Spider Lake

by Jeff Nania

  “Do you honestly believe my clients are in danger?”

  “How have your attempts to contact them worked out?”

  “I have tried every way I can with little success.”

  “Didn’t you speak with Irma Jones?”

  “Yes, but she wanted nothing to do with me and hung up.”

  “Not exactly the friendly attitude one might expect for a person from northern Wisconsin,” I noted.

  “Her voice quivered. She sounded scared,” Jack said.

  “At least she was alive, at that point anyway. I hope we can get to her before they do. At least two of the co-conspirators are already dead. If they are pulling up stakes, taking out Turner or the Joneses could be the next steps.”

  “God, John, I hope that you’re wrong about that.”

  “Me too, Counselor. Me too.

  “Jack, I have to get back to town and see what the rest have come up with. You are welcome to come along or go about your business.”

  “Where are you meeting?”

  “At the police department.”

  “I will see you there,” Jack said as he walked down to his boat.

  Now we were five, or six if you counted Robbie. Still a ridiculous number to embark on this mission. I was distracted briefly on the way to town. Alongside the road was a bear and triplet cubs. It appeared as though the mother was trying to give them an education on how to safely cross. They were giving her the same trouble kids of all species about that age give parents. I stopped my truck, as did a car coming the other way. Finally, the mother made a break for it, and two of the three cubs followed immediately. The third cub wasn’t quite ready to cross. She went back to gather her errant cub, and the family was back together, disappearing into the woods like they had never been there. The wildness of the north country continues to awe me.

  Ron’s Harley, the chief’s car, and the sheriff’s squad were all still there when I pulled into the police department. The receptionist directed me to a meeting room down the hall. I opened the door and could see everyone was intent on studying pictures projected on a screen.

  “Good, you’re back, John. Robbie, show John what you’ve found,” the chief directed.

  Robbie started, “I was able to use an encryption code that followed the directions I found in the box. By transferring data from the camera to a laptop I was able to—”

  Ron cut him off. “Robbie, you did some fine work, but he doesn’t care or understand what you are talking about. Show him the pictures.”

  “There were dozens of images in the memory card but only two images that I could make out. My guess is the person who set up the camera screwed up somehow. I bet they didn’t even know they got any pictures. He brought up the first of the two pictures on the screen. “This first one is my favorite,” Robbie said. It was immediately clear why it would be the favorite of any young man.

  It was a picture of David Stone on a balcony with a view. Next to him was a beautiful woman with an impressive figure wearing a revealing bikini. Next to them was Lance Brolan. Rawsom was fairly certain the woman in the picture was the same one found next to Brolan in the shipyard. Ron thought it was the woman to whom Brolan had given the earrings.

  “I can’t be positive, but I can access the postmortem photos to confirm,” the sheriff said.

  The next photo was David Stone again, but there was no beauty next to him this time. Instead, a large man with a scar on his face was poking a finger into Stone’s chest. Stone’s head was tilted down, supplication instead of defiance. It appeared as if Stone was taking orders instead of giving them. It was only a three-quarters view of the man’s face, but his look was chilling.

  David Stone was a big dog and a player, but he definitely wasn’t the top dog. He was working for someone, and it was likely that someone had sent this guy with the scar on his face over to explain things to Stone. The dates on the images corresponded with the others we had—later by a couple of months. When they were taken, the former chief was still alive, and it was possible he may have taken the pictures. It didn’t seem right he would have that kind of access. He could have taken them by sneaking around, but he was a crooked cop, and nobody trusts a crooked cop, not even crooks. Are these big-time operators going to allow him in the room during high-level meetings? Probably not.

  “Robbie,” I asked, “exactly how does this camera work?”

  “This box is a receiver. It can be anywhere that receives cell phone service. The cameras are called ‘pin’ cameras and have tiny transmitters, so that you could hide them in a room. They transmit the images to this box. The box would be attached to some kind of monitor, so whoever was watching could monitor what was going on. The camera transmits real-time images to a receiver, and when the watcher gets what he wants, he takes the picture. Here, let me show you.” Robbie pulled out a small case from the suitcase. He removed a device the shape of a wooden stick match, only black and about half the size. Using a cable, he connected the receiver to his computer and turned it on. He pointed the pin camera at us, but there was no image. Robbie grabbed the instruction manual, and after a few minutes picked up the pin camera again. Sticking out of the head of the camera was a thin plastic strip. Robbie gave it a yank, and the camera immediately picked up our images. Our pictures were clear for a minute, and Robbie captured the photo. Then the screen went black. He tried to get it to work again with no luck.

  “It takes a bunch of techno savvy to run one of these systems. I think this receiver has an internal problem of some kind and probably needs to be reset. I can try to fix it if you want. I was focused on the download and didn’t really pay any attention to its operation.”

  A knock on the door interrupted what we were doing. Jack Wheeler walked in, and I introduced him to the crowd.

  Chief Bork walked Robbie outside, and he left a happy boy with the promise that if he kept his mouth shut and nose clean, the pot and skateboarding charges would be dropped at his court hearing. No three-time loser, no 300-pound cellmate.

