by Jeff Nania
“I saw her the other day at the store. She looked okay to me, friendly and all,” Bud said.
“I shouldn’t be basing this on just one thing,” Julie said to Bud. “But when I went over for a parent conference, Amber said she had the flu and needed to postpone the meeting. I was no better than anyone else. I automatically assumed that she was on drugs again.”
“It’s hard not to go there because it’s pretty much the way things work most of the time,” I said.
“I know that’s true, John, but maybe jumping to conclusions is part of the problem,” Julie said.
“One thing you have got to remember, Julie, once someone chooses drugs, the drug begins to own them. When I first got on the street, my field training officer told me the only thing a drug addict ever thinks about is getting high. They fix up one minute, and all they think about is fixing up again. Nothing is more important to them.”
The evening’s conversation put us all in a somber mood. The weather settled down, and Bud headed home.
I got ready for bed, but Julie asked me to come and sit with her by the fire. She was holding a glass of red wine and handed me a glass of brandy. We sat in silence together while inside I was reveling in the fact that we were in love. I truly believed that I was the luckiest man alive.
Julie finished her wine and put her head on my shoulder. “John, I have tried all my life to never hate anyone, even when all things pointed to me being justified in feeling hatred. There is so much hate in the world, and I do not want to add to it. But, I truly hate these people who are poisoning our children—my children. I have not yet been able to rise above this hatred.”
I pulled her in closer and felt her tears fall on my shoulder. Drug abuse brought pain and heartache to everyone. •
15
The Watcher
The man sat in the dark on a high rise of land overlooking the trailer. There was no traffic and no one else around. He used a set of surplus binoculars to survey the area just once more, not that he could do anything in the improbable event someone other than the two guys in the trailer did show up.
Even though he had an idea where the mobile home was, it had been difficult to locate. It was hidden deep in the forest at the end of a dirt driveway connected to a forest road no one used. It was a stroke of luck that he even found it. There was a small store, more like a trading post out on the main road. He was buying fuel when a guy pulled up in a Jeep. The Jeep driver got out and walked into the store. The man had seen him before, more than once with Devin Martin. He didn’t know the guy’s name, but it didn’t matter. The man followed him home, and for the next few days, he watched the goings-on at the trailer. He needed to be absolutely sure before he did his job. It didn’t take long. People were coming and leaving with bags he assumed contained drugs made in the clandestine lab. They appeared to be doing a pretty brisk business. Two guys were there nearly all the time. They both wore pistols that he could see, and he guessed they probably had shotguns and maybe rifles stashed around the place too. They never went anywhere together, always leaving one guy to watch the place. He intended to destroy the lab and the two guys in it and send a clear message: this was an unhealthy place to do business. As it always does, his patient waiting and watching paid off. The guys in that trailer would stay up late but were asleep or passed out no later than three in the morning, and they were never up and moving before ten.
It was surprising they didn’t have a dog. A barking dog could sure complicate things, but they didn’t. He would have never been able to survey the place and do his work with a dog barking. He had never seen another car, truck, or person in the area between five thirty and six thirty in the morning. There would be no risk to any unintended victims, although you really could never be completely sure. In the early morning hours of the next day, he moved silently around the trailer, placing his packages in strategic places. He set the timer for six and walked back to the high hill where he would be out of danger.
He sat silently, waiting. The stars were out, but the moon was just a sliver. In the southwest sky, he could see the constellation Orion the Hunter; he was the hunter. The noise of a truck broke the silence. He looked with his binoculars and spotted an LP delivery truck as it turned onto the dirt road that went right past the trailer. The driver’s timing could not have been worse. The timer he had used was dependable but could be off by as much as ten minutes. The LP truck trundled on, the man willed it to go faster, but the road was not made for speed. There was no stopping this now. The truck passed the trailer and continued on. It went another hundred yards or so when a massive fireball illuminated the woods like daylight. It went high order, as he knew it would, sending a mushroom cloud into the sky. With great relief, he saw the LP truck was still in one piece. Then the man climbed down from the hill and left the area. He had parked his vehicle a fair distance away. It was always a good idea to distance yourself from something like this. Some would say he was a fool for waiting for the explosion at all. He should have been fifty miles away. The man always needed to make sure that he had done his job. •
16
Pagers went off across the county, and volunteer firefighters responded immediately. The Spider Lake and School Lake Fire Departments were the closest and received the first pages. A call went out for any law enforcement officers in the area. Namekagon County Sheriff’s Deputy Pave and a Wisconsin state trooper were the closest and responding.
The deputy was first on the scene. What greeted him looked like some kind of large mobile home, maybe a double-wide. The basic frame could be made out, but the rest was obscured by smoke and a wildly burning fire. He noticed a vehicle in the yard just in time to witness the gas tank explode. The heat was intense, and the deputy backed off. The only thing to do was wait for the firefighters. There was almost nothing left of the structure, yet it continued to burn ferociously.
