Figure Eight

by Jeff Nania

  “Mind your own business, Cabrelli,” Lawler snarled. “I’ve got more important stuff to do than waste my time with trash like you.” He turned to walk away, but as he passed me he intentionally knocked the big envelope I was carrying out of my hand to the ground, and about half of the money fell out. His interest in me was immediately renewed.

  “What’s this, Cabrelli? Where did all the cash come from? Nobody carries that kind of cash around … unless they are doing something illegal. Like maybe selling drugs. You a drug dealer? You selling drugs to these kids here?” He was on a roll. “That money looks like evidence of a crime to me. I am going to have to take it with me until we get some answers.”

  I’d had enough.

  “Lawler, you have not one ounce of probable cause to touch that money. It is mine, it is legal, and I am going to put it back in the envelope. Just leave it be. Don’t make this worse than it already is. Walk away Lawler. Walk away.”

  It wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t mind threatening a kid, but taking on me would be a different story. He just couldn’t back down; dumb, tough guys never can. He took a step toward me. The battle was imminent, when the voice of the Lord called out in the form of the Musky Falls Chief of Police Donald Timmy: “Stand down, Officer Lawler. Back up.”

  Lawler backed up a step and the chief walked between us. “What the hell is going on here? Where did all this money come from?”

  “Drug money, Chief. I caught this guy with it. I think he might be a drug dealer, and he was hanging around these kids,” Lawler said.

  The chief looked me up and down. “You’re John Cabrelli, right?”

  “I am,” I responded.

  “Is that your money on the ground?’’

  “It is.”

  “Seems like a lot of cash to be walking around with. Any special reason you might have that much cash?”

  “Chief, there is nothing illegal going on here with the money. Give me one minute to talk to you alone and I’ll explain.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me. That work for you, Lawler?”

  “Whatever you say, Chief, but I wouldn’t believe a word he says.”

  I explained the whole story to the chief. He seemed satisfied but asked me to stick around.

  I picked up the money and put it back in the envelope.

  The chief had words with Lawler, and then he swaggered off down the street to attend to his more important duties.

  The crowd that had gathered dispersed at the chief’s urging, and in a couple of minutes, all was pretty much back to normal. Nathan walked up to me sheepishly (with Julie’s urging) and said he was sorry that I caught the punch he’d meant for Lawler.

  I told him, “Nathan, I’m not sorry I caught it. Hitting a cop, even a jerk like him, is a felony. It would ruin your life. Besides, it didn’t hurt that much.” My face had already begun to swell.

  “Mr. Cabrelli, my squad is right across the street. How about I give you a ride to … where you’re going.”

  “Thanks, Chief. I would appreciate it.”

  I said goodbye to Julie and the kids, and we took off.

  During the short drive to Mystery Bay Graphics, the chief didn’t say much. I walked in and settled the Northern Lakes account. The owner smiled, thanked me, and told me how much he loved cash.

  The chief waited outside. I got back in the car, and he locked eyes with me. He was probably close to retirement, and had the look often worn by career cops. A big man, still looking pretty fit.

  “John, I am going to tell you something. I don’t know what good it will do either one of us, but what the hell. Your uncle Nick was a good man and a good friend of mine. His death has affected us all. In some cases like this people want to find a reason, punish someone for their loss. They see things that aren’t there. When he got run down, I was all over that case, but because it happened in the county, it is the jurisdiction of the sheriff’s department. They were cooperative and did a fair investigation. After you put everything together, it looks like just a hit and run, no premeditation. There are a few loose threads, but until the driver is caught, it’ll be tough to tie those up.”

  “Who did it, Chief?”

