Preying in Two Harbors

by Dennis Herschbach

  Deidre suggested that they begin their search at that spot, although she didn’t have much hope of finding anything new. As they climbed the sandbank, Jake was wheezing so hard, she hoped he made retirement age. “Too many hours sitting in a car waiting for something to happen,” he puffed, his face turning beet red. Luckily, they were near the top of the bank, and he bent over, catching his breath. They walked straight to the spot from where they thought the sniper’s shot had come. Deidre got down on her hands and knees and began searching under every blade of grass and every leaflet. It took Jake a little longer to assume a search position but eventually, with a good deal of groaning, he made it. They moved slowly, expanding their search inch by inch.

  “Jake, move that leaf again. I think I saw a flash of something shiny.” Without moving forward, the deputy gently pushed aside the broad leaves of a bloodroot plant. “There. From your angle, I don’t think you can see it,” Deidre almost shouted. “See it?” She carefully moved so she could see what was on the ground, and whooped in excitement. “It’s a rifle casing. Now we might have him.”

  With Jake holding the vegetation back, Deidre was able to insert a pencil into the empty’s opening and lift it so she could look carefully at it. She gasped, and Jake wondered what she had found that evoked such a startled response. “Look at this and tell me what you read.” Deidre wanted verification to confirm she wasn’t seeing what she wanted to see. Jake tilted his head so the sun’s rays struck the base of the bullet casing at an angle.

  “There’s a circle with a cross, no wait, that’s a plus sign in the center of it. I can make out the letters ‘USCCO,’ and some numbers.” He struggled to read them, eventually guessing the number ten.

  “That’s what I see, too.” Deidre shook her head in disbelief. “I did some PI work for T.J. Compton, and during my investigation of the Justin Peters murder, I uncovered a casing that matches this one perfectly. I’m betting whoever killed Justin was also involved in Jeff’s shooting. Ballistics at the BCA will be able to tell us for sure. One thing puzzles me, though.” Deidre stopped to think a moment. “It seems the shooter is a pro of some sort, especially if he used a night scope and laser sight. He made the effort to set up a ruse to lure Jeff out here, planned his escape, and carried out the shooting without being caught, but he left this empty behind. All I can guess is whatever mechanism he rigged to catch the empty as it ejected failed, and in the dark he couldn’t locate it. Or else he was in a hurry to get away and took a chance on our not finding it. Doesn’t matter, really. We’ve got it now.”

  The officers searched for another half-hour on their hands and knees without finding another clue. Finally, Deidre stood up and stretched her back as Jake made a good effort of getting to his feet. She could hear a few snaps and pops as his joints realigned themselves, and Jake limped around for a few minutes, “getting the kinks out,” he said.

  On the way back to town, Deidre mulled over the one bit of evidence she had in her possession, the spent cartridge casing. It lay in a plastic bag beside her on the car seat, glistening when intermittent sun rays struck it. She was sure it was of the same type she had found at the site of Justin Peters’ murder. The head stamp of each empty casing bore markings indicating they were NATO compatible rounds. The letters USCCO meant they both had been manufactured by the same company, United States Cartridge Company, in Lowell, Massachusetts. The number ten on each casing meant they had both been manufactured in 2010. Too many coincidences, Deidre thought. The killer and shooter must have had a spent cartridge in his pocket that fell out when he attacked Jason. Lucky for us, unlucky for him, he lost the brass casing from the bullet he used to shoot Jeff. He might be the same person, or, she mentally corrected herself, at least the gun might be the same one.

  By the time she reached her office she was so pumped by the possibilities presented with her find in the woods, she completely forgot that she had requested fingerprints be taken from Johnny Bolene’s truck. It was a long shot, she knew, but Johnny was a loner. Chances were that no one had ridden with him since he had given a ride to the hitchhiker named Jeremiah Rude. Deidre wanted to know who that strange character really was.

