Silent Prey Read online

  "I understand," Channing said. "I feel the same way."

  Yancy waited until she sat down on a conveniently-placed chair and changed her snow boots for a pair of sneakers from her overnight bag, then led her into the lobby. She'd noticed when she pulled into the driveway that even through the snow the place looked a bit shabby. Glancing around, she saw a few things in here that needed attention, also. Things it would take money to fix, though, such as cracks in the walls and faded paint. Still, everything gleamed with furniture polish and she could smell the lemony hint in the air. Someone evidently kept the home shining even when it was closed to guests.

  Her room was up the stairs on the second floor, Yancy informed her as she filled out the check-in paperwork. She declined his offer of a tour, evasively saying she might take one after she rested.

  "Well," he said in parting, "at least say you'll join us for dinner. Annalise, my wife, serves at seven, and with this weather, you won't be able to get out and find a meal somewhere else."

  "That I'll accept," Channing agreed.

  Anxious to get to the room, she carried her overnight case up the stairs and opened the door. Located on the front of the house, her room window overlooked the street. She would have preferred more privacy, perhaps something on the backside of the house, since she assumed she would hear street traffic in this one. Not much in this weather, though, she realized. And tomorrow she could drive to Duluth and the airport.

  She forced herself to gently close the door behind her, then left her overnight case where it was and strode to a lounge chair beside the front window. She threw the pillow from the chair onto the floor, sat down and folded over on herself. Grasping her head in her hands, she bit her fingers into her scalp, trying desperately to keep the sobs at bay.

  It didn't work. Flashes of two dead girls' faces flared through her mind, one superimposing itself on the other one, time after time. Delicate but blue-lipped Native American features with black straight hair that had been soft and shiny before clotted with mud and snow morphed into a piquant, elfish face topped by a riot of soft red curls. The red darkened into a dull hue as water soaked it and those sparkling green eyes dimmed before the eyelids hid them. Then the Native American child, then her daughter Rose again.

  Channing opened her eyes, but the pictures still formed in the air ahead of her gaze. Sobs wracked her body and she grabbed the pillow to bury her face and stifle her cries.

  Channing had seen her share of dead bodies, even a few children. Once she assisted a fellow physician in a particularly hazardous birth, and the poor baby couldn't be revived after she was born. Yet nothing had prepared her for the pain of holding her own child dead in her arms, not that anything ever could. The child she had just treated was about the age Rose would be now, had she lived.

  Tears streaming down her face, Channing surged to her feet and stared around the room for a box of tissues. When she didn't find one, she strode into the bathroom and pulled off a handful of toilet paper to mop her face. The tears renewed, and she ended up grabbing the extra roll of paper on the commode to carry with her back to the chair. It took a good ten minutes before she gained control and returned to the bathroom to bathe the ravages from her face. Try to, anyway. Shaking from her reaction to her emotional eruption, she glanced in the mirror and saw she would need a good makeup job before she went down to dinner.

  Cold washcloth in hand, Channing left the bathroom and checked the digital clock on the bedside table. She had an hour before seven. She retrieved her overnight case from beside the door, tossed it on the bed, then wiped her face when tears threatened again.

  She gazed around. There was no television in her room, so she couldn't turn on some mindless program to distract her thoughts. No radio on the clock. She focused on the room as a distraction.

  Again, the hint of shabbiness amidst the cleanliness hit her. The furniture was good quality, but probably from the fifties, an era that didn't have anything special to tout it style-wise. She noticed a small tear in the comforter, which had been mended with neat stitches and another one on one of the curtains at the front window. The carpet underfoot was clean, but it didn't appear to have a sufficient layer of padding. She could feel the floor beneath it. Perhaps it was just old and matted down. She tested the bed by pushing on it with her palms. The mattress seemed firm, the way she liked it.

  Channing checked her cell phone, not surprised to see there was no service here. If she stayed, she would have to find out what local service the townspeople used. At least Daisy had cancelled her Grand Marais reservation, so she didn't have to take care of that.

