“And probable cause to arrest them.”
“We’ll need a judge in Stearns to issue a warrant to search Fletch’s house, which I’ll work on with my detective friend there. I’ll write up the others before I leave tonight, so Judge Adams can sign them in the morning. If either Champ, or Fletch, show up at one of their houses, or at Champ’s business before that, we’ll bring ’em in. No problem. We’ve got charges against them up the wazoo.”
“Champ and Fletch have been MIA for two days. I’m wondering if they’ve fled the country,” I said.
“That’s a distinct possibility, all right. They’ve been bringing people into the U.S from other countries with all sorts of falsified documents. It wouldn’t surprise me if they have a nice little supply of their own to get them out of the U.S., if need be.”
18
The Wednesday morning sky was gray with temperatures hovering around the freezing mark. If the storm clouds opened, we were as likely to get snow, as rain. We had our search teams assembled by the time Judge Adams signed the warrants at 9:00 a.m. They gave us broad-search parameters, for both Champ’s office and home. We could look anywhere a document might be hidden. Smoke had spoken with Gerard Graham, his contact at Immigration and Customs Enforcement. ICE. Graham advised him they’d appreciate any, and all, evidence we collected.
Deputy Levasseur was watching Champ’s office from an older Plymouth, a vehicle confiscated from a drug dealer, and equipped by our guys with a sheriff’s radio and mobile laptop. We had no idea how many files Champ kept at his office, and brought a twelve foot by six foot by four foot, enclosed trailer we figured had the capacity to hold records, from both his office, and his home. Smoke drove a Ford Tahoe and hauled the trailer. Weber, Carlson, Mason, and I were all in tow in our squad cars.
Our small caravan pulled into Wellspring and parked outside of Champ’s office at 9:42. Levasseur got out of his vehicle and requested a bathroom break. He jogged to a nearby gas station, and was back at his post by the time Weber had picked open the office’s back door lock with his special tool.
We all trooped in, and determined who would search each area. Mason and Carlson looked through the two file cabinets, and the desk drawers, in the front office. They found only real estate records and transactions that appeared to be legitimate.
Smoke, Mason, and I searched the back room. There was a single, heavy wooden desk, a row of oak cabinets that ran the length of one wall, and a locked door to what turned out to be a four foot wide closet. The lock was unique, not easy to pick. Rather than break in the door, we knocked the pins from the hinges, and removed it instead. There were twelve portable files stacked in there that held countless incriminating records. Smoke snapped photos.
“I wonder if there is a reason for the two different colors of file boxes. Gray on the left, black on the right.” I pulled down the top case from the left side, set it on the floor, and read the label. “A through G. Alphabetized.” I unsnapped the latch, flipped up the top, pulled out the first file, and opened it up. “Abeler. It’s an adoption transaction from three years ago. A baby from Georgia who came here, but had also been miraculously born to her American parents in Hennepin County.” I replaced the file.
Weber looked over my shoulder. “Huh, it seems to me they were all set up for a fast getaway with these portable files.”
“Which makes our collection job a whole lot easier,” Smoke said.
“Let’s check the H file box to see if the Huebers are in there,” I said.
Weber grabbed the next box, and set it next to the A-G box. I opened it, located the file within seconds, and thumbed through it, but didn’t remove it. I just needed to know it was there. “This is wrong, plain and simple.” I closed the box. “Why didn’t all these people follow the normal legal process?”
“Instead of supporting Champ and Fletch in a lifestyle they didn’t deserve?” Smoke removed one of the black file boxes from the right side.
“Quite the word-of-mouth system they musta had goin’ on,” Weber said.
I looked at the box. “Another A through G file in here. I’m wondering if these are the black market wife files,” I said.
Weber crossed his arms on his chest. “Appropriately stored in a black file box.”
Smoke opened the box, and pulled out a file just far enough to glance inside. “Yup, that’s what they are all right.”
“Out of curiosity, I want to look at the L box,” I said.