  “I really don’t know. All I do know is that rumors about his death have been flying around this town for months. People claim it had to do with his property and his unwillingness to sell to the mine. Others say that he stole some other inventor’s idea and made a fortune off it. I’ve looked into all of them and none hold any water. If there was something there, I would have found a lead. I know that much. The other thing I know is there are a whole bunch of people I don’t trust too much that have been very interested in your arrival and intentions. This is a small town, and a good chief keeps his ear to the ground at all times. There is something going on, something big, and who knows, maybe Nick was involved in some way, and it got him killed. If that’s the case, it might do the same for you if you aren’t careful.”

  “Is your boy Lawler involved?”

  “Hard to say. He’s pretty much an asshole all the time. Never goes far enough to get canned, but he’s always right on the edge. He does seem to have taken a special shine to you. If he’s a problem, I’ll straighten him out, make sure he backs off. Want me to talk to him?”

  I thought for a second. If he was involved in my uncle’s death, I wanted him free to make whatever moves he was going to make.

  I really needed to know what his relationship was with Anderson, and how I figured in.

  “No thanks, Chief. I’m not worried about him.”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “Chief, can I ask you about someone else?”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  “What is the deal with Ron Carver?’’

  The chief let out a short, gruff laugh. “So Ron found you, did he? Let me tell you about Ron. He is a piece of work. He was Nick’s best friend and is a close friend of mine. When you get to know him, you’re never going to forget him. He’s a hell of a good man. When you talk to him, you’ll find out that he is convinced that Nick was murdered. But like I said, everybody has their own ideas, whether there is any evidence to back them up or not.”

  I got out and the chief started to drive off, but before he pulled all the way out, he put his window down and said, “John, by the way, I have a copy of the report you’re looking for waiting for you on my desk. Figured you might want to see it. Stop by anytime to get it.”

  Uncle Nick had been murdered, maybe by accident, maybe intentionally, his life taken from him by an unknown person or persons. And finding out who did it was not a conscious decision on my part as much as it was a natural part of the chain of events.

  14

  Cabrelli

  It is a rare criminal investigation that benefits from the passing of time. Minutes can make the difference between success and failure. As hours pass, you watch the case come together or fall apart. The role of a good investigator is to know when to switch course, to decide which leads to follow now and which ones can wait. The wrong call and the case can slip away: critical evidence disappears, witnesses become harder and harder to find. Most often, within a couple of days the die is cast, and you have what you have.

  To investigate something that happened months ago is daunting, but not impossible. The first thing you have to do is find out everything that the first investigators found: read all the reports, look at the evidence, check to see if there were any stories in the papers. Then make a list of your principals: the victim, any witnesses, the investigators, the dispatchers, close associates, friends, and anybody else you think might have a connection to the case or even a small bit of information. In a dated and unsolved crime, you are always looking for the rock someone didn’t turn over. Sometimes it is a piece of information that someone had and never thought important, or maybe it’s just two seemingly unimportant pieces put together. Once you have all you can get, it is time to try and move forward. This will require you to develop a list of questions that you think
you need to have answered. There is only one way to do this—talk to the witnesses and investigators.

  Uncle Nick’s hit and run had been identified as just that, a hit and run, an accidental act in which the driver had fled the scene. Usually this happened because the driver was drunk or because there was some other mitigating factor. Regardless, a hit and run is a homicide. The difference is huge. A hit and run is most often an unintentional, negligent act, whereas a murder is an intentional act, requiring premeditation and planning driven by motive.

  Reexamining someone else’s investigation that was technically still open because the perpetrator remained at large is a road paved with potential problems. The word of the day in such a case is tact. When you start looking closely at the work of others, they feel like they are being second-guessed, and most often they are. That tends to make them unhappy and less than cooperative. You can expect your reception to run the gamut from helpful to downright hostile. Unless you meet that good cop, the one who believes in what he or she is doing, the one who is never afraid to share information to help someone looking for the truth, the one for whom getting the bad guy is priority one, then your reception will be different. For that cop, it doesn’t matter to them who gets it done, as long as it gets done.