  Stay here? Did I really think that just now?

  How could she consider that after what had just happened? What had made her believe moving over a thousand miles away from her former practice would be the answer? People died here, children were subjected to horrible phenomena here, the same as at home. Short of totally leaving the practice of treating actual patients and going into research, which she had absolutely no interest in, what could she do to support herself?

  "Right now," she murmured, to break the utter stillness of the room, "I just want to soak in a hot bath and change into different clothing." Something that wasn't tainted by the memory of that small child dying in her care.

  As she opened her overnight case and gathered her toiletries, she still couldn't dam her thoughts. Who was that man who brought the child in? That had bothered her more than once in the past few hours, even after he left and while she checked the small child for molestation, a condition that had proven true. There was bruising around the child's vagina.

  It didn't appear there had been penetration, although what was done sickened her. Pedophiles were the worst possible humans.

  The clinic didn't have the equipment to test for other evidence as to the identity of the monster who had molested this child. She hadn't bothered to swab, either. That she would leave to the forensic medical examiner. As her last contribution to the child, Channing had tenderly wrapped her up for the trip to Duluth and turned her tiny body over to the local funeral home director to store until it could be transported.

  Had the man who brought the child in done this? In Channing's specialty — family practice — she had discovered only rare cases of child abuse. Those she had promptly reported to the proper authorities and kept the child in her own care until a social worker arrived. None of those cases had involved sexual molestation. Instead, they had all been physical abuse.

  She wasn't that aware of the psychological characteristics of a child molester; that hadn't been a major focus in her medical studies. Could that man — Keoman, Sheriff Hjak had called him — have committed this horrible deed, then regretted what he'd done and brought the child in for medical attention? Edward Silver obviously disliked Keoman, but Sheriff Hjak had sloughed off Edward's denigration of the Native American man.

