The Deadly River

by Jeff Noonan

  “I don’t give a shit, my friend. I’m gonna get out of here! You can have this place all to yourself in a couple of months!”

  “How’d you pull that off? They know you tried to rob that place.”

  “Easy. I just agreed to testify against that asshole Wards. That’ll teach him to leave us here and ignore us like we was worthless. He’s gonna go to prison, but I ain’t.”

  “He’ll kill you when he hears about this, you dumb shit!”

  “He won’t hear about it until I testify at his trial and, as soon as I testify, I’m outa here! I’m going home to the Lone Star State. He won’t have a chance to get to me.”

  “But the FBI is gonna turn him loose. Then what, dummy?”

  “Ain’t gonna happen, Jose. The County Attorney is stopping the FBI from doing that, ‘cause now the locals are filing charges against him. He’s gonna go to prison!”

  Jose lapsed into silence, thinking hard about his jailhouse friend’s good luck.

  Taking samples of the river water through the little town wasn’t as bad as the River Rats had expected. There were several small sewer pipes that serviced residential buildings and one larger one that seemed to carry the waste from a group of businesses. But the three had developed a routine for taking these samples now and the work moved ahead smoothly.

  Once they were past the town, the valleys seemed to open a bit and there were more farms and ranches. Following directions from Professor Davis, they were careful to sample wherever water ran off of the fields. They didn’t notice anything at these points, but the professor had mentioned that he wanted to test these places for DDT, fertilizers, and other chemical contaminants.

  Steadily they worked their way downriver, soon coming to the small city of Plains, Montana. There, they actually rented motel rooms for several days and luxuriated in warm showers, soft beds and restaurant food. These amenities made the work much easier, they all agreed.

  The day after Willy’s session with the lawmen, Patty Rose came to the cellblock with a typed version of the information Willy had provided the day before. She made no attempt to hide her purpose in the visit as she loudly informed Willy, “Here’s the papers that I typed from what you told us.” She handed the stack of papers to Willy.

  Willy wasn’t used to working with papers. “What’cha want me to do with this?”

  “What you have there is a carbon copy of your story as I recorded it yesterday. Please read it over and see if you agree with everything it says. If you don’t, mark it with a pencil and I’ll make changes. When it’s okay, just let me know and I’ll bring the original up and you can sign it. You can keep the copy so you can refer to it when you’re preparing to testify. We keep the signed original so we know that you’re telling the same story when you get on the stand. If you do tell the same story, you go free immediately after the trial. Oh, here’s a pencil.”

  Jose Ortega listened carefully to every word.

  The next day, Patty returned to the cellblock and picked up the papers from Willy, who hadn’t found anything that he wanted to change. She left to get the originals and brought them up for Willy to sign. While she was waiting for Willy to painfully scratch his initials on each sheet and his signature on the final page, Jose finally spoke, asking her a question. “Have you heard anything from Wards?”

  “No, not lately. I understand that he’s still got an army of lawyers working for him. They’re surprised that the county is going to take him to trial, but I hear they’re pretty confident that they can beat the rap on the local charges. I don’t know how, but they’re pretty good lawyers.”

  Jose just nodded. Patty gathered the papers and left the cellblock.

  The scenery had been spectacular on the river since leaving St. Dubois. They’d passed through tall mountains and deep canyons before encountering the farms and ranches surrounding Plains. Soon thereafter, the raft entered an area characterized by huge rock outcroppings and very rugged mountains.

  It seemed as if the water was gradually getting cleaner as they moved further downstream. They were seeing fewer sewer pipes, but the riverbanks were still crusted with the grey matter that Lee had first seen in St. Dubois. When he queried Professor Davis about it, he was told that it was unrelated to the sewer pipes. The crust was a combination of mining waste and contamination from the sawmills upstream. Since there were some mines and sawmills all along the river, the grey crust persisted.

  Lee and his friends often remarked on the beauty of their surroundings and the fact that it didn’t seem right to be measuring the amount of filth in the river, while at the same time they were floating through some of the most beautiful places that any of them had ever seen.

  A few days had passed since Patty had last visited the cellblock. Then one morning when the jailer brought the prisoners their breakfasts, Jose told him that he wanted to see the County Attorney. The jailer passed the word on to Sheriff Rose.

  Later that morning, Jose was escorted into the conference room where County Attorney Warthen and Sheriff Rose were waiting for him.

  The sheriff waved him to a chair and excused the deputy that had delivered Jose to the room. “Have a seat, Ortega. You wanted to see us?”

  “I wanted to see the County Attorney.”

  “Sorry Jose. We’re a package deal. If you get one of us, you get both. What is it that you wanted?”

  “I want a deal like you gave Willy.”

  Don Warthen took the lead now. “Jose, if you have information that will help us, we can come up with something that helps you. But it can’t be the same as Willy’s deal because he only had an attempted robbery charge against him. You are here on two counts of attempted murder and we can’t just wipe out something that big as if it hadn’t happened. Do you understand that?”

  Jose went silent for a long interval while he absorbed this information. “But you can help me, you said?”

  “Yeah. We can probably go for a lesser charge or something like that.”

