by Jeff Nania
“Any questions?” Malone asked.
“The immediate one that comes to mind is why did you call us in from so far away when there are at least three pretty good crime scene units closer?” Liz asked.
“Liz, I’m activating major crime protocol for this case, and we’re operating on a need-to-know basis. I didn’t need just any crime scene team, I needed the very best, and you are it. A federal agent went missing in this area over a year ago, and the cabin that recently stood there before it was burned to the ground was occupied by a white male that roughly matches the description of a known criminal who may have been responsible for the disappearance of the agent.”
Hearing this, Liz set her jaw and asked with a determined look, “Lieutenant, are the Feds on their way?”
“That is another complication. There’s some question regarding the potential involvement of a federal agent assigned to this area. We are doing the best we can to fly under the federal radar until we can ascertain his role.”
“Okay by me, Lieutenant. Working with those tight asses from Quantico is not my idea of a good time. One more question. Who is in charge?”
Malone turned to face Sheriff Rawsom. “Sheriff Jim Rawsom here is the man in charge, and all command decisions fall to him. I am here to assist in the investigation. In addition, to maximize available manpower and retain continuity, the Musky Falls Police Department and Namekagon County Sheriff’s Department will be acting as one unit under an emergency mutual aid declaration.”
Liz Masters had heard enough and was ready to get to work. “Understood, Lieutenant. Now I would appreciate it if you would stumble your way out of my crime scene. If I need you, I will call. We have a long afternoon and night ahead of us. Oh, by the way, we had to skip lunch.” She handed a sheet of paper to the sheriff. This is our dinner order. Leave it with the deputy at the driveway. Nobody comes in here anymore unless I request them.”
Then she turned to go. Rawsom sheepishly piped up, “Ma’am, what can I do to help you?”
“Nice manners, Sheriff. Just answer your phone if I call. Now, please, if you would all get out of our way, we can get started.”
We gathered at the end of the wood’s road. “Where are we headed?” the sheriff asked.
“The lady at the print shop. Take the photos we have and get an ID. Based on everything else, that’s enough to get a judge to issue a warrant. We know where he is, so we’ll go get him,” I said.
“You will have to excuse Cabrelli, Sheriff. The complexities of some tasks are lost on him.” Bear countered, “If the woman IDs the Wolf, and if the judge issues the warrant. We know the last time he was seen earlier today was at an armed fortress. Taking him may be much easier said than done. We’ve got to think this thing through, but we’ve got to move, or he will be gone, if he isn’t already.”
“Lieutenant, I have the contact information for the woman at the printshop back at the office. It’s part of the report narrative. I’ll call Len and tell him we are on our way.”
“I told the chief to go home and have dinner with his wife,” John said. “Let’s leave him alone until we get back to town. Should we contact Jack Wheeler and Ron Carver?”
“What do you think, Sheriff?” Malone asked.
“I’ll call them. Let’s keep them in the loop,” the sheriff replied. “I’m also going to send another deputy out to the scene armed with his rifle, four double cheeseburgers, two veggie burgers, six orders of fries, and soft drinks. He can pick up the food at the Broken Wheel on his way out.”
19
When we hit Musky Falls city limits, the sheriff called Len and told him to meet us at the department. Jack Wheeler agreed to be there if needed, but he was working on something and wanted to keep going. His call to Ron Carver also went unanswered.
“What do you think is going on with Ron?” I asked.
“Ron Carver is his own man. He always turns up, but on his schedule. If you want to hike over to his store and catch them before they close, you can check up on him.”
“I think I will, Jim, while you, Malone, and the chief hash things over. I’ll be back in ten minutes tops.”
The front door of Ron’s jewelry store was already locked for the day, but I could see people moving inside, so I knocked loudly enough that the sound went through the security glass. A woman I had met at the store before unlocked the door.
“Hello. Mr. Cabrelli. If you’re looking for Ron, you are out of luck. We haven’t seen him all day,” she stated.
“Any idea where he might be?” I asked.
“Actually, we thought he might be traipsing around with you. We did expect to see him at two o’clock. He had an appointment with a couple to design their wedding rings, and he didn’t show. I can’t remember the last time he missed an appointment like that. Maybe it slipped his mind, and he’s off ramming around the backroads on his motorcycle. Your guess is as good as mine as to his whereabouts,” she replied.
“If you hear from him, tell him to call me on my cell phone right away. He has the number.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him, Mr. Cabrelli.” She said. She relocked the door and returned to closing up the store for the day.
I went back to the police department and found the chief, Malone, and the sheriff laying photos of the Wolf side by side with photographs of other people.
“We’re trying to get some good pictures for a photo lineup, so if the woman from the printshop makes an ID, it will be as solid as possible. We’re going to be ready to go in a minute.” Malone explained the plan. “The sheriff will stay here with you, John. The chief and I will meet the witness and see if she can ID the suspect. As soon as she does, if she does, you two will get the DA on the phone to get the ball rolling. He will set up a meeting with a judge to get a warrant for the unknown subject’s arrest and a search of the David Stone property. He will need your statement identifying the Wolf at the residence. It’s in the county, so it is technically the sheriff’s jurisdiction. The sheriff is having dispatch call every deputy to put them on emergency status. The chief has already done so. We can draw from about fifteen available officers from both departments. By the time we’re back, everyone should have been notified and making preparations.” Malone turned to me. “One more thing, John. I brought a gear bag with me. It’s out at your place on the lake. If you don’t mind, run out and get that will you? I’m going to need it,” Malone requested.
