Bough Cutter

by Jeff Nania

  “Sheriff John Cabrelli. Are you Sheriff John Cabrelli?”

  “I am, and you are?”

  “I am Sydney Cravitz, an attorney with the Public Defense Fund. I am representing Randy Muller, an inmate in your jail. Let’s get right down to business, shall we? I have spoken with Mr. Muller, which is actually my first issue. I was only able to speak with him through the communication slot on a segregation cell. The deputy refused to bring him to an attorney-client conference room. He said that you had forbidden any movement without your express order. That will need to change. I demand the same access to my client as anyone else incarcerated here. If you cannot arrange that, I will be glad to go in front of the judge.”

  “Attorney Cravitz, do you know why I put that order in place?”

  “No, and I don’t care. See that the change is made. I have also noted that Randy Muller is being held in conditions inconsistent with recent court decisions regarding incarceration of more than forty-eight hours. The segregation cell where Muller is being kept appears to be a remnant of some earlier corrections era. It offers the prisoner no privacy, even when to take care of necessary bodily functions, and provides the jailers a view of the prisoner no matter where he is. It is akin to putting the prisoner in a cage, like an animal on display. This type of incarceration is being used to intimidate my client. Due to this, he is suffering from a high level of anxiety, which is preventing him from sleeping at night.”

  Attorney Cravitz cited several recent decisions of higher courts of which he claimed Namekagon County, the Namekagon County Jail, and I were in violation. Cravitz demanded his client be moved to more appropriate accommodations immediately or be released on bond.

  He continued on. He maintained that his client was a drug user and suffering ill effects of withdrawal and had been suffering an erratic heartbeat. According to the law, Muller deserved to be evaluated by a doctor. He demanded that the situation be remedied immediately. He had already filed a copy of his affidavit with the court.

  He handed me a copy, and it was at least fifty pages long.

  I went to my office and called the DA to get his opinion.

  “John, Kritzer just called me. He said that if this comes in front of him, he will rule against us and in favor of Cravitz’s client. Do what you need to do to make this right as quickly as you can. As the sheriff and keeper of the jail, it is up to you to respond to Attorney Cravitz and advise him of your plan to rectify the situation. If you can’t rectify the situation, the judge will have no choice but to consider bail.”

  “No way Kritzer is going to let Muller out on bond. The guy is dangerous.”

  “Then figure things out at the jail.”

  I called Cravitz’s cell phone number and told him that we would remedy the situation immediately.

  “Good. Let me know when it’s done,” he responded.

  The Namekagon County jail is not a big facility, but it serves the community’s needs in most cases. I had known somewhere in the back of my mind that the barred seg cell that held Muller was not going to work long term. I needed to keep Muller and Winslow far enough apart that there could be no communication. Winslow was the key to our case, and we didn’t want anything to happen to him. Muller knew him and would get at him any way he could.

  I called the sheriff in the next county south of Namekagon. After I explained my situation, he agreed to house Winslow in his jail. He wanted these guys gone as much as anyone. County lines don’t mean much to drug dealers.

  I transported Winslow, and I pushed the limits to get back to Namekagon County. On the way, I phoned in and asked for two additional personnel to meet me at the jail to assist in moving Muller. I directed the jailer on duty to do a thorough shakedown of the cell block. The last thing I wanted was for Muller to find something he could use for a weapon.

  When I arrived, Deputies Pave and Delzell were ready to help with the move.

  “Randy, your lawyer wants us to move you to a different cell. He feels the accommodations in this one are not as nice as they should be. We have a cell block with no other inmates in it, so that’s where you are going. We are moving you now, and I hope you are not considering giving us any trouble. Are you thinking about fighting again, Randy?” I asked.

  “No,” he replied.

  Cuffed and shackled for a move around the corner may seem like overkill to some. It’s those same people who become victims of their own stupidity.

