Bough Cutter

by Jeff Nania

  “Judge, every one of those cases is solid. We got these guys dead to rights. If we end up going to trial, they will be convicted. My people are good at what they do. No nonsense here, Judge. You have my word on it,” Ricardo assured him.

  “Alright, leave me alone while I do some reading. I will notify DA Hablitch when I am done. Now out.”

  Two hours later, the DA reported we were good to go. Ricardo immediately set up surveillance on the targets. Uniformed officers from the county, city and state patrol, and DCI agents were put into teams led by Ricardo and his people. The agents would provide positive identification of the suspects. All the places we were taking down had other residences around. We needed to make sure that these raids didn’t turn into firefights.

  We planned to serve the warrants beginning at seven in the morning. At six, the surveillance teams advised all persons of interest were accounted for. The go-ahead came at 7:10. The teams hit the places in full tactical gear. The apartment dweller was dressed only in boxer shorts and was tucked in his bed when the DCI agent identified him, and he was taken into custody. The next suspect attempted to run for the door. Ricardo relived his high school football glory and hit the guy with a head-on tackle, upending him and slamming him to the ground.

  The warrant service on Randy Muller was a different thing. Muller lived on the edge of town in an old World War II row house. The subject had returned home at about three in the morning and had not been seen leaving again. Besides what we had found in the file, local officers had plenty of information on Muller. He was a local hard case who had done his joint time the hard way. The word was he was vying for a spot with Gunther’s gang as an enforcer. The other word was something had happened to him in prison, and he had vowed never to go back inside. I guess it never dawned on him to quit breaking the law.

  Chief Bork led the team with two uniformed officers and two DCI agents who covered the back door. As they approached the house, the door flew open, and Muller ran out charging officers. He dropped his shoulder and slammed hard into the chief, knocking him to the ground. He didn’t, however, make it past the two-time champion Lumber Jill, Officer Kristin Smith. She grabbed the suspect around the head and neck and, in a move that she must have learned on big-time wrestling or pro rodeo, twisted his head around and dragged him to the ground. The suspect swung with his free hand and slugged Officer Smith hard in the face, but she held on. He fought viciously until a monkey pile of pissed-off cops pinned him to the ground and cuffed him.

  The arrested parties were transported to the jail, booked, and put into separate cells far enough apart that they could not speak to one another.

  Each residence where the arrests took place was secured. Then DCI agents, Namekagon County deputies, Musky Falls police officers, and two canine units executed search warrants on each of the houses where they recovered meth, heroin, fentanyl, a large quantity of prescription drugs, and five firearms. Everything was bagged and tagged.

  After we debriefed and stored the evidence, we took our first crack at interviewing the arrested parties. An agent was teamed with a uniformed officer and assigned to each suspect. Each agent detailed the charges and the maximum sentences possible and explained to the suspect he or she was going down, but how far was dependent on cooperation. Agents explained there was a light, not very bright yet, but a light at the end of the tunnel and if the arrested parties could provide the information needed, the light might get brighter.

  The first two interviewed, of course, knew about the killings. Right off the bat, both started to come up with anything they could to dig themselves out of the hole they were in. Most of what they said was street gossip, or they just made it up on the spot. They had both heard that it was people from the cities. We didn’t ask, and no one volunteered any information about the Czechs, Russians, or any eastern Europeans.

  Then we came to Randy Muller, a truly bad guy. Muller was a born and raised Musky Falls scumbag. Len Bork was well acquainted with him. He got around but always made his way back home. He had a long record, including being a prime suspect in a homicide, but had never been charged. His last stretch in the joint was for two counts of aggravated battery and possession with intent to deliver and delivery of heroin. He spent most of his prison time in isolation. Eventually, he was back in general population, and that’s where he probably hooked up with Jesse Gunther. Maybe Gunther and his guys protected him from whatever happened to him in the joint. For whatever reason, he was now entirely loyal to Gunther. Muller was brought to the interview room wearing waist cuffs and leg shackles.

  Agent Ricardo read him his rights while I watched and listened. When asked if he had anything to say, he did not reply.