Smoke shrugged. “Looking for your friend Mister Kevin Lionel? Have at it.”
It was the third box down, and I couldn’t seem to move through the Ls fast enough. “His wife that left him? Guess where she came from? And guess where he expects to get his next wife?”
Smoke reached over and took the file from my hand. “Now we know what he was covering up. Past, and future, dirty dealings with the likes of those two.”
“I know Maisa’s file is in here somewhere. It’s gotta be.”
Smoke replaced the file then touched my shoulder. “Let’s finish up here. As soon as we can, we’ll look ’til we find her.”
“I don’t know who’s gonna be happier with all this evidence, Homeland Security, or the FBI,” Weber said as he lifted a box.
“Seven eighteen, Three forty.” It was Levasseur calling Smoke.
“Go ahead.”
“Unknown male approaching your back door.”
“Copy.”
Smoke got to the door in a flash, and opened it a few inches, enough for me to see the man’s face. “Looking for someone?” Smoke said.
The man looked familiar, and it took a few seconds before I placed him as the one who had spent a great deal of time with Champ, the night I’d joined Edberg on his surveillance. We’d watched Champ comfort him as he showed him out the office door.
The man glanced down at Smoke’s badge and service weapon. “I was over at Pete’s Grocery Store and saw the sheriff’s cars when I drove by. You’re with Winnebago County?”
“I am.”
“I knew all this would happen, eventually.” He nodded a few times. “I need to turn myself in.”
Smoke frowned. “For what?”
“For getting involved with Waldo Champion, in the first place. And for not letting you know who my wife was.” Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, despite the cold.
“Who your wife was?” Smoke repeated.
“The one you found in Kevin Lionel’s woods. Her name is Maisa.”
Every pulse point in my body hammered against my skin. There we were in the middle of gathering evidence to help put Waldo Champion and Homer Fletcher away forever, and Maisa’s husband showed up to turn himself in. I moved closer, drawn to the sweating man at the back door. Carlson and Mason joined us from the front office, and hung back with Weber to listen in.
“Your name, sir?” Smoke said.
“Ernie Packard.”
“And you know Kevin Lionel?”
“No, never met him, but word gets around.”
Smoke pushed the door open further, and took a step back. “Come on in.”
It was outside of normal procedure to let a citizen in during a search, but it was Smoke’s call. As the man stepped into the office, his eyes darted around the room, and landed on me. I was too stunned to be conveying anything intelligent, but he continued to stare at me.
Smoke turned toward me. “Sergeant Aleckson, why don’t you and Mister Packard head back to the office, so you can get his statement, and so on. We’ll finish up here.”
I glanced at Smoke then back at Packard. “Are you carrying anything in your pockets that could be used as a weapon? Jackknife, gun?”
It was Packard’s turn to look stunned. “No. My wallet and keys, is all.”
“Why don’t you slip off your jacket, and we’ll do a quick pat search,” I said.
He unzipped his heavy corduroy coat then handed it to me. I looked in the pockets while Smoke did the pat search. “Yup, a wallet and keys are it.”
I handed back his coat. “All right, Mister Packard, let’s head out.”
We met several deputies, and office staff, as I escorted Ernie Packard to an interview room. It was another busy work day at the sheriff’s department. “Have a seat, and I’ll be right back.” Packard headed into the room then I closed the door, and leaned against the wall for a minute. I reached into my shirt pocket and pulled out Maisa’s photo. Finally, someone to give us some answers. I went to the squad room, grabbed a legal pad and statement form, and sucked in a cleansing breath as I rejoined Ernie Packard.
I sat down across from him. “Mister Packard, you are here voluntarily, and not under arrest, so I don’t need to read you your rights. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
I laid the pad, paper, and then the photo on the table, so Packard could view it. “Where did you get that picture?” he asked.
“It was under Maisa’s body.” He kept his eyes on the photo. “Tell me about Maisa, how she came here, what you know about her life, why she starved to death?”
