by Midge Bubany
But instead, I said, “Yeah, covering it up worked out real swell for all of you.”
He broke into sobs. I left him sitting there. Asshole.
Patrice and Crosby were grinning when I came back into the observation room. Troy, on the other hand, still looked pissed. Patrice patted me on the back and said, “Nice work.”
“Real nice,” Crosby said. “Those knuckleheads were passing the blame around like a joint.”
“I never figured Lucky to be involved,” I said. “It was a toss-up between Wesley Stillman, Jonah Wolfson, or one of the Gages, but Lucky? I thought I knew him.”
Patrice nodded. “Just think. The Dawson family could have had closure fifteen years ago. Good God. Well, I’m thrilled. We have four good arrests tonight. Great work, boys.”
Troy and I, with the aid of two deputies, walked the three men separately through the tunnel from the department building to the jail for processing. We wrote them up for third degree murder but I wasn’t sure what Oliver would end up charging them with.
I was curious what Victoria was thinking, so I asked she be brought to a conference room. It was satisfying to see her in the unstylish blue jumpsuit given to those in detention. She took one look at me and started to do an about-face.
“Aw, don’t go,” I said.
“I don’t have to talk to you, and you might be violating my rights by bringing me down here.”
“I’m not going to question you. I just wanted to see you.”
“Why?” She stood propped against the wall, her arms folded across her chest.
“To ask how you are. It’s been months.”
She made a face. “Yeah, right.”
“You look different. Had some nose and chin work done to un-pretty that Snow White face of yours.”
“Fuck you. I look a whole lot better than your current wife.”
“Hardly. Man, you sure do look like the real Sadie now with the blonde hair, but I suspect with a lengthy prison stay your roots will grow out.” I smiled.
“FYI, I changed my button nose so I’d look more professional. You know, you may have been the hottest cop I did, but you are also the biggest asshole. Austin—now, he’s a sweetie, but he won’t know what hit him on the witness stand. You either for that matter, big boy.”
“You go, girl. See, I can’t quite figure out why you put yourself at risk to come back to bother Adriana. Is it because she hurt your daddy’s feelings?”
“Why do you care, since you’re married to another woman?” she retorted. “Wow, and Dad convinced me you and the beautiful Adriana would be together forever. So what happened?”
“I moved on.”
“Good for you. She’s an evil bitch.”
I gave out a single laugh. “That’s funny. You ever look in a mirror? Well, I’ll let you return to your cozy new residence.”
“Gosh, it’s been great catching up. Give Shannon and the kids my best. Enjoy that pool.”
A shiver ran up my spine.
Early the next morning, I learned that Oliver had charged Lucky and Sawyer with third-degree murder, obstruction, and hiding a corpse. Parker was charged as an accessory on all counts.
Bentley Gage quickly hired a legal firm from Minneapolis to represent his sons, and Lucky Holmgren retained Phillip Warner. All three men pled “not guilty” to all charges and were granted bail. If convicted, they could get as much as twenty-five-year sentences. Sawyer was ordered not to leave the state of Minnesota. A couple days later I learned Lucky was staying at the Super Eight because his wife had kicked him out of the house.
Oliver Bakken said he had enough on Victoria with the arson charges, the malicious destruction of property, and the identity theft of Sadie Jones, so he was not going to pursue fraud charges from last fall. Because she was an obvious flight risk, Oliver pressed for no bail.
But Victoria’s slick Minneapolis attorney in the expensive suit convinced Judge Frederick Olann to the contrary—that her important father would make sure she was back for her court appearances. Her bail was set for half a million, a drop in the bucket for the Lewis family. She was supposedly going to live with her father in Orono until trial. I thought it likely she was in the air, on her way to Europe in one of her father’s company jets.
Chapter 35
Lucky Holmgren’s trial was the first of the three and held the first two weeks of January. Troy and I each testified two full days. Sawyer and Parker were called as witnesses for the prosecution. They both blamed Lucky for Silver Rae’s death. What cemented the case was Lucky’s dad’s testimony. Red testified he caught his son and Sawyer Gage coming home at two in the morning returning two of his garden shovels to the garage; both boys were covered in mud. He also said he’d noticed missing drugs and suspected his son.
Cheers erupted when the foreman read the verdict: guilty on all charges. Other than testifying, Red Holmgren and his wife did not attend their son’s trial. I stopped in to speak with Red later that day and told him the verdict. He said Lucky deserved whatever sentence he got, and was no longer his son. His daughter-in-law, Cathy, would be taking Lucky’s place in Holmgren’s Pharmacy. He said he needed to do right by his grandkids.
Lucky eagerly testified at Sawyer’s trial in the beginning of February. Although Sawyer’s attorney claimed Parker’s confession was made under duress, the judge allowed his videotaped confession. Coupled with Lucky’s convincing testimony, Sawyer was also found guilty on all charges.
February 25
Jury selection for Parker’s trial was to begin this morning, and I was relieved to know the conclusion to a long ordeal was almost over. Because I was a key witness, I would only be in court when giving testimony. I was on my way to work and had stopped at the light on the corner of Oak and Main when a red Ford F-150, like Byron Stillman’s, made a left turn in front of me. But it didn’t look like Byron driving. I had a very bad feeling about this.