  After a few minutes of silence, the jailers came to take him back. Muller shuffled his feet slowly out of the interview room.

  When he got to the door, he looked over at me and said, “Tell that girl who tried to strangle me I hope her face is all right. It should be a pretty shade of black and blue by tomorrow. When I get out of here, maybe she and I can get together. You know, have a few drinks, do a little partying.”

  In fact, Kristin Smith’s face was swollen and already turning a dark purple from where Muller had hit her. A stop at the emergency room showed no broken bones, but it would be an ugly bruise. She came back to the jail and had a surprisingly good attitude. She explained she had grown up with five brothers who, like her, competed in timber sports. This was not her first shiner.

  The first round of interviews was done. I called everyone to the conference room. The agents were pros, and they each approached things a little differently. Our plan had been not to mention the eastern Europeans at all. None of the people that we had in custody said a word about people involved who had been in the drug business. Without offering anything, we let all of those people we arrested know we were interested in any information regarding the homicides. The key to success for us would be to make sure we didn’t seem too anxious, too needy. The suspects we had in custody were adept at manipulating people and situations. If they thought they had something we needed, they would start playing games and be difficult to deal with.

  DA Hablitch met with us and explained his intentions.

  “No bail for any of these guys,” he began. “The charges are solid, and we are adding felonies in at least one case. Chief Bork, please make certain that we have several photographs of Officer Smith’s injury, particularly in a day or two when it looks its worst. We will charge Muller with two counts of resisting arrest and battery to a police officer, one for Officer Smith, one for Chief Bork. I would expect that Judge Kritzer will want to move forward with the prelim sooner than later. To that end, we will get all of our paperwork ready to go as soon as possible.”

  As Len got up from his chair to leave, he winced in pain and had to sit back down.

  “Len, are you alright?” I asked.

  “Fine, John, just a little bruised up from where Muller clobbered me. Nothing to it at all,” he replied.

  I talked to everyone else present.

  “I am taking the chief over to the emergency room to get checked out.”

  “I’m fine, just a little bruised.”

  “No more talk. Get in my squad, Len. I’m driving you.”

  Grudgingly, he agreed.

  An hour later, we returned with Len carrying his bulletproof vest with his two cracked ribs in a rib wrap. •

  27

  The arrests were instant news, and the next morning our offices were besieged with media calls. DA Hablitch was prepared, and we had everything ready. He sent out a press release detailing the most recent arrests, emphasizing the attack on two law enforcement officers and that they had sustained injuries. He was very clear that this was an active situation and the ongoing homicide investigations were top priority. He detailed the arrests and identified the persons in custody. He closed the release by saying he had no further information at this time.

  I spent most of the night reading the reports about the suspe
cts. I focused mainly on Tyler Winslow. Ricardo’s people were pretty sure he was connected with the people from the cities. Marcus Johnson was a known associate of his. But these were drug addicts and dealers we were working with. So, you never know what to expect. It is what it is until it’s not.

  My first stop was the jail. I asked the jailer to bring Tyler Winslow to an interview room. He was cuffed at the waist and was not glad to see me.

  “Tyler, we need to talk,” I said.

  “I have nothing for you, Sheriff. I heard about all the people you arrested. Maybe they can help you out. I can’t and I won’t. You see, Sheriff, if I help you, I am a dead man. I don’t know what you need to know, and even if I wanted to help, I couldn’t,” Winslow said.

  “That’s it, Tyler? That’s your final word?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Sheriff, that’s it.”

  “I have some bad news for you, Tyler. I am asking the Department of Criminal Investigation and the DA to investigate your role in the murder of Marcus Johnson,” I said.

  “What? No way. That’s bullshit, Cabrelli!” Winslow jumped up and toward me. I slammed him as hard as I could back in his chair.

  It took him a minute before he regained his composure. I waited.

  “Look, Cabrelli, you know I had nothing to do with killing Marcus. You can’t put a crime on me that I didn’t have anything to do with. I told you everything just like it happened. I am telling the truth. You know I am.”

