Sibley's Secret

by Frank Perry

cranes, finally stopping several hundred yards to the east of the convoy, all parked in line to have their cargo lifted aboard.

  Using his portable radio, he called the FBI frequency, “This is Detective Olander, Jackson Sheriff, over.”

  The response came from someone unseen, “Standby, Detective, where are you located?”

  “Ah, I’m about three hundred yards east of the trucks. They’re lined up beside a ship at the port, over.”

  “Stay there; stay out of sight.”

  Jim understood that they wanted to wait until the cargo started moving aboard the ship. He strained to see if Jelavich was there, but it was too difficult to see with the trucks in front of the ship and wind whipping tarps as the trucks prepared for offloading. He could see many legs, but everyone was on the other side between the trucks and the ship. He turned back behind a stack of crates.

  Moments later, a radio call was made. “All units close in.” Things started happening quickly. Police cars and unmarked federal cars converged at both ends of the convoy and people started shouting. Jim ran forward with his weapon drawn, holding his badge high. There was pandemonium near the gangplank when he arrived. Several dozen men, dockworkers and truck drivers were milling around in a cluster, which police encircled. A stout man came rushing down from the ship, nearly slipping on the slick surface, “What is going on, what is this? What is happening here?”

  A clean-cut FBI agent in a business suit and wool overcoat approached, showing identification, as the man stepped onto the dock. “Are you the captain?”

  “No, first officer, what do you want?”

  “This ship, these trucks (gesturing along the line) are under impound for suspicion of Federal Grand Theft.”

  “What? This is insane!” He was flailing his arm wildly. “We have a departure time in two hours; you know what it costs to hold this ship? That crane idling right there (pointing upward) is over a thousand and hour!”

  The ship’s officer was bright red, looking like an embolism ready to burst. The Agent was unflappable, “If you’ll step aside, sir, we’ll deal with this as quickly as possible.”

  “But ...” The man started to say something but was being ignored at that point.

  Jim introduced himself to the Agent who responded, “Thanks for the tip and surveillance, Detective.” In a quieter voice, he also said, “I hope you’re right about this.”

  “Not a problem Agent, it’s clear as spring water.”

  Looking around, Jelavich wasn’t amongst the group detained on the dock. Would he possibly trust this important shipment to some goon?

  He spoke to the Agent, “Look, there’s a high-ranked Russian mobster running this. I don’t see him here. He’s the real catch in this; he’s a murderer in Michigan. I want him. You can have the Federal case. I want the killer.”

  The Agent had been getting briefed by another Agent, but stopped to say, “Where is he?”

  “Not here, not in this group, can I talk to the ship’s officer?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Jim walked up to the man, still angered, standing with one foot on the dock railing, oblivious to the cold and wet. “Hello, I’m Detective Olander. Have you seen the man bringing these crates here? He’s a Russian, probably dressed too formally.”

  The officer sneered, “A guy like that came aboard. He’s on the bridge with the Captain, finishing some paper work. We just got this consignment yesterday.”

  Jim thanked him, asking a couple of the Port Police Officers to join him, walking up the gangplank. The bridge structure was in the middle of the ship, one ladder above the main deck. Jim took his weapon from its holster and signaled the officers to do the same. They approached carefully. He peered through the door window quickly, but could see nobody on the bridge. He entered slowly, then noticed a man’s feet on the deck partially hidden behind a chart table. Fanning around, not finding anyone else, one of the officers bent down and helped the Captain to his feet.

  He was still groggy with blood trickling down the side of his head. “What’s going on?”

  “Where’s the man that hit you.” Jim knew it had to be Jelavich.

  “The Captain put his hand to his head, “I don’t know, one minute we were filing out the manifest and talking money, the next minute, pow, I was on the deck.”

  Jim still had his gun ready, “Where could he have gone?”

  The Captain was helped to his chair by one of the officers while the second one was rummaging through a first aid kit. “He could be anywhere; maybe even off the ship.”

  “I don’t think so Captain, there’s only one way off and he didn’t use it.”

  “Then he’s still aboard, could be anywhere.”

  Jim called the FBI Agent using his portable radio requesting more police to search the ship. “Be advised, this man is a killer.”

