by Anne Hagan
“I should never have left that night.”
“And how would that have stopped what happened?” She searched my face. I couldn’t hold her gaze and looked away toward moms’ family photo wall.
“Kris, that bullet was meant for me.”
“Well, I kind of figured it had something to do with your work but you couldn’t have known it was coming, Mel.”
“My family shouldn’t have to suffer for my work.”
“There’s nothing you could have done to stop it.”
“What’s all this about?” Mom came into the room.
I shot my sister a look but she had her eyes squeezed closed in either pain or concentration. I couldn’t be sure which.
“Mel thinks she’s to blame for what happened to me.”
“Is that true Melissa Raye?”
Uh oh! She’s using my middle name. This isn’t going to be good… “Yes ma’am.”
“And just why do you think that?” Her face reddened.
“I think it’s related to a case I’m working on.”
“Someone shot your sister to send you a warning?”
I didn’t think of that… “I don’t think it happened like that. I think someone was trying to get me and thought Kris was me.”
“Hogwash! Everyone around here can tell you two apart!”
“Mom, whoever shot Kris probably isn’t from around here.” I was trying to be gentle but I could see that my mother was getting pretty agitated.
“Just what have you gotten yourself mixed up in?”
“Ma, I’m the Sheriff.” I looked toward Kris. She had nodded off. I put my hand on my mother’s shoulder and guided her out of the room. “We can talk in the kitchen.” We walked through the house in an uncomfortable silence. She turned from me at the doorway into the kitchen, what was really the heart of the old farmhouse.
“Your father went out to check the horses and the herd. He’ll want coffee when he comes in.” She busied herself making a pot. I took a seat at the scrubbed little table they’d had for years. I was sitting where Dana had been sitting only yesterday while I made sandwiches.
She pointed at me. “You start talking. Tell me what’s going on.”
“There isn’t a whole lot to tell. I’ve been working on a counterfeiting investigation. There are two guys that aren’t from around here that are in custody.” I decided it wasn’t in my best interest to mention our local bad bill passer just yet. “It seems they’re mixed up in some other stuff that crosses into a federal investigation. The agent working on that has been in town, poking around too. Someone’s ticked off about it all.” I didn’t want to say a whole lot. Giving my mother the down and dirty details wasn’t going to help anyone.
Dad came in and nodded to us both. Mom took him down a coffee cup from the cupboard and handed it to him.
“If you have two guys already in custody from your investigation, why are you involved in the federal investigation and putting yourself and your family in danger?” She paused for a moment and then glared at me. “I’ll tell you what, I knew we would rue the day you went into police work!”
“Now Faye simmer down.” My dad seldom stepped into any conversation he hadn’t been a party to in the first place but he could usually be counted on to claim his spot as the traditional man of the house and to ride herd over my mother. “What’s this all about?”
Mom started to speak but dad shot her a look.
“Kris was shot because someone mistook her for me due to an investigation I’m working and a federal one it ties into.” I paused and waited to see if he would require more information.
“I see.” He nodded. He looked at me and motioned for me to continue.
“We’re working as hard as we can to round up the people responsible and close out both investigations. Two men are now in custody as a result of my investigation and we’re hoping they lead us to what we need to close mine out completely and also to close out the investigation of the federal agent I’m working with.”
“Dana Rossi?”
“Yes.”
Mom had been silent long enough. “How do you know who she’s working with?”
“Met her,” dad said. Mom started to say something else but dad waved his hand and cut her off.
I continued; “Kris and the kids are safe here. I have security watching the house in town. If someone tries anything there again, we’ll nail them. Dana has leads she’s following up on and I have a couple of people I can talk to, to try and follow one that may lead me to someone in this area.”
Mom just couldn’t stay silent. “You be careful Melissa Raye! I hate you getting’ all mixed up in such things!”
