Bough Cutter

by Jeff Nania

  It took me a moment to recover from her words, and when I did, I was Sheriff John Cabrelli. “You better stay here, Julie. I don’t want to put us in a compromised situation. I am sorry, but I can’t allow it. For all we know, at this point, she may have pulled the trigger on Martin. This is not like going to talk to a kid about underage drinking. This is a homicide case.”

  “What’s stopping me from calling her the minute you two drive out?” she said with an indignant lift of her chin.

  “You need to understand something. If you were to do that, you would put me in a bad position, much worse than you can imagine. You get to make up your mind about things and do what you think is right. Your statement a second ago made something clear to me. There are things that I should not share with you because it sounds like you may be willing to do something that would compromise an investigation or even my safety.” Anger was rising up in me.

  “How could I jeopardize your safety by calling her? That’s a total overreaction,” she said.

  “For a smart girl, you sure are naïve. Let’s just say you call her and give her a heads-up we’re coming. So, she uses that time between your call and our arrival to pack her stuff and run for the hills. Or maybe she is our killer, and she uses that time to get a gun and waits for us to arrive,” I responded.

  “She wouldn’t!” Julie shouted.

  “Maybe not, but what if you’re wrong?”

  “I am not wrong about her. I know her!”

  “Are you sure enough about her to risk Ricardo’s life? My life? Because that is what you could be doing.”

  Her shoulders slumped; her head hung. “I am going with you, John. I’ll get my coat.”

  “Julie, before we walk out that door, are we clear? You can’t do anything to compromise the interview, no matter how it goes.”

  “I am very clear about that, Sheriff Cabrelli. What I am not so sure of is whether I can do this.”

  “Talk to Crystal?” I asked.

  “No. Live with the hard side of John Cabrelli.” She grabbed her coat and walked out the door.

  The three of us got into my squad and drove to Crystal Lockridge’s home. The silence on the drive over was deafening.

  As we approached the front door, a curtain moved aside and then fell back. Someone had looked out to see who had come calling. Ricardo palmed a gun to keep it ready, but not to advertise. I made sure mine was clear of my coat.

  “Crystal, Amber, it’s Julie Carlson,” she said as she knocked on the door. The door opened slowly, and Amber’s sweet face greeted us with tears welled up in her eyes.

  “I know you’ve come to take her away. She’s in the back bedroom. I think she’s awake. Follow me,” Amber said.

  Crystal Lockridge was sprawled out on the bed, wearing a ratty pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to match. She looked up at us with a glazed look, not quite putting together the pieces.

  “What do you want?” she half slurred and mumbled.

  Our objective had been to have a conversation with Crystal, but that would be impossible because she was so whacked out on whatever she was taking.

  “How long has she been like this, Amber?” Julie asked.

  “It started right after the Thanksgiving dinner,” Amber replied. “I was working on my homework, and she was in her room. When she came out, well, she had the look she always gets, when … you know. I just left her alone. She seemed like she was going to be okay. Then she went to bed. I slept on the couch to make sure I heard her if she tried to do something stupid again, like go for a walk in the snow with no shoes or socks on. She didn’t get out of bed until ten this morning and was in a horrible mood. She started screaming at me, said the place was a pigsty, and told me to get to work. Then she said all the other sweet things she usually says to me. I started cleaning, and she went back into her room. I checked on her, and she was pretty much out of it. I tried to give her some leftover turkey, but she knocked the plate on the floor. Then I left her alone.”

  “Amber, did you call your grandparents?” asked Julie.

  “No, I don’t call every time she does this. Only when I get worried about her. Like when she starts screaming or throwing things, or when I can’t wake her up. Besides, Grandpa hasn’t been feeling well.”

  At that moment, Crystal bolted out of the bedroom door and ran toward the bathroom. After ricocheting off the wall, she crashed down next to the toilet and started to retch violently. Julie ran to help her and got her head over the toilet. When she was done, she lay on the floor, her head in Julie’s lap halfway curled up in a fetal position, passed out.

