by Mike Faricy
I pulled across the street and skidded to a stop, parking against traffic in a handicapped parking zone, not that there was any traffic. I hurried in the door and couldn’t tell if the place was a hundred years old or some new joint just made to look like that. There was a couple in a booth who looked at me as I rushed in, the woman whispered something to the guy and then they both just stared. Two guys at the bar sitting a couple of stools apart didn’t bother to look up but just continued to stare at their beers. There were three young guys standing and laughing at the far end of the bar. I just caught sight of a redhead in the middle of them and hurried over in their direction.
“Veronica, hey, Veronica,” I called.
Two of the guys looked at me, one of them sort of stepped forward to run interference. “Hey, easy pal, she’s busy, private party.”
Veronica’s head popped out from behind. “Oh, this is the guy I was just telling you about. You get those kids?” she laughed.
“Yeah, but he’s got a hostage. How do I get to the police station?”
The smile suddenly dropped from her face. “The police station? There isn’t one.”
“Washington County Sheriff’s Department handles everything down here. They’re headquartered up in Stillwater,” the one who stepped in front of me said.
“They got a boat? The guy I’m after headed downriver in a pontoon boat and I…”
“Man, are you on the level?” one of the other guys asked.
“Yeah. This guy kidnapped three kids and their aunt. Look, I’m a private investigator. He’s still got the woman, their aunt. Guy used to work for a government agency, he’s a computer geek. I need to get out on that river and find them.”
“God, by the time they get a boat out of Stillwater and down here he could be already in Red Wing or up in St. Paul.”
“Shit. You guys know someone with a boat?”
“You’re really serious, man. Aren’t you?”
“This guy is desperate. He’s liable to kill this woman. He’s going to get nailed for kidnapping. I’m not joking. Do you know how I can get my hands on a boat?”
“Well, I got one,” the guy behind Veronica said. He hadn’t spoken until this point.
“Can I borrow it? Look, I’ll pay you. I got maybe a couple hundred bucks on me, I can get more. But I need to get moving.”
He seemed to think about that for a moment, then looked at his two pals, who just shrugged. “No, I can’t let you take it.” Veronica shot him a glance. “But I’ll drive you, and we can try and find them.”
“You’re not going alone,Tommy.”
“Look guys, I’m serious, and I’m out of time. If you can take me, great, but I’ve got to get moving, like now.”
The guy who stepped in front of me drained his beer and said, “Let’s go, man, this’ll be cool.”
“I’m parked out front.”
The other two slid off their stools, placed their glasses on the bar and started to head toward the door.
“I just have to go to the bathroom,” Veronica said, then slid off her stool.
Chapter Forty-Five
We all just stood there and watched as she sauntered toward the ladies room in the back of the bar, apparently in no particular hurry. The moment she pushed open the door to the ladies room, one of guys said, “Come on, let’s get going,” and we hurried out to the car.
I hopped in behind the wheel of the Escalade. “Where to?” I asked as they all climbed in.
“Turn around and head out of town, it’s fifteen miles down the county road,” a voice said from the back. We were doing eighty and picking up speed as I headed out of town.
“One of you guys call 911, get us connected to a dispatcher. I want them to know what we’re doing.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, see if we can’t get them involved, but I don’t want to wait.”
“I got it,” someone in the back said and I heard the key tones on his phone. A moment later, he said. “Yeah, ummm, see, we’re just heading out of Afton, and we’re about to go out onto the river and stop a kidnapping, and we wanted to let you know. What? No. Honest. Well, yeah, but just maybe half a beer.”
“God,” the guy in the front passenger seat said.
“No, I don’t know. Well, see, this guy came into the bar and…”
“Have him give me that phone.”
“Tommy, give the guy the phone.”
“Here, hang on a minute, he wants to talk to you,” he said, then passed the phone up to me.
“Hello, who am I speaking to?”
“This is the Washington County Sheriff’s Department,” the guy said in a no-nonsense tone. I expected him to read me the riot act for wasting his time. “This is an emergency number. Just what…”
“My name is Devlin Haskell. I’m a licensed private investigator in the State of Minnesota. I’m licensed to carry a weapon.” Suddenly, you could hear a pin drop in the car. “Earlier this evening I rescued three children who had been abducted along with their aunt. I’m in pursuit of a man named Niles Wegger.” I spelled the name for him. “He’s still holding the woman, Chrissy Lowry. They’re heading down the St. Croix in a pontoon boat. I’m going after them.”
“Sir, I can dispatch a Sheriff’s Deputy and…”
“There isn’t that kind of time. Call this number.” I rattled off Bonnie’s number. “It’s Bonnie Lowry’s number. She’s the mother of the kidnapped children. She’s already contacted the St. Paul Police.”
“Sir, I’m going to have to insist that…”
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have that kind of time.”
“You are in violation of…”
“Take the next left up here, just on the other side of this hill,” a voice said from the back.
“Look, I gotta go, call Bonnie’s number,” I said and clicked the phone off. We shot up the small hill, then went airborne for a moment or two at the top before we landed back on pavement.