  I went to the chief’s office and, as promised, there was an 11x17 manila envelope waiting there for me with my name on it. The clerk looked at my ID and then handed it over. It was thin. I needed to be in the right frame of mind before I read it, so I decided to take it back to the hotel. On the way, I stopped at The Outfitter clothing store and bought a couple of shirts, cargo shorts, and other items of clothing more suitable for the weather and my current activities than what I currently had, actually doubling my current inventory of casual attire.

  At the hotel I could barely keep from opening the envelope, but I knew better. Something this important needed all my focus, all my attention. Waiting a little longer would not hurt anything. I decided to lie down for a while before going back downtown for the night’s festivities.

  I was tired but couldn’t sleep. There was too much going on inside my head: Uncle Nick murdered, a rogue cop pushing hard to get me to jump, the inevitability of what would happen if he kept it up, the property, and a million other things. I gave it a good twenty minutes, got up, took a shower, put on my new clean clothes, and headed back to town. As the day progressed, the crowds had thinned a little. In the middle of Main Street at a cross street intersection, steel barricades were being set up. The street was open to all, but they were fencing in the area where they served the beer, and you needed an ID bracelet to get in.

  The band was unloading instruments and sound equipment, moving items here or there around the stage, testing amps and mics for sound. A bass player wearing plaid shorts, an orange bowling shirt, and heavy black framed glasses got his stuff ready to go and treated the pre-concert crowd to a wild guitar solo that charged everyone up. The drummer joined in and people started moving toward the concert area. I saw a sign for the world’s best steak sandwiches and headed over. I left the vendor’s window with a huge steak sandwich, an order of onion rings, and a soft drink. I found a spot at the nearby picnic tables and started in. I’d had no idea how hungry I was, but the pile of food was gone before I knew it. It may not have been the world’s best steak sandwich, but it was damn good.

  Full and content, I sat and watched the crowd and volunteers as they finished the final setup for the night’s show. People were moving in toward the stage as the crowd grew, ages ranging from babies in carriers to elderly with walkers. Everyone was smiling with laughter and good cheer being the order of the evening.

  The stage and crowd came alive as the band let out with a great rendition of Elvis’s “Wheels on My Heels,” followed by an Elton John oldie. After the song, the band leader leaped to the front and yelled, “Hello Musky Falls! Hello Musky Festers! We are the Gonzos! We hope you’re ready, because we are bringing it on!”

  The crowd cheered, totally into it. The next song, Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline,” had everybody singing the refrain—including me if you want the truth. It was too much to resist, and I found my way out into the crowd, getting quickly caught up in the mood and the music.

  The band was great, made up of family members from Northern Wisconsin who played the festival and fair circuit in the summer and on weekends. They appeared to be having as much fun as everyone else. As people got livened up, dancing broke out in small pockets in front of the stage. Little kids were going at a rate that adults find difficult to comprehend. Dads and moms were dancing with kids, a couple in their later years were dancing cheek to cheek, teens and young adults were dancing but making sure to maintain their cool. Next to me were four girls kind of line dancing in place. They sang along with every song and knew all the words.

  As I was watching the band, I felt a tug on my arm. I turned around and saw it was Julie.

  “Hey, John, buy you a beer?’

  “Sure,” I said. “Where is your entourage?”

  “They finished up for the day about an hour ago. Some of them will show up here, but if they do, it’s on their own or with parents. Trying to supervise kids next to a beer tent at a street dance falls outside of my teaching duties.”

  We walked over to the beer concession area, and with a nod, the gatekeeper let us pass. Julie ordered two tap Leinies, and we headed off to the picnic tables. Our spot was close enough that we could still enjoy the band, but far enough away that we could actually carry on a conversation without shouting.

  “Thanks for the beer, teacher. It was very nice of you.”

  “I’m the one that needs to be thanking you, John. I can’t imagine how bad things would have gone had you not stepped in between Nathan and Lawler. How’s your face? It looks a little puffy but not too bad.”