  “She needs to be transported,” Ricardo said.

  I was already on the radio requesting an ambulance.

  “Amber, your mom needs to go to the hospital. EMS is on the way.”

  “Please don’t do that, Sheriff Cabrelli. Whenever that happens, she is really mad when she gets home. I almost always have to go stay with my grandma and grandpa until she settles down.”

  “When did she start having this problem again, Amber? I thought she was doing so well,” asked Julie.

  “She has been doing much, much better. I thought for sure she was cured. Then something happened just before school started in the fall. When we went to see the social worker, she even said that Mom was doing really good. But then I guess she just started slipping again. Just leave her here. She will be fine. I can take care of her.”

  “Amber, I am sorry, but there is no choice. You know what happened at that party. Those kids got a bad batch of drugs. No doubt some of it is still floating around. We want to make sure your mom didn’t take any of that stuff,” I said.

  “Sheriff, please don’t. Please just listen to me,” Amber pleaded.

  “I will be glad to listen, Amber. The ambulance is on the way.”

  “If she goes to detox again, they will make me move to Grandma and Grandpa’s permanently or put me in a foster home. She will have no one to take care of her. The last time they said it was her last chance, and she signed on to the ‘Three Strikes Program.’ Please, please don’t take her, Sheriff,” Amber begged.

  Just then, Crystal started to retch again, and her body began to convulse in some sort of seizure. Julie and Ricardo held her tightly, but she thrashed wildly. I took over for Julie for a minute.

  “Julie, please call Ed and Stella and ask them to come over here. They are going to take Amber home with them. I will deal with whatever I have to deal with later. Does that work for you, Amber?”

  “That would be okay, as long as my mom doesn’t stop getting her check,” Amber said.

  “Amber, don’t worry about that right now,” I said.

  Julie took Amber into her bedroom. Ricardo and I did our best to take care of Crystal. EMTs were fifteen minutes out; the Lockridges were ten.

  When Ed and Stella arrived, they hurried up to the trailer and burst in the door. Amber ran to them. Ed was out of breath, so Stella did the talking.

  “What happened, honey?” she asked Amber.

  “I don’t know, Grandma. She must have gotten something at Thanksgiving,” Amber replied.

  “Ed and Stella, I need you to take Amber home,” I directed.

  “Amber, pack up your stuff and let’s get going,” Stella said.

  “Okay, Grandma,” Amber said and obeyed promptly.

  The ambulance pulled in, and two EMTs rushed through the door. They were fast and efficient in the evaluation of their patient, who had again lapsed into unconsciousness. Narcan was administered, and Crystal was gently lifted onto the gurney. She again began to thrash, swinging her arms and kicking with her feet. One kick landed squarely on the chest of one of the EMTs. We helped and got her restrained and strapped down. It was a scene that no one would wish to be a part of. As the EMTs wheeled her out, left in their wake were Ed, Stella, Amber, and Julie, all with tears in their eyes. A stark reminder that the addict was only one of the victims of drug addiction. Even if they were clean for years, they were just one fix away from the b
ottomless pit.

  The ambulance left with lights flashing, taking Crystal to a place where the bottomless pit no longer existed. Six minutes out from the hospital, Crystal Lockridge, age thirty-four, had a drug-induced heart attack and subsequent respiratory arrest. All attempts by EMTs and hospital staff failed to revive her. •

  21

  Dr. Chali conducted an autopsy, and tests showed Crystal had injected a toxic drug combination of methamphetamine and fentanyl through a site on her foot, a place often used when junkies try to hide their addiction. The syringe she used was found wrapped in a paper towel in the trash basket in her room.

  Crystal’s funeral followed the Ojibwe tradition. She was cleansed and dressed in special traditional clothing. Food and water were laid to rest with the body to help her soul travel to the afterlife. Tribal members provided spiritual ceremony, prayed and sang for her, wishing her to a place of eternal happiness. On the fourth day, she was buried in a small cemetery underneath the branches of a balsam fir.

