Spinning A Quinn Macarthy Novel

By Karen Casebeer

The hit-and-run killing of a bicyclist in northwestern Lower Michigan mobilizes the Lakeland County Sheriff's Department to investigate the incident. A true accident resulting from a bicyclist wearing dark clothing at dusk? A crash caused by a driver who panics and leaves the scene? A drunk driver who doesn't even realize he's hit someone? While these premises drive the early inquiry into the case, a second hit-and-run crash that kills two more bicyclists shifts the probe from a random mishap to a heinous crime. Sheriff Ed Robbins, along with other law enforcement specialists, pull out all the stops as they work to capture this serial killer who targets bicyclists. And with hundreds of recreational and professional bikers flocking to the scenic county for the Fall Foliage Bike Tour, stopping this nefarious hit-man becomes especially urgent. Introducing rookie police officer Quinn Macarthy, who plays a vital role in the investigation, and debuts in this new crime fiction series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen Casebeer
• Release date: Mar 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005089894

Karen Casebeer

I grew up in southwestern Michigan and graduated from Western Michigan University, where I studied writing with Ken Macrorie. I taught secondary school English and Latin for twenty-five years in suburban Kalamazoo. After retiring from teaching, I returned to WMU to obtain my doctoral degree in Counselor Education and Counseling Psychology. I practiced as a licensed psychologist in Kalamazoo for another 14 years. I currently teach social science at Davenport University.Writing has always played an important role in my life: keeping a journal, writing professional articles, helping students become authentic writers, and writing college papers and a dissertation. But writing a novel didn't start until I moved to Northwestern Lower Michigan. There, my love of the Northwoods, crime fiction, and psychology all came together with my first novel Culpable. I'm excited to introduce my second novel Spinning, which debuts rookie law enforcement officer Quinn Macarthy. Spinning also launches the new crime series featuring Quinn Macarthy.

Book preview

Chapter One

June, 1992

It was his favorite time of the day. Dawn. The sun wasn’t up yet, but the day was coming alive. Sitting on his front porch, sipping coffee, and listening to the sounds in the woods and on the water. Squirrels scurrying around for nuts and seeds. Birds fluttering among the trees in search of berries. A pileated noisily drilling for insects and beetle larvae in an aging hemlock tree. Loons slapping the water as they dove for fish and crustaceans, occasionally vocalizing their last calls of the night. Oo-AH-ho, oo-AH-ho. And the sporadic, stealthy sound of a larger animal eating leaves and twigs as it moved through the woods. Probably a whitetail. It was the perfect way to rouse himself gradually from the prior night’s sleep and prepare himself for the approaching day. Just as the sun rose above the horizon, he caught sight of the loon family, gliding across the lake with their two chicks. He picked up his field glasses and watched them, heads tilted upward, their red-eyes glowing in the increasing sunlight.

The phone ringing in the kitchen startled him from his morning groove, and he headed inside to answer.

Sorry to disturb you this early, boss, but we’ve got a 5401 out on Bigelow Road, just past the big S-curve. Brad’s on his way, and I’ve alerted the EMS. Thought you’d want to know.

Thanks, Anna. Appreciate it. What other details have you got?

Not many. A Marge Lock called it in. She was on her way into town and saw it alongside the road. She’s pretty shaken up. Thinks it’s a bicyclist.

Oh, shit. Those are the worst. No protection at all.

Sorry, sir. I’ll radio you any additional details as they come in.

I’m headed to the shower and will be outta here in fifteen minutes. Let Brad know if you would.

Will do, sir.

Edward Robbins had been Sheriff of Lakeland County for nearly 30 years. He was tall, athletic in build, and his close-cropped hair was completely gray. He hadn’t thought much about retiring as he enjoyed his job: minimal violent crime, ample vacation time, and continual community support.

Ed jumped in and out of the shower, grabbed his coffee and a package of Pop-Tarts, and headed out of his log home to his white Ford Explorer with Lakeland County Sheriff emblazoned on the sides. He radioed Anna to let her know he was on his way. He was about five miles from the scene and wasn’t looking forward to what he’d find there. Hit-and-runs were bad enough, but those against bicyclists could be especially grizzly. Bikers don’t stand a chance against motor vehicles, especially big ones.

