Preying in Two Harbors

by Dennis Herschbach

  It took only a few minutes to pack up the graham crackers, Hershey bars, and marshmallows, and they set off for their favorite spot. The trail was winding and a little rocky, but they made it to the site in less than twenty minutes, their trek interrupted several times to admire a patch of moss here, a brightly colored lichen there, or a patch of Indian pipes growing near a rotting stump.

  The river was flowing at mid-summer level, clear and cool. Along its banks, ferns hung over the water, and where a leaning tree afforded shade, three or four brook trout finned in the current. This was the family’s special woodland retreat. Together, they set to improving the site, first pulling up brush by its roots, then stacking it in piles that would be burned next winter. After working for much of the evening, they took off their shoes and waded into the stream.

  “Wow! This is cold,” Maren exclaimed. She knew it would be cold, but every time they waded in the Knife, one of them would complain about the same thing.

  “Sure, it’s cold,” Ben said with a chuckle. “Up here the river’s spring fed. That’s why the trout do so well.” They washed the dirt off their hands and splashed water on their faces to cool down. By then it was time to climb out of the river, build a fire and let its heat dry them.

  The fire was mesmerizing, and no one spoke for many minutes. Deidre dug out the s’mores’ makings and they all rushed to skewer marshmallows on toasting sticks. Megan’s burst into flame, and she frantically tried to blow it out. Everyone was laughing and chiding her for not having enough patience. “That’s the way I like them,” she shot back and was the first to sandwich her blackened, melted marshmallow between half of a Hershey bar and two halves of graham cracker. By the time the others were building their first treat, she was on her way to eating her second.

  “Hey, leave enough for the rest of us,” Maren chided her sister.

  By the time it was almost dark, the four washed their sticky fingers in the river, and they all sat on the large rock shelf, watching the stars appear in the sky. “I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight,” the girls recited in unison. Deidre asked about their wish, but they wouldn’t tell.

  “If we tell, it won’t come true,” Maren instructed her.

  At ten o’clock, Ben announced it was time to go home. “Mom and I have to work tomorrow, and you girls have to catch a ride with the Johnsons to ball practice. Let’s go.” He turned on the flashlight he brought with, and they began the walk home, sometimes stumbling on roots, at other times getting swatted in the face by branches springing back when the person in front bent them and then let go. By ten forty-five, they were all in bed, and sleeping soundly by ten fifty. All was well in the VanGotten household.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Deidre intended to hold her first squad meeting that morning, checking on reports from the nightshift and assigning duties to those just coming on. She went through what had been her ritual years before: fix a cup of coffee, pick out a treat from the bakery box on the table, and sort through a few papers on her desk. It comforted her to begin the day in a low key way. She heard the officers trooping in, some tired and needing the lift the coffee would give them, others getting a charge to start the day off on the right foot.

  “Anything significant happen?” she asked the night crew. Adamson spoke up. “Nothing in our jurisdiction, but you might want to talk to Sig about the city cops’ problem. Somebody broke into the Catholic Church last night and did a heck of a lot of damage. Smashed most of their statues and poured what looks like blood in the baptismal font. They peed in the communion chalice and left it on the altar, then took a crap on the steps leading to it. The place is a mess. Sig was there when I drove by the church on my way here.”

  Deidre was taken aback. What’s going on in this town? she wondered. She made a note to visit the police chief that morning. In the back of her mind, she knew she would be taking another trip north to The Sanctuary and Reverend Isaiah. There had been vandalism in town on an increasing regularity, but the act at the Catholic Church was more than vandalism. To her, it had all the makings of a hate crime. The rest of the meeting was inconsequential, and the group stood to leave, some to go home to bed, the others to begin their twelve-hour shift.

  As Deidre passed her assistant’s desk, Shirley stopped her. “This came in this morning from the BCA. It’s the result of the ballistic test on the casing you sent in day before yesterday,” she said, and smiled. “You must know somebody down there to get such quick results.” Deidre smiled back, took the papers and retreated to her office.

