayfield to Stockton in just over thirty minutes in flat seas. And that's at less than full throttle.

Thanks, Bert, but that's not necessary, said Jake. Charles was busy stowing his bag down below. I called Jack Denton on the way here. He is flying in to that little airfield north of Bayfield off County Road K.

Petit Cache?

Right. I think that's it.

Then he's not coming in on a very big plane.

No. I guess not. Someone is meeting him there, bringing him to Red Cliff Bay where he'll hop the ferry to the Casino on Hermit Island. We'll pick him up there and head over to Stockton. Jake looked at his watch. According to Denton's schedule, we'll beat him there. So, we are okay on speed and I want Resolution with us. Charles and I may be out a couple of days.

Well, good luck, said Bert handing the stern line to Charles who had emerged from the cabin below. I've got your bow line as you pull out. Take it easy and be safe.

CHAPTER TWO

Motoring slowly out of Raspberry Bay, Jake turned Resolution east toward Red Cliff Point and Hermit Island. As they cleared the marina’s breakwater, Jake increased the throttle and Resolution drove through the water at a comfortable speed of eight and a half knots.

Resolution was particularly fast compare to most mono-hull sailboats of its length whether under sail or auxiliary power. Its hull was designed to submerge slightly, effectively lengthening its waterline allowing a higher hull speed. This effect occurred more and more the faster the boat moved through the water. The apparent waterline was also extended by grooves in the hull designed by an engineer at the 3M Company in St. Paul. The grooves also extended the apparent waterline, again increasing the speed according to the 3M man. These designs were supposed to greatly increase Resolution’s speed capability. Jake didn't know if they did, but he knew Resolution was a fast boat and everybody else said so. Once, motoring out of Quarry Bay on Stockton Island, a fellow sailor called from a neighboring boat and asked Jake if he ever pulled water skiers.

They continued motoring into the morning sun under a partly cloudy sky in the warmth of a following westerly breeze. Scattered puffs of wispy white hung suspended in an azure sky. The white vapor trail of a high-flying jet liner already gone from sight streaked across the sky. It was already beginning to fade and disintegrate into a fuzzy memory of its creator.

The sun hadn’t reached mid-morning height as they passed the red navigational buoy off Red Cliff Point. Past that marker, Resolution pointed nearly due east toward the Hermit Island Casino.

An hour after they left Raspberry Bay, Jake and Charles brought Resolution into the small harbor at Hermit Island. Mary Pelletier, a member of the Chequamegon Band, the Ojibway tribe that operated the casino, waived to them and directed them to one of the transient docks. Mary had been the Executive Director of the Casino for several years. When the Band's Chief, actually the Chair of the Reservation Business Committee, had been brutally murdered and dumped in Lake Superior, Mary had been unanimously elected to replace him.

Jake smiled as he saw Mary on the dock. It seemed no matter what the place or what the conditions, he liked seeing Mary.

Jake motored Resolution slowly toward the designated transient dock. Hermit Island's small harbor was nestled beneath a towering cliff with the three-story casino building at its top.

As Jake and Charles cleated bow and stern lines, adjusted fenders and put out spring lines, Mary spoke to them. Agent Denton called. He said to meet him at the Hermit's Cave, she said, referring to the Casino's first floor restaurant.

Jake finished and turned to Mary. She wore faded blue jeans, a black silk blouse and a red neck scarf. Her long black hair framed high cheekbones and dark oval eyes. Jake had gotten to know Mary when he and his long-time friend, Pete Cadotte, also the tribal attorney, were involved in the case of an organized crime syndicate cheating the casino through its management company. Since then, he was seeing more and more of Mary. That was okay with him.

You'll join us? he asked her.

She stood close to him looking up with those marvelous, large eyes. If I'm invited, I'd love to. I'm like everyone else around here. I want to know what's going on. And, she added with a smile, I like to see you.

