A Death in Lionel's Woods

by Christine Husom

  I wondered what she’d seen and heard to make that statement. “Most of the cops I work with, and know, are very nice, and we do everything we can to help people in trouble. Especially little kids.” I knew I was pushing the envelope, but had to do it. “So, how about if Sara and I figure out a good time to invite any of you kids, along with your parents, over to see the squad car? Maybe even this Saturday, if that works.”

  “Yay!” The first little boy jumped up and down again. “What time?”

  I hadn’t meant to lock in a date and time right then and there. “How about three o’clock?” I’d be off duty by then, barring an incident that required me to go into overtime. “Ask your parents to bring you, so I know it’s okay with them, all right?”

  More cheering in the peanut gallery. Not every child knew who Sara was, or where she lived, but the outgoing organizer filled them in. He also said they could meet at his house and walk over together if they wanted to. I heard the school bus coming our way, said my goodbyes, and took off running, wondering what Sara would have to say about the whole thing. “Corky, Corky, Corky,” was what she said, but at least she smiled that time when she did.

  At nine o’clock the sheriff called me into his office for a pow wow with Smoke and Edberg. When Dina, the sheriff’s administrative assistant saw me, she told me to go right in. The three men were in the middle of a discussion. Smoke and Edberg each acknowledged me with a nod.

  The sheriff was talking and glanced my way. “. . . so that’s progress. Well, Sergeant, now we’ve got to figure out how to catch your costumed intruder.”

  I relayed Sara’s suggestion of circulating the photos to the other departments, in case anyone recognized his hands. Smoke slapped his knee. “That is a great idea. And if he wears that pinky ring all the time that is another potential identifier.”

  “What does it look like?” Edberg asked.

  “Plain, thin band. Looks like an older wedding ring. He wears it on his right hand.”

  “Maybe passed down from a grandmother, or mother, since he wears it as a pinky ring,” the sheriff added.

  “That’s a thought,” Smoke said.

  I got mixed reactions when I shared my morning’s adventure with the school children, and Emma Hueber, in particular. I left out the part my wishful thinking had stirred in me: the unlikely hope she was Maisa’s daughter.

  Edberg listened with his brows drawn together, the sheriff tapped his pen, and Smoke crossed his arms on his chest, but maintained a neutral expression. “You come up with the damndest things sometimes, Corinne. But it never hurts to reach out to the youngsters.”

  “Better yet, you may have taken a step toward gaining little Emma’s trust,” Twardy said. “It’s tricky because you can’t question her without her parents present, unless we arrest and charge them, of course.”

  “When I looked at little Emma’s face, there was something about her. I’d like to track down her birth record. Her principal said she was born in Minnesota.”

  “The school may have a copy on file,” Edberg said.

  Smoke tipped his head to the left then the right. “I don’t know if that’s a state requirement, or not. I’ve heard private schools are stricter on that than public schools. The rules have changed significantly over the years.”

  “That’s for darn sure.” Edberg zeroed in on the sheriff. “Back in the old days when we went to school, Denny, I think all we needed to do was show up with a paper signed by our parents verifying who we were.”

  “That’s about it.”

  Not one of the four of us had children.

  “And how much do we want to involve the schools, risking possible violations of data privacy,” I said.

  “Right. Cops get in trouble all the time over those deals. Ties up our hands when we’re trying to do our job, and you got lawyers blowing things out of proportion about it half the time, if you ask me,” the sheriff said.

  “Dealing with the schools on these matters is not something we’re involved with much at all,” Smoke said.

  “Yeah, it’s usually child protection folks on such cases,” Edberg said.

  “Let me think.” Twardy scratched his chin. “We’re authorized to get a non-certified, public copy of birth certificates, when need be, to perform our duties. What we’d need is, let me see if I remember everything. The name on record, place of birth, mother’s and father’s names.”

