Spider Lake

by Jeff Nania

  “Hey, Bear, how goes it?”

  “John, this better be important. I’m in the middle of something.”

  “Well, Bear, it is. I need some information.”

  “You want me to snoop around classified information, would be my guess. While you had all of my admiration when you were a cop, due to unfortunate circumstances you no longer are. If I share confidential information with you, I risk my pension. More importantly, I risk the wrath of Tanya, as do you—me for being stupid enough to share with you and you for being inconsiderate enough to ask.”

  “Bear, how do you know I want you to access confidential information?”

  “You are too good an investigator. You get what you can get, which is more than about ninety percent of the working cops could find. Then, you need longer arms to reach into places you can’t go. Am I missing something?”

  “No, Bear, that sums it up pretty well, with one important distinction.”

  “The distinction is?”

  “I’m working the case with the local cops. This case is a big deal, starting with a bunch of dead bodies.”

  “John, did you sign on with the local PD? Are you carrying a badge again?”

  “No, I didn’t and no, I’m not. They reached out to me for help, and I’m helping them. We’ve made a lot of progress, but I realized that this thing is likely a monster, and we all might get eaten up. I figured you could give me a little help to see if I was right, you know, before we went any further. Help me see if it’s time to turn this over to higher powers better equipped to handle things.”

  “Fine, but no promises. Tell me what you got.”

  “Before I do that, Bear, let me ask you a couple of things. Are you still one of the sitting members of the Organized Crime Task Force?”

  “I am. Matter of fact, John, I was appointed to the command position.”

  “Does Namekagon County contribute to funding that statewide operation?”

  “Every county puts in something based on their population and the amount of criminal activity in their area. Although I’d venture to say Namekagon County probably puts in the minimum.”

  “That doesn’t matter though, does it, Bear? If they put in a mutual aid request, they get the same response as anyone else.”

  “True. Are they going to send me a mutual aid request?”

  “If we need to, we could go through channels, send an official request, and wait while everybody looks it over. In the meantime, we will probably end up with a couple more bodies up here. But what’s the big deal as long as we follow procedure?”

  “Whatever, John. What’s up? Tell me what you know.”

  “Okay, but I already know what I know. Repeating it to you doesn’t get me anywhere. So, before we get started, I expect this to be an exchange of information—a dialogue between two trained investigators. If it’s not going to be that way, I gotta go. You give Tanya my regards, and tell her to stop putting so much starch in your lace panties.”

  “Cabrelli, you are a horse’s hind end, you know.”

  “As well as a horse’s hind end, I am your former partner and still best, most trusted friend, and you need to trust me now. This thing is real, and I need your help. If I send a mutual aid request, it immediately gets copied to all task force members, right?”

  “Right,” Bear growled.

  “That includes the Feds, right?”

  “Right again, John.”

  “Well, there are two federal agents assigned up here, and I think one or both may be bent. I’m not sure, but I am suspicious and have evidence to back up that suspicion. One of the agents assaulted a citizen in front of God and everybody. We have a surveillance photo of that same agent with a person of interest in multiple homicides. Those agents have gone back to Minneapolis.”

  Bear didn’t respond for a couple of minutes. When he did, he was no longer the king of police procedure. He answered as JJ Malone, the cop.

  “Let’s go for it, John. See if we can hash this out.”

  “Okay, here you go. I think a large organized crime syndicate has set up shop here. I also think that organization has recently conducted a housekeeping effort that resulted in at least a couple of known associates getting whacked. I think a pro hit them. I may have information on him, and I think he is still around here. I will get to that, but first, let me tell you what I know and perhaps you can fill in the blanks.”

  As I relayed the situation, Bear listened intently. Then came his turn. “The money laundering scheme is pretty straightforward and being used across the country. It’s usually a big enough enterprise that it’s the primary business of the bad guys involved. They get the money from their criminal enterprises, wash it, and the cartel ends up owning a position in a legitimate company, real estate holding, or something like that. This is big, big business, not a sideline. Last estimates put drug trafficking alone at over $100 billion a year. How they found their way to Musky Falls is a mystery to me. I mean, you guys hit the nail on the head. Buying property to launder cash in a small town is stupid business, and these guys are not stupid. Most of this happens in metro areas where they buy shopping malls, condo developments, golf courses, and marinas where they can dump ten or twenty million. They don’t screw around buying mom and pop bait and tackle businesses. They also don’t take out the people who run these operations for them. The people that do this are usually pretty sophisticated operators, not the general run of the mill street thugs. It’s bad business to get rid of your producers, and I’ve got to say, you guys are right on. They are protecting something much bigger. Maybe some of their guys got it in mind to run a little sideline show of their own. It would not be unheard of. It also would not be smart to do so without permission. What they are protecting is anybody’s guess.”

  “I have a hunch in that direction, Bear. A lawyer working with us is checking something out.”

  “What have you got on the possible hitter?” Bear asked.

  I described what he looked like, both from my observations and the photographs. When I described the scars on his back and his speech, Bear stopped me.