Ed took the last bite of his Pop-Tart as he rounded the first bend of the Bigelow S-curve. He could see the emergency responders had already arrived, and Brad’s Crown Vic cruiser was there too. Ed quickly did a U-turn and put his flashers on just before the curve. No need to create another accident, he thought. He pulled some orange cones from the back of his SUV and set them up at the curve. Before heading up to the scene, Ed radioed Anna and asked her to send Deputy Randy Scott and Officer Quinn Macarthy to the accident site.

On this S-curve, we don’t need more cars plowing into the scene. Have them bring some road flares and a few LED batons. Sun’s just up, but with both sides of the road so wooded, it’s still pretty dark here.

I’ll get right on it, sir.

Ed locked his SUV and trotted up the road to the scene. As he got closer, he was glad he hadn’t eaten a bigger breakfast. The bicycle was twisted and mangled. The front-wheel was entirely torn off, bent into a right angle, and resting about twenty feet from the motionless body. He could see the faint residue of Raleigh written in peeling gold paint against the faded green down tube. An old, but classic model.

You must be Marge Lock. I’m Sheriff Ed Robbins, he said as he moved towards the woman standing next to a late model SUV. Tell me about coming upon the accident.

I was on my way into town. It wasn’t light yet, but I could see something off to the side of the road as I drove by. At first, I thought it was a deer, but then I had a funny feeling it was a person, so I turned around and came back. That’s when I saw it was a man and that his bike was crushed. It seemed like he might’ve been hit while riding his bike. Awfully dark to be out riding, though. Anyway, that’s when I called it in on my mobile phone. I walked over towards the victim and could tell that he wasn’t breathing. He looked pretty torn up.

You did the right thing calling this in, Mrs. Lock, he said, glancing down at her Marquise-cut wedding ring and Coach handbag. Unfortunately, it appears to be a hit-and-run, he added as he walked over to Lock’s metallic beige Toyota Land Cruiser and began circling it.

Hey, what’re you doing? You don’t think I did it, do you?

Not really, but we just have to make sure we’re covering all angles, Ed said as he continued around her SUV. Not a scratch anywhere. Side mirrors intact. Sorry I seem suspicious, Mrs. Lock. You’d be surprised how many people call in their own accidents. Do you have anything else you want to share with us?

No, but I need to get going. I’m already late for an appointment. Is that okay?

Let me take down your driver’s license and contact information in case we have more questions. Ed took a small notebook from his uniform breast pocket and wrote down the witness’s name, address, and license number. As he returned her identification, Ed said, Thanks again for what you did. Let us know if you think of anything else. You okay to drive?

Yes, I’m fine. Sorry it’s too late for the poor guy, though. I’ll contact you if anything else comes to mind, Marge said as she got into her Land Cruiser and drove off.

Ed pocketed his notebook just as Deputy Randy Scott and Officer Quinn Macarthy drove up, their cruiser’s light bar flashing. Ed walked over as Randy rolled down his window.

Got a bad one. Bicyclist. Hit-and-run.

Oh, man. What do you want us to do?

Quinn, why don’t you head down to my SUV and take that end of the s-curve. Randy, you drive to the other end. Use your radios and only allow one lane of traffic to come through at a time. Shouldn’t take too long to get the site cleared up. Sound okay?

Yeah, let me grab a couple of batons before heading down to Ed’s SUV, Quinn said, stuffing a rectangle of pink Bazooka in her mouth as she hopped out of the passenger side.

Sounds good. Be on the lookout for anyone who seems to be gawking excessively at the scene, okay? You never know when the motorist will return for another look. I’m going to take a closer look at the scene and the victim.

Ed turned away from his two youngest officers and walked towards the scene. Randy had been with the department for three years and had attained the rank of deputy. Quinn was the department’s rookie, having joined the previous fall.

Hi, boss. It’s a nasty one, said Sergeant Brad Fields, the most senior member of the department and second-in-command.

Whaddya have so far?

Obviously, a hit-and-run. Victim’s a male, probably around 30-35.

Looks like he might be Mexican. Maybe a migrant.