  Again, we gathered around the table and reviewed all we knew for the benefit of our newest member and for ourselves. The chief ordered sandwiches from the Fisherman, and we ate and talked at the same time. While the telling of the same story over and over again may seem monotonous, in police work it’s only true if the case was solved and you had all the answers. Re-examining what you know is a tried and true method for figuring out what you don’t know.

  Jack Wheeler was an attentive listener and asked no questions. At the end, he sat up like a lawyer facing the judge. “Gentleman, I am far less experienced dealing with criminals than you. I did work as a deputy federal prosecutor for two years when I got out of law school, but I was a gofer. That hardly gives me any credible expertise. I do have a general idea of how criminal enterprises work. I beg your indulgence, but let me see if I can correctly summarize what I’ve heard.

  “You believe that a criminal organization of some significance has established itself in the area. This organization may have been involved in several murders and the disappearance of a federal agent. By taking advantage of local people, it has been laundering money that we can assume is ill-gotten gain. We have two likely examples with possible photographic documentation of the transactions. There is a sophisticated network that has allowed properties to be transferred quickly from one dummy corporation to the other. We can assume if they are still ‘fishing these waters,’ so to speak, they must be having success with their operation. Or perhaps not, because they seem to be killing off the staff at an alarming rate. You have formed this way too small, ill-equipped coalition to deal with this problem because you are concerned that one of the visiting federal agents cannot be trusted and may be criminally involved.

  “That you don’t know whom to trust is supported by the fact that we have several pictures of a man with possible connections to criminals. This man also matches the description of someone who killed a man and a woman on the docks at Superior, breaking their necks and swimming in fort
y-degree water to escape. In addition, you have reason to believe that he shot the heck out of a jeep occupied by John Cabrelli and Chief Bork. A warning, you surmise, but may have been poor aim. This man may also have clobbered poor John with a canoe paddle when he interrupted an attempted burglary. The goal of the burglary remains undetermined but may have had to do with photographs. In addition to the photographs, there is another connection between Scarface, as you call him, and suspected criminal David Stone. He lived in a cabin on a property that was at one time owned by Stone. Does that pretty much sum it up?”

  We all thought for a minute. The chief responded first. “I think so,” he turned to Jim. “Sheriff, what do you think?”

  “I think we are up to our ass in alligators. That’s what I think,” he retorted.

  No one disagreed, and no one spoke.

  “Well, Jack, what do you think?’ I asked.

  He sat silent for a moment before speaking. “I think you are brave and noble men. You are doing what brave and noble men do: risking your lives to defeat an enemy that is corrupting your way of life, destroying your values. The corruption and death of your last chief of police were splashed across the tabloids for weeks. Your home was no longer seen as a wonderful place void of the crime that thrives in the cities. Of course you don’t know whom to trust. Now you have discovered that the corruption continues, and you are responding in the only way you can by banding together and figuring out how to take them down. In your minds, the ‘buck stops here.’ As a result of your nobility and the ruthlessness of those you pursue, it is likely that some, maybe all of you will lose your lives in this endeavor, and the problem will not have been solved. I hope you have given this plenty of thought.”

  Chief Bork stood up and answered, “If I have to do it alone, I am going to do everything I can to bring these bastards to justice. Dying doing what’s right is a risk you accept when you pin on the badge.”

  “We are all in, Jack,” the sheriff agreed, “but I sure as hell can understand why someone wouldn’t want to be. No one is going to hold it against you if you walk out the door and head back to wherever your home is.”

  “Well, gentleman, that’s one of the complications I’m facing. This is my home. My offer was accepted on the house across the bay from John, and I shall spend my remaining years on Spider Lake across from a man who seems determined to hasten my demise. Before we jump into anything else, let me share my impressions of this situation, if I may.”

  “Please, go ahead,” the chief urged.

  “First, I can hardly believe this is about a small money-laundering scheme. Even if they were able to launder a million dollars, that’s nothing compared to the amount of money organized crime has. It wouldn’t be worth the risk, especially in a small community like Musky Falls, where everybody knows everyone else’s business. It would be hard to run a large-scale, profitable criminal enterprise in that kind of environment.

  “Second, we can assume at this point that these criminals are responsible for several deaths, including possibly the death of a federal agent. Why in the world would they take that kind of risk for even ten million dollars? It wouldn’t pay, and these cartels are all about making money. Dead bodies create problems. They avoid it when they can, and killing a federal agent is on the edge of insanity. From a business perspective, it doesn’t make sense. These are business people capable of covering their paper trail through a series of corporations. They do so quickly, quietly, and legally. They are likely moving hundreds of millions of dollars.

  “No. My thought is that they are taking these extreme actions to protect something much, much bigger than laundering some errant cash. Be that as it may, it seems that the events, including the murders, were tied into John’s discovery of the criminal activity undertaken by the former chief. I am not a trained law enforcement officer, and I will gladly defer to you men, but it appears to me that to have even a breath of a chance of accomplishing your goal, you need to develop a strategy.”

  14

  “Any suggestions on how we begin?” Chief Bork asked.

  Before anyone could answer, there was a loud knock on the door. The chief opened it.

