Spider Lake

by Jeff Nania

  “You pretty sure about the ring?” I asked.

  “Johnny boy, I said I wasn’t sure because of the quality of the picture.”

  “Well, Ron, Lance Brolan is one of our people of interest, so it looks like you’re right. He got himself killed up in the Superior shipyards.”

  “Too bad. Cash paying customers are pretty hard to come by these days,” replied Ron. “What’s next, boys? I have got a business to run, and I don’t see any paying customers in this room. Unless, of course, Johnny wants to pick something up for his new sweetie, Shelley.”

  “She is not my new anything, Ron. We are … forget it.”

  “Next thing is this camera,” the chief continued. “I know you and the old chief and Nick worked out a pretty sophisticated surveillance system for local businesses to combat retail theft. This camera might have been used to take some photos that we need to see. Before we do this, Ron, I want you to know that you have no obligation to help us. We don’t know what we might find. It could be nothing or it could be something. We don’t know, but we have to check,”

  Ron looked the camera over carefully before saying anything. “I know where this camera came from. It was the one that son of a bitch Chief Timmy had. He showed it to me. If I remember right, the thing holds over 1,000 high-resolution pictures. Works in almost total darkness. If it’s not the same one he had, it is an exact copy.”

  “Ron, it’s the same camera that Timmy had. We’re pretty sure anyway. Can you show us how to download the images?” asked the chief.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t. I can find my way around the security system at the store pretty well, but this thing is above my level. I remember Timmy telling me that the images were encrypted somehow and could only be downloaded after the code was put in. I wouldn’t know where to begin. Why don’t you check with those two Feds that have been hanging around town? I’m sure they got guys who could crack this in about one second.”

  The room was quiet and everyone stared someplace else. Ron had been around and was no dummy. The light went on for him immediately. “Shit. You boys are running an end-around on the Feds, aren’t you?”

  After a long moment the chief spoke up. “I’m tired of all this secrecy. It’s making me jump at my own shadow. I’ve known you long enough to know I can trust you. We need all the help we can get.” He looked at the sheriff and me. “So we need help, and we’ve got to get that wherever it makes sense.” We both nodded in agreement. “As far as keeping the Feds out of this, yeah we are. You see, Ron, we got real problems in this community, and we’re not sure who we can trust. We decided it was our dirty laundry to wash. People around here have been hurt enough, and more is going to happen. We are going to take care of our own house, our people. We already know that the Feds withheld information about who might have killed Nick, and I’m pretty sure there is much more. If you decide to help us, you become part of a small group with big responsibilities. If I were you, I would jump on my motorcycle and forget we ever had this meeting. The potential for this to end badly is high, but we are going to see it to the end.”

  Ron laughed again, “Well, let me make you a deal. You know my nephew, Robbie?”

  “I know him,” both the sheriff and chief said at the same time.

  “Robbie is a true blue dyed in the wool genius when it comes to computers. He can barely change his socks, but computers are his world. He went to tech school but was bored and quit. The teacher even came looking for him and tried to get him back. Nothing doin’. He works for the local computer repair store out of his basement. I think he could get this camera figured out in no time.”

  “We all know about Robbie. But it’s complicated by the fact that he has two different charges pending for pot possession right now and a skateboarding ticket. All misdemeanors, but he’s still got to show up in court,” the chief stated.

  “Your call, guys. I can find him right now and bring him over, but it’s up to you,” Ron said.

  “Can he keep his mouth shut?” I asked.

  “Hell, he doesn’t even like human contact. I don’t think he talks to anyone. But to make sure, I’d threaten him.”

  “What do you mean?” the chief asked.

  “Tell him that if he speaks one word you are going to recommend prison time for the pot charges. Hard time behind bars with a bad guy for a roommate.”

  “Prison time for pot?” the sheriff asked.

  “Get with it boys and make up some shit to scare the pants off him. Then if he helps and behaves himself, tell him at the end of all this you will drop the charges, and he’ll be free as a bird,” Ron said.

  “Call him,” the chief directed.

  Ron hung up the phone after a few words. “He’s going to meet me out front. I’ll explain the program to him. He is actually a nice kid, but he is wired a little bit different.”

  Thirty minutes later Ron came back inside with his nephew trailing.

  Robbie was a tall, skinny mishmash of colorful clothing, tattoos, and piercings. Each ear lobe contained round discs with nine millimeter sized holes through them. He had a nose ring, and a spike shot out of his eyebrow. His pants hung so low on his frame that it looked like if he inhaled, they might fall off completely.

  The chief and sheriff both greeted Robbie, and he gave them a subdued hello.

  Ron introduced him. “Robbie, this is John Cabrelli.”

  Robbie’s eye came wide open. “You mean, like, John Cabrelli?” he asked.

  “Yeah, John Cabrelli, Robbie.”

  “You mean, like the same John Cabrelli that took a bullet in the guts to save the kids from Northern Lakes? You mean like that John Cabrelli?”

  “Yeah, Robbie, that would be me.”

  “Dude, I can’t believe I’m meeting you! Like, you’re a real hero. You’re kinda like a legend with me and the other kids around here. Man! I can’t believe I’m here.”

