BLOOD RIVER (A Trask Brothers Murder Mystery)

by C. E. Nelson

  “Maybe, but the angle of the cut on this man much more closely matches those before the last. It’s also deeper – right to the bone.”

  “Will I have autopsy results on the last victim soon?”

  “Do you mean the one Doctor Adams brought in last night or the one I saw the day before that?

  “Sorry, I know that I’ve been keeping you way more than busy lately.”

  “We are doing are best to keep up with you but I’m afraid that you’ve outdone us. We actually shipped the last two to Duluth to try to speed things up. We haven’t heard back from them yet. Should we expect this pace to keep up as long as you are sheriff?” she asked with a slight grin.

  “I hope not,” he replied with a defeated tone, now staring at his feet.

  “Did you get a good description of the killer?” she asked, concern now in her voice.

  Dave looked up into her eyes and wanted to hold her close, and tell her everything would be all right, which he knew was absurd. Not only did he not know this woman, he had no idea if things would be all right – at least anytime soon. “Not really. A big guy, dark hair, ponytail. We’ll get him.”

  Linda reached out to hold Dave’s upper right arm. “I’m worried about you Dave. This is so vicious; there is so much hate and I can sense that you don’t have much confidence in your deputies. You don’t want to face this man alone – or be alone if he finds you.”

  Dave’s arms reached out to hold her lightly by the shoulders as he took in the slightly turned nose and the full lips that went with the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen. What was he thinking? They were in the middle of a crime scene and he wanted to pick this woman up and take her into the bedroom. He had to get out of here before he did something he would regret. “Um, thanks,” was all he could say realizing that he was still holding her. He quickly released her and assured her he would use caution as he turned to leave.

  A weary sheriff found Meline and briefly went over the description of the killer that Billings had given him again, asking if Billings had noticed that the man who attacked him wore an earring or other jewelry. Meline said that Billings didn’t mention anything but that he would go back and confirm that with him. Trask told him he was taking the boat back and that Danny should see if the doctor needed help before grabbing a ride back to the station with Carlson. The smile on Danny’s face made Dave immediately regret that he had ordered his deputy to help Linda.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Dave pulled his truck in behind his brother’s and walked into the kitchen. Don was sitting at the kitchen table eating scrambled eggs and bacon.

  “You need mushrooms,” said Don as Dave leaned against the counter, “and you look worse than when I saw you earlier if that is possible. Your nice brother has left some breakfast for you in the microwave. It should still be pretty warm.”

  “Thanks Don,” he replied noticing the dishes scattered on the counter and sitting in the sink. “You better finish it. I had a bite at the lodge. You find anything useful about the staff at Allens?”

  “Not much. That Allen is apparently a real prick and had some tax problems a few years back. His staff has a couple of bad eggs who have had some issues but nothing that would say they would be involved in murder. Sorry,” Don replied as he grabbed the last piece of bacon off his plate.

  “That’s OK. From what the witness confirmed today, the perp is most likely Native American. Obviously it wasn’t Whitehead.”

  “Good guess Sherlock,” replied Don as he stuffed another forkful of eggs in his mouth.

  “I’m getting too old for this,” said Dave as he leaned on the counter and stared out the door to the deck. “I’m going to grab a shower and a few z’s,” he said as he pushed himself up and moved toward the doorway leading out of the kitchen.

  “Must be nice. I’ve apparently got two jobs so I guess I’ll stay up and work.”

  “Sounds good. When you’re doing that can you check on Native Americans in the area with a record. I still think it’s got to be a guide,” responded Dave over his shoulder as he headed up the stairs.

  Dave had to practically peel the clothes off after what turned out to be a very hot day. His first thought was that he must have smelled like a dead fish when he was with Linda as his clothes hit the floor. His second thought was he wondered if she and Carlson were involved. The shower felt great but he found he barely had energy to towel off before lying on his back on his bed and falling asleep.

  “Hey, sleeping beauty!”

  Dave slowly returned to consciousness at the sound of his brother’s voice.