The firefighters arrived and poured water on the trailer and surrounding trees that threatened to catch. While the fire was burning stubbornly, it was almost all out and under control by the time the sun brought full light to the forest. All that remained was a burned shell of the trailer and an almost unidentifiable incinerated Jeep Cherokee.
When it was safe, the firefighters began to look for possible victims. They found one in what appeared to be the sleeping area of the trailer and another close by. The victims were burned beyond recognition. The fire was hot enough that much of the outside aluminum siding had melted.
The two fire chiefs requested dispatch send me to the scene, and I was on my way in a few minutes. Once in my truck, the Spider Lake chief explained the situation over the radio. He further advised he had requested dispatch page out the ME and fire marshal.
I arrived on-site, and the firefighters had already run bright yellow “Fire Investigation” tape around the scene, making sure to take in as much territory as they thought was needed.
Standing off to the side, next to a big LP truck, was the driver Chad Mills. He was also the driver who delivered LP to my cabin.
“How are you holding up, Chad?”
“I am okay. Still a little shook, but I’m fine.”
“What can you tell me?”
“Well, not much, Sheriff. I wanted to get an early start on my route because I had a bunch of deliveries on the other side of the county. I was kinda hoping to be done by one or one thirty and get out to my bow stand. I got some trail cam shots of a dandy ten-pointer, and there is a ton of sign. So, I took a shortcut through the forest on road 191. It is narrow but a pretty good road, and I didn’t expect to run into anybody. I had just turned off the main road and maybe made it half a mile or so when all hell broke loose. There was an explosion that blew so hard it rocked my truck from side to side. I got a full load on, and it still shook the truck. Truth is, I thought I was going to blow up too. It was probably stupid, but I stopped and looked back. I could see the trailer burning like crazy. The flames had to have been burning a hundred feet in the air and roaring. I am just damn gl
ad it didn’t blow me up.”
“What did you do next?” I asked.
“I drove my truck as fast as I could down the road. Then I tried to call 911 on my cell, but it wouldn’t go through, and my dispatcher didn’t come in until six thirty. So, I kept driving until I saw a cabin that looked like it had a phone line strung off a pole in the yard. I checked around the door frame for a key and found one. Inside, I found the phone and called the fire in.”
“Chad, have you taken this shortcut before?”
“Yeah, I have every so often. Like I said, it shaves some time off.”
“Did you ever notice the double-wide before today?”
“Yes, I did. As a matter of fact, I delivered hundred pounders to them every so often. They weren’t on the ‘keep fill plan,’ but they called in whenever they needed some and I delivered it.”
“Did they seem to use a lot of propane?”
“Well, now that you mention it, I have made quite a few deliveries here in the last few months. I can check with the office. They have a record of every delivery.”
“Chad, do you know the names of the people who were living here?”
“Nope, Sheriff. In fact, I never saw anybody when I made my deliveries. I just stuck the slip in an envelope in the storm door. The name of the customer will be on file at the office.”
“Did you notice any vehicles or anything else?”
“Not that I can recall, Sheriff. Sorry I can’t be more help.”
“Well, thanks, Chad. If you think of anything more, give me a call on my cell phone or through the dispatcher.”
“Will do, Sheriff. Now, if it’s okay, I better get back to business and get this propane delivered.”
“No problem, Chad. Thanks for your help. You can go ahead and get going.”
Chad jumped in the cab, released the brake, and rumbled off down the road.
The scene investigation was really moving by midmorning.
The fire marshal’s office sent Jeff Wolfman, a seasoned arson investigator from the Department of Criminal Investigation. It didn’t take him long to come up with a potential cause. There were bits and pieces in the mobile home, but empty cans of acetone, as well as hundreds of empty cold tablet packs and bottles, had been dumped in a hand-dug pit hidden in the woods some distance from the trailer. Remnants of glass cooking containers were strewn around the trailer’s perimeter, and inside were the remains of what used to be two propane tanks. The chemicals that are used to make methamphetamines give off fumes that are very flammable and can accumulate. All it takes is a spark, and an explosion results. Meth lab explosions are not uncommon, and often the ones running the clandestine lab are the victims. Everything pointed to this being a meth lab.
“Sheriff, would you come over here a second?” the fire marshal called.
“What have you got?” I asked.
“I just happened to notice something that is likely important. Three depressions in the ground correspond with the areas where the heat was intense. The depressions are about the same size, and they are located at strategic points around the trailer. I requested the help of a crime scene unit and survey team.”
“What do you think happened, Jeff?” I asked.
“I think that the explosion of the trailer was caused by some sort of destructive device planted outside. The truck driver who called in the explosion said it looked like a fireball in the sky, and that the concussion from the blast rocked his very heavy LP truck. When meth labs blow, they blow pretty hard depending on what is floating around the lab. This was a major explosion and an extremely intense fire. The explosion launched pieces of debris into the treetops and beyond. At this point, if I were to guess, I’d say that someone placed explosive charges under or almost under the trailer—maybe even used the explosives in conjunction with an accelerant. I don’t know for sure, but I think there is a good chance that this was an intentional act resulting in at least two dead bodies. I think there is a strong possibility that this might be a murder,” said Wolfman.