  “You saw a guy like this recently?” he asked.

  “Yeah, very recently,” I replied.

  “Could he have been speaking with an Eastern European accent?”

  “Could be,” I said.

  “You’re telling me you have a photograph of this guy?”

  “Actually, we have several,” I said.

  A sense of urgency had crept into Bear’s voice. “John, I need to see them right now, and I mean right now.”

  “I can get them to you, but I will have to go back to town and have them scanned and sent. It will be a couple of hours at least.”

  “Get to it then. I’ll call you back when I get them,” Bear ordered.

  “Sounds like you may have an idea of who this bad guy is, Bear. You want to share your thoughts with me?”

  “I will as soon as I confirm a couple of things. I hope I’m wrong.”

  I drove toward town, and as soon as I got cell service, I called Chief Bork. “Hey, Len. I reached out to that buddy of mine, Lt. JJ Malone, head of the Organized Crime Task Force. He has an idea about our guy and wants to see the photos we have. What do you think about that?”

  “If you think it’s a good idea, I’m with you. Our evidence still resides in Ron Carver’s vault. I’ll run over and see if he can scan them and send them to Lt. Malone. I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks, Chief. Any word from anyone else?”

  “Nope, nothing. Although, I did run into Doc O’Malley. He’s got the parts for your jeep and said you should call him. I wouldn’t bother today, though. He had his boat hooked on, was filling the tanks, and putting ice in a cooler full of beer. I think he’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day.”

  My next call was to Jack Wheeler.

  “John, I was going to call you. I started my record search and was making progress when I hit a wall. I backed up and followed each lead that brought me
to the dead end. We are on the right track. Taken individually, each one of these transactions would not put up any red flags, but together they have several things in common. They end up going through one of two law firms, both with large domestic and international practices. At some point in each chain of transactions, they go to a holding company in Eastern Europe. That’s when I lose them. Except for one—the holding company that was part of financing the purchase of Superior Shipping and Container. Then they disappeared from the record. Everything I could find regarding Superior Shipping and Container says it is a legitimate and thriving business. They arrange for shipping and importation of products from and to the U.S. via the Great Lakes. They have 200 employees and give generously to local charities. Their gross revenues for the last year put them at three quarters of a billion dollars. On the surface they appear to be an all-American company. That’s about all I came up with, but I can tell you something is not right.”

  I brought him up to speed on my contact with Malone. He hoped that might open some doors for further research on his part.

  I was in the grocery store picking up some essentials when my phone went off. It showed no caller ID number, so I figured it was Bear. I was correct.

  “John, listen up. I’m going to be landing at the Musky Falls Airport in about two hours. Be there to pick me up.” Then he disconnected. The phone rang a minute later, and it was Bear again. “Get your posse together. I want to meet with all of you as soon as I get there.”

  “I will try to find everyone,” I said.

  “Try nothing, John. Get them together. Every last one of you better be there.” He disconnected again.

  Two hours later a twin-engine plane landed at the airport. Malone exited carrying two black utility duffle bags with no markings. There was a group of people standing at the exit point from the field. They spread like the parting sea as he approached. He has that kind of effect.

  I was glad I was there early. He threw the two duffle bags in the bed of the truck. One landed with a metallic clank. He got in and said, “Drive.”

  “Hey, Bear, nice to see you too.”

  “John, this is no social visit. I want to explain what I found out to all of you at once so I don’t have to repeat myself. Let me say this—you have stumbled your way into the middle of something that no one has been successful in even cracking the edges of before. I need to talk to you guys before I do anything else.”

  Everyone was waiting at the police department.

  “John, we can’t meet here. Tell them to meet out at your place on the lake. I’ll explain why when we get there. Now get in there and tell them. I need to stay put.”

  No one questioned my request. They grabbed their stuff and went to their various means of travel. The sheriff, chief, and Jack Wheeler rode together in the sheriff’s unmarked SUV. Ron rode out on his Harley.

  I pulled into the yard and Bear managed some conversation. “Nice spot, John.”

  We were seated around the table and did introductions. While a new guy showing up could have been the beginning of a jurisdictional pissing match, it wasn’t. No one had any doubt who was now in charge. Lt. Malone was in the room and had taken command.

  “So, gentlemen, I think you have found something here, and I don’t believe in beating around the bush. I brought with me the pictures you sent over. I don’t know for sure, but I think they are the only known photographs of a guy who is known as the Wolf.