“Left turn is right here,” the voice said and I slammed on the brakes. We skidded past the road and I threw the car in reverse. I pushed it into drive and we headed down the road. With the tree branches arched overhead it was like driving through a tunnel. I flicked on the brights and started to pick up speed.
“It gets real curvy up ahead, and then you get to our place, so better hold your speed down.” He wasn’t kidding. I sailed past a yellow road sign that signaled a series of ’S’ curves and then hit the brakes as we wound our way through.
“Right after this next curve is our mailbox, take a left just on the far side.”
I did as I was told and we suddenly pulled in front of a 60’s sort of rambler. As we hopped out, the guy who’d been giving me directions called, “This way,” and headed across a grassy hill and down toward the river.
I could see a dock jutting out into the water. It was shaped like a ’T’ and had three boats tied to it. There was a large pontoon boat similar to the one Wegger had taken, maybe a little smaller, an aluminum fishing boat with an outboard hanging on the back, and then some sort of speedboat. We ran down to the metal dock, then thundered across it to the speedboat. One of the guys began untying the boat while the rest of us climbed aboard. He hopped in over the side just as the boat started, and we headed out onto the river.
“You said this guy was driving a pontoon?”
“Yeah. It’s Tommy, right?” I said to the guy behind the wheel.
“Yeah, nice to meet you. Never met a private investigator before.”
I nodded. “Can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. He was headed downriver from up in Afton. Didn’t seem to be in a hurry, just took his time heading out to the middle of the river, then turned and headed downstream.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to call attention to himself, who knows? He can get some speed, but nothing like this. We can do up to fifty knots if we have to.”
I sort of gave him a blank look.
“That’s about sixty miles per hour.”
&
nbsp; “A speedboat,” I said.
“Not exactly. It’s a jet boat, runs on water propulsion rather than a prop. Has a shallow draft. Let’s check these guys out,” he said, then pushed the throttle down and sped toward the set of lights far up ahead of us just as clouds were beginning to form.
Chapter Forty-Six
It wasn’t Wegger. Nor was the next boat, or the two after that.
“Shit, man, it’s after ten and everyone is heading home or pulling into a camping site. Not a lot of movement.”
He wasn’t kidding. There was a set of lights far behind us, most likely one of the three boats we’d already checked. Off on the Wisconsin side of the shore a couple of boats had pulled up onto the sand and someone had built a large fire, you could see five or six people standing around, probably planning to spend the night.
“You think maybe we were ahead of them when we started out and he’s back behind us somewhere?” I asked.
Tommy just shrugged. “Tough to say. We’ve been making pretty good time, so he couldn’t be much further ahead if he kept that leisurely pace. Course, he could have pulled into shore somewhere and we would have shot right past him. Kind of a guessing game, but you can see how light the traffic’s getting. And it looks like the weather’s about to turn to shit.”
I didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. Just two sets of lights up ahead, the furthest one was so far out it could have been a taillight on a parked car, not that I could tell. Then, just in case things weren’t screwed up enough, it started to rain.
“How ‘bout we check those two out up ahead?” I said. “We don’t find anything, I don’t know, maybe head back, check along shore as we go. I’m open to any ideas at this point.”
“We’ll check those two up ahead. Tell you the truth, I can’t believe he’d be this far down, we’re almost to Prescott, where it flows into the Mississippi. He gets that far, he can head in a number of different directions. With this weather I’d say just a couple more minutes, then we better turn around. Sorry, man.”
With that he pushed the throttle forward and picked up speed, heading downriver. We came up close to the first set of lights. Tommy backed off the speed as we came abreast of some sort of cabin cruiser thing. The guy driving looked over at us, raised a beer can and gave a toast. Tommy waved back, pushed the throttle forward and we took off down river toward the last set of lights.
One of the guys sitting in back stepped forward and said, “Any luck? We’re thinking we should maybe consider heading back up river before this rain really kicks in. Sorry, but it looks like you might have drawn a blank.”
I just frowned and nodded.
“Yeah, we’re gonna check this last bastard up ahead. If he ain’t our boy, we’re heading back,” Tommy said.
We pulled closer over the next few minutes. But once we were in sight, I looked at it and said, “Damn it, I don’t think that’s him.”
“No shit? God, I was hoping, it’s the first damn pontoon we’ve seen.”
I took another look. “That’s a pontoon? It doesn’t look like the one he was driving. His was mostly white, and didn’t have that black top.”
“That’s a Bimini top, it’s just canvas on a metal frame, usually for protection against the sun. It probably works, at least a little in this mist, but this rain gets any heavier it’s worthless, and if he picks up any speed it can become a real hazard. Come on, we’ll just check it out,” Tommy said and sped up until he was parallel with the pontoon boat. “You see anything that looks familiar?”
“No, I can’t see shit, maybe…”
Suddenly the pontoon pushed forward. We were close enough to see the canvas top beginning to shake.
“Stupid bastard, what the hell does he think he’s doing? He keeps that up he’s going to bend his frame, if he doesn’t rip that top off all together.”
“Can you get any closer?”
Tommy edged the throttle forward ever so slightly and the jet boat seemed to jump. He turned the wheel toward the pontoon, and we moved closer for maybe five seconds before the first shot was fired.
