The Canadian Civil War: Volume 3 - West to the Wall

by William Wresch

Chapter 19

  I spend the night in jail

  The policemen were courteous, but firm. I was to come with them. One led me out, and three followed behind me. I wondered if they thought I was particularly dangerous. The municipal police station was two blocks away, just off the main street, and they decided to walk there. Along the way I made some observation about the night being cold. One of the cops agreed, but that was the extent of any conversation we had. It was cold.

  The station was actually the second floor of the municipal building. We climbed the stairs and went into a small room that could have doubled as a conference room, but it was pretty shabby. Any conferences in here would involve felons. I was uncomfortable about all this, but I can’t say I was frightened. Mostly I was too tired. I had been up since three, had risked rifle fire, and then had ridden a snowmobile across far too much frozen land. If they were going to keep me long, I was hoping they would give me a cell where I could get some sleep. But for better or worse, I never got to a cell.

  Once in the room, one of the cops took a chair and motioned for me to do the same. The other three cops closed the door behind me and went off somewhere.

  “A number of crimes have been committed in the last week,” the policeman began “and you admit to having been a witness and a participant. You should know that if you want to have an attorney present for this meeting, that is your right. You are not being charged at the moment, but that is a possibility.” He was late forties and I guessed Sioux. He had the brown skin and black hair. He sat relaxed, not leaning toward me to intimidate me. He gave the appearance of someone who just wanted to have a casual conversation. I decided I would at least start a conversation with him and see where it went.

  “I may ask for an attorney later, but I am willing to answer a few questions now.”

  “Okay. People in the hotel say you witnessed the events of the last week. Does that include the killings?”

  “There were killings in both villages. I was present for those. There were also multiple killings out on the river between the villages. I was not present for those.”

  “Were you involved in the shootings?

  “No. I did not have a rifle.”

  “Could you identify the people who did the killing?”

  “Most of the killers are dead, although a few left and presumably went back to their homes south of Dakota.

  “Could you identify them?”

  “Yes, they held me captive for several days. I had a chance to see all of them, and I am pretty sure I could identify them if I saw them again.”

  “The men who held you were Sioux?”

  “No, they were outsiders. I heard them referred to as ‘angry men’ – non-Sioux.”

  “And what about the Sioux who did the shooting? Could you identify them?”

  “No.”

  “No you couldn’t, or no you wouldn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Killing people is a crime, whether or not you are Sioux. Until this is settled, there is going to be more trouble.”

  “There is going to be more trouble because that is what Tilden Foster is here to create. While we are sitting here, he is planning his next move. My guess is, it will occur here in DeSmet.”

  “That is for us to worry about.”

  “I hope you are very worried, because he is a very dangerous man.”

  “We shall see. Wait here while I discuss your situation with our sergeant.” He got up and left. I was pretty sure I heard the door lock as soon as he closed it. I waited for a while for him to return, but time passed and I got more and more sleepy. Finally I laid my head down on my arms and dropped off.

  If I can make a suggestion, going to sleep with your head in your arms is a really bad idea. By the time the police woke me, my neck was so stiff I could barely turn it. I sat up with my head twisted to one side, and no amount of massaging could loosen it. They woke me to tell me I could go, that I was wanted in the provincial offices, but I had trouble getting out of my chair, and I know I looked pretty stupid walking through the offices with my head tilted and twisted. It was only when I saw a clock on the wall that I understood the problem – it was after 6. I had been asleep for four or five hours! What kind of police department lets people sleep in their offices?

  I stood at the exit of the municipal building, both hands reaching around to the back of my neck where I kneaded and prodded and twisted but made little progress. The best I could do was get my head mostly frontward. Off into the cold dark I went, happy that at least at this hour there were few people to look at me and laugh.