  Jose had obviously given this some thought. His reply was immediate. “That won’t work. If I’m in the same prison with Wards, he’ll kill me.”

  “Well, if your information is good enough, I could probably get you a reduced sentence and send you to an out-of-state prison to do your time. But you would have to give me a lot of good info for the state to go to all that trouble.”

  “What if I gave you two killings and a few beatings. In fact, that could be five killings if you include the politician that got blown away in his little raft.”

  “If you can do that, Jose. I’ll send you to any prison in the country to serve your time.”

  “Could you get me down to Arizona? I have a wife and kids down there and I’d like to be able to see them.”

  “Done, Jose. Now, let’s hear your story.”

  It was after six that evening before Jose stopped talking and the DA stopped asking questions.

  When the stories were told and the questions all answered, Jose had one final question for Warthen. “Okay, now you know everything I know. What can you do for me if I testify to all this in Wards’ trial?”

  The County Attorney had already been thinking about this and had his terms written down. He began reading. “Here is what I’m willing to do, Jose. I’ll recommend to the court that they accept your plea agreement on the following terms: One; you will remain in jail here until the conclusion of the trial of William Wards and you will testify fully and honestly at that trial. Two; you are to be given a sentence of forty years in prison. Three; ....”

  Jose interrupted him at that point with an anguished cry. “Forty years?”

  The DA replied quietly, “Jose, you’ve admitted to being an accomplice to two murders. You didn’t pull the triggers, but you were there. That fact comes with penalties. But bear with me and listen to everything I have to say before you get hysterical.”

  He continued, “Three; thirty of the forty years shall be suspended. You shall be released on your own recognizance at the end of ten year
s. However if you commit any further felonies at any time following your release, or if you are discovered in any part of Montana for the remainder of your life, you shall be returned to the Montana State Prison in Deer Lodge to serve the remaining thirty years of the sentence. Four; the initial ten years of this sentence shall be served at the Arizona State Prison.”

  There was a long silence as Jose absorbed the terms. Then he asked, “Can we talk about the ten years?”

  “No.”

  “What if I don’t testify then?”

  “That’s simple. I prosecute you for attempted murder for the Moore/ Raines thing and two counts of accomplice to murder for the others that you’ve told us about. I’ll make sure that you never see the outside of a prison again. The only reason that you are getting off with a mere ten years is because I want to see Wards on death row. Now are you going to accept this deal or not?”

  Jose was a picture of misery as he slowly answered. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  The river work seemed to get easier as the three became more experienced. Slowly their speed picked up and the river passed under them. The small towns of Thompson Falls, and Trout Creek came and went. Lee made countless trips to Missoula with his trunk and back seat filled with sample bottles. Professor Davis was pleased with the progress and was getting ready to publish the results of the study as soon as the sampling work was complete.

  Charlie Barnet’s offer of a job for next summer kept Lee thinking about his future and became a subject of much discussion as the three worked their way down the river. All three of them were undecided on what they wanted to do next. Tony and Mike hadn’t thought much beyond the sawmill’s winter shutdown, when they knew they would have to live on their unemployment insurance. That was a bleak prospect, but it was a way of life in places like this where the only work was in the lumber business. The Montana winters stopped the loggers from plying their trade when the snow became too deep. This always caused the mills to eventually run out of logs. When they did, the mills shut down until the loggers could get back to the woods in the spring. Lee thought it was an awful way to live, but Mike and Tony had been raised with it and considered it normal.

  But none of the three was really enthusiastic about staying in St. Dubois for the winter with nothing to do. They began thinking about options. Tony thought it would be a great idea for the three of them to go to Las Vegas and try to get work. Mike’s favorite idea was to hire on as a ranch hand somewhere in the Southwest. They had a thousand ideas and even talked about joining the military to see the world. The three discussed these ideas at length during the long days on the river and at the nightly camping spots. This rapidly became their favorite subject and a thousand variations on these plans were brought up, challenged, and mostly discarded.

  The River Rats hadn’t encountered any problems and their guard duty had become very lax. But that helped speed up progress because they often had three people in the boat when the work was at its hardest.

  Sheriff Rose and County Attorney Warthen were working seven days a week trying to get their case put together in time for trial. The County Attorney had brought another lawyer onboard to help. The work seemed endless, but slowly progress was made.

  They had heard Jose’s stories of killings, but they were having a great deal of trouble verifying the information. Jose claimed to have seen the murders, and the people he identified as the victims were indeed missing. But Jose didn’t know where any of the bodies were buried. He claimed that Wards had always taken them away in his pickup and he didn’t know where Wards disposed of them. Sheriff Rose had dispatched his deputies in a vain attempt to find Wards’ burial site. But, in the vast Montana wilderness surrounding them, they finally concluded that there was absolutely no chance of finding the missing bodies. The only victim the County Attorney could conclusively prove to be dead was Kurt Kochran.

  Both Willy Gohmert and Jose Ortega had heard Wards brag that he would kill both Ray Moore and Kurt Kochran. He had also stated that he was going to kill them at about the same time so that a clear message would go out to anybody else that interfered with his logging business.