“I’ll be careful ma. I promise. My end from here on is easy. I just have to talk to a couple of guys and see if they can point me to anyone who might be involved in some shady activities who goes by the nickname, Relic. Dana can take it…”
“Relic?” What would you be wanting with Delores?” dad asked?
“Pardon?”
Mom jumped in again. “Delores Chappell. She’s been known as Relic for years Mel. I know you know her. She lives right there in town a couple of blocks from you, Kris and the kids. Sweet woman but a little eccentric, if you ask me.”
“I know Ms. Chappell mom. She’s got to be 70. It’s not very likely that she’s who I’m looking for.”
Dad spoke again. “She isn’t quite that old Mel.” He looked thoughtful for a moment and then he continued, “Her nickname doesn’t have anything to do with her age. She came by it because of her past work as the county historian and because of doing ancestry research for people.” He sighed. Our conversation had already gone on far too long for him.
I’d never heard Delores Chappell called anything but Ms. Chappell by anyone. She was “Ms.” because, as far as my peers and I knew at least, she’d never married and never had children. Personally, I often thought she might be “family”; stuck in a time warp closet in our little town. She had also never owned a computer – flat out refused to have one in her home - so hearing that she’d been the county historian and that she dabbled in genealogy was a real surprise to me. And, despite what my dad said, the woman wasn’t a day younger than 60 years old.
I got up and hugged my mother then clasped dads shoulder. “I have to get going. Duty calls. I love you both. Give my love to Kris when she wakes up and to the kids.”
“We will Mel. We love you too and, again, please be careful.”
“I will ma.” It was pointless to get frustrated with her. She really did mean well.
I took my leave and walked out to my truck. I was in uniform but I was driving my own vehicle given my mission to transport my sister from the hospital to the farm. I tugged at my vest. It had ridden up a little. I didn’t always put the heavy Kevlar protective piece on for my usual duties behind a desk but I always lugged it with me in case I got called out on the road. Today, because I was intending to go poking around among known criminals, I had thought it wise to wear it. Now, in the heat of an unseasonably warm spring day, I was thinking I might regret that decision.
I left the farm and drove into Morelville so I could cruise by the house. An unmarked county vehicle was sitting in the drive that ran behind an empty rental house two houses up from mine. I couldn’t see an officer around but then, that was the point. He would be low in the car or nearby keeping an eye on my house.
It was a relief knowing my guys were on the job. I continued through the village and turned off the state highway in favor of some back country roads that were a quicker route back to Zanesville than heading southwest to catch Route 60 and take it north along the Muskingum River. Thoughts of Dana flooded my mind as I drove.
I worried about her meeting with that lawyer. I worried
even more about her meeting with DeShawn Dawes at Stateville. I knew she was a trained, competent professional but she had her vulnerable points and I didn’t want to see her hurt. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts about her, I didn’t notice the white, ¾ ton van that was gaining on me rapidly on the curvy road.
Out here, roads skirted around property lines and over hills. Everything was either rolling farm fields or dense forest. There wasn’t any reason for the county or the state to purchase any right of way rights. Everyone with un-forested land farmed and no one was in a hurry to get anywhere. Locals knew the twists and turns of all the back roads and where a hill fell away to the right or to the left as you crested it anyway and they drove everywhere in comfortable familiarity.
I picked up the van when it topped a hill about 100 yards behind me that fell away left. The driver was going too fast but he managed to slow down and correct before ditching the whole shooting match to the right in a heavily wooded area. I kept my eye on him. He no sooner had the vehicle righted then he began to pick up speed again and gain on me.
This guy is crazy! I wish I was in my county vehicle now. He wouldn’t be driving like a maniac if I was driving a truck with markings and a light bar!
I tapped my brakes a couple of times to try and make the driver aware that he was closing too fast. I realized my mistake and the amount of trouble I was in way too late. The van had an Illinois front license plate. The driver must have been lying in wait for me in Morelville. My deputies hadn’t spotted the van!