“Jesus Christ,” Tommy shouted, then swung the wheel around and we did a 180 that sent me stumbling backwards as we rocketed back up river. “I’d say you found your man. Son of a bitch, now what?”
“Can you follow him, maybe hang back a bit, but stay on him.” I pulled my phone out, looked at the screen, ‘No Service’. The other two guys were suddenly down on the floor, one of them was hurriedly strapping on a lifejacket. “Hey, one of you guys got a phone?”
“Yeah, I got mine,” the other one said.
“Call 911. Any way to tell where the hell we are out here?”
“Tell him we’re about two miles upriver from Prescott, we’re just passing the Meyer’s place on the Minnesota side,” Tommy yelled back.
A moment later I heard the guy on the phone. “No, damn it, I already told you, a kidnapping. They’re shooting at us. No. The guy’s some kind of a detective. Okay, just a minute. Hey, here, take this, I guess he wants to talk to you,” the guy said, crawling over to me on all fours. Tommy was hanging back, still following the pontoon.
“Yeah, hello.”
“Are you the individual I spoke with earlier?”
“Yes. We’re following the pontoon boat with a woman being held against her will. The guy driving the pontoon, his name is Niles Wegger, and he’s armed. He’s already fired at us.”
“I want you to stop your pursuit immediately before someone gets hurt.”
“He’ll kill her for sure if we stop. Can you alert the police in Prescott to come upriver, maybe they could…”
There was a pause on the other end of the line, then he said, “Hold on. Bear with me while I put you through to Prescott. Let me talk first.”
A moment later a woman answered, “Prescott emergency services.”
The Stillwater dispatcher went on to explain the situation. Told her what we were doing and asked if they could get someone moving upriver. “Hold a minute, let me contact,” and she was suddenly off the line.
“Did she hang up on us?” I asked.
“No, I think she’s probably going to contact their chief. He’s actually got a boat and lives on the river. It would probably be the best option, if he’s home. We’ll just have to…”
“Still there?” She was suddenly back.
“Yes,” we answered at the same time.
“We’re putting a boat in the water. He can be heading upriver in just a few minutes. Is there a way he can identify you?”
I thought for half a moment, then asked Tommy, “You got a spotlight or anything on here?”
“I’ve got a light on the bow and a couple of high-powered torches stored beneath one of the seats.”
I repeated that to the dispatcher. “We’ll turn them on and flash them, so he can see us as he approaches. The pontoon we’re following is maybe a hundred yards ahead of us, still heading downriver, closer to the Minnesota side.”
Tommy yelled at the guys on the floor to check under the seats for the torches. Then he turned on his spotlight, and the beam shot into the darkness maybe twenty feet off from the side of the pontoon. After a few seconds, he shut it off.
“Are these them?” the guy with the lifejacket called and held up what looked like two long flashlights.
“Yeah, that’s them. Go back there and grab them,” Tommy said to me. “Then head up to the bow, and you can shine them from there.”
I stepped back and grabbed the torches, then headed for the bow. The two guys stayed back, curled up on the floor. Tommy continued to hold the same distance behind Wegger.
I knelt down in the bow, then clicked one of the torches on, it was like a laser beam shooting into the darkness of the river. I directed the beam onto the rear of the pontoon for a moment, caught what I think was Wegger, then flicked it off.
“He’s picking up speed,” Tommy called a moment later, and I felt the jet boat inch forward. I flicked the torch on again a half-minute
later, the canvas top on the pontoon had risen on one side and looked to be flapping. I turned the torch off.
Chapter Forty-Seven
We kept it up for the next ten or fifteen minutes. At one point I thought Wegger might be heading for shore, but in the end he continued downriver. A white light, way beyond Wegger blinked in our direction and Tommy yelled, “See that light flashing, I bet that’s our guy, the Prescott cop.” He flashed the spotlight and I clicked the torch a couple of times in that direction, then flashed the torch on the pontoon.
The canvas top seemed to hang at an odd angle, like maybe Wegger had tried to lower the thing and it bent, or maybe the frame just happened to bend, given the speed he was moving at. As the torch illuminated the area Wegger gave a quick glance back, then turned toward us and pointed a gun. I flicked off the torch, and a moment later two shots echoed off the sides of the river valley. Tommy eased back on the throttle and flashed the spotlight downriver again.
The light coming toward us from downriver was growing closer, the Prescott cop must have had the thing moving all out. Tommy flashed the spotlight three times, and the light flashed back three times. The action didn’t seem to be lost on Wegger, because the pontoon suddenly made a hard right and headed for shore.
“He’s going to beach her,” Tommy shouted.
I put the torch on the pontoon, Wegger was definitely heading into shore. I went back and forth, shining the torch on the pontoon, then out into the middle of the river at the boat charging toward us, hoping he could see the pontoon. After a couple of flashes, the approaching light veered toward the shore, heading in the general direction of Wegger’s pontoon.
I kept the torch shining on the pontoon, Wegger was illuminated, plainly visible, and didn’t seem to care at this point. He just steered full speed ahead toward the shoreline. The canvas top was now clearly torn and flapping in the wind.