Me, too. But, I'm sure you are way ahead of us on this accident situation. At this point, Charles and I know nothing. I asked CoCo to join us.

CoCo Cadotte? I love her. What's she got to do with this?

Denton tells me he has a forensics problem as in not enough support from the FBI."

Oh, I see.

The Hermit Island Resort and Casino was built by the Chequamegon Band of Lake Superior Chippewa. When changes in the law permitted gaming by Indian tribes, Indian gaming casinos began to flourish across the country. The Band overcame attitudes and obstacles to create and build the casino in such a way that it and its hotels blended in with the wooded environment without detracting from the natural beauty of the Apostle Islands.

Although not much of a gambler, Jake had come to know well the casino and surrounding grounds because of his involvement in the litigation over the casino management. The island boasted three floors of gambling, restaurants, and business offices; two hotels; a harbor and marina. On the mainland at Red Cliff Bay, the Band owned another hotel and marina. The Siskiwit, a passenger-carrying ferry boat, traveled back and forth from the mainland at Red Cliff Bay to the casino on Hermit Island. It made a round trip every hour.

When the construction of a casino was considered, the Chequamegon Band had gone to great lengths to avoid spoiling the pristine beauty of the Apostles. While the two hotels on the north side of the island had breathtaking views of the lake and the Apostle Islands, they were nearly invisible from the water or other islands. The designers, at the insistence of the Band, had preserved enough of the large pines on the lake side of the hotels so although the patrons’ views between the tree branches were largely unobstructed. The trees largely camouflaged the hotels from sight from off the island. The casino and the hotels were built with rough sawn cedar siding and natural cedar decks.

Within the island's surface, landscaping had preserved the island's natural beauty. No cars or motorized vehicles were permitted. A few electric golf carts existed for maintenance workers and the few handicapped patrons who might need them. Otherwise, only blacktop foot paths existed. Transportation was limited to walking or riding bicycles which were available for rent. A blacktop path had been built all around the Island's high banked shoreline. It hugged the bank except at the south end where the casino was built right on the edge overlooking the marina. There, the path circled the back side of the casino before returning to the bank overlooking the lake's edge. Along the cliff at the southeast corner, a railing protected the public from the nearly seventy foot drop to the lake below. A small natural sand swimming beach was located on Hermit's northwest shoreline.

Jake remembered thinking it impossible to put a casino and hotels on Hermit Island without ruining the island and that part of the Apostles. He was a purist when it came to these islands. But, after everything was completed, he approved. The development was doing wonders for the economic situation of the Chequamegon Band and its members. It was opening the Apostle Islands for the enjoyment of more tourists and locals. It was all done without disturbing the natural beauty of the islands.

Jake, Charles and Mary drank coffee at a quiet table near a window in the rear of the Hermit's Cave. They waited for Special Agent Denton. Out the window they could see the long low expanse of Madeline Island like a green hedge on the other side of the North Channel. The North Channel lies between Madeline Island and Basswood and Hermit Islands to its west. White triangles of sail moved slowly back and forth. Some went northeast toward Stockton Island and beyond while others returned toward Bayfield, to Washburn or Port Superior farther to the south or to the city of La Pointe on Madeline Island.

The Hermit's Cave is on the first floor of the Hermit Island Casino. The three floors start high above the small harbor and marina where Resolution put in. From there, a glass elevator takes anxious gamblers up to the casino's first level. A separate service elevator is used by staff to take supplies and equipment up from below. Once there, patrons can enjoy two full floors of gambling, entertainment and dining. The casino offices are on the third floor. The Hermit's Cave has a bar and tables and booths along the casino's east side with windows looking east toward the cliff edge at the island's southeast corner. Diners at the Hermit's Cave can see the waters of Lake Superior and all manner of sailboats and power boats of all sizes out on the water moving along the shores of Madeline Island in the background.

Jake's cell phone buzzed. It was CoCo Cadotte.

I'm on the way over on the ferry, Jake.

