Bough Cutter

by Jeff Nania

  Deputy Holmes knew which cabin she bought. He and his wife had looked at it but found it out of their reach. At my request, Holmes left Musky Falls at high speed. He ran as hard as he could, lights and siren. When he pulled in, Dr. Orengo opened the door a crack, the door held by a security chain. Once Holmes explained the situation, the doctor said she would be ready to go in five minutes. She came out wearing a Happy Hooker Bait and Tackle sweatshirt, jeans, and a full-length winter coat. Once in the squad car, she asked Deputy Holmes if she could talk to the hospital on the police radio. He switched to the right channel, and she was in charge, directing staff on what she would need to attempt the surgery. One of the hospital staff members she was communicating with asked her to repeat herself. Dr. Orengo did but told the person they should take notes if they had such a short memory.

  They arrived at the hospital and were in the surgical suite within ten minutes. An experienced surgical nurse had been assigned to assist. When the doctor saw the victim’s eye, she simply said, “Oh my God, we have a lot to do.”

  I had my hands full, but I knew better than to let craziness drive the situation. The public defender was being cared for, and no one else sustained injuries in the onslaught that needed attention.

  Muller had been removed from the restraint chair and was locked up in a segregated cell. The cell area was equipped with two cameras, and he would be under around-the-clock surveillance. He was issued a new jail shirt and long-sleeved undershirt.

  I was ready to go home, but I felt responsible for the situation with the public defender. I stopped at the hospital to check on his condition. Dr. Orengo had been at it for three hours, and there had been no communication other than the surgical nurse requested two bottles of water. It was two more hours before they were finished. The surgeon had saved the lawyer’s eye. Healing would take some time, but the prognosis was good.

  Ricardo called me and asked to meet back at my office.

  “Things have certainly turned ugly around here. What happened with Muller’s lawyer?”

  I explained the situation.

  “Sounds really bad. I do have some good news for you. My people and I are going to be out of your hair, at least for now. We have burned ourselves up and leaving undercover agents in place at this point would be dangerous for them. Malone has pulled the plug on our ‘Up North’ operation,” Ricardo explained. “I wish we could have done better. Leaving a case with loose ends really pisses me off. It looks like those who are locked up are going to plead out. We got some information, but I am convinced they don’t know anything about the murders.”

  “What about Deacon Gunther?” I asked.

  “I would guess he’s here for the long haul. We heard he is living in an apartment above the bar at Outlaws. He was probably driving the SUV that took Muller away after he killed Marcus Johnson. It sounds like Muller has got a real problem with going back inside. Maybe when he starts hearing the doors slamming in his sleep, he will decide to work something out,” Ricardo said. “We are heading out tonight. My crew is excited to be home for Christmas. Sheriff Cabrelli, it has been a real pleasure. If you ever need me, call.”

  Ricardo left as he had shown up—one day a hundred percent there, the next day one hundred percent gone. •

  29

  Randy Muller’s preliminary hearing was set for the next Monday. The news media had run long and hard on Muller’s arrest for murder and the attack on his lawyer.

  Partly as a result of a shortage of available public defenders and partly because no one wanted to represent him, the clerk contacted everyone on the list and either got voicemail or no answer at all. Local lawyers avoided Judge Kritzer’s courtroom like the plague. The judge ordered DA Hablitch to come to the courtroom for a status meeting.

  “Mr. District Attorney, we have reached out to many lawyers who may or may not agree to represent Randy Muller. It is difficult to determine because none of them will take my calls. I suspect this has something to do with one of their own being a victim of such a severe attack. While I am somewhat sympathetic, I am not confused about the fact that the constitution provides for legal counsel. Rather than go through the trouble of bringing him into court, let’s go and see him in his cell.”

  The judge spoke through the door of seg cell.

  “Mr. Muller, I am Judge Kritzer. My staff and I have been trying diligently to find a lawyer to represent you. We have had no success. You will have to remain in jail without any further proceedings before the court until we can secure counsel to represent you.”

  Muller stared cold-eyed at the judge and DA, and finally he spoke. “I’m not going back to prison. I didn’t kill no one.” And he retreated to the corner of his cell.

  Judge Kritzer and DA Hablitch returned to the courtroom.

  “I expect you will help me locate someone for this job, Mr. District Attorney.”

  “I’ll do my best, Your Honor.”

  On my way home, I turned off the highway and came upon a truck with its flashers on at the Spider Creek bridge. I pulled up and got out to see if they needed help. I laughed when I saw that it was Ed, Stella, and Amber Lockridge. It was nice to see some friendly faces.

  “Hey, you are blocking the road,” I said jokingly.

  “Sorry about that, Sheriff. Didn’t figure anyone would be by while we checked our traps.”

  “How’s trapping?” I asked.

  “Been, real, real good. Amber, show him what you got,” Ed prompted.

  Amber, smiling, held up four muskrats by their tails.

  “Amber set those traps herself. They’re close enough to home that she’s been checking them regularly. She sure got lucky today. Good fur, nice looking rats,” Stella said proudly.