  Muller was moved and locked in without incident. The cell block was outfitted with a video camera with around-the-clock monitoring at both the booking counter and dispatch center. Even so, I wanted Muller to be checked on as often as possible. I called Attorney Cravitz to let him know the move had been made and advised him the jail nurse would complete an evaluation in the morning, and if warranted, we would get a doctor to see him. Cravitz wanted to know exactly when the nurse would be there. I didn’t know, but I told him I would call him when they let me know.

  I needed the air and a walk and headed over to the city park. The cold felt cleansing. There was a crowd, and the mood was happy. I found Julie near the proposed location of the bonfire, watching her students. Her rule was to turn over the kids to their parents or another pre-approved responsible adult after five o’clock. All the kids had found family or were in the process of doing so. Amber was still with her.

  “Hey, Amber,” I said. “How are you doing? Did you get those muskrats skinned?”

  “I have got them skinned and stretched, Sheriff,” she responded politely.

  “Good for you,” I replied.

  “I better go over to help Grandma and Grandpa,” she said.

  “One thing, Amber. Tell them to save a plate of fry bread for me,” I requested.

  “Okay, Sheriff, I’ll tell them,” and Amber skipped off to help.

  “She seems like a happier girl these days,” I said.

  “John, the difference is remarkable. I can’t imagine the stress she has been under all these years. With her mother gone and under the care of her grandparents, she is finally getting the chance to be a kid.”

  Our conversation was interrupted by a booming voice. Bud stood next to a neatly stacked woodpile about six feet high. The crowd quieted down. “Everyone stand back,” he shouted!

  Then Bud struck a single wooden stick match with his thumbnail. He held it for a second and then threw it into the center of the firepit. It was followed by a whoosh, and the pile burst into flames. The crowd laughed and cheered. The winter solstice party had officially begun.

  Realizing I was starving, I dragged Julie over to the food line. My plate was almost overflowing before we made it halfway down the line. We grabbed lemonades and sat down at a picnic table. Bud joined us. The wild rice and venison were perfect flavor complements, and I savored every bite. Stella came over with a plate heaped with fry bread and set it on the table between us.

  “Amber gave me orders to make sure you get your fill. If you need more after this, come on over,” she said with a smile.

  We ate and laughed, and for a few minutes at least, my troubles were swept away by the surrounding joy. Bud told us that he thought there would be plenty of ice on the lake after a few more days of the cold weather to get out and do some ice fishing.

  People started to move toward the bonfire and take their places on the benches. The DJ from the Voice of the North was the master of ceremonies and boomed out a happy solstice greeting.

  “Tonight, we are part of a tradition that has been going on for over twelve thousand years. Winter is now upon us, and so is the darkness. It is time for the earth to rest and renew, and each day from here forward, the light shines longer upon us. We have dined tonight on sustenance the land has given us, the deer that roam the woods, the Canada geese that fly past on their way south. Wild rice and cranberries that have fed generations. We are partaking in a tradition like many before us. Now we must give thanks for our bounty. It does not matter who it is you worship, your religion, color, ethnicity, or creed; all
that matters is that you give thanks for what you have. If you feel that you have too little, maybe that is so, but always know there is someone with less. Now look to the sky and give thanks.”

  The crowd raised their faces to the celestial night, and silence reigned. The power of gratitude was overwhelming.

  “Now,” the DJ said, “we will begin the competition. We have ten entries for the top spot on our talent show. First up is Stan, the one-man band.”

  Stan took the stage wearing an old pair of coveralls and a shapeless straw broad-brimmed hat. He held an instrument that was a banjo, drum, harmonica, kazoo, and trumpet all in one. He also had a cymbal strapped on the inside of each knee. The crowd quietly chuckled in anticipation. Stan announced he would be playing a medley of north country songs, including the “Logging Song” and “Girl from the Northwoods.” Then he struck up the one-man band and created a joyful musical ruckus to the pleasure of all. He ended with a harmonica and banjo number.