  “Nothing to worry about with me. I’ve been hit a lot harder than that and for not near as good a reason. Besides, my face can always use a little improvement.”

  She laughed, and it almost sounded like singing.

  “I am sorry we got off on the wrong foot.”

  “You mean like sticking a shotgun in my face the first time we met?”

  “Well that would be one thing, but in my own defense, a girl has got to protect herself, and I had no idea who you were and why you were in my house. What I am really talking about is my attitude after I found out who you were. There was no excuse for it. Your aunt and uncle had nothing but praise for you. I knew they were both good judges of character and should have trusted in that judgment. I was very close to them, and I miss them every day. For some reason I thought you were going to be some slickster showing up to take things over, change things for the worse, destroy what was left. Then I saw that car and those shoes and, well, what would you expect?”

  “I’m just curious. Your kids wore every manner of clothing today. Do you judge them on how they dress?”

  “No, of course not. In your case, I was just looking for reasons not to like you. The shoes and sports car were just convenient. The truth is, I thought the shoes were actually very stylish. Although I did enjoy it immensely when you stepped in that puddle on your way to your car.”

  “You saw that, huh. It was like you wished it upon me and then it happened.”

  “Anyway, your new hikers look good and are way better suited to hanging around up here. I just want to make sure you understand how much I appreciate what you did for Nathan. If he had hit Lawler, that would have been it for him, and Lawler would have made sure of it. He is such a jerk. I don’t know why they don’t fire him. Most people around here do not like him, and he seems to thrive on it.”

  “Not like it’s my business, except that it did ultimately result in me getting clobbered. Why was he bothering you? What was the deal?”

  “There’s not much to tell. He sees himself as every girl’s ‘dream come true man’ and can’t understand why I would not be interested in dating him. He is further perplexed by the fact that I actually f
ind him disgusting, and he interprets that as me playing hard to get. I avoid him as much as I can, but whenever he gets the chance, he shows up, and getting rid of him is, as I am sure you observed, difficult.”

  “Julie, do you think he’s a dangerous guy? I mean really dangerous?”

  “I don’t know exactly what that means. He carries a gun and has a very aggressive attitude; he seems pretty dangerous to me.”

  “Some people want to appear dangerous. The more they try to look that way usually the less dangerous they are, but not always. Some want to appear dangerous, and they truly are. They spend their life pushing others into confrontation, just waiting for the chance to land on somebody with both feet.”

  “Well, I can tell you that he has had a couple of run-ins with people around here that have been really scary. Lawler and some other guys like him hang around at the gym over on Third Street. They like to lift weights in the front window to impress passersby, I guess. Anyway, he was working out one day with a couple of his buddies when a group of college kids from Eau Claire, after a few at the Moccasin Bar, stopped at the window to look in. One of the kids was a big guy on the college football team, and he started pointing at Lawler and then began jumping around and acting like a monkey. Lawler and his crew walked out of the gym and onto the sidewalk to confront the kids. The story going around was that Lawler pushed hard to get the kid to take a swing at him. When finally he swung, he missed Lawler by a mile, but it was enough to open the door. Lawler hit and kicked him until he was lying on his side on the ground trying to cover his face.”

  “Jeez, how did the kid end up?”

  “He spent five days in the hospital here until he was transferred down to Eau Claire. I’m not sure about all that was wrong with him, but I heard he had to have facial reconstructive surgery, and he had a serious concussion. The kid’s parents raised holy hell and demanded that Lawler be arrested. That didn’t happen. Lawler and his guys swore that this big football player initiated everything and that the only reason Lawler even went out to talk to him was to tell them to have a good time but not cause any trouble during their visit to Musky Falls. Besides that, even the other college students said that the football player took the first swing. It must have been bad though, because one of Lawler’s friends, Joe Larken, a pretty tough guy himself, threw up at the side of the building after it was over. You never see them together anymore.”