BLOOD RIVER (A Trask Brothers Murder Mystery)

by C. E. Nelson

  The old white house that stands nestled in the pines across the gravel drive is the office for the sheriff’s deputies and home to too many mice to capture. Worn concrete steps with a wrought iron handrail lead up to the heavy oak door with innumerable coats of paint that allows the cold winds in underneath during the winter as well as numerous Asian beetles and other bugs during the summer. Wavy oak planks cover the floors on each level, worn gray from the salt and sand and mud tracked through the building. There is a large kitchen on the first floor with a newer refrigerator, as well as two rooms that make due as offices, and the old dining room that serves as a conference room. A small bathroom with a painted concrete floor and hard water stained sink and toilet sits to the right of the entry. Steep wooden steps with black vinyl runners lead up to the second level with four bedrooms converted to offices and record storage and another bathroom with a cast iron tub.

  The previous sheriff had maintained a traveling office in each location, though he had rarely ventured out of Two Harbors during his three terms. At the Section 30 Station he commandeered the former master bedroom that occupied the northeast corner of the upper level of the old house, no doubt because it was the largest office, with room for a couch that allowed him to take naps on the infrequent days he used the facility. He had made sure each of his offices were well appointed with the latest equipment, most importantly a small refrigerator to keep his beer cool.

  Dave pushed the front door shut behind him and found himself in a short dark hall with the bathroom to his right and the kitchen area directly ahead. The floors creaked as he entered the kitchen, a long counter with oak cabinets above and below and a stained metal sink ahead of him, the refrigerator and a broom closet to his right.

  “Hello?”

  Deputy Kyle Bauman appeared in the doorway that lead to the stairs and his office area beyond that. Slightly under six feet, Bauman was in his late forties with crew-cut black hair that was beginning to show grey. His sunken blue eyes surrounded a large nose and were topped by bushy brows. Once muscular arms hung below the short sleeves on his tan cotton shirt and his expanding mid-section now pushed at the buttons in front. He had been a deputy for over sixteen years and had now settled into waiting out the remaining years before he could tap into his pension. Kyle was the only one with an office on the lower level and all calls went through him.

  “How you doing Sheriff? Have any trouble finding the place?” said Kyle as he extended his hand.

  “No trouble, thanks. The other two here?”

  “Yes sir. You want me to call them down?”

  “Yeah, I’d like to have a brief meeting. Where can we meet?”

  “The conference room is just around the corner there,” he said as he pointed to an open entry to his right. Bauman went back through the doorway and around a half-wall to his desk behind it. He punched the intercom button on his phone and advised the men upstairs of the meeting.

  Dave helped himself to a cup of coffee in the kitchen after carefully rinsing out a dust-covered blue cup with a ‘BCA 2000’ logo that he found in the back of the cupboard above the coffee pot. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, he entered the conference room. At the center of the conference room was an eight-foot solid oak oblong table, the only piece of original furniture in the old house, surrounded by eight new black fabric rolling office chairs. Built-in cupboards holding copy paper and other office supplies lined two walls.

  After greeting the other two deputies he asked them to sit down. He had learned over his years that in each office he had visited, employees, especially the men, had their own territories. This not only included their office space but also things like where they sat in cafeterias and at conference tables. Dave found that meetings went the best when each person was comfortable in their familiar space. Tony and Danny sat on one side of the table; Dave joined Kyle on the other.

  “Thanks for putting in the overtime yesterday,” Dave began on a conciliatory note as he looked from face to face. “Not a pretty scene. Have you all been in on murder investigations before?”

  As it turned out, all of the men had been involved in the murder of a tourist from Chicago last summer. Two friends had entered the BWCA and only one had returned. After relatives of the missing man informed authorities in Chicago of the planned trip, police questioned the other man who claimed that the trip had been cancelled. In the meantime, Chicago police also contacted the DNR personnel at Section 30. All canoeists entering the BWCA are required to get a permit and register, so it didn’t take long to find the paperwork on the two men, or for the deputies accompanied by DNR personnel to find the body. Danny said he got in on a couple of investigations in Duluth, while Tony and Kyle had assisted local police in a murder / suicide near Sawbill Landing about five years earlier.

  Dave had expected their experience to be limited having looked at the crime statistics for the county; he was just hoping that it would have been a little more extensive than this. He would like to keep the investigation within his staff here but now saw no option other than to bring in outside help. He made a note to talk to Don to get his opinion but he wouldn’t have much time. As soon as word of what happened got out, he’d have every news outlet from the Twin Cities and more either sending a crew here or bombarding him with calls. With the likely speculation of Native American involvement this could soon turn into a nightmare.

  Before handing out assignments, Dave wanted to get each man’s take on what they’d seen. He wasn’t concerned that he had missed something; rather he wanted a feel for what kind of observational and reasoning skills each deputy possessed. At this point he didn’t expect a whole lot. A cop in Section 30 didn’t handle much more than an occasional drunk, cabin vandalism, and a drowning now and then. It was what

  Dave thought he’d be dealing with when he ran for sheriff. So much for those plans.