I had no radio, just my department cell. I fumbled trying to dial 911 and dropped the phone on the floor of the cab.
“Fuck! I am so screwed!” I screamed out loud. I tried to watch the road while reaching around frantically for my phone.
I was on Cutler Lake Road headed toward the turn off at Mannsfork Road, just before Salt Creek, when the van rammed me with force from behind. My F-150 went fishtailing. I did my best to steer through it as I had been taught at the Academy all those years before. The van caught me again on the left rear quarter panel, turned me and railroaded me into the “Y” intersection of Cutler Lake and Mannsfork. I went sailing through the intersection sideways and toward the creek embankment. There was nowhere to go. I was headed for a splashdown in Salt Creek just off the Muskingum River. Drowning is not the way I want to die!
Chapter 17 – Waterlogged
I hit the electronic window release and the window started coming down. At least I had an escape route. I braced for impact. There was a nice but thin tree line dotting the narrow, high banks of the creek. My big truck would give me some protection but I had no idea if my pursuers would stay around to finish the job they started.
My truck skittered through the trees and slowed a little but then it ran out of terra firma and was sailing sideways through the air and into the creek, passenger side first. I looked to my left to see that my attacker had run up over the berm of the road and stopped just before the tree line. He sat staring at me from behind dark sunglasses. He had a gun raised in his left hand. It was pointed out the window toward me. That was the last thing I saw before my truck hit the lower part of the bank, rolled and then hit the water, passenger side down.
It had been a fairly dry spring so far. The creek was a bit deeper than it would be at the peak of summer and moving pretty good but not enough to suck the truck completely under – even on its side – or to move it along in the current.
The steering wheel airbag deployed at impact stunning me. I hung sideways in my seatbelt. After a few seconds - that seemed like an eternity - the bag began to deflate and I started to breathe again. The truck rested on its side, passenger side down. The driver’s side, with the open driver’s side window was up out of the water. For the moment, I was protected from the view of my attacker by the undercarriage of the truck. I shut the still running engine off and looked around. My phone was resting against the opposite door. Creek water was coming in through cracks in the windshield. In moments it would likely shatter and I’d be both soaked and without any working form of communication. Hurriedly, I unlatched my belt and reached for the phone. I grabbed it and then tried to reposition myself standing upright on the interior of the passenger door. The rushing creek likely wouldn’t reach the top of my gun belt when the windshield finally went.
As I dialed 911, a gunshot pierced the air followed very quickly by a ping somewhere off of metal just over my head. He had a good enough angle to shoot into my door! I prayed more traffic would come along and he’d get in his van and leave before he was spotted. I’m a sitting duck!
I crouched low and prayed the windshield held a little longer. I was already ankle deep in water. I didn’t relish the soaking or the cuts I was likely to get when the whole thing came crashing in.
“911 Dispatch. What’s your emergency?”
Another shot rang out. I started choking out words to the dispatcher. “It’s Sherriff Crane. I’ve been run off the road into Salt Creek at the intersection of Cutler and Mannsfork roads by a White, ¾ ton van with Illinois license plates. One assailant is armed and dangerous. Unknown number of assailants. Dispatch any PD or County units in the vicinity. Advise they proceed with extreme caution.”
By the time I’d identified myself, I could hear other dispatchers broadcasting my distress call out. At least it was my county issued cell phone I had been carrying and my identity wasn’t questioned!
“Shots fired” was a phrase that was repeated several times. The first dispatcher had to have heard the shot as she came on the line…
I blew out a breath and prayed that units were in the area.
Over the deafening sounds of my own breathing and the flowing creek, I picked up the sound of an emergency siren. Then, seconds later, I heard tires squeal. I hoped it was my attacker leaving the scene.
My elation was short lived. As I stood back up from my crouched position, the windshield gave way. Safety glass chunks scattered everywhere and cold, muddy creek water poured into my sideways cab. Life sucks but at least I’m alive to tell about it!