“She starved to death? That’s how she died?” He spoke in a whisper, drew his hands up, and leaned his forehead into them. After a minute, he looked up. “I didn’t know it was that bad for her. She was depressed, and I couldn’t get her to eat much of anything. I wanted to take her to the doctor, but she wouldn’t go.”
“Did she speak English? Or communicate with you?”
“She spoke a few words when she came, and learned more. Television helped, and I worked with her, too.”
I leaned back, trying to appear relaxed. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
He nodded. “I’ve known Waldo Champion since he came to town some years ago. He sold my cropland for me, but never mind about that. Long story short, he knew I’d had a couple of bad relationships, and wasn’t getting any younger. So he offered to help me get a wife who would be grateful to me for bringing her to America. That’s how he put it. Last year, I finally said, ‘Sure, go ahead,’ and a couple of months later Maisa arrived.”
“When was that?”
“September fifth, a year ago. Anyway, she seemed happy to be here at first. She showed me that picture a few months later, I think when she figured she could trust me, and said she thought her kids were here, in Winnebago County—”
“Here?”
“That’s what she thought. And her sister, too.”
I shifted and leaned toward him. “Her sister? Why did she think that they were all here?”
“Okay, let me explain. We got Champ on this end. She had her cousin on the other end.” He pointed to opposite spots on the table.
“What about her cousin?” I said.
“He’s the one who made the arrangements with Champ, from the country of Georgia. That’s where Maisa came from.” I wondered if Maisa’s cousin had made the arrangements for other women and children as well. “Anyway, I think she hoped to find her kids someday.”
“What was she planning to do when she found them?”
He shrugged. “I think she just wanted to see if they were okay.”
“Go on.”
“So she asked me to find out from Champ where they were. I thought it was a little risky, but I casually brought it up to him one time. He said he didn’t know anything about her kids. I figured he was lying, but what could I do about it? So Maisa got sadder, and sadder, and kept losing weight. And she was missing a kidney besides, so that made it worse, I think.”
“Did she say why she’d had her kidney removed?”
“No. She wouldn’t talk about herself at all,” he said.
“And her sister? Did she want you to ask Champ about her?”
“No, that was the part I thought was kind of funny. She wanted to know about her kids, but not her sister.”
“There must have been a good reason.” I pondered that a moment. “So she went missing from your house, and you didn’t report it. Why?”
“Champ told me not to. He said Kevin’s Lionel’s wife had disappeared sometime back, and he’d told him the same thing. We were all in this together. And if he went down, we were all going down with him.
“And then I found out Maisa had died, and you were looking to identify her, so I told Champ we had to tell you guys. And he said there was nothing we could do to help her now. Just let her rest in peace.”
He shuddered then continued, “It was wrong, but I was scared. He’s got this Fletch who works with him who’s as shady a character as I’ve ever seen. I’ve never been in trouble before in my life, and here I am sixty-one years old and really screwed up, big time.” He dropped his head back in his hands and cried.
Smoke had told me we weren’t ready to charge Ernie Packard with a specific crime, even though he had paid Champ to bring Maisa to the United States. I was to cut him loose, after I’d taken his statement. After we’d gathered and processed the evidence, and contacted Immigration and Customs Enforcement—ICE—we’d know how they were going to deal with all the people who’d been on the receiving end of the smuggling operation. And how they would proceed. We’d do as much legwork as possible to help expedite their investigation.
Smoke left me a message that he and the other deputies had cleared from Champ’s office, and were on their way to search his home. I drove Ernie back to Wellspring. He told me where he’d parked his Chevy, half a block from Champ’s office. I stopped, got out, and opened the back door to let him out. “Thanks for doing the right thing, Mister Packard. Be sure to let us know if you need to leave the county for any reason. Otherwise, we’ll be in touch.”
He nodded, muttered a quiet, “Thanks,” and slowly walked to his car. I watched him start it up, and drive away, before I pulled out my phone, and dialed Smoke’s number.