That would fit being on a bike. Undocumented, perhaps.

No identification. No wallet. Pockets empty. Just a small cross around his neck.

Ed walked closer to get a better look. Jesus, he said as he rolled the body towards him. The man’s whole left side was crushed from his skull down to his knees. Didn’t have a chance. Looks like whatever hit him just plowed him over from head to feet.

Where should we take him, Sheriff? one of the first responders asked.

Probably straight to the morgue. Medical Examiner will want to do an autopsy. Before you load him up, let me grab my camera so I can take some pictures.

Ed jogged down to his SUV, grabbed his lightweight Canon, and jogged back to the crime scene. He photographed the casualty from several angles. Ed rolled the victim over and then knelt on one knee. He ran his hand from the man’s shoulder down to his pant leg.

What do you have there, boss? Brad said.

Come down here. Feel his sweatshirt and pants.

Gritty. Paint residue, maybe. Is that what you’re thinking?

Yeah. It’s rougher than the rest of the clothing, don’t you think?

Seems that way.

No wonder the poor bastard didn’t stand a chance. No one could see him.

Yeah, not a good idea to bike in the dark wearing black clothing. Could the rough patches be road rash instead of car paint?

Maybe, but I have a feeling it’s from the car. Doc will be able to tell when he examines him. You can load him up now, Ed said to the EMT. Make sure you note to the medical examiner about the clothing roughness. Rafferty will know right away what it is.

We’ll let him know, Sheriff. The technicians carefully lifted the body onto a gurney and loaded it into the ambulance. Both responders got in and left the scene, flashers and sirens turned off.

Brad, let’s look at the scene more and see if there’s anything that might give us some help.

One thing I noticed right away is there aren’t any skid marks at all.

The bastard didn’t even slow down. Wonder if he was drunk.

Oh, look here, Ed, Brad said as he picked up a small fragment of clear plastic.

Looks like it may be from the headlight, Ed said as he took it, turned it over, and set it back on the road. He snapped a photo to get the evidence in situ.

Here’s something else in the grass.

Let me get a picture first before you pick it up. Ed took the picture and then picked up the piece. I bet it’s from the car’s front quarter panel.

Even from the small size, you can tell it’s a dark charcoal gray. I bet the Traffic Investigations Unit can tell what it’s from.

We’ll call Alan Werner at MDPS when we get back. He’ll get it to the right people.

Ed and Brad continued to pace off the accident scene but found nothing more. They returned to the two pieces lying on the roadside and put them in evidence bags. Ed went over and photographed the remains of the bent-up Raleigh. He also took wide-angle pictures of the road showing no skid marks. He and Brad then walked down to Ed’s SUV and drove it back to the scene. They opened the lift-gate and placed each of the bike parts in the back end. Brad then walked over to his cruiser, headed towards Randy at the north end of the S-curve, and notified him he could return to the office. Ed went down to collect the remaining orange cones and send Quinn back to the office also. As he drove towards her, he couldn’t help but notice how striking she was as the sun struck her flaming red, pixie-cut hair and her emerald green eyes. He reached her just as a large pink bubble popped and deflated over her whole mouth. She smiled sheepishly as she picked the gum from her lips. She was going to be a keeper, Ed thought.

THE LAKELAND COUNTY BEACON

Hit-and-Run Male Still Unidentified

By Ian Doyle on June 25, 1992

Lakeland County Sheriff Edward Robbins reported that the victim hit-and-run on the Bigelow Road S-curve remains unidentified. The man, who appears to be of Mexican descent, was around 30-35 years old. He was dressed in dark clothing and carried no identification.

Robbins said the call came early in the morning on June 21st from Mrs. Marge Lock. She was driving into town near daybreak and noticed something along the roadside, first thinking it was a deer. She turned around and saw the male body, the severely damaged bicycle, and called the Sheriff on her mobile phone. Mrs. Lock did not witness the accident and is not a suspect in the case.

Robbins said that the accident site yielded few clues. The lack of any skid marks indicates the driver didn't appear to have tried stopping. He may have been unaware he’d hit someone, perhaps due to intoxicants.