  “You awake?”

  “Yeah, I’m awake,” replied Dave as he sat up and looked at the clock by his bed. He could not believe he had been out for three hours.

  “I heard back from my pals up north and they had a killing year before last where the victim had his throat cut. Never caught the guy but a witness said he saw the victim meet a big guy with long dark hair who was going to take the victim fishing.”

  “Hmm…could be our guy. Maybe we could send them a picture of John Bigeagle for the witness to look at.”

  “Already done. And you got a text from Brad Owens. He says you should come out to his camp. He’s got something for you.”

  “You in the habit of reading other people’s texts?”

  “You left your phone in the kitchen and I’m a snoop. Besides, what could possibly be of interest on your phone that I shouldn’t see? You getting messages from porn sites?” Don replied as he turned and went downstairs.

  Dave pulled on his pants and wondered what it was that Owens wanted to see him about. He flashed back to his conversation with John Bigeagle. He fit the description given by Billings. Was Owens in trouble or had he discovered something? Dave did not have the time to waste by running out to Half Moon, and considered calling Owens back, but he did want to question Bigeagle again. There was definitely something the guide had not told him.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Dave pulled the truck to a stop in front of the main lodge, scaring a doe into the woods. It was now late afternoon and there were a few clouds starting to gather in the west. Dave noticed that only about half of the boats he had seen here the other day were pulled up on the sandy beach to his right as he walked to the front of the truck. He looked at his watch and guessed that the remaining boats would be returning with their guides shortly. He knew few guides that stayed out with their clients longer than required – unless their clients were willing to pay extra.

  At the sight of the truck Brad Owens had stepped off the deck in front of the lodge. He extended his hand to Dave and then dropped it back to his side as he looked at Don getting out the passenger door.

  “Mr. Owens, this is my brother Don. He is with the BCA.”

  Owens looked back to Dave and then back at Don, pausing a moment but said nothing.

  “You said you had something for me?”

  Owens shook his head slightly and replied, “Yeah. Why don’t you follow me to my office,” he replied in a low voice, scanning the beach as he turned and walked back toward the lodge.

  Owens closed the door of the office after the brothers entered. The room seemed even smaller to Dave than his prior visit. There was now a cardboard box on a stool in the corner that had not been there on the last visit and Dave did not remember the matching stool where Owens now sat across the plywood-topped table from them. There were papers scattered across the plywood.

  “You remember when you called me about John Bigeagle sheriff?”

  “Yes. Have you found something?” replied Dave who was suddenly more interested.

  “Well, I checked back through my records to see who John was guiding and when and I’m more convinced now than ever that he had nothing to do with any of the killings,” replied Owens as he held up several sheets of paper. “He was with clients.”

  Dave’s usually stoic expression showed disappointment as he reached for the papers Owens was holding. He had driven all the way out her
e to hear that another suspect had been eliminated.

  Owens seemed not to notice and continued. “But when I was looking through my records I realized that I forgot someone.”

  “What do you mean ‘forgot someone’ Mr. Owens,” questioned Dave.

  “Um, well, you see, we had an extra booking the last few weeks so I had to get another guide in here.”

  Don recalled the list of the guides for Half Moon he had reviewed. “You gave us a list of nine guides Mr. Owens. Was that incorrect?” questioned Don.

  “No, there were only eight guides on the list. I have eight guides here regularly. But..”

  Don cut him off. “But there were nine names on your list.”

  “That’s right, eight guides and my maintenance man Paul Dale. You see…”

  Dave cut him off this time. “When I was here before and talked to the guides in the building where they stay there were nine men, not eight!”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I have an extra guide in camp. I didn’t have him on the list because he wasn’t a regular.”

  Dave remembered. He had looked at the list of nine names and hadn’t thought any more about it. Nine men in the cabin – nine names. It matched up. He thought about his meeting with the guides. The man at the sink. He had kept his head turned from Dave. And he had a big knife in his hand, but it wasn’t the knife. “Shit!” Dave shouted.