Good. We are in the Hermit’s Cave. Table in the back. Waiting for Special Agent Denton.

I think he's on the ferry with me.

Oh? How do you know?

Well from his clothes, he doesn't look like anybody else. He looks different than anyone you would normally expect to see at the Casino or anywhere else in the islands. And, he sure looks like the fuzz. Should I introduce myself?

Jake grinned. CoCo was always a hoot. No. I'll do the introductions when you get here, thanks. He returned the phone to his pocket.

May I join you? It was casino lawyer and retired Lieutenant Colonel, Peter Cadotte. At six feet three inches, Pete was Jake's height but there the similarity ended. Jake had sandy hair and blue eyes. Pete had black hair and the dark oval eyes of a Native American. Like Mary Pelletier, Pete was a member of the Chequamegon Band of Lake Superior Chippewa. Since his retirement from the Army's Judge Advocate General Corps, he was the Band's attorney.

Pete. Hi, said Jake standing to shake his hand.

Good morning all, said Pete. Professor. He extended his hand to Charles.

We're waiting for FBI Agent Denton, said Mary, to talk about the problem on Stockton Island. He has asked to see Jake.

Jake, said Pete, you're going to have to get your own FBI creds if you keep helping Denton.

He does seem to have taken a liking to getting my help, Jake responded.

I remember when the two of you were not on such good terms, said Pete.

That's right, said Charles. For a time, none us liked his attitude very much.

I remember, said Mary. You all thought he was a pompous jerk, as I recall.

Us? said Jake.

Well, me, too, she said. How did that change?

Charles explained. After the casino’s court case against the management company and that shoot out with Old Michael Cadotte and the managers, Ruberg and Dunning, Denton checked in with Jake on his next case in the Apostles. Said something about Jake's familiarity with the territory and the people. Since then he has come to rely on Jake for help in solving some of these cases where his jurisdiction is simply because it is in a National Park or in Indian Country. There was the difficult case last year of the missing camper, for example, and the mystery of the body found at the Little Village on Madeline Island.

But Madeline Island isn't Indian Country or part of the National Lakeshore, said Mary.

Right, agreed Charles, but that was part of an FBI manhunt for someone on its 'Most Wanted List.'

Yeah, said Pete. Denton would rather stay in Milwaukee. I think he feels more comfortable up here if he has Jake's help.

Charles added, So it used to be 'Kingsley' and 'Special Agent John Denton,' now it's 'Jake' and 'Jack.'

And here he is now, said Jake, rising to greet Special Agent Denton. Hello, Jack, he said.

For the Hermit's Cave on Hermit Island, Denton looked out of place in his grey business suit, white shirt and plain blue tie. At six feet even, he was shorter than Jake by three inches. At 210 pounds, he was heavier, but it was muscle. His jacket hung loose like it had to be able to cover a substantial paunch but Jake knew Denton was in good shape. He suspected the jacket was designed to be buttoned and still conceal the fact that he carried his sidearm, an FBI standard issue 40 caliber Glock, in a belt holster. His steely gray, kinky hair suggested that as a boy he probably had the kind of thick curls every girl and woman envies, but now, cut short and thinning on top, it was just a good haircut for a convertible or a motorcycle. Tired and faded blue eyes stared out from beneath bushy gray eyebrows.

He pulled the unlit cigar from his mouth with his left hand and shook hands with Jake with his right. Unlike Bert Hanson, who occasionally lit his cigar, Denton never did, or at least Jake had not seen it. A good thing, too, because Denton often grabbed the cigar by the end to use as a pointer or like a conductor’s wand when making a point. If it were ever lit, he would burn himself.

Denton was followed into the restaurant by a tall, slim blonde woman wearing tan cargo pants; hiking boots; a long-sleeved, green pullover and a denim vest. She shadowed Denton as he approached their table. She smiled at Jake and stayed behind Denton.

Jake! said Denton. It's good to see you. How have you been?

