Spider Lake

by Jeff Nania

  “John, my friend, the thought has crossed my mind that Mr. Stone might not be so glad to see us and may not be willing to let us in. In that case, you and the sheriff might pick up the ram and pound the hell out of the door that is probably reinforced and wait for it to open. That would put us at a distinct disadvantage. I mean, our hands full of battering ram instead of guns. So, instead, I have these directional explosive charges, one for the lock and one for each corner. They stick on, we step to the side, and they open the door for us, blasting it inward and taking anyone hiding behind it out of the picture. This little box triggers the detonator. If need be, we can set the charges off from over one hundred yards away.”

  The next thing Bear pulled from his bag was a custom 870 Remington pump shotgun. It had a shortened barrel, a magazine tube that was even with the muzzle, and a pistol grip stock. He started feeding short cartridges into the gun. “This little gun has been modified to feed two-inch twelve-gauge shells. They have a less effective range than a standard round, but in a close- quarters situation like this, they do the job. Because they’re shorter, the mag holds more rounds. All in a handy little package.”

  Bear, as usual, was well prepared. I turned to Sheriff Rawsom. “Sheriff, have you heard anything from the crime scene team?” I asked.

  “I meant to update you. They knocked off for the night but are probably back at it already today. The deputies split the shift so one could sleep. When I asked Masters when she thought they might finish up, she simply said, ‘When we’re done.’ They are sifting through all the soil and have found clothing remnants, hair, and enough evidence to confirm it was likely a grave, but they have not found a body. They finished with the burned cabin and are waiting on confirmation from the state fire marshal but it appears an explosive device and accelerant were used to start the fire.”

  Through our headsets, Team One advised they were in place and were watching two armed guards standing together on a fire lane. They were holding their position until the other teams checked in. The sheriff acknowledged the report. Ten minutes later, Team Three was in place, no guards in sight. They would have to go hunting. It was a full thirty minutes before Team Two reported in.

  “Team Two reporting. We encountered one hostile on the way in. Subject is unconscious and cuffed to a tree.”

  “Team Two, did the guard resist?”

  “Sheriff, this is Chief Bork. I don’t actually know if he would have resisted or not. He popped up in front of Deputy Pave who butt stroked him before he even thought about it. For the record, he was armed with a rifle and Glock pistol and wearing a vest. We took everything off him including his radio headset, which Pave is currently wearing to monitor their radio traffic. We left Officer Plums with the prisoner. We are in position.”

  “Okay, teams. Go ahead and secure your areas.”

  The sheriff, Bear, Deputy Delzell, and I loaded up and drove down the road to get in position. We strained our hearing listening for gunshots. The tension of waiting was palpable, like a coiled spring ready to let loose. We saw nothing. We heard nothing. None of us spoke.

  Finally, sound broke out over the airwaves. “Sheriff, this is Team Three. We have two subjects disarmed and secured. No resistance encountered but one of them got off a radio call.”

  “All teams, this is Deputy Pave. I copied a partial radio call announcing our presence.”

  “Team Three, ask the guards how many people are at the house and if there are additional security personnel,” Rawsom requested.

  “Sheriff, this is Team Three. They are unwilling to provide any information about additional people in the house.”

  “Team Three, tell them they have one minute to provide that information, or they will be charged with aiding and abetting a suspect in multiple homicides. I will make certain they are prosecuted,” said the sheriff.

  No more than a minute passed. “Sheriff, this is Team Three. No additional security in the house. The radio call went directly to Stone. Five security guards are patrolling the property. There are three individuals inside—Stone, a dark-haired man with an accent, and Stone’s girlfriend. If you need it, the gate code is 4444, although the gate will likely be open due to a malfunction. Copy, Sheriff?”

  “Copy that. Good work,” the sheriff replied.

  “Sheriff, this is the chief. We have five security personnel accounted for and secured.”

  “Teams should move into positions around the house. Advise when you are in place,” the sheriff directed. Within a few minutes, each team reported they were in position.

