Bough Cutter
Page 4
Deputy Holmes exited the vehicle. “Hey, Sheriff. How you doing?”
“Good, Deputy. Good.”
“What have you got here?” the deputy asked.
“Well, this is probably pretty straightforward. It looks like a suicide and probably is. But some things raise questions, so I requested a crime scene unit. They are coming in from Eau Claire County and should be here by eight o’clock in the morning. I will be back tomorrow morning by seven. If by chance they get here early, tell them not to touch anything until I get here.”
“Got it, Sheriff.”
“I am dog tired, and heading home to catch a couple of hours of sleep. By the way, how’s your wife doing?”
“She’s excited to have the baby, but we’ve got a long way to go. She’s healthy and strong, so we’ll make it through. I promised to pick up a half gallon of her favorite ice cream from the dairy on my way home.”
“I am glad to hear everything is okay. I’ll see you in the morning. Oh, by the way, a wolf paid me a visit a while ago. Kinda gave me a start, if you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean. You run into them when you least expect it, and it always makes me jump. They are usually gone before you even know they are there. Everybody says they won’t bother people. So far, I guess that’s true. Last winter, I took a call at a sheep farm north of town. Wolves had gotten in with the sheep and killed most of them. The only thing the farmer could do was shoot up in the air, and they finally ran off.”
“You watch out. I’ll see you in the morning.” •
4
The drive home was quiet with no radio calls, meaning Namekagon County citizens and visitors were tucked in bed.
Driving up to the cabin, I was glad to see the lights on. At night, light shining on old wood gave everything a comfortable orange-brown glow. I went inside and was more or less greeted by the love of my life. She was in the room but sound asleep in her comfortable chair with a pile of student papers on the table next to her.
I touched her arm gently, and she woke with a start.
“Oh, hi, John. I must have dozed off. What time is it?”
“A little after one, and time to hit the sack.”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea. Did you eat supper?”
“No, the lunch you packed me got me through.”
“I could warm something up for you.”
“Thanks, honey, but to be honest, I am too tired to eat. Let’s get to bed. I have to be back on the road by at least six thirty. So I need to sleep fast as it is.”
We trudged upstairs and got ready for bed. She came out of the bathroom wearing what I deemed her most alluring sleepwear—green flannel pajamas patterned with bears and pine trees. I crawled into bed next to her, and she snuggled the soft material against me to ward off the cold. There could be nothing on earth better than this. Exhausted, we kissed goodnight and were fast asleep.
Morning came too soon. Julie and I had a rule every morning: we had a cup of coffee together and discussed the day. If one of us had to leave the house at six, then we got up early and had coffee at five thirty. It was a wonderful routine for two very busy people who just needed a moment to reconnect.
“What is going on out there that kept you out so late?” she asked.
“A dead body in a car out in the woods. Looks like a suicide, but not everything is right. So, I figured I would spend my budget and call out the crime scene unit.”
“Suicide is such a sad statement on life. If someone could reach out to these people at the right time, so many of them could probably be saved. The real tragedy is the pain suffered by the people left behind. I know mental illness is behind it, and I should not be critical, but I always felt it was the coward’s way out. A few years ago, the father of one of my students killed himself on Christmas Day, leaving an eighth-grade girl and her mother who was struggling through recovery. They made it, but not without a lot of pain,” she said.
“I don’t know anything about this victim other than a possible name. We’ll find out more today. Dr. Chali came out and pronounced him dead. Today we need to process the scene and see what we can find. I should be home before you are unless something else comes up,” I said.
“I won’t be home until late, John. The rest of my parent-teacher conferences are tonight, and I pushed my evening meetings back because I have to do a home visit. One of my students is clearly struggling with some family issues. She has been absent several days, and when she comes to school, she looks like she hasn’t slept. She is a wonderful kid and plenty smart, but her home environment has become a real limiting factor for her.”
“What time do you think I might see you?” I asked.
“Not before nine, I am sure.”
Just then, my portable radio squawked my number.
“301, go ahead,” I replied.
“301, switch down to Tact 1.”
“301, I am on the secure channel. Go ahead.”
“301, the crime scene unit is running ahead of schedule and will be on the scene in about a half hour.”
“Ten-four. I am on my way.”
I gave Julie a quick kiss goodbye and took off down the road. There was little traffic on the highway, and I moved right along. I wanted to get to the scene first to talk with the techs before they started. Almost as an afterthought, I remembered to have dispatch page out the ME. They did, and he responded to the page telling dispatch he was en route in the transport van.
I arrived only a minute before everyone else. I asked Deputy Holmes to stick around to help out, and he agreed.
Everyone huddled together, and Dr. Chali reported on his cursory examination. On the passenger side of the vehicle, I pointed out the plant pinched in the door and explained why that made me curious.
“Someone opened this door wide enough to go over the top of this plant about eighteen inches away. Then, whoever closed the door caught the plant, and the stem ended up inside the vehicle. The door was also not completely closed. I am guessing because the stem got in the way. I don’t know when this might have happened, but it is clear that someone else was here at some point and opened the door. It could have been a hiker walking by that took one look and decided it was not their business, or it could have been someone else. Other than that, you folks can have at it. We will stand by to assist,” I explained.