  “I’m sorry Sheriff. I just..” Owens began to apologize but Dave cut him off.

  “Its not you Mr. Owens. Sorry.” Dave turned to Don. “Remember at the first killing? Remember the swatch of blood on the back of the victim’s shirt?”

  “Yeah.”

  “OK. At the killing here, there was a swatch of blood just like that on the pant leg of one of the victims.”

  “OK. So what?”

  “When I was interviewing the guides here in the lodge, there was a guide sitting by the sink and facing away from me. As I glanced at him he wiped the blade of his knife on his pant leg even though there was a towel hanging right next to him. Dammit!” shouted Dave as he pounded his fist on the plywood causing the tabletop to tilt.

  Don turned to Owens. “Who is your extra guide?”

  “His name is Bobby Bigeagle.”

  “Bobby Bigeagle?” questioned Dave.

  “Yeah. He’s a cousin of John.”

  “And what does he look like Mr. Owens?”

  “He looks a lot like John. Big guy like him.”

  “Does he have a ponytail?” asked Dave.

  “Yeah, he does,” answered the lodge owner, fear now evident in his voice.

  “How about an earring?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “OK Mr. Owens, where is Bobby now?” asked Dave as he leaned across the table.

  “He should have been back by now. Oh my god, you don’t think he’s killed more of my guests do you?” asked Owens as he started to panic.

  “Calm down Brad,” said Dave as he pushed the man back down on his stool. “We have no idea if this man is even involved but we certainly would like to talk to him. Do you know where on the lake he might go?”

  “No, I have no idea. The guests tell him what they’d like to do when they get in the boat.”

  “OK. It looked like there were some other boats still out when we came in. Is that right.”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Alright, so maybe he’s just a little late. Why don’t we go outside and wait for the remaining boats to come in?” asked Dave in a calming voice.

  Owens agreed and the men walked out of the office into the main lodge. There were eight tables with chairs that sat closest to a swinging door that lead to the kitchen next to the office. Some cushioned chairs and a sofa upholstered in tan with a pattern of unknown fish were in the far corner surrounding a low table stacked with fishing magazines and one flat screen television mounted in the corner. Two men sat in the chairs drinking beer. Next to that area along the wall was a small bar that also doubled as a counter for the sale of fishing tackle. The tackle hung on pegs from the wall behind the bar as well as in a glass case below the bar’s countertop. A wall of windows lined the opposite wall that faced the lake.

  As they stepped out of the office, Don glanced out the windows to the main dock where a boat was unloading. “Is that Bobby Bigeagle?” Don asked as he pointed out the window.

  “That’s him!” responded Owens with relief. “My guests are OK.”

  “Stay here,” said Dave as he put his hand on the lodge owner’s shoulder. “Let us go out there and talk to him.”

  Both men instinctively felt for the weapons at their side as they went back out the front and around the side of the lodge.

  “How do you want to handle this brother?” asked Don.

  “Let’s make sure the guests are out of the boat and clear of the dock before we go out there.” Dave peered around the corner of the building to see that the two men Bigeagle had been guiding had just stepped off the dock onto the shore carrying their rods and tackle boxes. Bigeagle was on the dock bent over a large cooler. He could see a knife hanging from the guide’s belt, but no sign of any firearm. He turned back to Don. “Doesn’t look like he’s carrying but watch out for the knife. Let’s go.”

  The brothers nodded at the two anglers carrying their equipment as they crossed paths and quickly covered the ground to the dock.

  “Mr. Bigeagle,” said Dave. At the sound of his name the big man looked up at the men standing at the end of the dock. Dave first saw surprise in his face that quickly turned to a calm hatred as his eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. The twins had seen the look before – a man not afraid to kill or be killed. Bigeagle’s mouth opened as if he was about to say something exposing a silver tooth in front.

  “Mr. Bigeagle, I’m sheriff Trask. I’d like to talk to you.”