  Channing's thoughts circled back. Even with the completely different cause of death, the child brought back so many memories. A spring day in Texas, since their spring came months earlier than in this cold land. But she reinforced her barriers to those memories more solidly this time and turned on the bath water.

  ~~~~

  "What sort of omens?" Keoman asked as soon as Gagewin finished speaking.

  "Owls for one," the Grand Midé responded. "Not just snow owls, but paired with horned owls. Whenever I see these two together, it's a sign I'll soon have a vision. Five days ago, I saw such a sight. I went to my holy place and fasted three days. On the third night, my vision came. I saw a beautiful woman, but though her beauty drew me, I sensed she posed danger. And not only to me. When she came upon young animals, they ran from her. Their cries brought eagles, and the eagles chased the woman away."

  "Did you receive a name for her?" Keoman asked as the rest of the group remained silent.

  "Not yet," Gagewin answered. "But I don't believe this is the last I'll see of her."

  Keoman nodded. "The birds and animals know things through senses t
hat have long fallen into disuse and neglect in us."

  "Yes."

  Nodinens spoke up, "It is a prophecy."

  "Bah," Gagewin said. "Old woman, you profess to know the meaning of my vision when I don't?"

  "Yes," Nodinens said flatly. "And that is not all of the meaning."

  "The rest?" Keoman put in when Gagewin stared over Nodinens' head and refused to voice the same thing.

  "I am not sure," Nodinens admitted. "I think I am going to have to do some research on this."

  Gagewin smirked. "So you will look on your internet for meaning? And you're giving advice based on a feeling?"

  "You are not?" Nodinens spat back. "You are interpreting what you dreamed. That is just as much a feeling as what I am going on. As usual, Gagewin, you disparage what I have to say because I am a woman."

  Keoman tuned them out. Debate and friction between the Grand Midé and the eldest woman in their midst happened at nearly every one of their gatherings. A few of the others around the table also half-closed their eyes, thinking their own thoughts until this latest argument concluded. Keoman assumed they were also avoiding his gaze, since one or two noticed him watching and turned away.

  There were ten men here and one other woman. The woman, Djasa, was a healer and a member of the Moose Clan. The men were of various clans, also: Crane, Catfish, Wolf, Goose, Sucker, Sturgeon, Whitefish, Beaver, Hawk. At least half of the men and both women were also members of the Midewiwin, the Grand Medicine Society. The others were important in their individual clans. All had an area of responsibility in the tribal government hierarchy. The Catfish Clan member served as recording secretary at tribal meetings, but gatherings such as this one would not be recorded anywhere, except in the participants' minds.

  Keoman had been surprised to see Radin Paul. He'd thought him in St. Paul lobbying for tribal matters, a job that suited him well when he wasn't busy with his construction and home repair company. Growing up, Keoman had looked up to Radin as a big brother type, and Radin had surprised Keoman a few years back when he showed an interest in the political workings of the tribe. Radin had turned into a surprisingly strong leader, considering that he had been pretty much a happy-go-lucky type until he married.

  Sadly, his friend's marriage to a white woman he met one summer ended in divorce after only a few years. The woman took their two-year-old daughter and left. The last time Keoman had asked, Radin admitted he had no idea where she and the child were now. She hadn't even contacted him for child support.

  Radin had already greeted Keoman when they both arrived at the same moment. His failure to respond to Keoman's gaze around the room had nothing to do with any deterioration in their friendship. Radin appeared to be troubled by some quandary of his own.

  Finally, the discussion centered on the important point of this meeting: whether Gagewin's vision could have anything to do with the dead child.

  "Then we know for sure she died?" Keoman asked quietly.

  "Yes," Gagewin said, his voice respectful of the subject matter. "I talked to Hjak just before this gathering. And we may have an idea of who she is." Before anyone could ask, he went on, "She's not from here. There was a child reported missing yesterday over by Ely. She matches the description of the one found in Neris Lake."

  Nodinens gasped.

  "What, Grandmother?" Keoman asked in concern.

  "My … one of my great-nieces lives near Ely," Nodinens whispered. "She has two sons and a daughter. The daughter is nearly three."

  Chapter 5

  Channing waited until the meal was finished and Yancy had left her and his wife, Annalise, alone at the table before she brought up the unpleasant subject. Annalise, a woman in her mid-thirties, had the high cheekbones and dark coloring that might indicate Native American ancestry. If so, she definitely downplayed it. She had surprised Channing when she appeared from the kitchen wearing a stylish sweater and pants outfit that had to have cost quite a lot. Plus, the single-strand emerald and diamond necklace, although simple, appeared real and a bit much for a modest evening meal such as this. Maybe Annalise preferred to spend on herself rather than her home. Or perhaps she just enjoyed dressing for dinner.

  "Have you or Yancy heard if they've identified the little girl?" Channing asked.

  Before Annalise could answer, the doorbell rang, and her hostess leapt to her feet. "I better get that, since Yancy's busy in the kitchen. It's his night to clean up."