  After the ceremony, a traditional dinner was served at the Lockridge home. I joined Ed outside, where he had gone to have a smoke.

  He lit his cigarette, took a drag, and was rewarded with a rumbling cough. He pulled a kerchief out of his pocket to cover his mouth. “I gotta quit smokin’ one of these days. I’ve heard it’s not good for you,” Ed said.

  It was the first time we had been alone together since the incident.

  “Ed, Julie and I are here to help you in any way we can. We can only imagine how you feel, but if we can do something, anything, just ask.”

  “Sheriff, I am sorry to say that we have been waiting years for this very day. As hard as I tried to keep her away from the bad people she traveled with, in the back of our minds, we were always waiting. Crystal just could not resist. When she was in treatment and clean, we were always so hopeful. But all it took was for her to get together with one of her so-called boyfriends, and then we were back to square one. She tried to be a good mother to Amber. She loved that girl with all her heart, but she was an addict. When I was in Vietnam, I learned a lot about addicts. They don’t care about anything but getting themselves fixed up.”

  “I didn’t know you were in Vietnam,” I said.

  “Yup. I was seventeen, about two months shy of my eighteenth birthday. I ended up in front of the judge for something or other. There was no doubt that I was headed in the wrong direction. That old judge was tired of seeing me and told me that he would waive me into adult court. He offered me a choice: go to jail or enlist. He gave me five minutes to decide. I told him I would enlist. The truth of it was I would have been drafted eventually. He adjourned court and walked me downstairs to the recruiter’s office. I spent six years in the service, most of it in Nam. I was glad to get the hell out of there.”

  “Julie said that Amber is living with you now,” I said.

  “Yes. Technically, we already had temporary legal custody. We set that up a few years ago when Crystal went into residential treatment. You know, she was a smart girl. She could have done anything she wanted. When she would go through treatment and clean herself up, she was the sweet girl we knew, a real pleasure to be around. When she got pregnant, she stopped taking drugs cold turkey. Stella and I sat with her day and night, helping through withdrawal. She came out the other end and was determined to have that baby and raise it right. She even went back to school to get her GED. There was some concern that the baby might have some problems because of her drug use, but Amber came out just fine. She was a good mother. Then one day, the baby got sick and had a high fever. Crystal was scared to death. She begged Stella and me to take Amber to the doctor for her, said she needed some extra sleep, so we did. When we came back home, Crystal was gone. We didn’t hear from her for several days. Stella sent me out looking. I found her shacked up with Travis Winslow, one of her drug dealin’ friends. She wouldn’t come home with me. She told me that the slimeball she was with was going to take care of her and Amber. It was another week before we saw her again. It’s been the same pattern ever since. Stella and I, and Amber, for that matter, had resigned ourselves to the fact that was the way things would be.”

  “It must have been a tough way to live for all of you,” I said.

  “You know, Sheriff, sure it was tough, but there is no shortage of love in our house. We are family, and we weathered the storm. We had some rough spots, that’s for sure, but we had a lot of good times too. We didn’t have a big pile of money, but we were rich in other ways. The girls loved traipsing across the countryside. I guess we thought if we stuck to the homestead and kept to ourselves, we could somehow protect them. We were wrong.”

  “We are here if you need us,” I reiterated.

  “We know that. Amber is a good girl. We need to make sure she has a real chance. The other night when we came to get her from the party, Stella was just stricken with fear on the way there. She’s a tough old gal but has a big heart when it comes to those girls. I hope Amber learned from her mother. Crystal dished heartache out by the bucketload, and Amber saw a lot of it firsthand.”

  The death of Crystal Lockridge took a toll on everyone. People in this small community had known her all their lives, and she had known them. They watched her grow up from a cute little girl in pigtails to a young teen with a pretty smile, to a mother, to a drug addict. They were all part of her successes and failures to break the iron grip of addiction. It was a story told in the past and would be told again in the future. The only thing that would change would be the name.