  The receptionist said, “Chief, those two federal agents that have been hanging around are coming up the steps, and they look like they are in an ugly mood.”

  Sheriff Rawsom and Chief Bork met them at the door. Agents Street and Chandler were clearly unhappy. Chandler looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel.

  “What the hell is going on here, Chief Bork?” Chandler demanded.

  “Well, Agent,” the chief responded unruffled, “we’re having an interagency meeting with the sheriff here and our citizens’ committee. Good community cooperation is the key to good community policing.”

  “Bullshit, Chief!” Chandler burst out. “You know what I think? I think you are running a game on the federal government. That’s what I think, and I’ll tell you it’s going to end right now.”

  Upon the arrival of the Feds, Jack and I came out to witness the exchange. After hearing the voices rise an octave, Ron Carver exited the room saying, “Boys, I’ve got a business to run, and your little disagreements have nothing to do with me. If you have no objections, I would like to get back to work. Let me know when the next citizens’ committee meeting is, and I will try to make it.” He walked out the door, and a minute later we heard his Harley roar away.

  Chandler advanced on the chief getting nose to nose. “We know you are withholding evidence from a federal investigation, and we want that evidence now. And I mean right now, Chief.”

  Len Bork was a cool customer, “Agent Chandler, I think you best lower your voice. Help me understand what evidence you are talking about, and I will try to help you out.”

  “You know what I’m talking about, Bork. Now turn it over to us before I charge you and your committee here with obstruction of a federal investigation. I bet some of what I am looking for is in that room. Mind if I take a look?” Chandler bulled his way to the door, which was casually blocked by Jack Wheeler. He grabbed Wheeler and threw him aside, then entered the room. We all took a deep breath and looked in. Spread across the top of the table was, well, nothing. No photos, no camera, no papers. Nothing. The suitcase of surveillance gear was on the floor next to the wall, but nothing else was there.

  “As I offered,” said the chief, “if you would have told me specifically what you wanted, we may have been able to help you out. However, you have now greatly complicated things.”

  Agent Street spoke for the first time, “How’s that, Chief?”

  “Well, Agent Street, your partner here, without provocation, assaulted Attorney Wheeler. We all saw it, including you. As a matter of fact, you will be our star witness, along with the victim, two other sworn officers, and a former law enforcement officer. I would say that Agent Chandler is pretty much up a creek without a paddle. The only question I have is whether we book him into jail right now or not.”

  If Chandler’s partner could have disappeared into the wallpaper at that moment, he would have. As it was, he recognized the gravity of the situation and had few, if any, options.

  The right thing for Chandler to do at that moment was to stand down and let the air cool for a second. The wrong thing was to keep it up. He chose the wrong thing. He headed for the door and said to his partner, “Come on, Street, let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough of these stupid hicks.”

  Agent Street did not move. He stood stone still with a look on his face somewhere between “please no” and “oh shit.”

  The chief had no choice. “Agent Chandler, you are not free to leave. Do not make this situation worse by trying to do so. Your actions and choices have caused this problem. If you attempt to leave, we will detain you by whatever means necessary.”

  The circle around him had cleared, and you could see that Chandler actually thought he had a choice. Every eye was on him. All of a sudden, he turned and started for the door.

  “Jesus Christ! Stop,
Chandler!” his partner yelled. “Stop right now. Stop!”

  Chandler smiled at his partner then at the chief and said slyly, “Why are you boys so nervous? I was only walking over to get a drink from the fountain. This kind of circus act always dries me out. Do what you think you need to do, Chief. Refer me to the DA, book me, lock me up. I don’t care.”

  Then the victim spoke. “Chief, I want to thank you for standing up for me in this situation. Agent Chandler’s actions are those of a man who has little respect for the public he serves. His behavior is likely more representative of how he deals with people than not. Pursuing criminal charges against him would certainly make his superiors aware of a need for closer supervision and may well protect future victims. I have a suggestion, if I may.”

  “Attorney Wheeler, I am all ears. Go ahead,” said the chief.

  “I have a question for the agents. Where are you detailed from? Minneapolis? Milwaukee?”

  With a pained look, Agent Street answered, “We’re out of the Minneapolis office.”

  “Who’s the special agent in charge of that office?” asked Wheeler.

  No one spoke. Street looked at the ground.

  “Gentlemen, I’m certain we can get the SAC’s name and number within minutes. I thought you might have considered the benefits of cooperation.”

  “Thompson. Bob Thompson,” Street replied reluctantly.

  “His cell number?” requested Wheeler.

  Street gave it to him. Then after a brief meeting in the corner of the room with Wheeler and the sheriff, the chief stepped up to address the agents.

  “Boys,” he started, “you need to head home to Minneapolis. Your heavy-handed tactics are not welcome here. When you get back there, I suggest you contact your boss and explain yourselves. In the meantime, Attorney Wheeler is going to decide whether or not he wants to pursue charges. What he decides will determine how I’m going to handle this. In any case, I’m going to have a long talk with your boss. In my report to him I will have all the details, including the fact that Chandler was an on-duty federal agent at the time he assaulted the victim, a prominent member of our community. Do you understand?”