  The County Attorney had already filed attempted murder charges against Bill Wards on the Ray Moore incident. Now he filed murder charges against Wards for the murder of Kochran. He also filed two murder charges against Wards based on the grisly tales told by Jose. He knew that he would probably not win those cases without the bodies, but the jury would hear them anyway. He was going to let Jose tell the stories about these other murders at the trial. His hope was that these stories would inflame the jury against Wards. Then he would show them the evidence against Wards on the Kochran murder and would encourage the jury to throw the book at him.

  Wards’ lawyers fought each of the charges in pre-trial hearings, saying that Jose’s stories couldn’t be verified and should be thrown out. But the judge sided with Warthen and Jose’s testimony was allowed. All charges stood and would be presented at trial.

  The sheriff posted armed guards around the little Mineral County jail. He was taking no chances on the health of his two witnesses.

  The River Rats were approaching the small town of Noxon when they heard a siren in the distance, over on the road that paralleled the river. Looking over, they saw a patrol car with the word “Sheriff” on the side. Its siren was blaring and its lights were flashing as it slowly moved down the highway beside them. They rowed across the river to get a better look. When they were about halfway across, it dawned on them that the Sheriff’s car was trying to attract their attention. A man was leaning out the driver’s side window motioning to them.

  When the man in the car saw they were looking at him, he picked up a bullhorn and yelled through it. “Is Lee Raines with you?” Lee yelled his answer while giving the car a thumbs-up just in case he couldn’t be heard.

  The bullhorn answered with, “Go downstream about a half-mile. The road meets the river there and we can talk.” Again Lee gave him a thumbs-up sign and they adjusted their course appropriately.

  Mike was concerned. “I wonder what he wants with you, Dude?”

  “I dunno. Seems a bit strange.”

  Tony spoke up. “What if it’s a trick, Lee. Just because it’s a police car, doesn’t mean that was a police guy driving it. I never saw that guy before.”

  Mike agreed with an explosive, “Shit! I never thought of that.”

  Lee nodded. “Could be. Let’s not take a chance. Mike head for the bank. Tony, get the rifle out. When we hit the bank, jump out and parallel us down the river until you can see that car clearly. Get your sights on that guy and watch for a trick. If he starts anything, take him out.”

  “You got it, Boss.” Tony was already getting the long rifle out of its waterproof sheath. As Mike rowed for the bank, he checked it and made sure a shell was in the chamber. They were still a couple of feet from the bank when he jumped and then disappeared in a crouching run, heading downriver.

  Lee got one of the lever-action 30-30s out and checked it as Mike took them downstream. It only took a few minutes before the patrol car came into sight. Lee could see Tony lying flat on the crest of a small hill, his rifle trained on the man who was now getting out of the car.

  The man waved at them, a careless, cheerful wave. Mike began heading the raft toward a small cove a few feet in front of the man. Lee sat deep in the raft grasping the rifle. This guy didn’t look like a lawman. He was a large man with a cartridge belt and holstered pistol that hung below his belly. He was wearing Levi’s and a flannel shirt, not the neat brown uniform that Frank Rose invariably wore.

  When they were still about fifty feet away, Lee came up on one knee, still keeping the rifle hidden at his side. “What can I do for you?”

  The big man kept coming without saying anything. In one smooth motion, Lee brought the rifle to bear on him. “Hold it right there. Do not come closer. What do you want with us?”

  This brought the big man to an abrupt stop. “Whoa, fellas. No need for a gun. I�
�m Sanders County Sheriff Dale Gunderson. Sheriff Rose asked me to get a message to you. That’s what I’m trying to do, dammit!”

  “Let’s see some credentials, sir. We’ve been told to be careful and that’s what we are gonna do. Mike, stop the boat.” Raising his voice, Lee yelled to Tony who was invisible to them from this angle. “Tony, Come on down and check this guy’s ID please.”

  When Tony rose from his hiding place, Gunderson’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit!” He seemed astounded. He repeated it, “Holy shit!” With one hand, he slowly reached into his back pocket and pulled out a tattered wallet with a star pinned to it. He opened the wallet to show a card to Tony.

  When Tony was close enough, he checked the card, being careful not to get between Lee and the big man. Finally, he looked up. “I think he’s okay, Lee. This says he’s a Sheriff and his name’s Gunderson. I know that the sheriff over here is named Gunderson, so I think he’s all right.”

  Lee relaxed a bit, but kept his position and didn’t lower his rifle. “All right, Mike. Move the raft in so we can talk.”

  Raising his voice, Lee addressed the man. “What’s the message, sir?”

  “Frank Rose needs to see you as soon as you can get over there. He says that he’s been trying to contact you around St. Dubois, but you haven’t been there lately. Apparently you’re a witness in a trial that’s about to start. He needs for you to come over and meet with him and Don Warthen, so you can be ready to testify.”

  “Okay, got it. Thank you for getting the word to me. I’m sorry if we aren’t very hospitable, but we have to be careful because of the same case that I have to testify about. I hope you understand.” He still hadn’t lowered his gun barrel. It wasn’t aimed directly at Gunderson any longer, but it was in a position where it could be brought to bear immediately if it was needed.