  I mentally repeated the list. “Hmm. So we may need to go back to the school. Assuming Emma was adopted, we don’t know the names of her birth parents, or which of the eighty-seven counties she was born in. And if the cleaning boy really is her brother, why has he not attended school in the four years they’ve lived in Oak Lea?”

  “And Emma is listed as an only child besides,” Smoke said.

  “That too.”

  The sheriff cleared his throat. “You’ve got your plans for Saturday afternoon with Sara’s neighbors, and Saturday night for your stakeout. Let’s see what turns up before we decide on the next step.”

  “Sounds good. And I know I’ve been jumping things a bit with Emma,” I said.

  Smoke narrowed his eyes on me. “Corky, what I was telling Denny and Bob here is that the Grand Prix that turned around in your driveway is registered to a Regina Ann Price, age twenty-seven. She lives in Oak Lea, in an apartment downtown. So she’s not one of your neighbors.”

  “And not the gorilla man,” I said.

  “Nope. A person has no idea who all drives by, or innocently enters your property. Unless you have a camera set up recording it all. Could be the meter man, people looking for a particular address, and so on,” Smoke added.

  “Regina Price. Isn’t that the name of the clerk at the law library, here in the courthouse?” Twardy said.

  Edberg shrugged, and Smoke shook his head. “Could be, I guess.”

  I thought a moment. “Gosh, I haven’t been in the law library for a long time. I remember Judge Adams—when we were chatting one day—saying that the library board had hired someone a while back, after Betsy left. But that’s all I can recall from the conversation. I’ve told people who have legal questions that it’s a good resource, if they can’t afford an attorney. I’ll have to make a point of stopping by to introduce myself sometime.”

  Twardy moved to the next subject. “Now for an update on Waldo Champion, and his suspected illegal operation. I understand you have a lead on his cohort in crime.”

  Edberg summarized what we’d discovered so far, and said he’d be keeping watch until we had probable cause for a search warrant. “Meantime, I’m keeping a list of everyone who pays Champion a visit, via the license plate numbers.”

  “Good, good. And I understand there have been no more calls about our Jane Doe,” Twardy said.

  “Unfortunately, no,” I said.

  The sheriff slapped his desk with both hands. “Well then, carry on.”

  I was in the squad room working on reports when Vince Weber came in, and threw his memo pad next to a computer. “Mornin’, Sergeant.”

  “Vince. You’ve had a few calls today already.”

  “Started off with the ever popular gas drive-off. Least I nabbed him. Yada, yada. Nothing too big. So I hear your camera set-up caught a large animal who actually stole the thing.” He sat down, leaving one chair between us.

  “News travels fast.”

  “Like lightning.”

  My cell phone rang. It was from the hardware store in Kadoka. “Sergeant Aleckson.”

  “Sergeant, it’s Martin Geiger.”

  “Martin, hello. What’s up?”

  “It’s best not to talk on the phone. Might it work for you to stop by the store again, at your convenience?”

  “Sure, I can do that. Is there a good time?”

  “Business has been very slow so far today. The owner had another engagement and I am the only one in the store. I believe it is fine for you to stop by anytime.”

  “Sounds good. I should be there in an hour, or less.”
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  We hung up and Weber turned his swivel chair toward me. “The Geiger counter has some more info for ya, huh?”

  I smiled at his reference. “It seems so.”

  “I’m kinda curious about that guy, if you want me to traipse along. Kadoka’s in my area of service today.”

  “Sure, it’s always good to have that second set of eyes and ears.”

  Weber nodded then looked at his watch. “You said an hour. So I got half an hour to get one or two reports out of the way.”

  Vince Weber and I drove separately to Kadoka. We parked in back of the store and walked around to the front entrance. Martin seemed surprised to see Weber. Because he’d always seen me with another deputy—first Weber, then Smoke, then Weber again—he may have thought we always worked with partners in Winnebago County.

  “Greetings, officers. Please come in.”

  “Mister Geiger, I’m Deputy Weber.”