  It was time to see who was home. We approached with caution, but the entry team is always most at risk. Using an emergency ladder to climb up, Delzell was in position on the garage roof.

  “I am going to make the call,” Rawsom said to everyone.

  But before he could, the front door flew open. David Stone charged out in a rage and was demanding to know what was going on. Bear intercepted him, upended him, and slammed him to the ground, taking the wind out of his sails and then dragged him away from the door toward one of the waiting teams.

  Stone, out of breath, went from demanding to pleading in the space of a second or two. “Wait, wait! Stop what you’re doing. Let me speak,” Stone cried. “Tell me what you want. There is nothing illegal here; I promise that. Let me stand up so we can discuss this situation.” Bear was having none of it.

  In law enforcement, ninety-nine percent of the time nothing happens. In the other one percent, the devil shows up. A woman’s piercing scream came from the door. The Wolf’s powerful hand was wrapped tightly in her long, brown hair, using her as a human shield. In his right hand, he held the short-barreled AK-47 rifle. With that rifle he lay down a close range withering indiscriminate field of fire, blocking the potential for return fire with the woman. The sheriff ran to the threat but was hit and went down hard. Stone was clinging to Malone, crying out in terror. Bear tried to throw him out of the way, exposing himself to the gunman, and took a round to the shoulder causing his shotgun to fly from his hands as he was knocked to the ground. The Wolf continued to hold the woman and spray the area with rifle rounds. Delzell waited for an opportunity. The Wolf held his gun clear of the hostage as he fired, and Delzell quickly snapped off a well-placed shot that hit the only target available to her, his rifle. The gun flew from the Wolf’s hand. Without hesitation, he drew a pistol and continued to fire, dragging the woman toward the dense woods that bordered the house only a few feet from the front door. I closed the distance to the shooter looking for any shot that would not hit the woman. I felt a breath-stealing blow from something striking my chest, then another. In that instant, the Wolf let go of the woman and shoved her hard toward me laying down a new barrage. She fell to the ground, and the Wolf vanished into the bush.

  “Shots fired! Officers down! Armed suspect heading west into the wooded area!” I yelled into the radio as I reached down to grab the woman and drag her to safety. The woman was beyond my help. She stared up at me with lifeless eyes. I could see where the Wolf’s last bullets had struck her back.

  Only seconds had passed since the Wolf had begun his assault, but the destruction was horrific. The pandemonium continued as I heard more pistol shots, followed by rifle fire. The shooting stopped, and someone was screaming into the radio, “Officer down! Officer down! We need help here. He’s hit bad.”

  Chief Bork called on the radio, “Sheriff, what’s the status at the house? Do we have wounded?”

  I responded, “Chief, this is Cabrelli. We have at least three down. All in need of immediate transport. We need Med Flight. I will assess things and get back to you ASAP.”

  Without question or hesitation, the chief requested emergency dispatch of ambulances, Med Flight, and immediate response from all surrounding jurisdictions to their location.

  On the secure radio I called the chief. “Len, the sheriff was hit hard and sustained at least three wounds—one to his head, one to the upper arm, and one to the leg. A young woman is dead. The
Wolf used her as a shield then shot her in the back. Malone was hit in the shoulder. Delzell is unpacking the trauma kit from the truck. We will try to stabilize everyone until the paramedics arrive. What’s the status of your teams?”

  “Oh, my Lord!” Len exclaimed. “Do the best you can for them. On our end, the deputy that exchanged fire with the suspect was hit in the head, but he’s conscious. Lucky for him it is a superficial wound, bleeding like heck though. One of my guys is patching him up and will bring him down to the house for transport. The Wolf took his rifle. I am taking two officers with me, and we are going to track the suspect. We are going to hunt this dog down. Stay in contact.”

  “Ten-four, Chief,” I replied.