  “But look at what Grandpa got!” said Amber.

  Ed walked over to the bed of the truck and hoisted up a huge beaver. Not that I was an expert, but it was the biggest beaver I’d ever seen.

  “Holy smokes, Ed! That thing is huge,” I said.

  “Yup, I am guessing sixty-five pounds or so. Look at the hide, almost completely black. This will make someone a nice hoop or comforter. It will sure bring top dollar.”

  “With a beaver that big and old, I will have to start cooking the meat up tonight for it to be fit to eat tomorrow night,” Stella added.

  “She and I got different ideas what the best beaver is. For me, the bigger, the better. I like a big, beautiful hide. She likes the smaller ones. They fit in her pot just perfect.”

  “Say, Sheriff, I heard on the radio last night that you still got your hands full with all those troublemakers. Any idea who is behind all this?” Stella asked.

  “We have one in jail for murder now, but we still have work to do.”

  “Yeah, the radio said it was Randy Muller you got in jail. He’s a bad one, that’s for sure,” Ed said.

  It was nice to see the Lockridges, but I had no urge to discuss the case anymore today.

  “Well, I’ll be on my way. It was nice to see you folks.”

  “Nice to see you too, Sheriff. By the way, it’s going to get cold tonight and stay that way for a week. It ought to make some good ice. The fish like to school up at the point right out from your place. If you got a mind to, go down to the Happy Hooker, get yourself a couple of dozen minnows and a few chartreuse or bright pink half-ounce jigs with long gold hooks. Drill a hole about twenty or thirty feet off the point. If you did that, I think you would catch a bunch of fish. Ms. Carlson would likely be happy if you brought fish caught through what we call first ice. I know there’s not much Stella likes better than first ice fish. Isn’t that right, Stella?”

  “I do. Maybe we should give that point a try ourselves,” Stella answered.

  “We might have to do just that. Maybe we’ll see you out there, Sheriff,” Ed replied.

  I slowly drove down the road the rest of the way home.

  I walked in to find Julie sitting by the fire reading. She looked up at me through her reading glasses. She hated them and said t
hey made her look like an old schoolmarm; I thought they looked cute.

  “Howdy, stranger,” she said.

  “Hi, honey,” I said as I dropped down into my chair. I tipped my head back to the headrest and closed my eyes.

  “You look exhausted,” she said.

  “That is because I am.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.

  “The God’s truth is, you’re doing it. This situation has been hard on everyone. Martha Bork packed up to visit her sister after telling Len he was retiring after thirty long years. Ricardo and his crew took off to their next assignment.”

  “To be honest, John, I did not care for him.”

  “He’s definitely an acquired taste.”

  “Does he have a family?” Julie asked.

  “No, he was married once, and his wife left him while he was on a case. He didn’t even notice she was gone.”

  “That is something we are going to get better at, John. We will figure out a way to keep each other in the loop about where we are and what we’re doing. Just a short call or a text or a message, anything to keep us connected. Can we work on that?”

  “We can, and we’ll keep at it until we get it right.”

  Sleep would not come. My mind was going in a dozen different directions. I was missing something. There was a key out there that would open the right door when put in the lock. The other reason I couldn’t sleep was that I was scared. The idea that the Czechs were behind this and starting to run their operations in the area was terrifying. They were vicious and ruthless. They would be the worst thing that ever happened to the north country. Yet, there was no other explanation. The sale of illegal drugs was big business, and this was the perfect place for them to be.

  I got out of bed and went downstairs to use the landline. I called Bear’s cell number, and he answered.

  “Geez, Cabrelli, don’t you ever sleep?” he asked.

  “I need you to do something, Bear, that only you can do.”

  “What’s that, John?” he asked.

  “I need to know if it is a reincarnation of the Czech gang that is killing off people in my county. I know we think it is, and it makes all the sense in the world, but I need to know for sure.”

  “I can’t tell you one way or the other, John, because I don’t know. Nobody does. I mean, you gotta get real here. Who else could it be?”

  “I need to know if it’s them. I need to know where to start looking. We are nowhere. Even your investigators are spinning their wheels. I need to know,” I said.

  “What do you want me to do that I haven’t already done?”

  “Get to your contacts in the FBI. There is no way they didn’t come out of that major operation at Superior Shipping and Container with a few snitches. They are masters at developing inside information networks. You need to get us to somebody that is handling somebody still on the inside.”

  “I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I have that kind of pull,” Bear said.

  “Bear, just do it. Whatever it takes, just do it before things get more out of control here.”

  “I’ll do what I can, John, but no promises.”

  “I need some answers, and the sooner, the better.”

  “Fine. I’ll see what I can come up with. Now go to bed. We all know how crabby you are when you don’t get your sleep.”

  I didn’t even say goodbye. I just hung up.