  Annelise hurried into the front mudroom. She left the door open enough for Channing to see her cautiously push the curtain on the window beside the front door aside and glance out before she reached for the doorknob.

  Funny, Channing thought. People weren't usually that guarded in small towns, but the incident this afternoon had probably spooked them. More puzzling was the reflection of Annalise's face in a mirror on the mudroom wall. For a split second, her expression changed from vigilant curiosity to a flash of deep anger. But when she opened the door, her face was calm, her tone welcoming.

  "Hello, Pete," Annalise greeted the sheriff Channing had met earlier. "What can we do for you?"

  Hjak was tall, well over six feet, and his features indicated another local man of Scandinavian background. He maintained a physically fit body, perhaps due to his job or maybe good genes. He entered in his stocking feet, which Channing assumed might be the norm during winter in this Northwood land, in order to keep from soiling floors and carpets with snow and slush.

  "That's one of the problems of being sheriff," Hjak said. "I can't just stop by to visit folks. They always think I'm there to question them."

  He glanced at Channing and nodded a greeting as Annalise replied, "Of course you're welcome to visit, Pete. But it's too late at night for you and Yancy to go ice fishing, and hunting season is long over. So…?"

  "So … you're right. I'm here to see Dr. Drury," Hjak said. "Alone, if you don't mind, Annalise."

  "Of course. I'll bring some coffee into the parlor and the two of you can chat there."

  Channing examined Annalise's face as she passed, but the other woman smiled cheerily at her. By then, Channing's roiling stomach, filled with a mix of disquiet and distaste at what she would have to discuss with the sheriff, took precedence over her curiosity. She had been dreading this part of the investigation, although she would do her best to aid in any way she could.

  Hjak allowed Channing to proceed him into the small room off the hallway that Annalise had called a parlor. The sheriff remained standing until Channing took a seat in a comfortable wing chair beside a fireplace containing gas logs.

  "Would you like me to turn on the logs?" Hjak asked.

  "This is fine, Sheriff."

  "Pete, please," he said. "If you're going to settle here, I'm sure we'll be seeing each other a bit. And we're pretty friendly folks in Neris Lake. For the most part, anyway."

  "For the most part?" Channing asked with a quirked eyebrow, more to forestall the coming questions than out of curiosity.

  "Well, you know, all towns have their good folks and not-so-good ones."

  "Good and evil," Channing added.

  "That, too," he agreed.

  Annalise entered with a tray holding a silver coffeepot, china cups similar to those used at dinner, and condiments. She set the tray on an old steamer trunk used for a coffee table, smiled at them both, then left. While Pete poured the coffee, Channing decided this would be as good a time as any to set things straight with him.

  "I'm sure you'll find this out sooner or later, Pete," she said. "The incident with that poor child this afternoon shook me. Not just because of how horrible it always is to have a child die, and worse, in such a manner. You see, I lost a daughter myself, so it's going to take some time for me to get over the trauma of this."

  Hjak set his cup down. "I already know quite a bit about you," he admitted.

  "Edward had me investigated?" Channing asked, anger flaring.

  "No, Dr. Silver didn't," he assured her. "Seems I've got this innate curiosity. Hav
e had, ever since time of birth. Mama said I never cried because I was too busy looking and listening. And when I found the internet years ago, it fed that habit. Edward mentioned one night at a fundraiser we were both attending that you'd responded to his queries for a partner. That he'd been in contact with you and was trying to get you to come up here and look at the practice."

  "So you looked me up on the 'net."

  "Yes. As I said, only out of curiosity. But, of course, there were several newspaper articles about you and your husband. I'm very sorry for your loss."

  "Thank you." Channing choked and couldn't go on to correct his misconception about her and Grant still being husband and wife. Even now she couldn't stand to talk about Rose. If Pete Hjak knew the reason Channing had decided to look at a small-town practice so far away from Texas….

  The shriek from deeper inside the house cut through the air with a force that at first froze Channing in place. She and Hjak surged to their feet at the same instant and rushed out of the parlor, through the dining room to the area of the house Channing assumed held the kitchen. Hjak grabbed her at the swinging doors, pushing her aside and ordering, "Stay here until I see what's going on."

  Hand on the pistol holstered on his hip, Hjak shoved through the doors. Channing didn't even think about what she was doing. Her medical instincts outweighed her fear for her own safety. She caught the doors on the backswing and pushed into the kitchen right behind Hjak.

  Annalise knelt beside Yancy, who lay on the floor, agony and pain marring his face. Tears streaked Annalise's cheeks as she pleaded, "Help him. Please. He collapsed. It must be either insulin shock or a heart attack!"

  Hjak immediately stepped aside so Channing could join Annalise. When she reached for Yancy's throat to check his pulse, Annalise threw herself across her husband's chest, sobbing. Channing grabbed the woman and tried to pull her off, but she clung to Yancy with an unbreakable grasp.