  The words were barely out of Dave’s mouth when the man grabbed the rope at the rear of the boat that had been looped over a pole on the dock and jumped in the boat. Dave was amazed at how nimble he was. Neither brother had noticed that the quiet four-stroke motor on Bigeagle’s boat was idling as they approached. The guide slammed the boat into reverse as Dave ran towards the boat. By the time he reached the end of the dock the man had put the boat in forward and was giving it gas.

  “Dave! Come on!”

  Dave looked back to see Don untying a boat that had been on the other side of the dock near shore. Don held the rope as Dave jumped in and pushed the start button. The Honda came to life and Dave gave it gas, the motor stuttering briefly, and then taking off.

  Bigeagle had a substantial lead on the brothers as they watched the rear of his boat round the point heading out into the main lake and then disappear. With the weight of two men in boats that were similarly equipped, Dave knew he had little chance to catch Bigeagle unless the guide had engine problems or, for some reason, he could get more power from his. Neither seemed likely.

  Still, there was one other possibility. Bigeagle had just come in from a day of fishing and had not had time to fill his tank. If they could keep him in sight he may run out of gas thought Dave as he glanced at the gas gauge to his left. The tank was full.

  As the brothers rounded the point they could see the boat ahead of them heading directly for a large island to the south. The main lake was considerably rougher than the protected bay of the camp and the first big wave caught the boat on the side, sending spray into Dave’s face and nearly knocking Don from his seat in front. If Dave wanted to avoid the spray he could head directly into the waves but that would only give Bigeagle a greater lead. He could see the guide’s boat pushing spray on either side as it sliced the top of a big wave. No doubt, the guide could handle a boat. Dave gunned the motor as Don grabbed both sides of the boat in front.

  The boat pounded the waves, bouncing both men in their seats and soaking Dave. He wiped the water from his eyes to clear his vision, hoping that there were no floating logs or other debris in their way.

 
; Suddenly Don turned and yelled. “He’s stalled!”

  Dave peered around his brother to see that Bigeagle’s boat was now turned broadside to them and that the guide was standing and working on the motor. As Dave closed the gap, he could see Bigeagle remove the cowling and toss it in the bottom of the boat. It took only a moment for Dave to realize that Bigeagle was wrapping a rope around the powerhead and trying to start it by hand. To pull start a motor this large was not easy.

  Dave was now within fifty yards of the stalled boat ahead of him. Bigeagle stood tall in the back and watched them come, rope in his hand. Then, as Don was pulling his gun and yelling for Bigeagle to raise his hands, the man gave the motor another pull. It started. Bigeagle sat back down and gave the motor gas.

  “Shit!” shouted Don as he sat.

  The boats were now within twenty yards of each other as Bigeagle cut dangerously close to the big island, between a large boulder and the shore, daring Dave to follow. Dave stayed in the center of the wake of the boat in front of him and now found that he was keeping up if not gaining ground as the guide’s boat was smoothing the waves for him. Dave had better control of his boat and the waves were no longer hitting him in the face. He was wondering where Bigeagle was leading when suddenly he was afraid he knew.

  A tenth of a mile ahead lay the entrance to the Seagull River. The river was home to tremendous bass and walleye fishing, with an occasional trophy pike or muskie, but it also harbored considerable danger. In the spring, the river was a rolling mass of whitewater as it channeled the snowmelt and spring rains into the lake and other lakes to the north, but in the summer it was relatively calm. The slower nature of the river in summer did not do much to lessen the danger of anyone trying to navigate it however. The number of prop-eating, hull-gouging rocks in the river increased as the water level decreased, and the stained water hid those rocks well.

  He’s heading for the river!” shouted Dave. “Can you take out his motor?”

  Don looked at the boat ahead of them. With Bigeagle holding the tiller handle it would be an extremely difficult shot if he didn’t want to hit the guide, especially moving at this pace. If the guide would make a sharp turn when he shot it was likely that Don would hit him. “Hold it steady,” replied Don as he turned to Dave and then drew his weapon.