  The top page was a note from Melissa, her friend who worked for the BCA.

  I thought you’d need this report as soon as possible. Whenever there is an officer shot, the work is moved to the top if the list. I looked at the report before sending it on to you, and I think you’ll be interested in what you’ll see. Hope all is well with you and Ben and the girls. Just to let you know, my daughter just graduated from college this spring, majored in criminal justice. Says she wants to be a parole officer. Go figure. Anyway, take care, friend. Hope we can get together soon. Melissa

  Deidre contemplated the note for a second or two, a smile barely visible on her lips. then she turned to the report.

  Two empty brass casings sent to our lab from the Lake County Sheriff’s Department were examined for identification and comparison. The first was labeled as being found at the scene of the murder of a young man in April of this year, the second identified as having been found at the scene of an officer’s shooting.

  It is our conclusion that the bullets are NATO compatible, manufactured by the United States Cartridge Company (USCCO) in 2010. It is possible they could be from the same batch. Markings on the casing are indicative that they were fired from the same gun. Scratches produced from the gun’s chamber match one hundred percent. The firing pin mark is identical on each, further supporting the theory they were fired from the same weapon.

  Markings from the extractor of the gun’s automatic loading mechanism, as well as the firing pin indentation, indicate the gun from which they were fired was a REC-7 assault rifle, 5.6 x 45 NATO compatible.

  Added to the report was a suggestion, one she had intended to tackle later in the day: “If it is possible to locate the slug fired from either cartridge, we can match them to a specific firearm.”

  That last line miffed Deidre. What did they think she was, some Keystone Cop stuck up in the woods? Of course it would be great if they could find the slug that had passed through Jeff. Right now, she wanted to talk to Sig, the chief of police, and find out what had happened at the church last night.

  His patrol car was still parked in front of the church, along with another squad and two civilian vehicles, when she arrived. She entered the narthex of the sanctuary and was met by a woman, her eyes red-rimmed from tears. She was holding a handkerchief over her mouth, and she sobbed, “Who would want to desecrate God’s house like this? We try our best to do what is right. Why this?” She wasn’t expecting an answer and rushed past Deidre.

  Sig was up front, near the altar, and Father Joseph was at his side. Sig held a notepad and was busy writing in it. As Deidre came closer she could hear their conversation.

  “I can’t find anything missing,” the priest was saying. “Whoever did this was bent on destruction and desecration, simple as that. They knew what is most holy to us, and those were the items they targeted: the baptismal font, the communion chalice, our saints’ images. We have, had, a copy of the entire St. John’s Bible, a considerable gift from one of our parishioners, and they tore the pages out and scattered them around the room, some of which they urinated on. It was pure hate, pure hate.” He shook his head.

  After Sig was finished speaking to Father Joseph, Deidre approached him. “Not good, is it, Sig?”

  His answer was a short, “No.” There wasn’t much Deidre could do, but she di
d offer whatever help her department could provide. Sig’s old eyes looked sad, almost defeated, and he shook his head.

  Back at her office, Deidre looked through the folder containing the evidence that had been gathered relative to Jeff’s ambush. The crime looked as though it had been carried out by people who were expert at such things: the calls, the location, the escape route, the probability of the use of a night scope. Why, then, an errant shot that had missed Jeff’s vital organs? She attempted to piece together a possible explanation.

  The report said that the driver’s-side door was fully open and that Jeff was found partially slumped into his vehicle, his torso lying across its front seat, his feet outside and touching the ground. That meant he had probably been standing beside the open door rather than sitting inside. She stared at the photo of his SUV, taken after he was transported to the hospital.

  What if, she wondered. What if Jeff had been leaning into his vehicle and the shooter had targeted his head? And what if, at the split second the shooter began to squeeze the trigger, Jeff abruptly stood up to look around? That would have accounted for him being hit low in the back. Maybe we’re looking for a shooter who is an expert marksman but missed because of a fluke.