The crime scene team began the meticulous job of surveying the area around the car. Once the area leading to the driver’s door was cleared, they suited up and began the grisly task of helping the ME remove the body and attached organisms. Dr. Chali examined the right side of the head more closely this time and announced the hole in the subject’s head did appear to be a bullet wound. He also confirmed that there was no apparent exit wound, so the bullet was still inside the body. The team bagged the hands of the deceased and gently loaded him into a body bag. Then the body was transferred to the ME’s van and transported.
Then one of the techs called me over. He was holding the duffle bag that he had unzipped. Inside was a pile of cash and an equal pile of plastic bags containing a white crystalline substance that looked a lot like meth. One of the technicians removed a baggie from the duffle bag and tested the substance with a chemical kit. It was positive for methamphetamines. The test kit and sample were bagged for evidence.
The gun was retrieved from the front seat. It was an older model, Smith & Wesson nine millimeter semi-auto. The magazine was only partially full, with cutouts indicating it held only ten rounds even though the capacity was fifteen. There was a live round in the chamber. A nine millimeter shell casing was recovered from the floor on the passenger side of the vehicle.
A black rectangular weapon was stuffed under the back seat. It looked like an Ingram Mac-ten sub-machine gun. Closer examination showed it to be a cheaply made semi-auto copy, stamped out of sheet metal, with a long stick magazine protruding from the bottom. The magazine was partially loaded with nine millimeter rounds. The receiver was stamped “Cobray M11.”
The crime scene crew bagged and tagged what they needed, including the plant.
“Sheriff, we are good to move the vehicle to secure storage if it’s okay with you,” the technician said.
“I will call a wrecker. We can store the vehicle at the department lock-up where you can finish up.”
“Sounds good. We’ll finish up with fibers, fluids, latents, and all the rest. Do you intend to keep the vehicle in impound for a while?” the tech asked.
“Why?” I asked.
“I was just wondering. I mean, at this point, it looks like a pretty straightforward suicide. We’ll do all the collections and tests right away. If you want a full ballistic workup, that will have to go Milwaukee. We can do a cursory review, but I guess what I’m saying is there is probably no need to rush.”
Crime scene teams were always under the gun. I knew that whatever they came up with here would be added to the pile of what they already had on their plate.
“Our impound is dry and secure. I don’t need you to put a rush on this, but I don’t want it to get buried either. Let’s tag and secure the money and drugs. If the ME is able to find a slug, take it along with the gun and shell casing and go through with the ballistics. Analysis of trace, hair, fluids, fiber can wait a while.”
“Works for us,” the tech replied, relieved.
I radioed dispatch to send the flatbed wrecker from Bill and Jack’s Garage and Guide Service to transport the vehicle. Deputy Holmes and the crime scene crew would follow it into town and lock it up.
I signed a formal evidence release for the plant and took it into my possession. I thanked everyone and headed back toward Musky Falls. Once I had cell service, I called a friend of mine over at the university, Professor Charlie Newlin. He was a brilliant professor-type who answered the phone with a “Quack.”
“Hey, Charlie, this is John Cabrelli,” I said.
“Why hello there, Sheriff John. It is good to hear from you. Hasn’t this been a wonderful fall? I think the north country in the fall is an absolutely splendid place to be. I have had my students out in the field watching migrating birds, everything from giant Canada geese to tiny neotropical migrants. It is all part of a field biology unit on seasonal adaptive behaviors of wildlife. We spend the first part of the class documenting general observations of the environment and determine how they impact residents as temperatures get colder. It can be as simple as noting a small, isolated wetland that has frozen up and then deciding what the resident species would likely be and how they would adapt. As the birds begin to move, we concentrate on them. Who is here today, and who is gone? I order phenology calendars for each student produced by the Aldo Leopold Foundation for comparative information. It is a fun way of seeing how things have changed and how things have stayed the same. I must confess, though, that I collect a great deal of information during these outings that I hope will benefit me during the waterfowl season. Noting species of birds and locations is of interest to me both as a scientist and someone who loves the taste of roasted duck or goose.
“Most recently, I have indulged my culinary bent with a recipe that is new to me. It’s called Marcy’s Goose stew. It is absolutely delicious. I throw in a handful of freshly picked oyster mushrooms, and it is a gourmet delight. As a matter of fact, it is what I have packed myself for lunch today. I do love the fall. I expect that we will get some real weather soon that will put a winter chill in the air. Enough of me going on. What can I do for you, John?”
“Charlie, I know your expertise is wildlife, but I need some information on a plant.”
“You are in luck. My first real love has been botany. As I began my studies, I noted that habitat and wildlife were interlinked. For example, if you found a plant that a certain wildlife species liked, you could expect that to be a situation that would repeat itself. If you found a healthy patch of wild blue lupine, you might very well expect to find the endangered Karner blue butterfly in the same place. A large bed of wild rice growing in a lake would be a great place to expect to find waterfowl, and so on. I realized that if I truly wanted to understand wildlife, I needed to understand their habitat. Plants are a huge part of that. I could probably help you out with a plant question, or at least steer you in the right direction.”
