by C. E. Nelson
Last night all he thought about was what kind of sink he’d put in the downstairs bath and how much of the day he should set aside for fishing. He was content having that as his biggest worry and had no problem getting to sleep. Now it had all changed.
How could it be happening again so quickly? he thought. His mind was racing along with his heart as he tossed back and forth in a bed that was no longer comfortable. He conjured confrontations with the county board just as he had had with the Maple Grove city council in his prior job.
As Maple Grove police chief he had been expected to look the other way when elected officials or their family members had problems, just as the prior chief had done. But Dave refused to accommodate requests, and instructed his department to do the same. The tension only increased when the head of the city council backed another candidate for chief but Dave was appointed for another term anyway.
Unlike his brother, Dave kept his emotions locked inside. As his second term wore on he found himself drinking more and sleeping little which only worsened the burning of the ulcers he developed in his first term. Then one night after several beers his chest began to burn like never before. He chewed nearly half a jar of antacids before washing them down with what was left of a beer only to have it all come back up in the bathroom sink. Dave’s eyes were watering and sweat ran from his forehead. He screamed in pain as he held his chest looking down at the bloody contents of his stomach now in the sink.
Dave took a vacation, something he had not done in the prior nine years, and headed north for some fishing. A ‘For Sale’ sign barely visible through the long grass surrounding it caught his attention. He followed an overgrown cut through the woods to a derelict cabin on Basswood Lake, took one walk around the property, and signed a purchase agreement the same afternoon.
Dave finished his term after announcing his retirement, but not before backing one of his deputies who he knew would carry on a clean department. The mayor agreed but the head of the council again backed a different candidate. Dave campaigned hard for his deputy who ultimately was approved for the position after public outcry and support from the police department, providing the council head a final slap in the face that Dave relished.
Trask sold his home in Maple Grove and moved north. The doctor had told him the alcohol in combination with his ulcer would kill him, and Dave had quit drinking for more than a year, focusing on remodeling his cabin. Slowly he had decompressed, finally being able to give up his ulcer meds and again enjoy a beer.
After coffee and toast in the morning, Don transferred the images from his camera to Dave’s computer, packed, and was on his way south in his blue Suburban. Dave watched his brother leave and then looked down at the sawdust under his feet. “Christ! What a mess!” he said aloud. Being neat was part of his DNA and seeing his porch in this condition he was torn about what to do next. He sighed knowing there was no decision to make, but he also knew that the mess would bother him, like the mosquito on his arm, until he did something about it. He slapped the bug, went back inside, and scrolled through the images before heading back out to the murder scene, arriving just as the coroner was zipping the bag shut on the body by the beach with the help of one of the deputies.
“You must be Doctor Adams,” said Dave as he extended his hand, “I’m Dave Trask.” The tall thin man approaching sixty with wire rim glasses and thinning black hair streaked with grey removed a latex glove and shook his hand. “Thanks for coming. What can you tell me Doc?” Dave asked, not pleased that the man was just now finishing his exam.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, but my boat driver apparently discovered malt liquor last night, and didn’t show up at the landing until a little more than two hours ago,” replied the doctor picking up on Dave’s mood.
Dave glanced at Danny who turned away and walked toward the boat, sleeping bag under his arm. A younger man Dave did not know shadowed Danny. “Go ahead Doc.”
“Anyway, I can tell you that both men died quickly, very quickly. The blade had to be large and very sharp to inflict that kind of damage. And whoever used the knife was strong. I suspect this man was likely killed after the first,” he said looking at the body bag, “but not too long. I’ll know for certain when I get them back to the lab.”
“And what about the other man?”
“Ah yes. Well I can say for certain that the killer had more issues with that man. I counted at least four very deep stab wounds inflicted after the man had had his throat cut. The killer definitely did not care for that man at all.”
“And what about the penis? Some kind of sick trophy?”
“Oh no,” the doctor replied shaking his head. “I’d say more of a message.”
“A message? What do you mean a message?”
“I found it stuffed in the victim’s mouth. I’d call that a message wouldn’t you?” Adams looked at Trask, his head tilted back. “I’ll get you a full report as soon as I can,” said the doctor as he turned to pack up his tools.
“Thanks Doc,” replied Dave absentmindedly as he tried to process everything he had heard.
Danny had returned and Dave turned to face him. He wanted to yell at Danny about the kid he had selected to get the coroner to the site but decided it would be better to wait until they were alone. He was sure Don would have jumped all over him but there were few times when he had ever found that reprimanding one of his staff in front of the others was as effective as taking care of matters in private.
“You help the Doc load the bodies and evidence in the boat and then wait for me there with the men.” Meline nodded and moved away.
Dave spent a few minutes going over where the killer had entered and left the killing scene, but his tracks vanished like a ghost. The man was smart, likely using the rocks to cover his trail and remain silent, making his way along the ridge to where it reached the water and a boat. He had been here before.