  Deidre did some mental calculations, considering where Jeff’s wound was, the angle from the place the shooter lay in waiting, and the position he must have been in when the shot was fired. It dawned on her as she looked at the photo of his squad that something might have been missed when his SUV had been combed for clues.

  The impoundment lot was only a half-block away, and in less than five minutes she let herself through the locked gate. Jeff’s squad was sitting next to the fence nearest the back of the lot. She unlocked the driver’s-side door, put on a pair of rubber gloves, and ran her fingers along the crease where the backrest met the seat. The seat was intact, no hole. Then it dawned on her. Accounting for the trajectory of the bullet, it would have traveled at an angle across the seat. She checked the passenger side. Concealed in the crevice, she felt what she was looking for: a small hole in the faux leather covering.

  “Denny,” she spoke into her cell phone. “Could you come across the street for a few minutes to give me a hand?” Denny owned an automotive repair business and was hired by the county to help with any automotive searches. He was trusted and a good friend of Deidre. “I’m going to need help removing the passenger’s-side backrest of a 2012 Ford Explorer. Think you could spare a few minutes right away?” Deidre smiled at his response, and in minutes she saw him jog across the street toward the lot, a collection of tools in his hands.

  “Hey, Deidre. I heard you’d put on the uniform again. Great news. So, what we got here?” Deidre explained that she needed to have the backrest removed from the passenger-side front seat so she could look at the surface where it met the seat cushion.

  “No prob,” he said, as he pushed the button that moved the seat as far back as possible. “I think this takes a three-eighths socket,” he mumbled to himself, and struggled to get it on the head of a bolt. Deidre heard the click-click-click as he worked the ratchet, followed by a grunt as Denny attacked another bolt. He got to his feet and rocked the entire seat assembly forward, used a screwdriver to separate the wiring connection, and lifted the seat assembly out. The entire process took only minutes.

  “I’ve got to take off these side brackets,” he explained as he expertly began removing bolts from the braces and with no effort, lifted the backrest away from the seat. Deidre still had on rubber gloves, and quickly stepped in. She wasn’t interested in the backrest but the portion of the seat that had been covered.

  “There it is, what we’re looking for.” She stuck the tip of her gloved finger in a hole that was exposed by the removal of the backrest. “I’ve got to get this over to the lab and have them look at this hole. If I’m right, the slug that went through Jeff is in it.” She thanked Denny and made a promise they’d get together for coffee real soon. After locking the vehicle and the gate as she left, Deidre carried the seat over to the Law Enforcement Center, took the hall leading to the lab, and triumphantly walked in, bearing her trophy.

  “Hi guys,” she exclaimed. “Any chance one of you could help me out? It should take only a minute.”

  A voice from the back answered, “Help you out? Sure, I’ll help you out. The door is right behind you.” Jarod came around the corner. He sported a week-old beard, wore a white lab coat over his ragged jeans, and Deidre noticed he had on sandals that were nowhere new. He was laughing. “Good to see you again, Deidre. What are you up to, running a chop shop?” He pointed at the car seat she was holding. Deidre wished she had a smart comeback, but at the moment nothing came to mind.

  “That’s some kind of welcome. When you gonna shave?” She had at least gotten in a small jab. “Really, I need your help, right now if you can. This seat is from Jeff’s Explorer, and I think the slug that hit him is lodged in the padding. Will you try to dig it out so the rifling marks aren’t damaged?”

  Jarod came closer for a better look. “We sure can.” He disappeared for a second and returned with a scalpel and forceps. Deidre noticed the jaws were padded with some sort of rubber. Jarod carefully slit the vinyl cover, and teased apart the fiber padding enough so they could see the shiny object. Then, carefully inserting the forceps, he extracted the slug and dropped it into Deidre’s gloved hand. She held it up to the light, contemplating the fact that it had passed through her friend.