After a minute or so, the sound of sirens filled the air. I hazarded a peek up through my open window. I could only see the edge of the steep bank from my vantage point and there was no way to leverage myself out of the truck. It was going to be difficult to get out of both the truck and the creek.
Dispatch was still on the line. “I believe the van has left the scene. I can see out of the truck but I can’t see much from where I am. There isn’t anyone shooting anymore.”
“A city unit is in pursuit of a white van with Illinois plates Sheriff. A unit should be on the scene with you momentarily and rescue units are being dispatched. We’ll get you out of there!”
An hour later, I was sitting on the back bumper of a rescue squad, soaked, muddy and with a few cuts and a pounding headache but thankfully alive and free of major injuries. My truck was in much worse shape. The city PD had a recovery vehicle and crew out trying to right it and pull it out of the creek. There was even talk of bringing a crane in to hoist it. I just wanted to cry. The truck was my baby! I held back my tears and tried to regroup.
As I was exiting the creek, a deputy had handed me a radio. I was still hearing traffic chatter as the chase of the white van continued. Various officers in pursuit were reporting two assailants visible and multiple shots fired. Dana had been right all along. This is a dangerous game, played for keeps!
I needed to call her and tell her what was happening here and warn her to be extremely cautious. In my currently backwards state of mind, I felt responsible for putting her in extreme danger too.
I pulled up Dana’s number and dialed. My call went right to her voicemail. I left an urgent message to call me. There wasn’t anything else I could do. Here I was, a Sheriff, but I’d never felt so powerless.
Chapter 18 – Dana: Attorneys and Gangbangers
/> Traveling was really starting to wear on me. I had spent more than six hours yesterday on the road between Cleveland, Zanesville and the Crane farm way out in BFE, Ohio. During the drive from the farm to Cleveland, I had a long telephone conversation with agent Webb about the Dawes brothers and the Gangster Demons and our two cases.
I didn’t get back into Cleveland until late and I didn’t sleep well. I was whipped and now I was on an early AM plane to Chicago – again! A desk job like my roommate Cheryl had was starting to look better and better.
I still hadn’t had any luck reaching the criminal attorney, Jonathan Joseph. I was just going to have to pay him a visit. Meanwhile, Gene in the Cleveland Port Office was going to try to work his magic to get me into Stateville to see DeShawn Dawes this afternoon. I was hoping for some breadcrumbs there but holding my breath wasn’t in my plans.
Once my flight landed, I was off and running. No rest for the weary! I picked up a rental car and sped off. I needed to get to Joseph before he went to court or made up some other such excuse not to talk with me. I did do him the courtesy of leaving a message saying I was on my way.
Joseph’s office was a couple of blocks from Douglas Park, west of downtown. It wasn’t in a swanky neighborhood but it certainly wasn’t in the ghetto either. It was close to the Cook County Criminal Court building and that’s probably why he chose that location for his offices. He wouldn’t have far to go to defend his clients involved in preliminary criminal proceedings. It was also close to the freeway and an hour drive to Stateville Correctional, in good traffic – if there was such a thing in Chicago. Anyway, if he picked his prison visit times carefully, he could avoid most of the rush hour crush either way.
I circled his block and then the next before I finally found a parking spot. I got out and hoofed it back to the law office on foot.
Jonathan Joseph’s space wasn’t large or even particularly impressive. His was a one-man show. Really, since he wasn’t dealing with high profile, white collar crime, these offices probably fit just fine with his clientele.
I’d done a little research on Joseph when I first got the visitor logs from Stateville. I knew that he was 53 and I had a basic idea of what he looked like if he or anyone else tried to play dumb with me. The photos on his website and in the bar review showed him to be about 6 feet tall, thin, with thinning gray or silver hair and glasses. He wasn’t a snazzy dresser, judging by his photos. He’d blend into any crowd in the city and be invisible to most people. He seemed to be alone in the world; no spouse, no children, no siblings and both his parents had passed away.