  Delzell was covering the sheriff’s wounds. Bear was applying pressure to own his shoulder to stem the bleeding. I walked over to Stone who had fallen to his knees, his head down. He said nothing and appeared to be in shock. I grabbed him by the shirt and jerked him up to standing. “Stone, who is the guy? What’s his name?”

  Like a true coward, Stone spoke quickly, telling all he could while making sure to cover himself. “He’s a business associate of mine, Dimitri Volkinov. He represents Eastern European business interests. I had no idea he was some sort of criminal. He completely fooled me. I am a victim, like everyone else here.”

  “Stone, will your security guards come back to base if you tell them to? We need all the manpower we can muster to chase down this bastard, and we can’t spare people to babysit them. If you order them back on the radio, will they come?”

  He looked stunned but answered in a muffled tone, “They will not resist real police. I don’t think all will come in, though. Some may not want a face-to-face meeting with law enforcement.” Then he looked at me, pleading, “Cabrelli, you people have to believe me. I had no knowledge that would make me believe that Volkinov was a criminal. He is a business associate, nothing more. I was duped. You have to believe me. I have done nothing wrong.”

  “Stone, shut your mouth. For the record, I am going to do everything humanly possible to make certain you spend the rest of your life behind bars, you son of a bitch.” Then I put his arms behind him and cuffed them, dropped him back to his knees and told him not to move. “Stone, if you move you will be resisting arrest, and I will stop you. You will be injured in the process—I guarantee it.”

  “I want to call my lawyer,” he whimpered. The self-serving bastard was impervious to all the carnage around him.

  The chaos of an emergency situation with innumerable moving pieces does not stay that way for long. Emergency personnel respond to the scene and do what they are trained to do. Jobs are assigned and responsibilities assumed. Ambulances arrived and paramedics began stabilizing their wounded friends and neighbors for transport. Even though the level of this situation was extreme, each person stepped in, put personal feelings aside, and went to work.

  The sound of a rotor churning the air announced the arrival of Med Flight. The helicopter landed in a nearby forest clearing. The medics did an immediate assessment of the sheriff’s condition, started an IV, secured him on a stretcher, and whisked him away.

  Though Malone was wounded, he was not dead and began to growl orders while the EMTs tended to his wound. “John, call Masters and get her team here as soon as possible. Word about this is going to spread fast. Those deputies protecting that site are going to be itching to be part of the action. You make damn sure they understand that they are to stay put and protect that scene. You tell them that it is critical to the case.”

  “Okay, Bear. I’m on it.”

  Before they took off with Malone and the wounded deputy, an EMT asked if anyone else was injured. I asked him to follow me to the other side of the van. Once there, I unstrapped my vest and lifted my shirt. The vest had stopped two bullets—one that would’ve likely been fatal. The EMT carefully probed the impact areas. The marks associated with blunt force trauma had already begun to show, and in a couple of days my side and left chest would be purple.

  “I don’t feel any broken ribs,” he reported and then listened to my breathing with his stethoscope. He probed around the marks. “Although this must’ve hurt like heck, I don’t see any significant damage, but they can do a more thorough exam, get X-rays, and check for internal bleeding at the hospital. Give me the vest, get your shirt on, and let’s go,” the EMT ordered.

  “Thanks, but I am not going anywhere. Forget you checked me out. I am staying put,” I said.

  “I can’t do that. You need to be examined at the hospital,” he insisted.

  “I am not going, period,” I said as I put my shirt and vest back on.

  “I will be right back,” the EMT said. He returned with a clipboard and handed it to me. “This form says that you refused treatment against my advice. Print your name on the top line and sign the bottom.” I printed and signed. The EMT shook his head and was on his way.

  The emergency radio network came alive again. The dispatcher ordered all units to stand by for an emergency message. The next voice was familiar to me. “This is Chief Len Bork of the Musky Falls Police Department. I am requesting emergency mutual aid from all listening stations. We have several officers down, and the shooter is on foot somewhere in the area of the Namekagon River and Trout Road. The suspect is described as a white male, middle age, dark hair, stocky build, with a pronounced scar on the left side of his face. He is armed and extremely dangerous. Two officers and I are in foot pursuit, currently heading south along the river. Negative contact so far.

