by Jeff Nania
“They are trained in this type of investigation. These things are complicated and require a tight, concerted effort. You have the responsibility of taking care of all of Namekagon County. We need everyone to be on task 24/7, no diversions. We also need manpower. I know that rural departments are spread pretty thin. You can’t put your whole staff on one case. It wouldn’t work. If something else goes down, you’ve got to handle it.”
“How many investigators are you having sent up from Madison to assist you?” the chief asked.
“A team of four to get rolling. A tech and three detectives,” he replied.
“Lt. Malone, what if we could provide the needed personnel, assigned to you 24/7? No distractions. Investigators familiar with the case,” the chief continued.
“Well, you can’t, and we are losing valuable time here. I need to get this thing rolling,” replied Malone gruffly.
The chief nodded to the sheriff, who stood up.
“Ron Carver, Jack Wheeler, and John Cabrelli, would you please stand?” directed the sheriff.
We all did and faced him. “As the sheriff of Namekagon County, Wisconsin, I have the power to deputize any and all citizens that I feel necessary in an emergency. Musky Falls, Wisconsin, chief of police, Len Bork, agrees with me. It is not incumbent upon you to agree to be deputized. I will have no hard feelings against anyone who chooses to walk away from this situation. That is probably the best choice of action. If you choose to stay and be deputized, please raise your right hand.”
No one did anything for a second. Neither the chief nor the sheriff had discussed this with us. Then Ron’s hand went up, followed by Jack’s. I did nothing. My mind raced with flashes of memory. If I raised my hand, I would enter back into a world that I was trying to put behind me. There would be no going back. The room was silent. I looked at Bear, who had a pained look on his face. Then I looked at the brave men with me, good company to be in. I slowly raised my right hand, and Sheriff Rawsom deputized us with the full powers of a Namekagon County sheriff’s deputy. He gave each one of us a badge and ID wallet.
“This is nuts,” Malone said incredulously. “Even if we did try it this way, the Feds know me. The word will be out, and this thing will turn into a cluster. No way is this happening. No way that I am going to be any part of this. No way, no how.”
“That is your choice, Lieutenant. Call for your plane and we will drive you back to the airport,” said the sheriff.
“You’re sending me packin’? Like hell you are! Goddammit, Cabrelli. Is this something you came up with?” Bear glared at me.
“No. I’m as surprised as you are, Bear,” I answered.
“This is a stupid and dangerous idea. These are very bad people. We need to move if we are going to take them down before they kill anyone else. If and when we take them, they will not go without a fight. And these guys know how to fight,” Malone warned.
“When it comes to that, we will activate the tactical unit for the takedown. They may be small-town people, but they are damn good at what they do,” said the chief.
Silence again. I could see the gears turning in Bear’s head, his face locked in a scowl.
“So, Bear, now that you have decided to throw in with us, what is our next step?” I asked in my cheeriest voice.
“Well, John, since you sonsofbitches seem to have all the answers, how about you figure out a plan that won’t get everyone killed?” he snapped.
The next three hours were spent discussing the situation at hand. All at the table showed fatigue, stress, and resolve on their faces. It was agreed that we would meet at my cabin the next morning at seven to delegate responsibilities and begin the process of ridding the north country of the devil. Following the roar of a Harley, all the men left for town to go home to their beds and sleep the sleep of those who would wake up to face certain danger.
Bear stayed with me, and I set him up in the cabin behind my house. That night I broke out some two-inch T-bones and craft beer from a local small-batch brewer. We sat on the dock looking out at the lake. After a few minutes Bear turned to me. “So I’m sitting here with my oldest friend on a boat dock looking out at the most beautiful lake I’ve ever seen. He has just recovered, as much as he is going to, from two bullets. Now, when he could be taking his rest, moving on to the next chapter in his life, he decides to see if he can collect a couple more bullets. I gotta ask. Do you have a death wish? Is that what this is about?”