I followed who I thought was Wesley as he turned right on First Street and drove toward the county complex. He drove past the department building, jail and courthouse, and instead of turning in, I followed the truck.
He drove two blocks past, turned right on Birch, drove a block, made another right, and proceeded to park on the street kitty-corner from the courthouse. I pulled up next to his truck to get a good look at the driver. It was definitely Wesley. He stared straight ahead as he wiped his face and neck with a blue handkerchief. What the hell was he up to?
Honk! Honk! I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the busier-than-usual traffic backing up behind me. I decided to circle the block and park behind him. Wes seemed oblivious to his surroundings as I drove past and made an immediate right. The street in front of the courthouse was lined with media vans. In the two minutes it took me to circle the block, cars had pulled in behind Wes, so I had to park a half-block away. As I walked closer to the red Ford, I saw it was empty.
Shit! Why didn’t I just double park and question him on the spot?
I immediately called dispatch and asked for backup. I moved in, scanning the entire front lawn of the courthouse where film crews were milling about. I couldn’t spot Stillman anywhere in the crowd. Had he gone inside? The film crews suddenly started getting into place as Parker Gage, flanked by his team of attorneys, walked down the block toward them.
John Odell and Greg Woods arrived and I quickly filled them in. Odell started moving around the perimeter of the lawn and Woods went inside the courthouse. My hand remained on my firearm as I stayed in the center and fell behind Parker Gage and his entourage, now ascending the courthouse steps. When he reached the second to the top step I saw the flash in my peripheral vision . . . then heard the crack of a rifle. Gage flew back. Screams. Most people stood still in shock, a few scattered.
I yelled, “Get down! Everybody get down!”
Odell came in behind
me. I crouched as I drew my firearm and aimed to the right, the direction of the shot. Most onlookers obeyed and got down. It was then I saw movement from around a large pine tree—a rifle barrel. Bang! He took another shot. Stillman. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second as he slowly pointed the gun in my direction. He nodded once. I took the shot. He went down. I wasn’t sure how many rounds I fired, but he wasn’t moving. My ears buzzed as I advanced. Woods came running from the courthouse. He was talking on his radio. Odell was on the move toward the pine. We all closed in on Stillman. The acrid odor of gunpowder filled the air. The crowd was perfectly still for a few seconds before someone—one of the reporters, I think—said, “Good shot, Deputy.”
I’d hit Stillman three times in the chest and twice in the head. He was gone, no doubt about it. I returned to where Parker lay sprawled across the steps. Blood pooled under his body. His team of attorneys knelt by his side. I asked them to help me move him to a flat location, where I checked for a pulse. He had none. Cameras were clicking. I stood and demanded everyone to step away. Lillian and Bentley Gage pushed their way through the crowd.
“Is he dead?” Lillian screamed. “Is he dead?”
I nodded.
“I’m afraid so, Lil,” the attorney said.
The couple knelt beside their son and wept openly. Woods and Odell pushed the crowd back further. I walked back over to where Stillman lay. I had just killed a man, but I felt nothing.
A male reporter came up behind me to say, “I have it all on tape, Deputy. I have it all.”
Sirens. Then Patrice rushed in.
“Oh, my God,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“Byron Stillman called dispatch just a few minutes ago to warn us that his truck, his brother, and a rifle were all missing. He said he didn’t ever think Wes would leave the farm.”
“He was wrong. He had a mission.”
When the bodies had been removed, I asked Bentley Gage if Wendy had been here. I hadn’t noticed.
“No. She’s refused to come and support Parker on this. She’s probably home watching soaps and eating bonbons,” he said.
“What an asshole thing to say. I’ll go tell her,” I said.
He nodded and said, “You don’t understand.”
“No, I understand fully why all this happened.”
It wasn’t until I was in the Gage driveway that a tremendous ache came over me. What I was going to tell her? That I failed to protect her husband when I could have? My legs were lead weights as I trudged up the walk and rang the doorbell. She opened the door and said, “I heard sirens. Is it Parker?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. He was shot to death while entering the courthouse.”
Her eyes widened. “By whom? Mr. Dawson?”
“No, Wesley Stillman. I took him down. He’s dead.”
“My God.”
“May I come in?”
She nodded and moved aside. I could hear the sounds of cartoons in the background. As we sat in her white living room, I explained what had happened, neglecting to reveal how I didn’t stop Wesley when I had the chance.
She listened and when I’d finished she said, “Parker has been despondent ever since Silver’s remains were uncovered. I knew after you first asked about the flowers that he was involved in Silver’s death. He did stop bringing them to me.”
“Laurel Wolfson was set to testify she’d rung up two bouquets for him on several occasions at Save-Rite. He’d always bought them during his lunch break,” I said.
“He probably drove out to Lake Emmaline before or after he came home to give me mine,” Wendy said. “I wasn’t going to testify. His attorney said it could open up a line of questioning in cross-examination he didn’t want to have happen.”
We spoke a few minutes more, and she thanked me for coming to tell her in person. Wendy shed not one tear while I was there.