  Len Bork and I would have had to be stone deaf not to hear the community’s rumblings about the effectiveness, or lack of, on the part of local law enforcement. It was only right that it fell squarely on our shoulders.

  The chief and I met with Dr. Chali at the Musky Falls police station the next morning. The ME had called the night before on his way back from Madison and asked for the meeting.

  “Chief Bork and Sheriff Cabrelli, we finished the autopsy report and victim identification. I have a copy here for each of you and an additional one I have been requested to give to a state investigator. I am sure you are interested in the basics more than the details at this moment so you can continue with your investigation. The victims are, in fact, Tony Carter and Jesse Gunther. Both were identified through the use of dental records retained by the Wisconsin prison system. Jesse Gunther sustained a broken jaw in prison that required significant reconstructive work that matches up with the corpse’s dental work. Also, Gunther’s DNA was on file, but we are waiting for the results. Tony Carter took advantage of the state prison dental program and had numerous fillings and dental work. Again, the deceased matched up with the x-rays. In our opinion, the victims did not die from the explosion; they burned to death.”

  “Thank you for your fast work and dedication, Doc. I am sure when you took the ME’s job up here, you didn’t expect to be quite so busy,” I said.

  “That’s true, Sheriff. However, I am getting a firsthand look at how important the work of a medical examiner is. In a way, we speak for those who can no longer speak for themselves. I have learned a great deal in just a short while. When I was down in Madison, the team down there invited me to come back for a two-week training that they hold twice a year for MEs from smaller communities, so I signed up.”

  “Dr. Chali, we are thrilled with the work you’ve been doing. We’re glad to have you. Are you planning on staying around Musky Falls?” Len asked.

  “My wife and I love it here. We are taking cross-country ski lessons this winter and are excited to explore the backcountry trails. There is so much to do, so much fun.”

  Dr. Chali left, and Len and I got down to business. We were now facing four unsolved homicides, including Crystal Lockridge’s death. The media would be all over us. We needed to hit this head-on and decided to call a press conference for the following morning at ten in the Sheriff Department’s conference room. Len made a special effort to talk with Bill Presser at the Namekagon County News and the Voice
of the North radio. I called Ron Carver.

  “Sheriff, I am a popular guy today. I just got off the phone with that horse’s ass county board chair, Scott Stewart. It seems that he feels you need some guidance from the county board and our committee. He wants me to put out a public notice for an emergency meeting of the LEAC,” said Ron.

  “Ron, the chief and I would be glad to come to your meeting, but we have called a press conference for tomorrow morning, and I am guessing that you will probably want to attend that, and you may hear all you need to hear.”

  “What’s up, John? Fill me in,” he said.

  “The two guys who died in the trailer explosion burned to death. They have been positively identified as Tony Carter and Jesse Gunther, drug dealers and ex-cons, both as bad as the day is long.”

  “Is this tied to the other murder?”

  “All the deceased are connected to the Gunther gang from the Milwaukee area.”

  “Even Crystal Lockridge?” he asked.

  “Even her,” I replied.

  “Scott Stewart is spreading a rumor that the trailer was a drug lab and some kind of bomb caused the explosion. Is that true?”

  “It’s true, Ron. It was an active meth lab. It looks like three explosive charges were planted and set off by a timing device connected to detonators.”

  “Bombs, timing devices, detonators? What the hell? Do you have any suspects?”

  “Some theories, but no real suspects. Gunther’s gang is made up of ex-cons. They are trying to expand their drug network to the north country. An outlaw motorcycle gang from the cities is trying to do the same thing. Maybe the OMG is taking out the competition. It makes sense. If that’s the case, then maybe this thing is just getting started. In the drug gang world, a rival hits, you hit back. Gunther is going to have to hit back soon, or he’s going to look bad.”

  “Sheriff, you’ve got your hands full. Thanks for filling me in. I am assuming Len is in the loop.”

  “He is every step of the way,” I replied.

  “Well, good luck at the press conference. I’ll be there, and I will do my best to keep that pencil neck county board chair in line,” and he hung up.