  “Thanks, Robbie, but I’m no hero. I’ve met heroes before, and I don’t qualify.”

  “Dude, you are so a hero. Man, it took real balls to do what you did.”

  “Well thanks, Robbie. How about we get down to business?” I said.

  Robbie responded, “I would help you and keep my mouth shut even if it wasn’t going to help me out with my little problem. Like, who would really think that two weed charges and a skateboarding ticket would break some three strikes rule and they could cart you off to prison? Whoa, man! That is not where I want to end up, not at all. Where is this camera?”

  The chief handed it to him. Robbie pulled a laptop from his bag and plugged some wires from it to the little black box. He set everything up and then asked, “Do you have the instructions?”

  Four able-bodied men of reasonably sound mind and average intelligence stared at each other. Instruction book? We had not thought of looking for instructions. Len lifted the case of electronic gear onto the table. Robbie popped it open and pulled the foam padding from the top of the case. Behind the padding was a clear plastic 8½ x 11 folder with the instructions.

  At that point, we lost Robbie. He had gone through a keyhole to another world, and he was oblivious to our presence. Eventually, the four men who may be a part of sending him off to prison standing over his shoulder was too much.

  “Like, with all due respect and everything, and I don’t want to piss you guys off, but is there any chance you could leave me alone to work this out? You guys staring over my shoulder is making me nervous enough to pee my pants. I need to concentrate. I mean, you can put me in a room with a one-way mirror if you want to keep watching me. I don’t think that would freak me out as much. This is a complicated thing I’m trying to do, and well, I don’t want to screw it up.”

  “You stay here, Robbie. We’ll go someplace else. Tell the receptionist outside the door when you need us,” the chief replied.

  “That would really be cool of you dudes. I promise I won’t bother any of your secret police stuff. I don’t need any more trouble than I already have.”

  We l
eft Robbie to his cyber world, and at the chief’s suggestion went out a back door into the parking and equipment storage area. There was a picnic table sitting in the sunshine. Ron and I sat down, but the chief and sheriff were too wound up to sit. Truth is, I think Carver and I shared the same malady: a life lived hard leaves you with aches and pains that never go away. Sitting when you can is not a bad policy. Point proven when the chief said, “My old bones are telling me to sit down and enjoy the sunshine.” He sat next to Ron.

  “What’s our plan?” Rawsom asked. “What are we going to do? It looks to me like this is a major criminal conspiracy. What are we going to do with the information once we put it all together?”

  “We need more help,” I said

  “That’s what we agreed to, and we brought Ron and Robbie aboard. Now who do we need?”

  “Jim, I would like to talk to someone who I think might help. I need to talk to him alone, though. He has some information that no one other than the perps would have, and if he is willing to share it with us, we will have a leg up on things.”

  “Who is this guy?” the sheriff asked.

  “His name’s Jack Wheeler. He’s the attorney appointed by the court to straighten out Derek Anderson’s affairs. We have already talked a bit, enough for me to know he’s got information that relates to those pictures. I don’t know if he will be willing, attorney-client privilege and all, but it’s worth asking him.”

  “Go for it, John. Sitting around thinking about all this won’t do anybody any good. We took this on and there’s no turning back,” the chief said.

  13

  I left the PD and walked over to see Jack. Nothing is far enough apart in downtown Musky Falls that you actually need to drive, unless you’re Ron Carver who believes that when you ride a Harley, walking is an unforgivable sin. The office was locked. A plastic clockface hung from the door, and under “Will Return” the hands had been moved to 3:00. I had a pretty good idea where I might find Jack Wheeler.

  My mind was occupied on my way back to the lake. How does your life find its path? Is it the decisions you make or the circumstances you are presented with? Certainly, some things are out of your control, and even though you may become intimately involved, it’s only because you were there at that place when whatever events transpired. Were you there at that location and time as a result of a choice you had made earlier? Was your ability to control your presence in a situation the determining factor? When I became a cop, I knew I would be put into situations that would be different than if I had become an insurance salesman. Some people think you are chosen to play a role in life, good or bad. The idea is that life is a detailed plan, preordained and not changeable, I don’t know. I do know that I was again entering into a dark place, full of danger and dangerous people who had likely already killed. I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

  As I pulled into the drive at the lake I saw Charlie Newlin sitting on the ground in a circle with his students. I was surprised to see my quarry, Attorney Wheeler, had joined them.

  Everyone was pretty excited and passing around a camera. “John, I’m so glad you’re here. Your timing is perfect,” Charlie exclaimed.

  “After we finished doing our observations, we met back here and were approached by Jack. He’s an amateur birder and saw an unusual bird land in a jack pine near where he was fishing. He was diligent and patient enough to take several good photos. This has made our day. No, actually, this has made our year! The images are unmistakable—one is a splendid male Kirtland’s dressed in his finest spring courting outfit and a demure coquettish looking female sitting by watching his antics. This is truly a red-letter day for wildlife. I am so excited I can hardly speak!”