“No death wish. I hope to live to a ripe old age. I intend to spend the rest of my life here looking out on this lake every day. I want to settle down, start new. Unfortunately, for the moment I have to take care of the task at hand. I am going to find my uncle Nick’s killer, and I’m going to bring him to justice. I owe Uncle Nick at least that.”
“Your uncle Nick is dead, John. It seems a foolish effort to risk your life to try and settle a debt for a dead person. I know how important he was to you. I also know how the sad circumstances of his death are probably eating at you. But nothing you’re going to do here is going to bring him back—nothing.”
“Bear, I gotta do what I need to do. I’m going to follow this situation to its natural end. I do want to say I feel a whole lot better about my chances now that you’re here … a whole hell of a lot.”
“Yeah, well, we’re going to have to see what happens. I have a bad feeling about what we are doing.”
“If you’re worried about the guys you’re working with, don’t be. They are real and they are invested in this case, I promise you, and they will stand tough when and if it is necessary. Their local knowledge will be invaluable and will allow us to work on this thing on the down-low as long as possible.”
“Nope, it’s not you or your crew that I’m worried about. This is their home and they will do the right thing to protect it. I have a gut feeling that when this goes down, we’re going to need an army. There is something here that doesn’t make sense. You have uncovered a bunch of information, every bit of it leading to someplace much bigger, much darker. If this guy is the Wolf, he kills like he changes his socks.
“Let’s enjoy this beer and these steaks. Tomorrow we start.”
“Sounds good, John. You finish cooking. While you’re doing that, I’m going to use your phone to call Tanya and let her know you haven’t got me killed yet.”
17
By 7:00 a.m. everyone was gathered and drinking coffee.
Malone called the meeting to order. “Well guys, we’ve got to get to it. I have some ideas about what direction we might initially take. However, local knowledge is critically important, and we want to make sure we can accomplish our goals as quietly and quickly as possible. Step on toes in a small town, and the word travels fast. Yet we need to move on this, and I am interested in any suggestions.”
Len Bork was the first to speak up. “I brought this Northern Wisconsin Gazetteer to get a lay of the land using topo maps overlaid with road maps, so you see the locations of places we’re talking about. The road maps are pretty detailed and, in some cases, show two-tracks and fire lanes. I thought it would be helpful.”
“Good idea,” I said.
Len had the floor, and everyone studied the page he was showing. “Here’s where the cabin was and where our person of interest was staying. There isn’t much around there except dirt trails, streams, lakes, and miles and miles of national forest. This is the two-track that he took off on. Once he got to the highway, he turned right. This is the fire lane he pulled onto and set up his position to fire on John and me. You can see that the fire lane goes all the way around and comes out at the highway about two miles later. We figure he had scoped the area out beforehand, unless it was a lucky coincidence.”
“No coincidence, Chief. He would have covered all his bases before he unpacked his bag,” Malone confirmed. Then he opened up a black laptop and typed in the coordinates listed in the Gazetteer. The screen came alive and showed a clear image of the area in question.
“This is real-time satellite
imagery. We have access through the Feds. The shot we are seeing was likely taken within the last twenty-four hours,” explained Malone.
The detail was truly amazing. Malone was able to zoom in on the remnants of the burned cabin. Behind the cabin there was a clearing, inconsistent with the surrounding deep woods. The edges of the clearing appeared to be straight lines where vegetation had been intentionally removed. Maybe it was something, then again, maybe not.
“I don’t recall seeing that clearing when I was out there. Do you, Len?” I asked.
“No I don’t, but it looks to me like it’s outside the area you could see even from the surrounding high ground.”
“The sheriff and I are going out there to check this out. If it’s nothing, we move on. Besides, I want to see the scene of the arson and where the Wolf might have been holed up. That okay with you, Sheriff?” asked Bear.