Fine. Just being a lazy sailor and beach bum, that is, until I got your message. What more can you tell us?

Not much of anything I'm afraid. You'll be finding out the facts at the same time I do.

You know nothing?

Very little. The body of a young woman was found this morning on one of the beaches on Stockton Island.

Bert Hanson told me it was the beach at Presque Isle Bay.

You already know more than I do. I tell you it's hard enough to get to and manage a crime scene anywhere … but on an island? A place where you can only get there by boat? Can't even land a helicopter on this one.

Crime scene? It was Charles who asked.

Well, if it is a crime scene, Charles, it is being protected by some of our men. However, as I told Jake on the phone, FBI forensics isn't coming any too soon. We may have to use what local law enforcement can lend us.

I think you'll be fine, said Jake.

Oh, you know something I don't?

Turn around, Jack.

What?

Turn around.

Denton slowly turned around coming face to face with the blond woman. She stared at him through big brown eyes and smiled through soft, full lips.

Jack Denton, meet CoCo Cadotte.

CoCo Cadotte extended a hand.

Denton took it. No offense Ma'am, but I have no idea who you are.

CoCo laughed. Jake?" she said.

Pete Cadotte interrupted. She's my cousin, Jack, he said. Not first cousin and maybe not second, but we Cadottes are all related and we are everywhere around here. We are all descended from Michel Cadotte, the fur trader, and his wife Madeline. Madeline is the name given her at her christening before their wedding. It's also the name her father, Chief White Crane, gave to the big island … to Madeline Island. CoCo Cadotte is a forensic scientist retired from the Minnesota BCA, the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension in St. Paul.

You recommend her, Jake? asked Denton.

I do. I have worked with her on a number of cases before she retired and since. She's good.

Good. That will be helpful. To Coco Cadotte, Denton said, Thank you.

CoCo nodded and beamed.

You know everybody else, here? asked Jake.

Denton looked around the table. I do. I think I met all these people during that fiasco with the Las Vegas people and those guys from Minneapolis: Ruberg and Dunning. And of course, I have met the Professor on a number of times in the cases we have worked on together, since.

Denton pulled out a chair and sat. You know, Jake, I still don't know what happened with that old Indian in that shootout on the mainland.

You mean old Michael Cadotte. He was a Medé priest of the Medéwewin Society of the Chequamegon Chippewa Band. Pete here is his grandson and his replacement as the new Medé priest. You should ask him.

Denton looked at Pete. I will … when I have more time. Right now, I, or I should say 'we,' have more urgent problems.

The waiter came by and Denton ordered coffee.

What we've got here is a body, no witnesses and no explanation.

Probably accidental, suggested Jake.

I'm not sure, but I wonder. Our men who are there aren't paid to speculate. They've just told me it's a body of a young woman discovered early this morning by someone walking the beach. Whenever I hear about a dead body with no obvious explanation my paranoids become inflamed and I think homicide until I find out otherwise.

Paranoids? asked Mary.

He means his paranoia, Mary, said Charles. He told me once that he was too paranoid and should 'have his paranoids removed,' like adenoids or tonsils, I guess. But then he decided paranoia might be good for a cop.

Special Agent, corrected Denton. But, Charles is right and I do feel that way. Anyway, my 'paranoids' are pretty swelled up over the little I know so far on this case. Denton sipped his coffee. Tastes good. I needed that. I have been traveling since early morning. Now, we should get going.

We can run over on Resolution, said Jake. We can dock at the harbor at Presque Isle Bay and walk around to the scene.

CHAPTER THREE

Down at the casino’s transient dock, Charles and Coco Cadotte handled docking lines as Jake started the auxiliary diesel. Mary stood on the dock watching them leave. Motoring out onto the waters of Lake Superior, seas were calm. The islands basked in the warm sunshine of late morning under a cloudless cerulean sky. It was Jake's kind of day, except for the uncertain errand upon which they were embarking.

As