Robbins also reported they found two small pieces of plastic at the scene. According to the Traffic Investigations Unit (TIU) of the Michigan Department of Public Safety (MDPS), both pieces came from the vintage Raleigh dark green bicycle versus the hit-and-run vehicle. The clear plastic piece came from the bike’s reflector, and the dark charcoal gray piece was from the bike’s front fender. The part had been rubbed down to the base primer, which was a dark gray.

Medical Examiner Dr. Roy Rafferty said the victim died from blunt trauma to the head. He also suffered a hip fracture and a dislocated elbow. A significant amount of road debris embedded in the victim’s clothing indicated he might have been dragged for a distance.

Sheriff Robbins lamented the lack of clues in the case. He advised anyone who might have information about the incident to call his office. He especially encouraged those who might know the victim to step forward, so he can make proper identification. He added, Because the individual appears to be Mexican, and we’re just beginning our cherry harvest, we might be dealing with an undocumented migrant worker. My only concern is notifying the victim’s family, not. prosecuting a farm owner for illegal immigration.

Chapter Two

Ed sat at the head of the conference room table at the Lakeland County Sheriff’s Department. Joining him were Brad, Randy, and Quinn, plus Detective Alan Werner, of the Michigan Department of Public Safety. Ed and Alan had worked together on prior cases, so it was natural to bring in the state agency for help. Anna Wentworth, dispatcher and administrative assistant, was present too for taking minutes. Open plat maps covered the table.

I think the only way we’re going to get our victim identified is to go from farm to farm and check with both owners and migrants about whether they have any missing workers, Ed said.

Do you think they’ll be forthcoming with information? Alan asked.

We had Ian Doyle, our local reporter, stress in his article last week that we weren’t interested in prosecuting anyone for hiring undocumented workers. We just want this guy identified.

Hope that does it, but fear of prosecution runs pretty deep, especially when the news continually reports raids on farms using illegal immigrants, Alan replied.

You state guys are out-of-touch with life in cherry country, Ed retorted. Farmers would be out of business without migrant help.

I hear you. Just giving you a dose of legal reality.

Let’s get back to the business at hand. Anna has the plat maps open, and she’s circled all the farms within a five-mile radius of the accident with red marker. Next, she went out another five miles and circled those with yellow marker, Ed said. We’ll start with the five-mile radius farms first, and if they don’t yield what we’re looking for, we’ll extend our radius. We’ll work in pairs. Quinn can go with me, and Brad and Randy can be the other team. Anna has a list prepared for each team; there are seven farms on each list.

Sounds good.

Why don’t we get some burgers together at The Landing before we start? On the department.

What about me, Alan asked.

We’d love for you to join us. We’ll even pick up your tab.

But I’m not in on the canvassing. Do I hear you right?

Yes, that’s correct, Alan. We’re going to keep this part local. We already know these folks and that’s to our advantage.

The officers headed out to The Landing, the local burger joint located near the Lake Michigan’s shoreline. The restaurant was popular with both locals and tourists. It was known for its fresh whitefish and half-pound steak burgers. At night, it was the place to go for partying. Bands played outside on the massive wooden deck, and people often danced under the stars till closing.

As lunch ended, Ed moved towards Alan and extended his hand to shake, I hope you understand why I’m keeping this local, Alan.

Actually, I don’t, Ed. Michigan law is Michigan law, wherever you are.

I’ll be in touch. I appreciate your expertise and look forward to working together again. Okay, folks, let’s get moving. Once the weekend arrives with all the Fourth of July visitors, we’ll not have a minute to spare.

The teams got into their vehicles and headed out for their assigned canvassing. Ed and Quinn climbed into his SUV. On the way, Ed discussed the protocols they’d use for interviewing the farmers. He said he’d take the lead for the first couple farms, and then she was free to participate after that. They struck out at Breezy Hills Farm, Grove Orchard, and Honey Bee Farm. Feeling a little discouraged, they headed to the fourth farm on their list, Nystrom’s Orchard.

Arvid Nystrom was a third-generation cherry farmer. While they had long since passed, his grandparents had started the farm when they’d emigrated from Sweden in the1930’s. Arvid's parents were semi-retired but still lived in a bungalow on the farm’s 155 acres, one of the largest in the North Country. Nystrom’s Orchard specialized in several sweet cherries, including the popular Emperor Francis, Gold, Napoleon, and Ulster. They also grew three kinds of apples, Honeycrisp, Jonagold, and Mutsu.