  “Thanks, Jarod. I’m sending this down to the BCA for analysis, but I’m pretty sure I know what they’ll say. Thanks again.” She left the seat behind, knowing Jeff would catalogue it as evidence to be used later.

  During the short walk back to her office, Deidre questioned what she knew, and the answer was, “Not much.” A vicious murder had been committed, a rail line had been sabotaged, a sheriff ambushed, a church desecrated, and numerous smaller acts of vandalism had been perpetrated. She had only one link: two cartridge casings that were fired from the same rifle linked the murder and the ambush. Other than that, everything was circumstantial. The thought crossed her mind that nothing had been done about the note dropped for her by the girl at The Sanctuary. She wanted to have another conversation with Jeremiah Rude. Something told her he had nothing to do with the Catholic Church incident, but on the other hand, something wasn’t right with him, either.

  The drive to Toimi was quiet, and she stopped in front of the chapel. She decided to walk the road leading to the compound.

  As she rounded a bend in the driveway, Deidre saw several women and children working in the many garden patches. Only a couple of them stopped work to stand up and look her way. There were no men around and no one stopped her, so Deidre continued walking until she came to a building set apart from the others. It looked as if it had been a dormitory at one time. From inside she heard a voice being raised.

  “You have read the scriptures. From Revelation, the thirteenth chapter, ‘And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having ten heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy.” Deidre recognized the voice. It was Jeremiah Rude. He continued, his voice rising to almost a shout. “God has shown me the meaning of this, the Apostle John’s vision. The ten heads represent ten sins that God abhors and that war against him. They are lust, homosexuality, drunkenness, whoring, murder, incest, greed, cursing the name of God, rejecting Christ, and physical harm to your neighbor.” Deidre listened to the responses, expecting a string of amens. Instead, there was a stillness broken by a shuffling of feet. Jeremiah went on to expound on each point, railing against those who wallowed in those sins.

  Deidre was amazed at the fervor he managed to maintain right to the end, when he finished with another quote from Revelation. “And so as it says, ‘And to them it was given that they should not kill them, but that they should be tormented for five month
s: and their torment was as the torment of a scorpion, when he striketh a man.’” Jeremiah added, “‘And they shall beg to die, but death will not come.’ Brothers, this is why we must remain pure. This is why we must continue to preach to the people of Toimi, of Brimson, of Two Harbors. Even though they are sinners, they are our brothers. Who among us would have his brother suffer the wrath foretold in Revelation? ‘I want none of this to befall your brothers,’ Thus saith the Lord. Amen.” A long period of silence followed, and Deidre heard chairs being moved. A door opened and a string of men began leaving the building, muttering this and that to each other. At last Reverend Isaiah and Jeremiah emerged, walking side by side. They appeared to be arguing over something.

  “Good afternoon, Reverend, Jeremiah. I was wondering if I could have a minute with The Prophet, in private?” Reverend Isaiah glared at her but said nothing. Jeremiah half bowed and with his hand, indicated he would follow her, but Deidre had no idea where to go. “Do you have a room we could use? Or would the chapel be better?” Jeremiah said there was a bench on the bank of a small river that flowed behind the compound that would be comfortable, and private. He glanced at the reverend, making his point.

  It was a pleasant spot, grassy and shaded by a large maple tree, and looked to Deidre as though it were a place not much used. She and Jeremiah sat on opposite ends of the bench, watching the river slowly eddy its way past. Deidre wasn’t quite sure how to begin.

  “I was standing outside the meeting hall while you were preaching, Jeremiah. It sounds to me that you believe what you say with all your heart. Am I right?” Jeremiah only nodded, hardly looking up from the river. Deidre continued, “You told me you once knew Aaron Schoeneger. Do you think he would have believed you?” She saw The Prophet flinch.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he responded in a barely audible voice. “Aaron Schoeneger’s dead. I watched him die.” Deidre sensed that Jeremiah was having a great deal of difficulty speaking, but she asked another question.