  The dispatcher took over. “All units responding, notify Namekagon County Sheriff dispatch. That channel is now reserved for emergency traffic only and information regarding pursuit of the fugitive. All normal radio traffic will be routed through the Musky Falls Police Department. Dispatch will coordinate and provide location assignment information once you acknowledge.”

  As the transmission ended, several officers with cuffed guards in tow reached the house. My cell phone rang and I saw Bear’s number. “John, I called in to dispatch and requested two vans to transport Stone and his guards to jail. I don’t care how many different lockups we have to use, I want you to make it clear that these prisoners are to be segregated. Stone goes to Namekagon County locked up in isolation.”

  “Got it. Masters’ team is on their way here. They are not done at the cabin location and have requested another team from Eau Claire,” I reported.

  Bear disconnected and my phone immediately lit up again. It was Len.

  “John, we are trying to find whatever trail we can in hopes of catching up with him. The cover is thick, and there are a million places he could hide here, but we need to keep trying, keep the pressure on him. There are two cabins at the base of the ridge we are on, and we’re going to check them. I’ll report back on the cell if that works for you. In the meantime, if you don’t mind, keep things under control at the house. Post a deputy or officer at the gate. No one in.”

  “Okay, Len. Good luck.”

  Red and blue flashing lights and screaming sirens announced the arrival of the transport vans. Two of the lawmen who had been working the perimeter were assigned to assist in the transport. While the prisoners were being loaded, I inquired about the takedown of the security guards. The officers reported that as soon as they had identified themselves, the guards surrendered immediately without resistance.

  Stone’s demands for a lawyer increased as the shock wore off. “Stone is going to keep pushing the lawyer thing to you guys,” I warned. “He will probably get down to some threats. Don’t answer him. Don’t say no, and don’t say yes. Don’t say anything other than telling him what you want him to do.”

  “You got it, Mr. Cabrelli,” a younger officer said. “Maybe I should help him mind his mouth.”

  “As much as I would like to let you beat the crap out of this guy, you can’t do it. Get him locked up. When that’s done, call into the sheriff’s dispatch for orders.”

  “Okay, Mr. Cabrelli.” As vans pulled out, I
heard emergency sirens heading our way.

  22

  Masters’ crew pulled in and exited the vehicles. The fatigue from the long hours they were putting in was clearly evident.

  I briefed them. “I don’t know what to say. This is really bad. The sheriff is critical, and Malone caught one in the arm. A young deputy came within an inch of losing his head. An as of yet unidentified woman was killed. They were all transported. The Wolf came out the door firing an AK using the girl as a shield. Delzell took the only shot she had and was able to take out the rifle. It is laying over there to the left of the front door. Rifle gone, he pulled a pistol and kept shooting. Then he disappeared into the woods. The chief is tracking him through the backcountry. We know he is currently armed with at least two guns—his pistol and the rifle he took off the wounded deputy. We have a warrant to search the house, and we have not begun to do that. We don’t have enough people.”

  “John, we’ll take the search,” Masters said. “We will do a preliminary sweep of the house, then a detailed inventory. First, we have to clear the place.” No one had cleared the house. We had no way of knowing if there was someone else inside, a mistake I had made before that cost me my job and a victim’s life.

  Masters’ team was comprised of sworn officers who were well versed in tactical search. Within minutes they were geared up, and we began the search. The first floor was open with doors only to an interior pantry, bathroom, and garage. The second floor was a series of rooms with doors that opened onto a balcony that overlooked the great room.

  We searched each room and found no one else in the house. In one room on the dresser was a small ceramic teapot and a photo of a young girl. A well-worn leather satchel was on the floor leaning against the leg of a wooden desk. On a luggage rack there was a duffle bag that appeared to contain clothing. I wanted badly to tear the stuff apart to see what I could find, but Liz stopped me.