  Stan was followed by such notables as Otto Round and the Tuba Sound, a barbershop quartet with only three members, and a folk-singing duo.

  Julie slipped away for a minute, and I saw her walking with a young girl up to the bandstand. After an encouraging hug from Julie, the girl climbed on stage and took her place behind the microphone. Stan of the one-man band, who had shed all of his instruments except a guitar, joined her.

  She was introduced as seventeen-year-old Eva Zachery. She smiled at the crowd, but I could see she was nervous. The audience was respectfully quiet in anticipation. Stan struck a chord and began to play the guitar, providing the cue for Eva to let it all go, and let it all go she did. She sang her song in a way that only comes from natural talent, celebrating the high notes, the low notes, and every note in between. She sang a north country ballad of hardship and happiness, rivers and forests. When the song ended, the crowd was silent. Eva stood frozen at the microphone stand. A moment later, thundering applause and cheers began. The crowd clamored for an encore, which she delivered.

  The contestants came back to the stage and stood shoulder to shoulder. Audience applause would determine the winner. The DJ put his hand above each contestant’s head, and the crowd cheered for their favorite.

  When they got to Otto Round and the Tuba Sound, Otto took the microphone and said, “Let’s not waste any more time with this.”

  He walked over and put his hand above Eva Zachery, and the applause and cheers made it clear who the winner was.

  Bud kept the fire blazing, and people gathered around the bonfire. The party was far from over and was known to go well into the early morning hours. I, however, was done for. I sat on a bench by the fire, and Julie came to sit next to me.

  “Honey, I am ready to head home,” I said. “I am beat, and with any luck, I might get some sleep. The preliminary hearing for Randy Muller is tomorrow, and I have got to be at the DA’s office first thing.”

  “Let me give you a ride over to your squad, and I’ll follow you home,” she said.

  “Don’t you have to stick around and help clean up?”

  “Normally I would, but tonight they are just going to have to do without me. I am coming home with you.”

  The thermometer outside the house registered one degree. Inside our cozy cabin, we hung up our coats, took off our boots, and put on our slippers. I sat down at the computer to check messages.

  “Are you going to work for a while?” Julie asked.

  “I am going to check my messages. Then I will come to bed.”

  “I am going up now,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “I will be waiting for you.”

  Suddenly any waiting messages didn’t seem so important. •

  30

  I was on the road the next morning before light. Snow continued and was rapidly accumulating. I got into town, parked, grabbed a cup of coffee, and walked up to the jail.

  I asked the jailer how Randy Muller was getting along.

  “Sheriff, that guy is strange. He hasn’t spoken one word since we moved him. I mean not one word.”

  I went over to the cell block where Muller was held. He was sitting on the bench at the common table.

  I tried to talk to him, but the only response I got was him fixing me with his best and most intimidating stare.

  “Muller, we will be here to get you for court at nine thirty. I am going to have the jailer open the shower stall for you so you can clean up. He’ll put a set of clean jail fatigues through the hatch door. You decide whether to get yourself presentable for court. The shower stall will be open for ten minutes, no more,” I offered.

  Muller didn’t respond.

  The jailer and the deputy brought unkempt Muller to the courtroom. Several people from the news media were present. The judge called the court to order and began the process of a preliminary hearing.

  The list of charges was lengthy: arson, battery to a police officer, resisting arrest, delivery of a controlled substance, aggravated battery, mayhem, and last but not least, first-degree intentional homicide. An impressive list, even for someone like Randy Muller.

  “Mr. Muller, what is your response to these charges?” the judge began.

  Again, Muller didn’t reply.

  “On behalf of my client, we wish to plead not guilty to all charges,” Attorney Cravitz said.

  “Is that correct, Mr. Muller?” the judge asked.

  Again, no response.

  “The court will accept a not guilty plea to all charges, Mr. Muller. Is there anything else?” Judge Kritzer asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor, there is,” Cravitz replied.