“Sounds good to me, Lieutenant. As long as you’re good with me stopping by a home out that way. I have some property to return to a couple of folks. A local burglar hit their house a few weeks ago and then tried to sell the stuff to a pawnshop. We put out a list of the stolen property, and the pawnshop called us when what he was selling matched up with what was stolen. Local druggie, third time for him,” the sheriff explained.
“No problem with that. Business as usual—if that’s possible—will work to our advantage,” replied Malone.
Next, Len turned to the page with the location of David Stone’s estate. Situated on the river, it was easy to find. Again, Bear pulled up the image, and this time he enlarged the satellite view and focused on several areas around the house. Two vehicles were parked at the house and a third was parked on the fire lane north of the house.
“I think that’s the fire lane I drove in on when I first met Stone. I had been following Derek Anderson from town. He pulled into Stone’s driveway, and I went past and turned onto the trail. I parked at the top and was able to get a pretty good look at Stone’s house and the armed guards patrolling the grounds. Unfortunately, one of them caught me looking things over and hauled me down to see Stone. He was a hard case, kept his rifle pointed at me, and marched me down to the house. Definitely a pro, detached, cold, and paying attention. Down at the house, Stone treated me like a guest. He said all the security was because of problems he’d had with trespassers. Of course, his man was only doing his job. We discussed my uncle’s property. Derek Anderson stood next to Stone and looked like he would melt into a puddle at any minute. Stone apologized and let me go. They even returned the Walther I had in the glovebox, minus the ammo. I figure there was some sort of surveillance system set up around the property. I don’t think his man found me while doing routine patrol. I must have tripped an alarm,” I recalled.
“How many security people did you see?” asked Malone.
“Four for sure, and all are carrying rifles and side arms. I got the feeling there were more than that out of sight,” I told him.
“Sheriff, do you know whether or not there have been issues regarding trespassers at Stone’s? Do you get a bunch of calls out there?” asked Malone.
“I can’t recall any reports of trespassers, but it’s easy enough to check.” The sheriff went outside to his squad car, and using his onboard computer searched for case numbers and calls that might have involved Stone.
“Chief, you’re a fisherman, right?” asked Bear.
“Well, I try to be,” chuckled the chief.
“Is that stretch of the river by Stone’s place good fishing?”
“About any place on that river is good. In front of Stone’s there are some deep holes that I bet hold some real lunkers,” the chief replied.
“I want you and Cabrelli to go fishing today, right in front of Stone’s place.”
“My boat is not a riverboat and wouldn’t work well there. It’s too shallow and rocky. My prop wouldn’t last a minute. We need to get ahold of a drift boat and float our way downriver.”
“Can you get one?”
“Sure. My neighbor’s got one, and he’s been telling me I need to try it out. He is down seeing his in-laws in Milwaukee right now, so we can hook up the boat and go. He won’t care at all.”
“Now for you two,” Malone said, addressing Jack and Ron.
“Jack, I have a code here that will allow you to access the National Organized Crime Task Force database. One portion of the information includes dummy companies, partnerships, etc., that have been used by organized criminals for laundering money. There’s a section that deals with known entities, another that’s suspected entities, and a third that’s general information that an agent found interesting enough to add to the database. I believe you are correct, and this is a big operation. I want you to start with the information you have and follow it wherever it goes. Somewhere the information is going to come together and lead us to the people involved. We have to identify the real players before we can move on this. This database is monitored 24/7, 365 days a year by super techs. These people are online to help you with a line of inquiry. Attach this access code to your query. They will email you back and request your security code, your authorizer, and his or her security code. In this case, you will be using my identification and security clearance. All the information and numbers you need are on this sheet. I want you to pay special attention to Superior Shipping and Container. I’ve got a feeling there’s something there. Maybe not, but I have a feeling.