He answered on the third ring. “All finished up with Packard?” he said.
“For now, huh? I had an instinctive reaction being near him, knowing he’d lived with Maisa, that he’d touched her.”
“Why did he wait so long to come forward?”
“He was afraid of what Champ and Fletch would do to him. You know, he’s not a bad guy, but he surely did a bang-up job violating laws, and human rights issues, on this one.”
“He surely did.”
“You’re at Champ’s house?”
“For another hour, maybe. And I got a call from my buddy in Stearns. He got that warrant for Fletcher’s place.”
“Edberg still watching his house?”
“Yeah, but his replacement’s due to take over in about a half hour. Bob’s gonna pick up the warrant, and Ortiz will go in with him on the search.”
“Good. They’ll be thorough. I’ll be joining you at Champ’s in about five minutes.”
“Okie doke.”
A few miles east of town, I noticed a late-model Mercedes Benz ahead put on its right turn signal as it neared Champ’s driveway. I slowed down in hopes he wouldn’t notice me following behind him. When he made the turn onto Champ’s long driveway, I sped up and followed. “Six oh eight, Winnebago County.”
“Go ahead,” Communications officer Robin said.
“Plate number five-Adam-four-David-George. And Three forty, that vehicle is almost at your door.”
“Copy,” Smoke said.
Almost the second Robin told me the plate came back to Waldo William Champion, I rounded a curve, bringing his house into view. In addition to spotting all the sheriff’s vehicles, he no doubt saw me in his rearview mirror, to boot. He took a sharp left, stopped, backed up a short distance, stopped again, started forward, and aimed straight for me. Champ. With Fletch in the passenger seat. Challenging me to a game of chicken. When he was about to ram into me, I swung the vehicle right, and he clipped my back bumper, jarring me a bit.
I caught sight of Smoke, Weber, Mason, and Carlson all running out of the house as the Mercedes sped away. As I was about to whip around the other direction to pursue Champ’s vehicle, Smoke ran up to me, waving his arms. He yelled back to Carlson to stay with the evidence the
n opened my passenger door, and jumped onto the seat. Mason and Weber were already in their cars, and down the driveway, with lights flashing, and sirens blasting. I caught up to them seconds later.
“Damn.” Smoke was nearly out of breath.
“Champ and Fletch.”
He picked up the radio. “Three forty, Winnebago County. We’re in pursuit of the vehicle Six oh eight just called in. Registered owner is the driver, and he has one known passenger. We’re turning east onto County Thirty-seven. Seven fourteen is the lead car, followed by Seven ten, followed by Six oh eight, and myself. Take this to channel three, everyone.”
Robin’s voice was tight when she spoke from channel three, “Copy on three. Sending the vehicle and driver info out now.” Pursuits put everyone on edge.
“Driver and his passenger, Homer Fletcher, are wanted for felony, high level crimes, including human trafficking and smuggling, first degree assault, and attempted murder. This is a felony stop.” Felony stops were executed by a minimum of two deputies, due to the dangerous nature.
“Seven fourteen copies.”
“Seven ten copies.”
The vehicle and driver information popped up on the mobile laptop screen.
“We’re at eighty miles an hour, passing Parnell Street. Is anyone in position to put stop sticks on the roadway before we get to County Five? We need to stop him before he reaches a city.” Running over a row of nails punctures the tires and slows the vehicle to an eventual stop.
The three closest deputies gave their positions. Not one was in the immediate area, close enough to get there, and apply the stop sticks in the next few minutes. The trick was to get them down at the right time, and to ensure that other drivers didn’t run over them also.
“Three forty, straightaway ahead. I’m gonna give him a nudge,” Weber said.
“Use caution, Seven fourteen,” Smoke advised.
We had all trained using a pursuit-intervention tactic for ending a chase, but it was rarely used in the field. Most vehicle pursuits were called off if the public was in danger, and/or the suspect’s identity was known. And the others usually ended with the driver stopping, or running off the road, or driving over the stop sticks.
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