“Are you busy right now?” I asked.
“Nothing other than partaking of my aforementioned goose stew,” he replied.
“Thanks, Charlie. I will be there in twenty minutes.”
“See you then, John. By the way, I will be in the lab in Heinemann Hall. First door on the left as you are coming in.”
On my way over, my cell phone rang.
“Sheriff, this is Holmes. We are at the secure storage building with Doc O’Malley. We have a problem. The garage stall is stacked high and deep with boxes. There is not enough room for us to get the vehicle in and have enough room for the evidence techs to work.”
“Can you move the boxes? What’s in them?” I asked.
“We would have to move them out the door. They are full of stuff from the Chamber of Commerce for Fall Fest and the Great Northern Ski Race. The storage building they were using had a leak in the roof, so they moved the stuff over here. I forgot all about it. We don’t use the impound that much,” Holmes replied.
“Any alternative for secure storage?” I asked.
“Not that I am aware of, Sheriff.”
“Okay. Stand by. I will get back to you.”
I called Jim Rawsom.
“Hey, Jim, how are you doing?”
“Well, John, things are going in the right direction, but slow. Physical therapy, as you well know, is a real job. The doctor says that we should have a better handle on things come spring, but he says my progress is better than expected. The big thing is the head wound. I continue to have vision issues and headaches. Both are better, but still there. You didn’t call to listen to me whine. What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
That stopped me cold. He had never called me Sheriff before. Not at the swearing-in or since. He was the real sheriff; I was just filling in. We both knew that. He would heal, and I would hand over the badge. Then maybe I’d buy part interest in the Happy Hooker Bait and Tackle Shop to keep me busy. I had heard the co-owners were thinking about slowing down. I never once thought I would be the real sheriff. I still didn’t.
“Jim, here is the deal. Two grouse hunters found a fancy SUV off on a fire lane. There was a dead guy in the driver’s seat. The ME says it looks like a suicide, and it probably is, but I want to cover a few bases before I turn it over to next of kin or whoever. It turns out our secure storage is full of boxes being stored for the chamber while they get their roof fixed. Do you know of any alternative storage I can use?”
“Sure, call the warden. They have secure storage by the ranger station, where they store confiscated animals. The small ones go in the freezer. The big ones hang from the rafters. What makes you think this isn’t a suicide?”
“I still do think that’s likely, but there are some things that don’t wash. First of all, this guy was doing business. A duffle bag in the back seat was stuffed with cash and meth. Second, I think there may have been someone else in the car.”
“Aw shit, John, meth. We’ve had a real problem with dealers expanding their networks up to our Northwoods. We put a ton of pressure on them when it first started, and that seemed to work for a while, but we never got rid of them. They recruited some of our resident dirtbags and wormed their way in. It’s been a real issue. About five years ago, things got worse. A local girl and some of her friends got mixed up with a guy from the cities. She was a good kid, a tough family life, but a good kid all the same. She OD’d and didn’t make it. We
put everything we had into making a case. All we knew was that a guy in his twenties named Jake, last name unknown, sold them drugs. He was long gone by the time we got there. We grilled those kids pretty damn hard, but I am convinced they didn’t know much about him or his supplier. Just out of curiosity, you got a name on the guy you found?”
“Yeah, a tentative is Devin Martin, a white male in his thirties.”
Rawsom was silent for long enough that I asked if he was still there.
“I’m here, John. I also know who Devin Martin was. We got a report from the Department of Narcotics Enforcement that he was supplying drugs to dealers in our area, mostly meth but also heroin. The report said he was usually armed. There were no wants or warrants at the time; it was just an FYI. They wanted us to watch for him. It was the middle of summer. There were so many tourists from the cities that we didn’t notice him when he showed up. Then the city police department busted a couple of our local troublemakers. Both of them had meth in their possession. We ID’d Martin and stopped him every chance we got. We shook him down pretty well, but he was clean. Anyway, one day Martin disappears, and meth starts showing up on the streets. DNE came up and tried to stop things before they got started. They made a few cases, but the genie was already out of the bottle.”
Out of the bottle was a gross understatement. Drugs were a poison destroying the lives of everyone they touched. The number of people dying from drug overdoses had tripled in the last ten years. It wasn’t just in Namekagon County; it was all over the country. The nightly news bombarded us with national tragedies every day. I had heard many people say they could not stand to watch the news anymore. Of all the national tragedies, there was nothing worse than the cancer of drug addiction and the subsequent wasted and lost lives it represented. No one was untouched. Everyone knew someone who had perished, been arrested, or had a junkie break into their house to steal enough to sell for their next fix.
“My first order of business when I get back to the office is to call his P.O. and see what I can find out. There was a probation hold issued for him in August. Maybe that will give me a clue as to how long he has been sitting there.”