“Ron, you have the most difficult job. The guys we are looking for have kept a low profile in the community except for Lance Brolan and his girlfriend, who he bought flashy jewelry. ‘Low profile’ does not mean ‘no profile.’ They have to eat, put gas in the car, have a roof over their head, or maybe even buy a gift for a significant other. Brolan was some kind of frontman, out in the community hiding what he was doing in plain sight. These other people will not be so visible, but they are here somewhere. What is the population during the tourist season?”
“We go from 2,500 to 25,000 or more during the tourist season. Tracking down a handful of strangers will be like looking for a needle in a haystack,” replied Ron.
“These are not strangers. If this is a big operation, these people are here all the time. Community members know them. Without showing our hand, you need to learn what you can—casual conversations with fellow business people—no direct inquiries. See what you can come up with. Once we have an idea of who they are, we can find out everything else. Let’s say Superior Shipping and Container ends up being something we should look at. Superior is only sixty or seventy miles from here, and they would settle in a community far enough away to appear to be detached but close enough to do business. We took down a guy a couple of months ago running a major heroin operation. We got him coming out of his beautiful home on a golf course a hundred miles away from where the thirty dealers in his network were pushing poison. He never touched the stuff, and his dealers never knew who he was. He looked squeaky clean—two clean-cut kids in private school and his wife served on the school fundraising committee—a regular upper-middle-class family. None of the neighbors had any suspicion. One neighbor told us they were a wonderful couple and great parents. She left out the detail about him poisoning thousands of other kids. So what I’m saying here is these guys know what they are doing. Sometimes they sing every Sunday in the church choir. One pretty common thing is they tell people they are employed as investment guys, consultants, something like that.”
“I’ll see what I can dig up, Lieutenant,” Ron said.
We set off in our appointed directions. I followed the chief into town with my truck. Once we got to his place, he had me back up to a boat and trailer covered with a tarp. I helped him unhook the straps and remove the tarp. Underneath was a real beauty of a boat. It was at least sixteen feet long with both an upswept bow and stern. The boat had no motor, but nestled inside the hull were two extra-long oars. There were three seats on aluminum rails.
“We didn’t see too many boats like this around here until ten, maybe
fifteen years ago. Most guys who wanted to fish the rivers waded or used canoes. Now these are all the rage. They aren’t cheap, so you don’t see one in every driveway. They are supposed to be perfect for river fishing. I guess we’ll find out,” Len explained. “I’m going into the house to fetch fishing gear for us.”
Len came out ten minutes later with a tackle box in one hand and three rod and reel combinations in the other. “Here, John. Put these in the boat and secure them under those bungee lines. I will be right back.”
Next, he came out with a plastic case that clearly held a long gun of some sort. “I’m bringing my rifle, just in case. You got your pistol?”
I lifted my shirt to my waist to show him I did. The chief nodded and said, “I’ve got mine too. I know we aren’t looking for trouble today, but you never know. Better to be ready.”
“I’ve got my rifle in the truck and will bring that along. You’re right, Chief. Better to be ready.”
The boat and trailer were well balanced, which helped make up for my backing up skills. We dropped the trailer coupler on the truck’s ball hitch. Two flat plugs connected the lights on the trailer to the lights on the truck.
“Here’s what we will do, John. I will drive my truck to the landing where I figure we’re going to pull out. Then, I will jump in with you, and we can be on our way. Saves us trying to paddle back to the trailer against the current.”
“Good thinking, Len.”
We drove north out of town, past Brook Road, and Len turned off at a sign for Sande Landing. He pulled his truck as far as he could off to the side, locked it, and hopped in with me.
“We’re going to a landing just south of Seelton where we’ll get on the river. That will take us right past Stone’s mansion.”
A few more miles and we came upon a sign for a boat landing.
“Turn left on that gravel road and follow it.”
After a couple hundred yards, we came to the boat landing used for canoes, kayaks, rowboats, and drift boats like the one we had. The river was fast running, clean, and clear, and water cascaded over boulders into pools that swirled around before going on its way. It looked like an image from a postcard.