  “I can put you at the scene when the crime was committed. You knew the victim and were in the dope business with him. You’ve got a sheet and had a gun. You ran from police, and on and on. Even to you, it must sound like a good case. I am getting a lot of heat from the press and have to charge someone. You could be the lucky man. Time is up, Tyler. I’ve gotta go,” I said.

  “Cabrelli, man, you can’t do this! You’re the police, so you got to be honest. You can’t just make shit up. You can’t put somebody in jail for something they didn’t do. I’ll be in the joint for the rest of my life,” Winslow said.

  “Think about it, Tyler. I’m not making anything up. It is all true, and you’re right. You will be in the joint for the rest of your life.”

  The jailer took Winslow back to his cell.

  My cell phone went off, and I recognized the number as Dr. Chali.

  “Hey, Mike, do you have a report for me?”

  “I do, Sheriff. If you are at your office, I could come over and drop it by.”

  “I’m here right now,” I replied.

  “I am on my way,” he said.

  Dr. Mike Chali walked into my office and handed me his report on the death investigation involving Marcus Johnson.

  “Sheriff, Johnson was shot in the chest with a large caliber firearm. It could have been a rifle or a large caliber handgun. The entry wound exceeded eleven millimeters. The exit wound was significantly larger. The projectile struck the right ventricle and destroyed the heart. Other than some singeing from where it appears the fire washed over his back, there were no other injuries. He had meth and fentanyl in his system when he was killed. Did you get the report from the fire marshal and crime scene technicians yet?”

  “Not yet,” I replied.

  “Don’t expect much. Tire impressions from the scene indicated two different vehicles, but there was not much else. They sent in samples for analysis to confirm it was a meth lab.”

  “I appreciate you stopping by, Mike.”

  “How are you holding up? I saw the newspaper headline. I am sure you are under significant pressure right now.”

  “Doctor, this job is not for the faint of heart,” I replied.

  How long would the drug war go on? It seemed that the other side outclassed Gunther. When they hit, they not only hit hard, they did so with deadly precision. Gunther had to be rethinking bringing his drug network to the north country. I figured there would be retaliation against Gunther or his people for the hit on Marcus Johnson. When and where, who knew, but how they retaliated would tell us a lot.

  We all spent the rest of the day with our sleeves rolled up, trying to put the pieces together, working with everyone involved in the investigation. Ricardo was back-checking with other agencies and people in his network to connect the dots. None of us was convinced that we had a clear picture of what was going on. We made progress in one regard with solid cases against some drug dealers. But we still had more questions than answers. Public defenders had arrived and been assigned to their various charges, and initial appearances were being set up. There was more work to do than there was time to do it.

  That night I tried to fall asleep, but it wasn’t happening. I couldn’t help but wonder if I was becoming like Ricardo. Would I find out Julie had been gone for a week before I noticed? I drifted off for at least a minute before my pager went off and the house phone rang. Julie and I bolted upright.

  It was the dispatcher on the line. There had been a shooting at Outlaws Tavern. EMS was on the way, as were Deputies Pave and Plums. I had told everyone that if anything went down that was even possibly connected to our current investigation, I should be notified no matter what time of day or night. Outlaws was on that list.

  I was on the road and on my way within ten minutes. I spoke with my deputies, but they knew nothing more than what dispatch had told me. EMS had been called for a gunshot victim at the bar. The caller hung up before dispatch got any more information.

  The deputies arrived on the scene, and EMS followed a few minutes later. As time passed and I didn’t hear anything from my deputies, I hit my lights and siren and put my foot through the floorboards. I was still a ways out when I got a call from Plums.

  “Sheriff, we have a situation. Someone drove by the tavern about an hour and twenty minutes ago and fired numerous shots into the occupied building,” reported Plums.

  “Was anyone hit?” I asked.

  “We think so, but no one is talking. The call came in as a 911 for EMS. After the ambulance was en route, someone from the bar called and tried to cancel. We had already been sent, so we continued for a check welfare, as did EMS. The patrons of this place appear to be some bad actors. The owner doesn’t want to file a complaint. What do you advise?”

  “Stand by in the parking lot. I am on my way,” I replied.