As Ed and Quinn entered the property’s long driveway, they could see it was a beehive of activity. Above average spring temperatures had moved the cherry harvest up a full ten days. Cherry shakers littered the orchard hillsides. Workers pulled large tarps under each tree, mechanically shook the tree, and then transferred the cherries from the tarps to a conveyer belt where they were dumped into bins. At another station, workers moved the cherries from the containers to hydro coolers, which brought down the fruit’s pulp temperatures. Finally, workers loaded the cooled fruit onto refrigerated trucks for hauling to packing facilities.

The Nystrom children were involved in the process too. Arvid's ten-year-old, blond-haired twin daughters sat in lawn chairs at the roadside Nystrom Fruit Stand. Big buckets of cherries in water were on the ground next to the girls. They would swish the cherries around in the water to wash them and then transfer them to individual quart containers to sell to passersby who frequented the stand.

While the harvest didn’t stop with the approaching Sheriff’s car, several workers did look in their direction. Arvid left his position at the hydro coolers and walked towards the officers as they disembarked from their SUV.

Sheriff Robbins, good to see you, Arvid said in perfect English but pronounced with his ancestry’s nasally, songlike lilt. What brings you here?

I’m guessing you’ve heard about the hit-and-run case of a man killed on his bicycle about three miles from here. It appears he was Mexican, and we’re wondering whether he might be a migrant worker at one of the nearby fruit farms.

I hadn’t heard about the accident. You know how it is for farmers during the harvest.

I do, Arvid. No time for anything extra. That’s why we’re going from farm to farm, trying to find out who he was.

Are you thinking he was undocumented? Is that why you’re here? I assure you all our workers have proper papers.

No, no, Arvid. We aren’t concerned about that at all. We only want to identify the man so we can return his body to his family for proper burial.

I don’t think we’re missing anyone, Sheriff.

We think he was about 30-35. Could you check with your migrant crew chief to make sure?

Yes, I’ll call him, Arvid said, as he spoke briefly into his two-way radio. My migrant crew chief is Gerardo Gutierrez, and he’ll be right down. He’s been with me for twenty years.

I speak excellent Spanish if you need help with translating, Quinn offered.

Thanks, officer, but that won’t be necessary. Gerardo already speaks excellent English. He’ll even be getting his U.S. citizenship in the fall. We’re very proud of him.

Wonderful news, Arvid. You’re known for doing good by your workers.

Thanks, Ed. Here comes Gerardo.

Hello, officers. What’s going on, Mr. Nystrom?

There was a hit-and-run accident where a young man on a bicycle was killed. He appeared to be Mexican and about 30 years old. The Sheriff is going farm to farm to see if any workers are missing from the area migrant crews.

Oh, Dios mio! Gerardo exclaimed, breaking into tears. That must be my nephew, Jorge Perez. It’s his first year here, and he’s been very unhappy. Miserable, in fact. He ran away the first couple days he was here but came back. Didn’t have no other place to go. I thought that was happening again this time.

And you didn’t tell me, Gerardo?

No, sir, I’m sorry. I thought it would resolve itself when Jorge came back. I was trying to give him a break. He missed his family so much back in Texas. I thought he’d eventually adapt as we all do.

We’ll settle this a little later, Gerardo. What do you need from us next, Sheriff?

We’ll need Gerardo to come with us to identify the body to make sure it’s Jorge. Then we’ll want to make plans for what you want to do with the body.

Okay, I don’t want Gerardo to do this alone. How about if we follow you into town?

That sounds good, Arvid. I’m very sorry about this, Gerardo.

I only pray, it’s not Jorge, Gerardo said mournfully. Mi hermana estara desconsolada.

Chapter Three

Most small towns have a gathering place where people sit down with a cup of coffee and talk about the latest news and gossip. A fire station. A township hall. A restaurant. The Donut Hole Bakery served as such a place. Located in the heart of the village, it occupied a hundred-year-old, historic building. In honor of the approaching Fourth of