“Sure, Bear. I’ll take off right now.”
The chief and Bear were on the road within a few minutes. I went to my truck and Sheriff Rawsom stopped me. “I’ll drive you out in my squad. We have plenty of time, and we can stop out at the crime scene for a minute to see how things are going. I’ll go crazy if I have to sit here waiting for a call. It’s going to be at least an hour and a half, even if they fly.”
We were lost in our thoughts during the drive. We knew what we were doing. Law enforcement officers are bound by statute and a code of conduct that includes taking the bad guys down and an innate understanding of the risks of doing so. Protecting life is the first priority. The risk of potentially losing their own life or taking the life of another is too much for some. Hopefully they come to that realization before they are involved in a situation where citizens or fellow law officers are counting on them. Sheriff Rawsom and I had each crossed that bridge long ago. We would go forward with the confidence we would be successful in our efforts.
The sheriff was a family man. As I thought about how things were unraveling, I longed to have a family to go home to when this was all over. Even though I had done my best to drive her away, I knew, and had known for some time, that Julie Carlson was the one with whom I wanted to make that home. Whether she wanted the same thing was anybody’s guess, but if I survived what I was jumping into now, I was going to tell her how I felt, and hope she felt the same.
Two deputies now manned the driveway blockade. The sheriff and I got out. “Any word from the crime scene folks?” Rawsom asked.
“
Nope, haven’t had any contact since I delivered the food. Sounds like they fired up a portable generator or something. Earlier they launched a drone that looked like it flew a grid pattern. But other than that, nothing,” the deputy reported.
“We can’t stay, but let me know if anything happens here. From now on, any serious communication should be restricted to cell phones. We may be activating the secure emergency network, but not yet.”
“Sheriff, any chance you could bring us up to speed with what is going on?” asked the other deputy.
“I know I owe you that, but I can’t yet. As soon as I can, I will. I promise. Until then you will need to trust me,” he replied.
We drove to my place. It seemed like I hadn’t been there in days, although it had only been hours. I found Bear’s bag in his room. It was heavy, and when I picked it up, I heard the metallic clunk again. I had no doubt what it contained.
We were turning onto the highway when the sheriff’s cell rang. It was Chief Bork. He tried to answer, but the call was lost. The same scenario was repeated twice more before the radio came alive.
“Sheriff, if you copy, switch to TAC 4,” said Len’s crackled radio voice.
“Copy,” Rawsom replied.
“Sheriff, we have a positive ID on the suspect. It is solid. Go ahead with what you need to do. We are about an hour out.”
“Ten-four,” the sheriff replied. Even though it was a secure radio channel, conversation would be kept to a minimum.
Sheriff Rawsom quickly moved into command mode. He first called the district attorney and asked him to come to the police department as soon as possible. Next he called his second in command and told him to activate emergency procedures. All personnel who were not currently assigned needed to stand by. That would leave the current patrol deputies on the road taking care of everything else. All deputies were to gear up, tactical gear and full weaponry.
District Attorney Hablitch was standing outside talking to a city officer when we pulled up. I remembered him from the interviews I had given after being shot. He looked younger than he was. He had come to Musky Falls right out of law school hoping to learn the ropes in a public service job in a great location and had succumbed to the north country and decided to stay. His scruffy beard matched his outdoor clothing. I couldn’t recall much about him. Back then I had seen too many faces in too short of a time.
We went into the building, and the sheriff briefed him. He listened intently, taking copious notes on a yellow legal pad. Based on the strength of the information provided, he felt that the judge would sign a warrant and began to prepare the draft. The only part that wasn’t filled in was the statement from the chief about the positive ID. The warrant listed an UNSUB, or unknown subject, who was wanted for questioning regarding arson for the burning of the cabin, aggravated assault for his attack on John Cabrelli, and homicide. While they were preparing the paperwork, a text came to Rawsom’s phone: Check your email.
He logged on to a computer terminal and found a file marked confidential. The file contained the information about an UNSUB known as the Wolf and his potential involvement with criminal acts.
The district attorney read the file, and you could see by the look on his face that it had a real impact. “Jim, if this is the guy you’re after, I hope you’re doing everything possible to cover your bases. I cannot imagine that he is going to surrender willingly. The reports you have furnished about armed guards add another level to this. I’m going to ask the judge for a ‘no-knock’ warrant. We will use the legal description of the entire Stone property and the address of the residence as the areas allowable under the terms of the search. As soon as Chief Bork and Malone get back, we fill in the details of the ID and call Judge Kritzer.”