The gravity of what had happened hit when I returned to the office and started to fill out the paperwork. My hand shook as I filled out the forms. Many people came in to pat me on the back, but every congratulations, every single word they uttered, made me cringe. Patrice came in to tell me I was officially being placed on administrative leave while the BCA concluded the investigation. It was procedure. Frankly, I welcomed the time off. Shannon was close to delivery and it would give me an opportunity to finish up the babies’ room.
I was just wrapping up my paperwork when Shannon walked in.
“Hey, who’s with the boys?”
“Eleanor Kohler, as usual. She’s also made dinner for us. Troy, could you give us some privacy?”
“Sure,” he said, and closed the door behind him.
“You’re supposed to be home with your feet up,” I said.
“Shut up and hug me.”
She opened her arms and I moved into them. I felt the mound of babies against me and I began to cry. She said, “It could have been a lot worse. My God, Cal, it could have been you.”
“Wesley wasn’t going to shoot me. He looked at me and nodded. He wanted me to put him out of his misery.”
“You don’t know that.”
After I told her exactly what happened, I made her go home. She was supposed to be on bed rest to keep those babies in for as long as possible. I waited at the department for the arrival of Leslie Rouch from the BCA. As is the case whenever a law enforcement officer is involved in a shooting, another jurisdiction was in charge of the investigation. I was glad it was Leslie. She questioned me for two hours and then told me to go home.
March 4
The sentencing hearings for Lucky Holmgren and Sawyer Gage were being held simultaneously at 9:00 a.m. and I wanted to be there. Even though I arrived early, I had to stand in the back of the courtroom. Judge Olann did not allow media cameras in the courtroom, but the gallery was filled with reporters. Before sentencing the men, the judge allowed family and friends of Silver Rae’s, as well as the convicted, to speak. Lucky and Sawyer were brief. They both apologized to Silver Rae’s family, as well as their own.
When Ellie Dawson Connor stood at the microphone she said, “Your honor, thank you for letting me speak on behalf of my family. I will be brief. Sawyer and Lucky, your apologies are way too little and way too late. You acted selfishly in not coming forward for all these years.
“Your honor, these two men only worried about how their lives would be affected—not that my beautiful sister’s life had been cut short due to their actions, or that every day . . . every single day for fifteen long years, my parents waited for Silver to walk through the door, while these two knew where she was all along. They refused to come forward and accept responsibility and give us peace. If her body had not been discovered accidentally, we might never have known what had happened to her. We ask you to give these despicable men the maximum sentence. I only wish Parker was alive to face his consequences. He got off far too easily.”
When Ellie took her seat, family members patted her on the back and whispered their approval.
The judge then said, “Is Aubrey Farmer present?”
Aubrey stood. “Yes, your honor.”
The paper she was holding shook and her voice cracked as she read her statement.
“Fifteen years ago, when my brothers were young men and Silver had the drug reaction and died, they panicked. Did they use good judgment? No. With Parker so brutally gunned down before he could have his day in court, my parents have only one son and I—just one brother left. Sawyer is a productive member of society and not a danger to anyone. On behalf of my family, I beg you to please, please consider a minimum sentence. After all, he has already served fifteen guilt-ridden years.”
The judge asked the defendants to rise. He said, “Mr. Holmgren, Mr. Gage, perhaps some of your actions could be explained by your immaturity fifteen years ago. But your blatant disregard of your
responsibility not only displayed itself when you chose not to tell the authorities the truth fifteen years ago, but again recently when Silver Rae’s body was discovered and you were brought in for questioning. Because you covered up her death and didn’t disclose the location of her remains, her parents never had closure.
“Now in regard to Mrs. Farmer’s claims that you were guilt-ridden for fifteen years. I should hope so, and I concur with Mrs. Connor: your actions were despicable—you’re despicable. I hope you can imagine the agony of a family with a missing child because if you can’t, you should not be called human. I hereby sentence you both to twenty-five years. At the fifteen-year mark, I will personally send you a letter reminding you that was the amount of time Silver Rae Dawson’s family did not know her whereabouts. You think about that as you spend your time in lockup.”
Judge Olann banged the gavel and that was that. I felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction. The department held a party at Buzzo’s in celebration.
One evening shortly after the sentencing, I ran into Judge Olann at the gas station. I complimented him on his words at the sentencing hearing. It was then he said he wished he hadn’t granted Victoria Lewis bail.
I nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ll see her again. Her daddy has deep pockets,” I said. “And Birch County doesn’t.”
“No. But Phillip Warner is encouraging me to allow Oliver Bakken to try Miss Lewis with or without her presence in the courtroom. I believe he has me convinced.”
“Well, hot damn!”
Chapter 36
March 25
I was returning to work after a month off. It included a week of paternity leave backed up to the administrative leave. Henry Calvin and Lucy Leanne Sheehan were born two weeks early on the thirteenth of March. Henry was named after my little brother, Hank, who died at age six, and Lucy after Shannon’s great-grandmother. Both babies had all their fingers and toes and full heads of hair. Lucy was a strawberry blond like her mother, and Henry had dark hair like me.