“So, how do you suggest we proceed?” I asked.
“We need to secure the scene and wait for reinforcements. They are already on their way. Once they arrive, we will first survey the area to make certain there is no unexploded ordinance. Then we’ll start to sift through the debris and see what we can find. I think we will find something, though it will take a while. As soon as we do, we’ll let you know. Right now, I need to get back at it.”
The investigator walked back to the fire scene.
I got in my truck, drove to a high spot in the road where I had cell service, and called Ricardo’s secret cell number. He answered right away.
“Sheriff, how nice of you to call. I got word through the grapevine that everybody and their cousin are on the way to yet another crime scene party in your county. I don’t know much else about it, but it sounds like something I would be interested in if you have the time, of course.”
“That’s why I called, Anthony,” I replied tersely.
I told him what I knew and relayed what the fire marshal and fire chief said. I described the scene as best I could, including the trash left behind. He took some time processing the information.
“Sheriff, a meth lab blowing up is not all that newsworthy. Most of the ‘chemists’ working in these labs aren’t on the genius list. They get all these toxic flammable fumes in their lab, and then some dummy decides to light up a smoke and kablam! The guys running the lab rarely survive, and if they do, they sustain some pretty severe injuries. On the other hand, if the fire marshal is right and somebody planted a bomb, that takes this to a whole new level. Without conclusion jumping too far, I think maybe we’ll find out this is payback for the hit on Devin Martin.”
“I’m sure it will take a while to get a positive ID on the victims. They were really burned up,” I said.
“In the meantime, Sheriff, I need a little favor. Actually, it’s a favor for you and me and the good citizens of Namekagon County.”
“What?” I asked.
“Call your good buddy Malone and put in a mutual aid request to get some extra support for this operation. We have some new faces that have just joined us. I want to put them on the street. No contact with local law enforcement. If this heats up and your guys start rousting some likely subjects, and my people get bounced around, I don’t care. It will add to their authenticity. Sheriff, I’ve got a feeling about this. I think we’re right. This is payback for Martin. So now somebody has got to hit back. We all better be paying attention. Otherwise, this may sneak up on us.”
“I’ll call Malone.”
“Thanks, Sheriff. Talk real nice to him. That might help.”
“I doubt it,” I replied.
“Me too,” Ricardo said and hung up.
The fire was out, and most firefighters returned to their respective stations and back to their regular jobs. Deputy Pave stayed at the scene with the fire marshal, the ME, and the Spider Lake fire chief, awaiting the arrival of a crime scene unit.
On my way back to Musky Falls, I talked to the people at the propane company. The person who held the account was Ervin Walder. He had a credit card on file that auto-paid for every delivery. We tracked down Mr. Walder, another victim of a credit card scam. The story was familiar. He lived in an assisted living facility two hundred miles away from Musky Falls. The attendant went down to his room, and together they checked. His credit card was long gone. He rarely used it, so he didn’t even notice.
I ran the property’s fire number through county records. They were able to give me the address and phone number of the owner in Minnesota, Mark Redberg. The man answered the phone as Reverend Redberg. The reverend explained that the double-wide trailer was used for years as a hunting shack by his father and family. They had stopped using it two or three years before. It seems no one was interested in going up to Namekagon County hunting anymore. The trailer had been well taken care of and was in good shape the last time he checked. They were going to sell it when th
ey got the chance. He didn’t think it would bring much, but the proceeds would be welcome. It seems he was semiretired and raising chickens on his farm in Minnesota. The money from the sale would help fund his new chicken coop. As far as he knew, no one was staying there.
He did notice recently that his electrical bill had jumped considerably. He had meant to come over and check on it but hadn’t gotten to it. I was met with silence when I told him that there had been two fatalities. He spoke gently and asked the details of what had happened. I shared with him as much as I could and said that I would send him a copy of the report when our investigation was complete. He did not know if the trailer was insured. The reverend said he would pray for those who lost their lives and pray for the safety of law enforcement officers.
I had pulled over to take notes and record the contact information. When I wrapped up, I realized I was in desperate need of a cup of coffee and something to put in my stomach. When the Crossroads sign came into view, it was like an oasis in the desert. I went in and ordered a large River Blend and was thrilled to see one of their world-class cinnamon rolls left in the glass cabinet.
I walked to the back of the store and dropped down in a comfy chair. It was just what the doctor ordered. My head was buzzing, and I needed a minute to take a breath. The coffee was delightful, the cinnamon roll delicious. I had just finished and was contemplating a refill when my moment of peace was dashed on the rocks. Scott Stewart, the county board chair, stood right in front of me. I did not know him well, actually hardly at all. My interactions with him had been mostly positive, although I had a feeling that was coming to an end.
“Do you have a moment, Sheriff?” Stewart asked.
“Sure, Scott, pull up a chair.”
“Can you fill me in about the fire out on the forest road?” he asked.