  “We got one mad Indian here sheriff,” announced Danny. “It’s no secret that the Indians don’t want us here. And who else could sneak up behind those two like that?” There was obviously no love lost between Danny and the Native Americans that inhabited the area, something too common here. Not a good trait for a law enforcement officer that is to be impartial, but nothing that Dave hadn’t witnessed before.

  “Have you had any recent incidents involving Native Americans in the area?”

  “We had to lock a couple of them up about three weeks ago that were drunk and bothering campers over on Gull Lake and then one of the guides at the Thunderbird was let go just last week after he got in a fight with one of the guests. No charges were ever filed in that one,” volunteered Kyle.

  “What do you think Tony?” asked Dave.

  Tony Clark was almost two years older than Danny, with thick wavy black hair, blue eyes, and a thin face with a sharp nose. At just under six feet, the deputy had an Ichabod Crane-like body, with the addition of a desk-job paunch. He was a follower and Danny was his leader.

  “I guess I kind of agree with Danny, sheriff,” he replied in a squeaky voice as he did a quick glance at Meline. “With just the one set of tracks I think we’re looking for just one guy.”

  “Could he have had someone waiting for him in a boat?”

  “I suppose. What do you think Danny?”

  Danny opened his mouth but before he could get a word out Dave said, “I asked you what you thought Tony.”

  Tony looked nervously over at Danny and then down at the pen he was twirling on the notebook in front of him. “Well, it’s hard to say. We looked all over that island but couldn’t see any more tracks. There were a couple of places where you could see that someone had landed a boat on the rocks, but no real way to tell how long ago that was. If he did land on the rocks, and he had someone to help him, he could have been more quiet.”

  “Thanks. You got anything to add Kyle?”

  “To do what he did the guy had to be strong, and have one hell of a sharp knife. It didn’t look like those guys moved hardly at all before he cut their necks. You think at least
one of them would have struggled some.”

  “What about other incidents of trouble in the area recently?”

  His deputies looked at each other and then just shook their heads. “It’s usually pretty quiet around here sheriff,” said Kyle.

  They looked at him like cats waiting for supper. “Danny, I’d like you to follow up on the Native Americans Kyle mentioned. I want you to locate them and find out where they were day before yesterday about noon.” Meline didn’t look too thrilled with his assignment.

  “Tony, I know you’re not going to be too happy about this but I want you to head back out to the island, and take a camera. Circle the island before you land just to be sure there aren’t any other boats. I don’t think the killer has any reason to return but may as well be careful.” Tony had a blank, nervous look, but nodded his understanding. “I want shots of anything you think might mean something. Go back over that whole island and see if you can find anything about where our killer got on or off the island and if he had someone with him. We’ve got rain coming tomorrow so don’t be shy about using that camera.”

  “Kyle, you need to hold down the fort. If anybody calls from the media you have no comment. Is that clear?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good. I also want you to go back over your records for the last two years to see if you can find anything on problems between visitors to the lake and locals, and by locals I mean anyone who lives here or works here more than three months during the year.”

  Kyle, who had a habit of taking copious notes at any meeting he attended, wrote down nearly verbatim what he had been told. “Got it. Anything else?”

  “I’m going to see what the doctor knows and then talk to some of the cabin and resort owners to see if they have noticed anything suspicious lately.”

  “You might want to save yourself some boat gas and just head over to the Channel Inn after six. You’ll find most of the people you’re looking for there,” volunteered Danny.

  “Thanks Danny, I’ll do that.” Dave looked at his watch. “Alright, it’s almost two now. I hate to say this but we can’t allow this to go cold. Let’s meet back here at eight and go over where we are.”

  None of the men looked happy, but all shook their heads in agreement, and headed off. Dave hopped in his vehicle and immediately put in a call to his brother.

  “What do you know brother?”

  “Only that the shortage of idiots in the world has not decreased since I saw you,” replied Don. “I tell myself to just let it go, that we are actually doing some good, and some doorknob in St. Paul gets it up his ass that we need to be sure we are protecting the rights of all citizens, even if the citizen is a whacked out meth-head threatening to shoot her daughter. I may have to join you up there.”

  “Don’t do that until you tell me what you know about the vics and the guys at the camp.”

  “Pretty much nothing. The vics and the one mousey guy at the camp are clean. The asshole Hoffman has been in a few scrapes, mostly just after bar close. He did have one restraining order with his ex so I’m going to check that out, but, I really don’t see him as the guy.”

  “Thanks Don. That’s about what I was expecting.”

  “I did find one other thing that may or may not be related but it’s interesting anyway. In the last three years there have been at least three prospectors that have disappeared up in your area.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Yeah. It’s like they just vanished. These guys worked for the big mining outfits looking for gold up there.”

  “I don’t remember anything about that in the news.” What really bothered Dave about this was that his deputies hadn’t mentioned it. Certainly these disappearances would have been on their radar.