  “There’s a report on your desk from the team that took the prints you requested. They ran an ID search on them.” Shirley informed Deidre without looking up from her computer screen. Deidre thanked her but received no response. There was a folder on her desk, and she sat down and began to read its contents.

  Deidre skipped over the required documentation of time, team members’ names, and other extraneous information, allowing her eyes to move to the meat of the report. She read:

  Several coinciding fingerprints and palm prints were found inside the cab of a blue, 2008 Ford F-150 pickup, VIN 23DH2A007J6643THM. The prints were brought back to the lab and were run through the national database with a 99% match to one individual:

  David Aaron Schoeneger

  Age: 35

  Height: 6’4”

  Weight: 255

  Military record: Army, special forces

  2001-2003, Afghanistan,

  2004-2006, Iraq

  Deidre studied the name and stats, and in her mind she was sure she was on the trail of the murderer and ambusher. Everything fit. Tomorrow she would pay a visit to The Sanctuary and have a visit with The Prophet, if she could find him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  On the ride up to Reverend Isaiah’s Sanctuary, Deidre wondered if she should be going alone. That was what got Jeff into trouble, answering a call without backup. But, she thought, it really wouldn’t have made any difference if a deputy had been with him. Perhaps the deputy would have been shot, too. Anyway, people knew where she was headed, and if something happened to her on The Sanctuary’s property, they would know who to go after. She felt safe, sort of.

  When she pulled into the small gravel parking lot of the church, she saw a group of children being hustled away by three women. The doors to the chapel were flung open, and Reverend Isaiah stepped out, his hair disheveled and a scowl on his face.

  “Get that police vehicle off our property,” he bellowed. “This is sacred ground, and we obey only God’s laws here. Your manmade laws hold no sway with us. Thus sayeth the Lord, ‘The law of the Lord is perfect.’ Your laws are not.”

  Deidre had nothing to do with religion when she was growing up. As an adult she never attended church until she met Ben, and now she more or less went to be with him and the girls. Suddenly, the words Pastor Ike had read the previous Sunday came back to her.

  “But in Romans, Paul wrote, ‘Let every person be subject to the governing authorities.’” That stopped the reverend in his tracks, but only for an instant.

  He retorted, “Paul was just a man. God says his law is perfect, and it is. That is the law we are following.”

  Deidre was in no mood to have a theological argument. She had already shot the one scriptural arrow she had in her quiver and knew she could never crack the reverend’s shield of self-righteousness. “Listen to me, Isaiah. We can do this one of two ways. You can cooperate with me now, or I can go to a judge and get a search warrant. Then I’ll come back with my deputies, and we’ll tear your compound apart, board by board. We’ll haul every man, woman, and child in for questioning. You choose. Which way do you want it?”

  The reverend glared at her, his deep-set eyes piercing her psyche, his eagle-beak nose aimed directly at her face. Finally he snapped, “What do you want from us? We’re only here doing God’s work, tilling the land, multiplying as we are instructed by Him, and warning the people of your community of God’s imminent wrath.”

  Deidre had a difficult time holding her comments, but she managed to control her voice. “I want to speak with Jeremiah Rude, no one else. It must be a private conversation, either in the chapel or anywhere he chooses.” As soon as she uttered those words, she regretted saying them.
She had just given him power. Too late now, she thought. “I’d prefer the chapel. Tell him he’s got fifteen minutes to be here, or I’m going back to town for the warrant.”

  “Wait here,” Reverend Isaiah commanded, and he slouched off toward the compound, his boney shoulders bent against some unseen force. In ten minutes Jeremiah walked toward her, coming from the direction the reverend had taken. Deidre was amazed at the hulk of the figure approaching her.

  He surprised her by saying in a quite gentle voice, “Hello, my name is Jeremiah Rude. Some call me The Prophet.” He thrust his hand out to shake Deidre’s, and she gasped when he wrapped his huge mitt around hers. “Reverend Isaiah said we can sit in the chapel. I’m not sure what you want to talk to me about, but I have nothing to keep from you.” He led the way and opened the door for her. The Prophet set up two folding chairs opposite each other and an appropriate distance apart, then motioned for her to sit.

