They played this game for fifteen minutes as they headed back north toward the base. Lucky was finally getting the hang of releasing the wood on command, but Jo Ann was pretty sure his progress would be forgotten when they took their walk tomorrow. The dog was incorrigible. Suddenly Lucky veered away from the water toward several canoes roped together at a dock just outside the perimeter of the base.
“Lucky, get outta there!” Jo Ann chastised, hustling to the canoes once the dog poked his head under the canvas tarp. Lucky snatched his head back and barked frantically, puzzling his owner. As she approached the canoes, Jo Ann felt an unexplained creepy sensation quiver up her spine. She slowed her pace and cautiously took the last few steps.
“What is it, boy?”
The dog continued barking, poking his head into the canoe, then backing out. Jo Ann had no idea why she dreaded looking inside the canoe, but she could ignore her insistent pup no longer. Peeling away a section of the tarp, she stopped breathing when she saw the sleeve of a black leather jacket. Following down the length of the sleeve, she stared disbelievingly at a gray human hand.
Jo Ann let out a bloodcurdling scream.
*
“Get a hold of yourself, Lieutenant,” Captain Archibald Lockhart commanded, watching his subordinate’s trembling hands clutch the leash of her spunky black dog.
Jo Ann gulped. “Yes, sir.”
Archie’s deep-brown eyes glanced toward the canoes, which were now guarded by two military police officers thanks to the lieutenant’s frantic call to the base from her cell phone. They were all waiting for local police to arrive. Gesturing to the canoe closest to the water, Archie asked, “The body is in that one?”
Lucky barked as if to provide his own answer, and his owner confirmed, “Yes, sir.”
Taking a deep breath, the captain strode to the canoe and, without a moment’s hesitation, peered inside. Once the sunlight hit the corpse’s pallid face, Archie inhaled sharply and took a step away.
“I know this man,” he quietly informed the MPs, thinking immediately of his friend Commander Joe Madsen. Then his mind quickly flashed to an image of Grant Madsen’s frightened face, imploring Archie to let him pass at the foot of that basement stairwell, his arm trembling as he held the gun. Archie felt sick.
“You do, sir?” one MP incredulously inquired.
“I know this man,” Archie repeated, in a stronger voice this time. “His name is Logan Barberi.”
“Well, that will save us some time identifying the body then,” a voice announced behind him.
Archie swiveled around and found a petite woman staring back at him, her neat, reddish-brown bob framing her face and her green eyes flashing intensity and intelligence. She wore a fuchsia blouse underneath a black suit-jacket and pants, giving her a no-nonsense, business-like appearance. “You’re the commanding officer on this base, sir?” she asked.
“Captain Archie Lockhart, ma’am,” he confirmed, reaching out to shake her hand.
“Detective Marilyn Fox, Great Lakes Police,” she responded, pumping his hand with a surprising strength. Archie then noticed two men just behind her, who appeared to be equipment-laden crime-scene techs.
Lucky began barking and wagging his tail, anxious to meet the newcomers.
Glancing at him, Marilyn asked, “That’s the dog that found the body?”
“Yes,” Archie replied. “Along with his owner, Lieutenant Jo Ann Jemison.”
“Okay, I’ll need to interview her. Could you please join the lieutenant over there, Captain, while we get to work on the scene? I’d like to look things over before talking to you further.”
“Of course, Detective,” Archie replied. “The lieutenant could use a little support right now anyway. She’s rather freaked out.”
Marilyn smirked. “Yeah, it’s not every day you find a dead body while walking your dog.”
As Archie rejoined his subordinate, he heard the detective tell one of her techs, “Smell’s not too bad yet. TOD must be recent.”
About ten minutes later, Marilyn interviewed Lieutenant Jemison while Archie observed the techs hovering over the scene—snapping photos, brushing for fingerprints, and conversing with the coroner who had recently arrived.
“Okay.” Marilyn sidled up to Archie, her voice friendly and engaging, “I’m finally ready to ask you a few questions, sir. How do you know the deceased?”
“How did he die, Detective?” Archie asked quietly.
Marilyn paused, unsure whether to share such information with a potential suspect. Just about everyone was a suspect at the moment. But wanting to see his reaction, she informed Archie, “Looks like he was stabbed in the chest.”
A look of pure sadness washed over him as he cleared his throat. “Very well. To answer your question, I’m good friends with Logan Barberi’s uncle, Commander Joe Madsen.”
She jotted down some notes. “I see, so Joe Madsen is the brother of Mr. Barberi’s mother, then?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You said you know Mr. Barberi’s uncle—that’s what helped you identify Mr. Barberi?”
“Joe brought his nephews and his sister to live with him on the base back in, when was that, 1986? Back when Enzo Barberi was sent to prison for life.”
Marilyn scribbled furiously. “So that’s when you met the deceased?”
“I met Logan once in the O Club back then, but he didn’t stay here long. He ran away to live with his other uncle, Angelo Barberi.” Archie looked wistful. “Joe was crushed when Logan ran away. Anyway, Logan was only about thirteen when he lived here. I recognized him as an adult because his picture was in the paper during Angelo’s trial.”
Archie gave the detective some time to get all this down before he added, “You should also know that Logan and his brother were arrested near this base a little over two years ago.”
“Really?” Marilyn said. “So Mr. Barberi had a brother.”
“Yes, ma’am—Grant Madsen.”
Catching her questioning glance, Archie explained, “Joe adopted Grant after his sister, Karita, died from cancer. Karita was the boys’ mother.”
Nodding her head, Marilyn continued, “Why were the brothers arrested?”
“I caught Grant trying to steal a bag of cash from a bar nearby.” He rubbed his jaw. “Grant pointed a gun at me, but I subdued him, and then he was arrested.”
Arching her eyebrows, Marilyn asked, “And Logan?”
“Logan was arrested in the bar’s parking lot, but somehow he wasn’t tied in to the attempted robbery. Grant wasn’t talking, and Logan had a good attorney, I guess.”
Marilyn’s green eyes narrowed. This certainly did not sound like a slam-dunk homicide case. “And Grant is still in prison, sir?”
“Yes, he was sentenced to three years at Gurnee.”
“Unless he’s out for good behavior,” she speculated, wondering if one brother had exacted revenge on the other.
“I haven’t heard whether Grant got out.” Archie shrugged. “It’s been a while since I spoke to Joe. Things got a little weird between us after Grant’s robbery.” Archie thought again how devastated Joe would be upon learning his nephew had been murdered.
“And Joe Madsen lives in town?”