  “I guess the mining companies have tried to keep it quiet by paying off the families of these guys but a couple of the families filed missing person’s reports and want answers. I tried to get to talk to the mining company execs but no go so far. I’ll keep after this because it smells fishy if nothing else, but, I just don’t get the feeling that it’s related to your scene.”

  Dave filled Don in on what else he knew and promised to pass along any other information as he got it.

  “Swell. I bust my butt working on your place and now you got me doing more work that I can guarantee you I do not need with the pile of paper that is on my desk.”

  “Well, here’s more. I just met with my staff and, frankly, this thing is way out of their league.”

  “I’m not too surprised based on what I saw of Mr. Meline. OK, I’ll see what’s shaking with the Duluth office after I get caught up here. I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks brother. Talk to you soon.”

  Dave could hear his brother say “asshole” as he disconnected. Was there a connection to the mining companies? Don was right, it just didn’t feel right. Still, if there were a connection, Don would find it. He didn’t need to look over his brother’s shoulder; he had enough troubles of his own. He had three deputies that were basically inept and a multiple murder investigation that he could envision blowing up in his face. He was back going over the murder scene in his head when he swerved to miss a large raccoon. His heart was still racing when his phone rang.

  “Sheriff Trask.”

  “Sheriff, this is Rosemary Theil. Have you found the killer yet?”

  Dave could feel the muscles in his stomach tighten. “Ms. Theil, we are following up on several leads but do not have anything concrete yet.”

  “I’m not a reporter sheriff. I want a straight answer!”

  “You just got it.”

  There was silence on the other end and Dave glanced at the phone thinking he may have lost the connection when the Commissioner spoke again.

  “Sheriff, my constituents and yours rely on this time of year to make the pitiful livings they seem to survive on. This needs to be handled quickly before any tourist has a second thought about coming to Lake County. I want an arrest and I want it now!”

  “Me too. Bye.” Dave clicked off and then waited for his phone to chirp again.

  Chapter Nine

  Dave called the offices in Silver Bay and Two Harbors as he drove, but with tourist season on the north shore of Lake Superior in full swing, there was no way a staff meeting would be possible in the near future. The sheriff’s office was charged not only with crime investigation and traffic duty; they also assisted the city police in the county. He promised to get something scheduled in the early fall before the leaves started turning and the tourists returned, clicking off as he pulled into the parking lot of the coroner’s office in Silver Bay.

  The single story red brick building could have passed for a post office, bank or an elementary school. A limp flag hung from a pole surrounded by a circular raised brick flowerbed with an abundance of daisies at the center. A circular drive passed around the planter in front of the building, the empty parking area to the left. Trask guessed the ambulances must park in the rear. The sheriff pushed through the silver metal front door to find himself in a long hallway, red brick walls matching the exterior, with heavy oak doors on either side but no apparent identification as to what was behind any of those doors. The door to his right was open and he leaned in.

  The office couldn’t have been more than twelve by twelve, with several tan file cabinets along one wall and posters of various butterflies on the other walls. Behind a matching tan metal desk with an overflowing in-basket angled in one corner sat a very attractive red-haired woman with large brown eyes that were peering intently through reading glasses at a paper on her desk. Her sleeveless white top clung to a shapely figure from what Dave could see.

  “Is it interesting?” asked Dave.

  “Pardon me?” she answered, looking like a feared librarian in Dave’s elementary school as she glared at him over her cheaters.

  “The paper you’re reading. You seemed quite engrossed.”

  “I’m sorry. Can I help you?” she replied, apparently not happy at
the intrusion.

  “I hope so,” he answered with what he thought was his most engaging smile.

  “And you are?” she said removing her glasses as she stood revealing that the lower half of her torso matched very nicely with the top. The look on her face said his attempt at levity had missed the mark by a wide margin.

  A woman with this kind of a figure was the last thing on Dave’s mind before he entered the office and he was caught staring. “Sorry. Dave Trask. Sheriff Dave Trask,” he said extending his hand.

  “Hello Sheriff,” she replied ignoring his hand. “You must be looking for Doctor Adams?”

  “Um, that’s right,” he answered as he let his hand drop to his side.

  “You’ll find him in the second room on the left. Just go in. I believe he is expecting you.”

  “Thanks. I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Oh, that probably won’t be necessary,” she said as she looked him over like a hungry lioness before she sat down and resumed reading.

  Dave wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that but he was sure that he had been quickly and efficiently dismissed. His eyebrows rose as he looked at the woman ignoring him a moment longer before leaving her room and heading down the hall.

  Doctor Adam’s office was much the same as the one he just left, the only notable difference being autographed pictures of baseball players, mostly black and white, covered the wall. It was apparent that the doctor was a Minnesota Twins fan as former players Harmon Killebrew, Tony Oliva, Rod Carew, and others took up most of the wall space. Dave admired a Kirby Puckett signed bat and a ball that appeared to have been autographed by most of the 1987 world championship Twins team before turning his attention to a connecting brown metal door that was trying to muffle sounds of the Grateful Dead.