  “What do you want to ask me?” he said.

  Deidre was a little confused at the man’s demeanor. It wasn’t what she was what she expecting. “Have you ever heard of a man named David Aaron Schoeneger?” The man’s face hardened.

  “Yes. Yes, I knew a man by that name.” He looked squarely at Deidre.

  “Perhaps you can tell me something about him,” she said, wondering what he would say.

  “When I knew him he was an abomination in God’s eyes, drinking, whoring, killing. I knew him too well.” Deidre felt as though she were in a time warp. She knew she was talking to David Schoeneger, but he was talking like David was someone else.

  “Do you know what happened to him?” she asked. Tears formed in The Prophet’s eyes, and he looked at the floor.

  “He’s dead.”

  Deidre was at a loss for what to say next, other than, “Can you tell me about his death?” The Prophet looked up at her.

  “He died the fall of 2007. He’d been a soldier for the United States, a hard core soldier, special forces. He spent two years in Afghanistan, killing people. He said to me once that he enjoyed what he did, and it was beginning to bother him, the nightmares, the faces he’d see, the sleeplessness. He was sent to Iraq for two years to do the same things. Then, in 2006, he was sent home. Soon after, he died.”

  Deidre started to realize what was happening. “Jeremiah, is it possible that David Schoeneger is still alive, perhaps using another name?” Jeremiah shook his head, violently.

  “No! No, that’s not possible. I saw him die.” He looked Deidre squarely in the eye, and she sensed that, in his mind, he was telling the truth.

  She asked, “Did David ever own any firearms, perhaps a handgun, or even an assault rifle?” He looked at her through sad eyes.

  “Yes, he did. He had many guns. Used to hunt a lot, killed a lot of things, including people in Afghanistan and Iraq.” Deidre followed with one more question.

  “Do you own any guns?”

  His answer, strangely, was in the second person. “Jeremiah Rude has never owned a gun.”

  “Jeremiah, can you tell me where you were last April? I know that’s a long time ago, but can you give me an idea?” The man thought for several seconds before answering.

  “I was in North Dakota the whole month. Got there the end of March and stayed until sometime in May.”

  “Can anyone vouch for you?” Deidre wanted to know.

  “Several people. I lived in the basement of a small church while I was there. It’s called The Church of The Coming Age. It’s small, about twenty members, but they all believe like I do, that Christ’s return is soon and the world must repent or be destroyed. They liked what I preached, compared me to John the Baptist. One of them had a vision during a service and said I looked just like him. If you want, I can give you the name of their leader. He’ll tell you.”

  When Deidre asked for it, he gave her the man’s name and the address of the church. She jotted it down in her notebook. “Where were you Fourth of July night, Jeremiah?”

  The big man didn’t have to think about that one. “I was right here. We held a special service that night, praying for the people of Two Harbors and that God would turn them from their sinful ways before it is too late. I preached that night.” He stopped mid-thought and looked straight at her.

  “Sheriff, are you saved?” The question set her back. No one had ever asked her that question, and she didn’t know how to respond. The Prophet didn’t give her time. “You must repent, Sheriff,” he said, becoming more agitated. “Time is running out, and if you don’t commit to Jesus, you, too, will burn in hell.” By now his voice had risen to a shout, and Deidre became a little alarmed at his fervor. “Please, Sheriff, turn from your sinful ways or you will suffer God’s vengeance. For he says, ‘I’m a jealous God.’ Sheriff, for your own sake, stop whatever sin it is that is weighing you down. I am a prophet. I see you are burdened.” Deidre was getting spooked, but she tried to bring the conversation around to her purpose.

  “Are you sure David Schoeneger is dead?” Jeremiah’s shoulders sagged.