A few moments later, Malone and the chief arrived. The details of the ID were as good as they could be. Presented with ten photos of similar-looking men, the witness did not hesitate before picking out our man. When asked if she was sure, she said, “I am absolutely positive he is the man that accosted me in the parking lot as I was leaving work. Right after it all happened, the police in Superior brought over some photos of people they thought might have done it, and I didn’t recognize any of them. This is the guy.”
We all drove out to see Judge Kritzer. He lived on the water at the end of a lane. His house was a fairly modest affair, built with a combination of fieldstone and logs. The front door was a piece of art, hand-sculpted of heavy wood, with a leaded glass window and strap iron hinges. We didn’t need to knock—barking alerted him before we got close to the house. As the door swung open, seventy-five pounds of tail banging, smiling black lab came running out to investigate the visitors. Kritzer stood behind him. He looked like a judge from the old west. Not so tall, but barrel-chested wearing a full thick head and beard of white hair. He was dressed in well-worn jeans and a red plaid shirt.
“Quite a crowd you have with you, Mr. District Attorney. I hope you are not going to try the old ploy of overwhelming me with bullshit to support a poor excuse for a warrant.”
“Not at all, Your Honor. The case is of such a serious nature that I felt it was incumbent on me to make available to you all the principals involved. Each is prepared to answer any questions you might have.”
“Well, all of you get in here, and let’s get down to the business at hand,” said the judge.
He led us into a great room designed in the style of an old hunting lodge. Hundreds of books lined one wall, and a glass case containing long guns and a large wildlife painting were on another. It was a room made for comfort with big windows that looked out on the water. “Be seated,” the judge ordered, “anywhere you like as long as you aren’t behind me.”
“Your Honor, let me introduce you to everyone. Of course, you know Jim and Len.”
“Only for two or three decades. How is Martha doing, Len?”
“She’s counting the days until I retire … can’t wait.”
“Sheriff, your wife and family?”
“They are very well, Judge. Everyone is doing well.”
“Glad to hear it. That daughter of yours did a stint for a school project as a volunteer court clerk—smart, pleasant girl. Takes after her mother, I suppose,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Mister District Attorney, seeing that I’m just a backcountry judge and all, up in my years, living on the end of a dead-end road, you probably assume that I am out of touch with the rest of the world. Well, I am not. I know who these other two gentlemen are, although we have not met face to face. You are JJ Malone, the recently appointed head of the Organized Crime Task Force, are you not?”
“I am, Your Honor,” he replied with a respectful growl.
“Pleased to meet you,” the judge said.
“You are John Cabrelli, the man who willingly puts himself in the line of fire to save children.”
“I am John Cabrelli,” I replied.
“Mr. Cabrelli, it is a true pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
“I do have to ask, in what capacity you are here? I didn’t think you were involved in law enforcement anymore.”
“I deputized him,” the sheriff responded on my behalf.
“You swore him in as a deputy sheriff?”
“I did, Your Honor.”
“Did you increase your ranks by any others, while we are on the subject?”
“As a matter of fact, Judge, I did. Ron Carver and the attorney cleaning up Derek Anderson’s mess, Jack Wheeler.”
The judge stared at the sheriff with an incredulous look in his eyes. “You made Ron Carver a deputy sheriff? Is that what I am hearing?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge burst out in a thunderous laugh. “Good Lord, man. Ron Carver as a deputy sheriff? I never thought I would see this day. Give him a gun and badge, and he’ll be right at home. I am afraid he may come up short on following procedure. I can imagine him dragging a suspect into town at the end of a rope tied to his
motorcycle,” the judge laughed again.
“Now, Jack Wheeler? What about him?”
“Your Honor, in the course of going through Anderson’s files it became apparent that there were some things that crossed over into our investigation. Wheeler refused to violate attorney-client privilege but agreed to do legal research regarding businesses that may be tied to the case. That investigation is ongoing,” the sheriff responded.
“Okay, boys. Tell me your story. I can’t wait. Let me light up my pipe.” He took an old briar off a pipe stand, and with great ceremony packed it with sweet-smelling tobacco. Before he lit it, he added, “If the smoke bothers any of you, go outside.” Then he struck a big wooden match and puffed the pipe to life.
The district attorney was well prepared and to the point. He asked for a warrant to be issued for the entire property and requested the warrant remain active for forty-eight hours. The judge listened intently and asked several questions. Then the DA handed the draft warrant to the judge. Kritzer took his time and read every word.
“Mr. District Attorney, you have presented me with a difficult decision. You have established all the probable cause necessary, and I’m going to sign your warrant as you requested. You have no choice but attempt to arrest the UNSUB. He is clearly a potential threat to this community and society in general. To leave him on the street would be unconscionable. However, when I sign this warrant I will be sending you all forward to face great peril. It’s almost certain that if this man turns out to be “the Wolf” referred to in Lieutenant Malone’s report, there is little chance he will go without a fight. If he is staying with David Stone, it’s possible that Stone is unaware of who he really is. Stone’s security force is well known around here. They are licensed guards and acting within the law. How they will react to an armed intrusion by law enforcement is anyone’s guess. I’m sure you will be prepared for the worst possible scenario.”