  The provincial office seemed to be expecting me. I pushed my way in the front door and barely got out, “Hi, I’m…” when a uniformed man said “follow me, please.” He led me down a flight of stairs to a large room in the basement filled with electronics. Four men were waiting for me, all wearing fairly rumpled suits. I couldn’t tell if they had been up all night, or if they had dressed in a hurry, but none of them looked their best. There were lots of introductions and gestures to the coffee pot. I can’t remember any of their names, and I doubt I could pick them out of a line-up. They were average guys working in average offices. The only thing special was the coffee – it was very hot and very good.

  I kept working on my stiff neck with one hand while I managed the coffee with the other. I must have looked odd, because one of the men asked, “Were you injured?” I explained falling asleep in the police station, which seemed to make all of them uncomfortable. Eventually we got seated around a table with one of those conference mics in the middle.

  “Mr. Murphy,” one of the men said, “We have been asked to set up a conference call with protective services in Green Bay. There are also several other locations on-line.” At this point one of the men closed the door to the room. Okay, so preliminaries were over and this thing was about to begin. “Is there anything else you need before we begin?”

  “No, let’s talk.” This prompted one of the men to begin dialing and checking to see who was on which line, and all that other giant conference call stuff that goes on. God forbid you should just start talking. One by one sites checked in until I heard a voice I recognized.

  “Elise. Good morning. Are you still in Arkansas?”

  “Yes, at least for the moment we are keeping our schedules. What happened with the police?”

  “We talked for a while, and then I fell asleep. They seemed like decent people.”

  “You fell asleep? In the station?”

  “Yes, it had been a long day.”

  “Shawn, this is Claude Jolliet. I hope you are doing well. Is there anything you need from us?”

  “Thank you Mr. President. I am doing just fine. I have to tell you, the office here in DeSmet makes very good coffee.” That got a good laugh. Then they went back to introducing people and sites. In the end it seemed like thirty or forty people had nothing better to do at 6 am.

  “Shawn,” it was Jolliet again. “The reason we are bothering you this morning is because of a recommendation you made to Dr. Dupry. As you might expect, with so much shooting there, we were preparing to send troops to help the local police. Yet you suggest we not do so. Why is that?”

  “For one thing, all the violence in the two villages is over. The outsiders are either dead or gone. There is some gathering of outsiders here in DeSmet, but so far nothing illegal has happened. The other reason I suggest no national engagement is that I think Foster is hoping for just that outcome. He seems to want to create trouble here, and the more guns he can get involved, the better for him.”

  At this point there was a lengthy discussion amongst the sites as people asked about Foster and were given background on him. I found it interesting to hear how much they knew about him. They had a history on him that went back well before his work in New Orleans. They had him working in rural New York near the border back in his college days, and meeting with some pretty odd characters
in Europe while in his twenties. This was a guy who had not suddenly decided to cause trouble – he had been in it for decades.

  Finally they came back to me.

  “I understand you escorted him into DeSmet. Did you have a chance to talk with him? Did he say what he wants?”

  “I have had several opportunities to speak with him in the last week, but he has not given me any information about his plan. All I can tell you is he feels pretty happy with himself right now. Whatever his plan is, he seems to think it is working.”

  “He certainly has managed to create a great deal of drama at a time when we were hoping to be as drama-free as possible. Would you mind staying near him for a little longer? It would be helpful to know his mental state, and you know him better than anyone else on the scene.”

  “Shawn needs to get back to the university. Classes start in another week or so.” That was Elise trying to get me out of harm’s way. I do love her. But she was so transparent.

  “Excellent point, Dr. DuPry.” It was interesting hearing “Uncle Claude” address her by her formal title. I liked the way he was showing her respect. “I wonder, Shawn, if the university could spare you a little longer. I wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble.”

  “I don’t think there would be any trouble if I stayed gone another week or even two.”

  “Thank you. Now, I don’t think we will need to use up any more of your time.” Which is a nice way of telling me I was dismissed so they could plan their response. I got up to leave, but I could hear Elise on the phone.

  “Shawn, call your mother. They are very worried about you.”

  “Will do. Thanks, Elise. I love you.” And I left the basement. The man out front held the door open for me – a very nice touch. I walked into the dark and the cold back to my hotel. My neck was still twisted, but now my biggest pain was hunger.