  “Hello, Deputy.”

  “The last time I saw you, you were doing upkeep at the church. You keep yourself busy. What with the church property, and running this store,” Weber said.

  Martin smiled a little and bowed his head slightly, as if to say, “I’m glad to do it.” Instead, he said, “Would you like to go sit in the back room? As you heard, we have a doorbell, and it rings back there, also.”

  Weber looked around. “Out here is fine by me. Sarge?”

  I nodded. “You have an update, Martin?”

  Martin stood up straighter, sending the message that what he was about to tell us was important. “One of our church members confided something to me. Something he considered was a private matter.” He left the thought hanging when he stopped talking.

  Weber shifted. “You say that like you don’t agree with him.”

  Martin bowed then lifted his head. “I usually do not interfere in the business of others. That is why many confide in me. They know that. But in the case of this man, what he told me is important enough to involve the Winnebago County Sheriff’s Department.”

  Weber and I kept our mouths shut. But my heart picked up its pace while we waited for Martin to continue. He opened his eyes wider and lowered his voice. “My church brother arranged for a wife to be brought here from a country named Georgia. From the man called Champ.”

  Weber slapped his right hand on his left forearm. “You don’t say.”

  Georgia. I stepped directly in front of him, and barely restrained myself from reaching over and grasping his arms. “Martin, what led him to tell you that?”

  “He was feeling guilty because he brought in a woman from outside of our faith community. And our nationality. He believes he has committed a grievous sin. One that is much too grievous to seek counseling from Reverend Joos.”

  “Not to mention the fact that it is illegal,” Weber said.

  I turned to Weber, pursed my lips, and frowned as a shut-up plea. “We don’t know for a fact yet that Champ’s operation is illegal.”

  Weber caught on and nodded.

  “What’s your church brother’s name?”

  “I will tell you that on the condition that you do not contact him.”

  Weber slapped his forearm again. “We have to talk to the guy, get his take—”

  I interrupted Weber. “What do you mean by that condition, Martin?”

  “You will have his name as proof, so you can use it in your investigation. That is all for now. I will someday tell him that I broke his confidence for the good of society. But not yet.”

  “This woman he bought, what does he have to say about her?” Weber persisted.

  A muscle in Martin’s cheek flinched. “He does not think of it like a financial transaction. That he bought her, as you phrased it. He says his wife—although they are not legally married and have not consummated their relationship as yet—that she is happy to be in America with a kind man. She feels safer. She does not speak much English, but he is helping her learn.”

  I needed Martin to stay on the right side of the issue with us. “There is another way we can do this. If he is willing to talk to us, and gives us testimony that helps move this investigation forward, we would look at giving him immunity.”

  Martin folded his hands, dropped his head, and stared at them. “That is something I must ponder and pray about. How to bring that idea up to him.”

  I put my hand on the top of his. He looked into my eyes when I said, “And the woman from Georgia, your church brother’s wife? She may be the biggest break we’ve had in learning who our unidentified woman from the woods is. Our Jane Doe, whose name we believe was Maisa. She deserves a decent burial with her name on the marker.”

  Tears sprouted from Martin’s eyes, and they formed in my own in response. I lifted my hand then stepped back to give him thinking space. “I will contact my brother, and we will talk about it,” he said.

  I pulled my memo pad and pen from my breast pocket. “You have my word I will not reveal his name, or speak to him, until after you have. What is your church brother’s name?”

  “Juergen Dettweiller.” He spelled both names for me.

  “Do you know his wife’s name?”

  “Eliso.”

  “Like Elisa with an O?”

  “I am not sure of the spelling.”

  “Okay. Martin, so you’ll have a heart to heart, man to man, with Juergen as soon as possible?” I said.

  “I will.”

  “I’d like to be able to keep in closer touch with you, be able to call you, but it makes it tough when you don’t have a home, or cell, phone,” I said.