  “The Wolf came to the attention of U.S. authorities about ten years ago. There was a war between two rival organized crime entities—one an entrenched street gang and the other a newcomer gang that originated from the Czech Republic in Eastern Europe. No one is clear why the Czechs wanted the other gang out of the picture, but they did. Supposedly, some preliminary negotiations broke down when two of the negotiators the Czechs sent were beaten so badly one of them never regained consciousness. The local gang figured there would be retaliation and geared up. They expected a typical drive-by affair—they shoot your guys, you shoot theirs, and so on. Well, one day the head of the Czech outfit arranges a parley with the head of the local gang. We had a snitch in the room. The Czech tells them that they can stay in the drug business north of Fifth Street, but they had to relinquish their territory south of Fifth, including the docks on Lake Michigan. The gang leader laughed at the Czech and told him to get out. The Czech and his entourage left. Two days later, around 5:00 a.m., the local gang’s headquarters was blown off the face of the earth, killing everyone inside as well as two of the next-door neighbors. An hour after that, someone walked into another one of their hangouts and shot everyone in the building dead. Word on the street was that the hitter was a guest star who came in for the hit, did it, then was gone. There was some pretty intense pressure put on possible participants, including some ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ cards, but we got nothing on this guy.

  “Over the last few years, there have been other hits that went down along the same lines. The only connection for sure was that the people that were taken out all had something to do with the Czechs. If it’s the same guy who did all this business, he’s a real pro. He is coldly efficient, and collateral damage doesn’t bother him in the least. We are aware of the incident at the Superior docks. When the PD put out a description, we got a notification. It didn’t get us too excited, though. There was no apparent organized crime connection, and the killing was up close and personal. The Wolf’s MO is shoot them in the head from a distance, blow them up, whatever. Getting next to them and breaking their necks, well, that’s not exactly his style.”

  “Except if …” I broke in.

  “Except if what, John?” asked Bear.

  “Except if he needed information. He crushes ones trachea with his bare hands, and this makes the other one feel cooperative. Then he leaves no witnesses.”

  “Maybe so, but these guys have plenty of people on the street who could get information.”

  “Maybe the info was critical to their operation, and they needed someone they could completely trust to get it?” I asked.

  “Could be. I don’t know. I do know this. If the Wolf has surfaced in northern Wisconsin, coming out like this is dangerous and increases the chance of exposure. The incident with you and the chief here was probably a farewell salute. My bet is he has gone to ground, but maybe not. Either way, I am here to work with you to see what we can find out. If it is him, then something big is going on here. By the way, John, find it a little exciting taking fire like that?” Bear cracked a smile.

  “Yeah, Bear, it was exciting, except we didn’t hear the shots and didn’t figure it out until the jeep stopped,” I replied.

  “It was way too exciting for me. I prefer catching fish,” the chief interjected.

  “Was that brass you recovered 7.62x39?”

  “It was.”

  “There are millions of guns chambered for that round, but it’s the same as we found at the raid on the local gang headquarters and other scenes. Could be a coincidence, probably not the same weapon, but we have all the shell casings we collected from the scene in evidence. We should compare the brass you found. Guys like this don’t keep or use the same guns. Most of the time the weapon they used in the hit is resting at the bottom of a lake or landfill soon after they are done. Who knows? Maybe this guy is sentimental and uses the same gun. It’s worth checking it out.”

  Bear got out a pen and wrote down a name and address. “Chief, if you wouldn’t mind, will you send the shell casing you found to this address, next day signature required.”

  “I’ll get right on it, Lt. Malone,” the chief told him.

  Next, Malone dialed a number on his cell phone. It didn’t go through and he growled, “No service here?”

  “Nope. Sorry, Bear, but I have a landline that works,” I replied.

  Malone dialed a number from memory. “Sergeant, this is Malone. I have a shell casing coming to you by way of Fed Ex. Check it for any trace prints, partial or otherwise, and compare them to any other in t
he database of the same caliber. You can limit that search to suspected organized crime involvement. Give this priority one. Call me when you get the results.” Then he hung up.

  “Now, we all need to have a serious talk. Everybody grab a chair,” Malone instructed. We did, and he gave us his pronouncement. “This whole situation is completely unorthodox. Chief Bork, you are running around with Sheriff Rawsom here and three civilians conducting a criminal investigation.

  “The Feds are already here, but you have chosen not only to keep them out of the loop but also sent them packing. At this point I agree with your choice, and I don’t see this as a problem. You did a good job of putting together some leads. The next call I make is going to Organized Crime Task Force HQ, and I’m going to activate a unit and have them deployed up here. Chief Bork and Sheriff Rawsom, this is still your jurisdiction, and we will respect that working together, but from here on out everything is on a need-to-know basis. Ron, Attorney Wheeler, and John, I appreciate and commend you for your efforts, but this is where it ends for you. You have all done a good job developing intel, but regardless of your history, this is a law enforcement only case now.

  “Lt. Malone, if you deploy a team up here, that means the Feds will know something is going on, right?” the chief inquired.

  “To start with, we aren’t going to tell them. That’ll give us a jump on the local guys. That won’t last, though. Word will get out, and then we’ll have to deal with them. For now, no Feds. I will need you and the sheriff to complete a mutual aid request,” Malone answered.

  “Initially, what is the purpose of the team you are having sent up here? Are they undercover, or are they suits following up on leads?” asked the sheriff.

  “Both.”

  The sheriff continued his line of questioning. “Interesting. Lt. Malone, what is it they can do that we can’t do ourselves?”