  I pulled in and noted a dozen cars, but the only people in the lot were my two deputies and three EMTs. I joined them, and Deputy Pave filled me in on the situation.

  “Deacon Gunther is the new owner of the bar,” Pave began. “He said around eleven someone shot up the place. He doesn’t have any idea who it might have been, maybe someone jack lighting deer. A patron was hit but doesn’t want or need medical attention, saying it was a minor wound. I asked to see the injured party, and a guy with a bar rag wrapped around his hand stepped up. He reiterated that he didn’t want medical attention. I asked who called 911, and a woman sitting at a table nursing a drink said she did. She said she freaked out when the guy at the bar started bleeding after the shots. She said she tried to cancel the ambulance.”

  “Let’s go in,” I said.

  The jukebox was playing so loudly it was shaking the windows. Nobody gave us more than a glance. I walked over and pulled the jukebox plug from the wall, and the place became quiet. At a round table in the far corner of the room sat four guys, one sitting with his back to the wall I recognized as Deacon Gunther. I walked over to the table. None of them said a word; they just glared at me.

  “Are you the owner of this place?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I’m the owner,” Gunther replied.

  “Can I see your liquor license?” I requested.

  “My what? My liquor license?” he repeated.

  “Yes, your liquor license,” I said.

  Another man wearing a leather shirt and covered with jailhouse tattoos stepped out from behind the bar.

  “I am the current owner of the place. Deacon is buying me out, but for now, the license is in my name,” he said, pointing to a framed official-looki
ng document screwed to the wall. “I just renewed about nine months ago. Everything is legal.”

  “Any idea who might have shot up your bar?” I asked.

  “I am pretty sure it was those poachers the DNR has been trying to run down. Maybe you should be out trying to arrest those guys for killing defenseless little animals and shooting holes in my bar. That’s what you should be doing. Not harassing us,” the owner said defiantly.

  I looked straight at Gunther. “Gunther, you have any ideas about who might have done the shooting?”

  “Poachers,” he replied.

  The old owner turned to me. “Sheriff, if you’re done with us, I would appreciate it if you could leave us be. We’ve told you what we know. We would like to plug the music back in and get the party going again. Is that alright with you, Sheriff?”

  I turned to the injured man. “Are you sure you don’t want the EMTs to look at your hand?”

  “It’s just a nick. I don’t need no EMT attention, Sheriff.”

  The owner plugged in the jukebox, and we left.

  Pave and Plums headed back out on patrol as I went home. A drive-by shooting was typical retaliation. Deacon Gunther would now be a permanent pain in my side as the new proprietor of Outlaws Tavern. The neighborhood was going to hell. •

  28

  As predicted, Judge Kritzer pushed for an early preliminary hearing. Judges always tried to clear their calendars between Thanksgiving and Christmas, then use the days before the New Year to tidy up loose ends. The first two defendants appeared represented by the same public defender. Each pleaded not guilty.

  The criminal complaints put both in a perfect corner. They had audio recordings and video recordings of the transactions. The judge allowed Ricardo to testify on behalf of his undercover agents to protect their identities. Cash bail for each was set at twenty-five thousand dollars.

  Randy Muller was next up and sat at the defendant’s table with a different public defender. He was recorded on three occasions selling fentanyl and meth to the undercover agent. In addition, he was charged with resisting arrest and two felony counts of battery to a police officer. The DA presented his case on the drug charges. He then described the events surrounding the arrest and Muller’s attempt to resist during the arrest. The next charge of battery to a police officer was described in detail. In an attempt to escape, Muller had intentionally slammed into Chief Bork, cracking his ribs. When Officer Smith then grabbed him, he struck her in the face with a closed fist. Both Chief Bork and Officer Smith had sustained significant injuries that required medical attention. The DA then projected a photo of Officer Smith’s face on the screen, and it showed a huge, ugly purple and yellow bruise. He further maintained that Muller had demonstrated by his actions that he was a flight risk. The public defender argued that he was a longtime resident and not a flight risk. The judge was not buying it. The photo of the officer’s face was enough. For now, Muller would be held without bond.