  It didn’t take long for the police to find Jelavich hiding in the engine room. He didn’t resist being arrested. Jim saw him as he was being taken down the gangplank awkwardly with his hands cuffed behind his back. Jelavich smiled, “Well, Mr. Auctioneer, so nice to see you here.”

  “Don’t bet on it, Jelavich. This is the end of the road for you.”

  “I don’t think so, Detective, I don’t think so. Try to prove anything.” The man was smiling.

  When it was over, Jim was exhausted, but drove home anyway. En route, he called Kiki, “Hi, any word?”

  She sounded remarkably relaxed. “Yes. Chad called first thing this morning. One of his engineering professors took a bunch of them on a trip to the Seabrook Nuclear Plant. It took all day and they weren’t allowed to have cell phones operating on the property. They left there late, and he forgot to turn it back on until really late. He didn’t want to bother me. Go figure?”

  “That’s great, honey. You sound tired.”

  “I didn’t sleep last night; I was just going to bed.”

  He smiled as he turned East, “Me either, I’ll join you in about five hours.”

  Justice

  The bill of sale for the Army boxes, signed by Peter Mikhailovich, was strong convincing evidence that Jelavich had stolen the shipment. That evidence, plus the manifest and payment to the shipping line, strengthened the case; but the most damning evidence was the discovery of Peter Mikhailovich and two other men shot to death. The time of death was estimated around the time Jim saw him leave the Armory. One of the other dead men was Peter’s son. The bodies were found the day following the heist when someone reported a car driven part way into the woods off the road, figuring it was storm related. They had been made to kneel in front of the car and were shot it the head and upper bodies, many times. From the positions, Peter had tried to shield his son.

  The Feds and Illinois Attorney General agreed to let Michigan try Jelavich first on the murder charges. The state hasn’t had a death penalty since admission to the Union, except for treason, but life without parole was worse in some cases. It took a couple weeks to extradite the Russian from Illinois.

  When he finally arrived at the Jackson County lockup, his high-priced lawyer was there immediately to prevent any substantive dialogue with the prosecution.

  On the day of his arrival, Jim Olander requested to be involved in meeting with the accused. He’d earned it; he broke the case. He entered the room with the prosecutor, where Jelavich and his lawyer were already seated. Jelavich was chained to the table, which, in turn, was bolted to the concrete floor. His lawyer was the first to speak, commonly the case when the fellow is getting a thousand dollars an hour. “I protest the way my client is being treated, shackled to the floor. This is deliberate cruelty and tortuous under the circumstances. I have instructed him to resist speaking to you.”

  The prosecutor smiled, “Shelve it, Milton. He stays chained down.”

  Jim was staring silently, looking at Jelavich’s eyes. The prisoner couldn’t keep his mouth shut, despite his lawyer’s statements. “Well, Mr. Detective
, we meet again. I will look forward to spending a great deal of money in your court system as you say, ‘suing your life away.’”

  Jim smiled briefly before responding, “You have no idea how unoriginal that threat really is, Gregor.”

  Milton intervened, “You will address my client as Mr. Jelavich.”

  “Stuff it, windbag. You’ve really gotten to the bottom of the barrel this time. You realize what this scum has done? Do you have any idea what he’s spent his career doing?”

  Jelavich reacted, “You cannot prove anything about me; there is no proof! You can bring all kinds of accusations and possibilities, but I have survived them all my life, and this is no different! You have no proof.” He would have been standing if not for the shackles.

  As Jelavich’s lawyer tried to calm him; before he started into threatening dialogue with the other side, Jim stood after a nod from the prosecutor and walked to the door. The defendant and his lawyer didn’t initially pay attention until the door opened. Jim gestured, “Come in.”

  Two men walked into the room, one with his arm in a sling and another one that the Russian didn’t recognize. Jelavich lost color in his face. He recognized Evan Evanoff from pictures taken by his men in Moscow, “Hello, Gregor. You miss me?”

  Jelavich yelled, “You are dead!”

  Jim commented, “As you can all see, Dr. Evanoff is quite alive and recovering nicely. We played a little game and declared him dead to protect him. He will confirm threats against Ms.