  “Yes, like I told you, he died on September 13, 2007, sacrificed on the altar at God’s Chosen church in New Orleans. He’s dead and will not be coming back.”

  Deidre sat for a few moments, carefully weighing her words. The interview hadn’t gone as she expected. Finally she said, “Jeremiah, I believe you when you say David is dead. But I worry about who has taken his place on this earth. I hope that person never hurts anyone, saint or sinner. I don’t think God wants us to take matters into our own hands. Didn’t he say, ‘Vengeance is mine?’ If you know of anything that’s not right, here or anywhere, I want you to call me. Okay? Otherwise, Jeremiah, thank you for speaking to me.” She stood to leave, and The Prophet only nodded his head. He was still sitting, motionless, as Deidre let herself out.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  By the time Deidre arrived back at her office, there wasn’t much of the day left. She looked over a few reports that had been left on her desk, all minor events that didn’t require immediate attention. As she walked past Shirley on the way out of the office she announced she was going home for the day and if anything came up to call her on her cell phone. She saw Shirley glance up at the clock on the wall and make a note to herself. “Okay,” was all she said.

  When she arrived home, both girls were sitting on the swing under a large elm tree. They jumped up to greet her as she stepped out of her car. “How’d it go today, Mom? Catch any bad guys?” one of them blurted out, and they both laughed.

  “No, not a one. I had an interesting day, though. Wish I could tell you about it, but this is kind of like your dad’s job, I can’t say very much.” She had an arm around each girl as they walked to the house and couldn’t help noticing how tall they were getting.

  “What about you? Anything exciting happen today?” Both girls began to talk at once. “You’ll never guess what we saw.” Maren let Megan tell the story. “After lunch, we followed the river to the spot where we go for picnics sometimes. We thought we’d work on making a campsite for us to use. We pulled some rocks out of the river and made a fire ring.” Maren finished telling about their adventure.

  “We got tired and waded in the river, but both of us fell in so we were soaking wet. We sat down on that rock shelf that juts out into the stream and were just soaking up the sun. All of a sudden, two fawns jumped out of the woods. They leaped around like two little kids, chasing each other in circles until they saw us. We sat so still, just like you and Dad taught us to do when we’re in the woods. They came right up to us, sniffing the air.”

  “But we didn’t touch them,” Megan interjected.

  Maren continued. “Just then their mother came out of the woods. She snorted, like she was scolding them. One fawn returned to her, but the other ignored her. It reminded me of me and Megan. You know how Megan never listens to
you.” Megan punched her sister on the arm but laughed.

  “Then the mother deer stepped toward the fawn who wasn’t listening to her and stomped her foot, real hard,” Maren kept her story going. “The stubborn one started to come back, but then the mother deer butted at it with her head. I think she would have scolded it if she could have talked.” The girls were delighted to be able to share their adventure.

  Megan added, “I wish you could have seen it. They were really cute.”

  Deidre felt a twinge of guilt for not having been there, but she answered, “That’s a memory you two will share forever, and it will be special because it’s between the two of you. There’ll be a time when we’ll have memories together. We do already. Speaking of which, what should we do tonight as a family. Anything?” The three went inside to talk it over and to prepare supper before Ben came home.

  Their dinner time was relaxed. Deidre and the girls had fixed chicken on the grill, added fresh beans from the garden, and a lettuce salad. They laughed and teased each other, and Deidre was totally at peace. She had spoken with Danielle earlier and received good news. Jeff had been moved from the ICU to a surgical unit, but the best news of all was that he was experiencing some tingling in a few of his toes. The doctors looked at that with hope he would continue to improve.

  The girls cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher while Deidre and Ben talked about their day’s work. She was glad they had the freedom to share, although she didn’t relate every detail and was sure her husband didn’t, either. Megan interrupted them.

  “We’d like to hike back to the picnic spot by the river, maybe build a campfire and make s’mores. Want to do that?”