  Jack looked around at the group and was clearly pleased. “John, I came out to give the musky by the log another try, and I brought my new camera with me to document the fish. I cast my fly up and down the shore and on every side of the log. No luck, not even a strike, so I reeled up and took a break. I sat down on your dock and poured myself a cup of coffee from my thermos. I will admit I was disappointed. Then I noticed a pair of birds that I did not recognize. I am no expert, but I know most common species. They posed for several pictures. I saw the university class walking up to their van and approached Charlie here to show him the photos. What a great day.”

  “My uncle Nick would have loved to see those pictures,” I said.

  As Charlie Newlin finished up with his students, Wheeler pulled me aside and asked, “John, is everything okay? You have a dark look about you. It tells me you are a man with something on your mind. Anything I can do to help?”

  “Actually, Jack, that’s why I came out here. I stopped at your office, and when I found it locked up, I figured you would be out trying to catch that fish. I came here because I hope you can help me. You may not be able to because of professional ethics. I am asking anyway because right now a small group of good folks has got their butts on the line, and we need all the help we can get.”

  “What makes you think I can help you?”

  “Because it involves the clients you inherited when Derek Anderson hung himself.”

  “After Charlie and his gang get packed up, let’s discuss what you may need. I’m not saying I can help you, but I will listen to what you have to say and give it serious consideration.”

  Professor Newlin was tending his flock. Even though he was still bubbling because of Jack’s photographs, he managed to get everything picked up and his students all loaded in the van.

  “If it is okay, John, we would like to return tomorrow morning at about the same time. We will come fully armed with cameras, telephoto lenses attached.”

  “Tomorrow will be fine, Charlie. Have at it.”

  The van pulled out of the driveway, and I could hear the excited chatter as they drove away.

  Jack had taken a seat at the picnic table. I joined him.

  “Well, John, how do you think I can help you?”

  “Jack, I am going to cut right through the crap. The clock is ticking on this one, and we don’t even know what time it is. Two of your clients are likely part of a money-laundering scheme. Homer and Irma Jones and Miles Turner. It may be drug—”

  Jack cut me off, clearly on the defensive. “John, stop there. Don’t say anything else. You are implying that two of my clients may be involved in felonious activity. What is the source of that information, and who are these few good people making these accusations? By all accounts, the Joneses and Mr. Turner are model law-abiding citizens. If you wish to engage in wild innuendo, I have no interest in listening. If anything, my research shows they are victims, not perpetrators. Let me also ask, are you acting in some official capacity? Or is this personal interest that drives you to look into the lives of my clients?”

  I didn’t answer immediately. I knew that Jack Wheeler was doing what a good and honest lawyer did—protect his clients. That didn’t mean he didn’t piss me off. Tension makes for a shorter than normal temper.

  “Actually, I am following up on the information you shared with me the other day. Don’t help then. When your clients are found dead with their heads turned backwards you can find comfort by laying your head down at night on your law books. We have pictures of them receiving large quantities of cash, and we are going forward whether you help or not. You want to protect your clients? Get on board. Keep up this bullshit, and we will let the chips fall where they may. Now get the hell off my property.”

  Wheeler walked over to the shore and got into his wooden canoe and paddled away. Halfway across the bay he made a smooth 180-degree turn and paddled back toward me. He pulled his boat up onto the shore and approached me.

  “John, I was a little hasty. I apologize. It was a conditioned response from living a life in a world dominated by often unsubstantiated accusations. There is clearly something amiss with the Joneses and Turner transactions, as I told you before. If you think there is any potential for harm coming to one of my clients, then I think having a dis
cussion is appropriate. I have a few preliminary questions before we go further.”

  “Ask away, Counselor.”

  “Who is this small group of ‘good folks’ with their butts on the line?”

  “Chief Len Bork, Sheriff Jim Rawsom, Ron Carver, and me.”

  “The chief of police, the sheriff, and two civilians are running this investigation?”

  “As dismal as it sounds, yes. We want to add your name to that shortlist. If you do join us, you should know the danger level is pretty high. In fact, the chief and I have already been shot at. The evidence, what’s left of my jeep after taking rounds from an AK-47, is in the storage shed over there.”

  “There was an attempt on your lives?”

  “He didn’t want to kill us. If he did, we’d be dead. He wanted to scare us off, although he probably wouldn’t have lost any sleep if we’d been hit.”

  “Do you know who did this? I haven’t heard anything on the news or seen anything in the paper. You must have put out some type of bulletin. Is the man in custody?”

  “You didn’t hear anything because we have kept it quiet. No BOLO on the shooter.”

  “I would think attempted murder would be worthy of mention, especially considering the chief was a target. I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do we, Jack. We know there is something deep and dark going on in this little corner of heaven. People have already been murdered, a federal agent has disappeared, and seemingly stellar members of the community are complicit in money laundering. That may be only the tip of the iceberg.”

  “Aren’t there two federal agents assigned to this area? Have you consulted with them? Surely, they have resources that will assist your efforts.”

  “Jack, at this point I don’t know what to say. If I respond to that line of inquiry, I’ll be sharing information that could get everyone in trouble. I guess what I mean to say is, you are either in this thing up to your neck, or you are out. I can tell you ‘out’ is the safest place to be. It’s the option a smart man would take. I know I haven’t given you much time, but the clock is ticking.”