  I don’t know what time I eventually fell asleep, but the sun was already high in the sky when I woke. Julie was long gone to school. I poured a cup of coffee and walked outside. The outdoor thermometer registered nine degrees, and there was a stiff breeze from the northwest. The lake was frozen over. I walked down to the shore. I wasn’t wearing a coat, but the chilly wind felt good. The surrounding landscape was solitary. I looked in every direction and saw no one. I craved the solitude. I needed the cleansing breath of the cold winter wind. If for only a minute, I needed to escape the constant demands of the job. Soon enough, standing outside in a t-shirt and sweatpants lost its luster, and I went inside.

  I got cleaned up and scrounged the refrigerator for breakfast. I put on my boots and parka and went outside again. I walked on the ice along the shore. I noticed things I hadn’t seen before. With the vegetation dead and lying down, I could see the structure of the shoreline. Rocks were a common theme, some in their natural place, others carefully positioned to curtail shoreline erosion. I wondered how long people had been building things with rocks. My guess was since there were people.

  After walking long enough to clear my head to some degree, I turned around and started back. I caught a glimpse of movement off the point. Soon, a line of five wolves came into focus—a pack on the hunt, leaving the land to cross the lake in search of something to eat—the magnificent predators of the north country. The predators I was chasing were likely more vicious and not so magnificent.

  I made my way back to the cabin, took off my cold-weather gear, stoked the fire, got coffee and sat down with my feet up. If the world needed me right now, they were going to have to wait. I leaned my head back, closed my eyes, and drifted to sleep.

  My pager and landline remained silent for over an hour before waking me up. Randy Muller had gotten a lawyer. He intended to meet with Muller that day. Due to Muller’s violent and unpredictable behavior, I had left explicit instructions regarding how to handle contact with him.

  The first official day of winter was upon us. Cold weather had decided to get a leg up on things. Temperatures dropped, and the landscape ruled by water was freezing in earnest, adding inches of ice each cold day. Springs and creeks fought the annual futile battle with ice. The wind picked up, which drove the temperature to a below zero windchill. The exhaust from my squad sent a cloud skyward. There were a lot of old cars and trucks still on the road in Namekagon County, and I would guess that while a fair number of them might have nonfunctioning air conditioners, none would have a heater that didn’t work. In his never-ending north country education program, Doc O’Malley told me a good truck starts, drives, has functional windows, working four-wheel drive, and a good heater. Anything more was window dressing.

  It was cold and snowing when I drove into town. However, the weather did not deter the hearty residents of Namekagon County. In the city park, an army of volunteers was getting ready for the winter solstice celebration. Each year the community came together to celebrate the longest night and shortest day of the year. Darkness and cold had come to the north country. It was also officially the first day of winter. After December 21, we would gain a bit of daylight each day.

  I stopped to see how things were going. A huge rotisserie grill built by a local welding shop held two deer. It rotated slowly over a wood fire under the watchful eye of the chief cook. Nearby kettles were being prepared and filled with peanut oil. When the oil was hot, the plucked and cleaned wild turkeys harvested in the spring or fall would be immersed and rapidly cooked. Wild rice and cranberry dishes were prepared. Ed and Stella Lockridge were onboard with fry bread. Bud was cutting and stacking the ricks of wood for the bonfire that would be the central gathering point.

  In a couple of hours, people would start finding their way to the park. Although just a few days before Christmas, winter solstice was a different type of celebration. The city maintenance crew was hauling over all the concert in the park benches and putting together a wooden stage for the annual talent show.

  The official lighting of the bonfire would take place at five, and the party would begin. Locals and tourists attended the celebration. There was no charge for admission, and the food was free. There was a suggested donation of five dollars, but it was not required, and any money raised went to the Giving Tree to help provide Christmas gifts to children in the county.

  I started back to my squad and saw Julie had parked behind me. Her suburban doors flew open, and kids bolted out of every seat wearing identical Northern Lakes sweatshirts. She called them together and reminded them of their responsibilit
y to help the city crew arrange the benches and put up the bandstand.

  “Looks like we are just in time. The crew is unloading the benches now. Kids, you go over and get started. I will be over in a minute. I need to talk with Sheriff Cabrelli,” Julie directed.

  The kids snickered and laughed.

  “Boy, Sheriff, you must be in big trouble for something,” one boy said, and the whole group laughed and ran off to help with the benches.

  In front of God and everybody, Julie stepped over to me, wrapped her arms around me, and kissed me. She and I were careful about doing anything that might get unwanted notice, so this PDA was not expected, but it sure was welcome.

  “John, I can’t possibly understand all the stress you are under. I know the pressure must be incredible. I just want you to know that I will stand with you through this, and I love you.”

  She gave me another hug that her students did not miss, and they responded with some hoots and hollers.

  “I have got to corral my students,” she said. Two steps later, she was in teacher mode, heading to where the benches were being unloaded.

  I drove over to the jail and checked in. My timing was perfect. Lois jumped up when I walked in.

  “Sheriff, you have a visitor,” she warned.

  A squat man with dandruff covering the shoulders of his ill-fitting three-piece black suit charged forward to meet me.