Chapter Seven
Dave helped them load the bodies into the ambulance at the landing. The officers watched as the coroner got in his truck and followed the ambulance out the parking lot. A red Ford Fiesta driven by the man Dave did not know followed behind them. From the appearance of Kyle Bauman and Tony Clark, it was obvious they had not slept well the night before. That was a good thing as far as Dave was concerned. Danny, however, did not look any worse for the night spent outside supposedly making sure the crime scene was not disturbed.
Dave sent Kyle and Tony home and turned to Danny. “Those boys looked pretty beat but you don’t look too bad.”
“I’m used to camping out but those guys are pretty much cabin dwellers,” Danny replied with a proud grin.
“What the hell happened with the boat driver for the doc?”
“Sorry about that Sheriff,” he replied, his face now serious. “He’s my nephew and I paid him to do it last night. That was obviously a mistake I won’t make again. I had a talk with him.”
“I assume that was him in the red Fiesta?”
“Yeah, sorry, I probably should have introduced you.”
Dave ran a hand through the thick hair on the top of his head as he glanced at the ground. He could feel his frustration with his deputy rising. “Did you find anything else of interest on the island?”
“Not much. I found a couple of spots on the shore on the south side where it looked like someone had pulled a boat up on the rocks but I couldn’t say how long it had been, it’s all rock there. Oh, and we did find what looks like it could be a wolf den on the east side.”
Dave glared at his deputy like a parent who had caught their teenage son coming in late from curfew. He was about to give Danny a lecture but then decided against it. He was new here, very new, and it was not his style to go charging in. He needed time to get to know his staff better before making any judgments. First impressions mattered, especially when you were taking over a new staff that was comprised of locals – and you were the outsider. It was possible that you would need to trust these men with your life, no need to ma
ke them think twice about it.
Still, there was something about Danny that definitely rubbed him the wrong way. Maybe it was the fact that he had heard that Danny had had thoughts about the sheriff job for himself. Dave brushed it off, told Danny to tell Al he could retrieve his boat, and that he’d meet him at the office after lunch. Trask watched Meline drive out of the lot before he climbed back into the boat for another look at the murder scene.
Dave felt himself go on alert as he entered the bay again, scanning the cliffs and brush. He thought the high sun would make the beach more inviting, but instead the empty expanse of sand seemed eerie. Something told him he shouldn’t have returned – at least not alone. He shook off the feeling, goosed the motor and then tilted it up, running the boat on shore. He cut the motor but remained behind the console, scanning the cliff and brush surrounding the beach.
He didn’t carry a notebook or camera as he made his way back to the campfire area on the beach where Mark Lau had died. Where his brother was meticulous with documenting and photographing a crime scene, Dave often found that, at least for him, the feel of the scene was just as important. He needed to get into the killer’s head.
The gulls that had been scavenging the area took flight as Dave approached, squawking loudly in their irritating tone, landing only a short distance offshore to wait for their chance to return. Dave sat on the same rock as the victim and stared down the beach, trying to relive Lau’s last moments. His attention was drawn to the lake. The wind had begun to pick up from the south and small waves broke on the shore to his left, a calming, soothing sound. But it had been calm here yesterday, the day the men had been murdered. It would not have taken much of a noise to alert the victim. How could the killer have been so quiet? Dave stood and looked behind him where the tracks of the killer were still visible. This killer had not been lucky; he knew how to approach his prey.
He made his way back to the sight of the Johnson killing and stood where the victim did. He gazed at the paintings, thinking of the time and effort needed to use this cliff as a giant mural. His eyes fell to the base of the cliff where numerous cans, bottles, and pieces of litter had been yesterday before being cataloged and bagged as evidence. People that trashed someplace, especially one of historical significance like this, showed nothing but disrespect. Maybe the killer felt the same? But was that enough to kill?
Dave’s knee cracked as he put one hand down and bent to smell the earth in front of where the body had laid. Urine? Had the killer caught the victim urinating at the base of the drawing? Was that enough incentive to slice his throat? And then the rage to repeatedly stab him after he was dead – and cut off his penis and stuff it in the victim’s mouth? The doctor was right, that was a message. This killer was over the edge. Or killers?
The breeze from the south moved the branches of the tall Norway pines circling the clearing. The shadow of a bald eagle riding the breeze passed overhead, maybe a distant relative of the one pictured on the cliff wall. Dave used his hand as a sun visor, watched the bird until it passed out of sight, and then peered deeply into the woods surrounding the clearing. Even as midday approached, the shadows were heavy, and with the thick brush, a man familiar with the area could easily blend in. The killer could be watching him now and he would not see him. He headed back to the boat.
The Sentry was becoming concerned. It had been a day and a half since he had killed the two men on the island but there had been no word of it. He thought about it as he lay in bed, knowing the scent of blood would bring the wolves that would rip the bodies apart, possibly destroying the message he had left. He needed to return.