  “Go ahead, Attorney Cravitz,” the judge said.

  “Due to the unusual circumstances regarding my representation of Randy Muller, DA Hablitch has furnished me with documentation regarding the charges against my client. I would ask the court to order all documentation regarding the current charges against my client to be in my possession before the end of business today, including the alleged eyewitness statement to the homicide. I believe the prosecutor has or is in the process of making a deal with the eyewitness they intend to have testify against my client. I would like to know the terms of that agreement.”

  “Mr. District Attorney, do you have anything to say?” the judge asked.

  “Your Honor, we do have a subject currently in protective custody. He is being held as a material witness in the homicide of Marcus Johnson. He is an eyewitness to the killing of Marcus Johnson as well as the firebombing of his home. We have a sworn statement from the witness. The witness is also currently being held on criminal charges, and we have reached an agreement with him—leniency in exchange for his testimony,” DA Hablitch responded.

  “I would assume that the district attorney would move cautiously with any such arrangement. For now, I would like to ask the defendant a question or two. Mr. Muller, you are charged with some very serious crimes. If you are convicted of these crimes, you would be spending the rest of your life behind bars. Do you understand the gravity of this situation?”

  Muller said nothing.

  “Again, Mr. Muller, do you understand the seriousness of the charges against you?”

  Again, no reply.

  “Very well, Mr. Muller, based on the information in the criminal complaints, I find the district attorney has established probable cause. You will be held without bond. We will tentatively set the court date for January 25. Court is adjourned.”

  With a sweep of his robes, the judge left the bench and went to his chambers. We took Muller back to the jail and put him in the cell block.

  I was convinced Randy Muller killed Marcus Johnson on behalf of Deacon Gunther and believed Gunther probably drove the getaway car. I was equally sure that whoever killed Devin Martin, Jesse Gunther, and Tony Carter was still out there. As if he read my mind, I got a call from Bear.

  “John, it seems as though your past adventures in law enforcement and playing well with the FBI have gotten you some additional street cred. They have some information for you r
egarding the involvement of the eastern Europeans in the homicides you are investigating.”

  He gave me the phone number. “This is a direct line to the agent in charge that is handling all this. They have sources of information and will attempt to answer any questions you might have. I suggest you call him today.”

  “Thanks, Bear. I’ll get right on it.”

  “Good luck.”

  I called the number, and a woman answered.

  “Sheriff Cabrelli?” she asked.

  “Yes, this is John Cabrelli.”

  “I am Special Agent Cheryl Shell of the FBI. I understand that you think we may have some information for you that will assist you in the investigation of multiple homicide cases.”

  “That’s what I am hoping for,” I replied.

  “Sheriff, the special agent in charge has directed my unit to provide you with any assistance you request. This is not always the way we handle things of this nature. However, we are all aware of the valuable role you played in the situation at Superior Shipping and Container. But most of all, helping to put one of our own to rest. My supervisor has briefed me regarding your situation. In addition, he furnished me with reports regarding four homicides. You may have to fill in the gaps, but let’s start and see what I can do.”

  “Agent Shell, we have a drug turf war going on in Namekagon County. There have been five drug-related homicides, including an overdose. The most recent homicide is consistent with what I have come to expect, in my experience, from drug gangs. They shot a drug lab chemist and firebombed the mobile home used as a lab. The perp jumped into a waiting SUV and took off. We have a witness and someone in custody for that crime.

  “The other killings are different. They are more thought out. I mean… I don’t know. A drive-by is one thing; these are another. I know some people arrested during the Superior Shipping and Container raid were eastern Europeans running their own drug network on the side. I also know many of them had military experience. I think some of these people slipped through the cracks and set up a new operation. It is the same territory they were working before, so they know the lay of the land. I figure they are taking out the competition and making sure everyone knows that they are running the show. From what I understand, it’s how they do business,” I explained.