  “I have keys to both the church and this store. I can phone you, perhaps twice a day?”

  “Sergeant, you can always send the area deputy over with the message,” Weber suggested.

  “True.” I met Martin’s eyes. “Or I can get you a cell phone to use, so you don’t have to run over here, or to the church just to make a call.”

  “I do not mind. I am often working, and certainly close to both.”

  If I’d had any way of knowing someone was keeping tabs on Martin and his activities at that time, I’d have insisted on getting him a cell phone. “Okay. Well, let me jot down your address again.”

  He gave it to me and we shook hands. “You did the right thing calling us, Martin. Eliso may have come here by choice, but others don’t, and we need to do what we can to stop the exploitation of fellow human beings.”

  “That is true.”

  “After you have your talk with Juergen and Eliso, is there any reason to think they may try to disappear?”

  “Juergen is an honorable man. I do not believe he will do anything to make matters worse.”

  “It might be good to remind him of that, in case he gets any ideas about fleeing. If you get any hint that he’s planning a last minute vacation, you’ll let us know right away?” Weber said.

  “I will do that.”

  “We’ll be in touch,” I said.

  Weber nodded at Martin then the two of us headed for the door. The cool air was refreshing when we stepped outside. It was like leaving a sauna; you didn’t know how hot you really were until you’d left. We walked back to the parking lot.

  “You think they have a choice, really? These women who are brought here?” Weber said.

  “Some do, sure. Like in the sheriff’s friend’s case, when they go through the proper, legal channels. They might meet someone when they’re traveling. Some people in other countries seek a spouse here because they’re looking for a better life in the United States. You know, freedom, a family, better opportunities. The women in Champ’s operation? Something tells me no, but we’ll find out.”

  “I suppose there could be a few. But in any case, Champ’s the one making the big bucks. Besides not bein’ legal, it ain’t right. It’s sick, even.”

  “Greed, power, greed. How can we begin to figure out why people fall into the things they do? We can’t understand when we’re motivated by opposite principles.”

  “Yeah well, that’s why
they swear us in as the good guys. And then we get to wear these fancy uniforms.”

  I smiled then shook my head. “Are you worried Juergen and Eliso will bolt?”

  “Nah. Look at it this way. He sent for a wife to live with him here. His ties are here.”

  “You’re right. And since Eliso is so new here, where would she possibly go?”

  “Winnebago County, Seven fourteen?” Communications Officer Robin called over the radio.

  Weber depressed his radio button. “Seven fourteen, go ahead.”

  “A party at the Sunshine Cafe is requesting assistance regarding a legal matter. Sending you the details now.”

  “Copy.” Weber let go of the radio talk button. “Hope they’re not mixed up, thinkin’ I’m a qualified attorney. I’d like a dime for every time I’ve said, ‘I can’t give you legal advice.’”

  I nodded at Weber as he hopped in his squad car, and took off. I climbed in my own car, started the engine, watched a few cars drive by then pulled the photo of Maisa, and the two children, from my breast pocket. We have someone from your country that can help us shut down Champ’s skuzzy operation, and send his sorry soul straight to prison. We’ve just got to figure out a way to get her trust and cooperation.

  I thought back to what I’d read about the tough economic conditions in the former Soviet Union countries. Whether they had a better life once they got here or not, smuggling was not the way to get women into the United States.

  I got an unexpected surprise when I visited Northwoods Elementary, and met with Principal Shelby Delavan later that day.

  “And how can I help you today, Sergeant?” Mrs. Delavan stood inside her office. I got the impression my answer would determine whether we would remain standing, or would need to sit. She was in work mode, no doubt finishing all the necessary tasks before closing up shop for the weekend.

  “You’re busy, so I’ll get straight to the point. Do you have copies of your students’ birth certificates?”

  She hesitated then said, “We do take a copy, yes. The parents bring them in when they register their children, mainly as proof they are five years old by September first when they start kindergarten. The state requirement, of course.”