The Sentry arrived at the island before sunrise, pulling his canoe well into the brush on the opposite side of the island from the beach, the same place he had landed two days ago. He made his way through the woods to the top of the cliff that held the mural as the first light appeared on the eastern horizon. He was surprised to see a policeman in the clearing below dismantling a small tent and the body of the man he killed still laying where he left it. The Sentry watched him for a few minutes considering whether or not to kill him when the voice of another policeman announced his arrival in the clearing. The second policemen had come from the beach and carried a cup that he handed to the other man. The Sentry decided to wait.
Soon the sound of another boat reached his ears. The men in the clearing below heard it too and the man who had brought the cup to the man with the tent headed back to the beach. The Sentry was uneasy. He had no idea how many more police would come or how many may be on the island already. If the police decided to search the island now they may find his boat but if he left now he could easily be spotted and run down by any other boats that may be on their way. The Sentry kneeled to pray to his ancestors for guidance.
The voices the Sentry heard moments later were not his ancestors but the policeman who had brought the cup earlier followed by two others, one slight older man carrying a green bag and one young, with long blonde hair. The Sentry and the other men watched as the older man put on gloves and examined the body, taking pictures as he did, until he called for assistance. The two police officers came to his side while the young man held back. The body was moved to a dark blue plastic bag and then zipped inside. There were handles on each end of the bag as well as on each side. Each man grabbed a handle, the older man also carrying the bag he had brought with him and, with the body between them, they slowly made their way across the uneven ground of the clearing to the path that led to the beach.
The Sentry stood looking over the clearing, assuming the police would soon leave, satisfied that news of the killings would soon spread. He had decided to wait until he was sure the police had left before leaving himself when he heard another boat arrive. Why had more men come? Were they going to search the island? He crouched above the cliff, considered fleeing again, but ultimately decided to remain where he was. Soon he heard boats depart and the island was quiet. The Sentry sensed he was alone but waited for a time before he made his way to the beach to confirm that that was the case. He stayed in the brush, away from the trail and off the beach, but could see no one on the beach when it came into view. There were no boats. He turned his gaze to the spot where he had killed the second man, feeling a rush of adrenaline and a sense of victory move through him as he relived the moment he had cut the man’s throat.
A feeling of eagerness for more retribution welled inside him when his ears recognized the sound of the motor of the boat that had been last to arrive at the island earlier. He turned his attention to the point where the boat soon appeared, a single man inside. The Sentry crouched in the brush, watching as the man beached the boat, walk toward the campfire, and sit on the rock that had been used by the man he killed there. Why had this man returned? The man seemed to be almost meditating before he stood and stared directly at where the Sentry now crouched. The Sentry held his breath as the man seemed to look right at him. The man began to walk toward him, the gun on his hip clearly visible. The Sentry was sure he had been spotted, and reached for his knife, but the man turned his gaze away and began to walk toward the path that led to the clearing. The Sentry sprinted silently through the woods, returning to his hiding place at the edge of the clearing.
The man from the boat soon entered the clearing. He appeared to be strong, powerful, but the Sentry was sure he could kill him. Waiting for the right time, hand on the handle of his knife, his steely eyes watched the man as he moved about the clearing. There was something different about this man. The Sentry was sure he was a police officer, possibly the new sheriff, but this man did not just rely on what he could see like other police he had watched this morning; he used his senses much like the Sentry had been taught to do as a young boy when hunting with his father.
The man moved to where the body had been only a few hours ago and bent to smell the soil. The Sentry watched him knowing he had easily covered the fifty feet to where the man stood yesterday and had no doubt the he could do it again now without detection. Bu
t the voices that called for him to kill two days ago were not there. This man would need to die but others must go first. The white police officer stood and turned; again staring directly at where the Sentry was crouched. The Sentry felt a sense of panic as Trask’s gaze lingered, thinking he had been spotted and would need to run, but then Trask turned and walked toward the beach. The Sentry watched him go.
Chapter Eight
The Lake County Sheriff’s office is located in Two Harbors, about half an hour north of Duluth when the winter snows haven’t slowed the traffic to a crawl, which can be more than six months out of the year. There are fourteen deputies in the county to patrol its nearly three thousand square miles, with two duty stations outside of Two Harbors, each staffed by three deputies. One station is located in Silver Bay, thirty miles north of Two Harbors on the shore of Lake Superior. No one is quite certain why the station is located so close to Two Harbors, with most of the county located to the north of the lake, but that’s where it sits.
The other station is simply called the ‘Section 30’ station, located at the entrance to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA), a vast network of waterways that spills into Canada. The deputies here share the station with four Minnesota Department of Natural Resources conservation officers as well as two clerks who handle the numerous permit requests and questions from citizens venturing into the wilderness. The station consists of a long, single story cedar-sided building with an attached garage as well as an old two-story home dating back over one hundred years. The single story building is painted red, with a sharply pitched roof to allow the mountains of snow that fall each winter to slide harmlessly to the ground, and houses the DNR personnel. Stored in the garage is equipment used by both groups including several canoes, four ATV’s, three snowmobiles, and an assortment of other items.
