by Midge Bubany
“Wish we could hear what they’re saying,” Spanky said.
The driver pumped gas while the big guy continued to talk to Hawk.
“Driver is a small guy.”
“Driver, turn toward the camera so we can see your face,” I said. He wore a hoodie which was obstructing a view of his face.
“That’s a Cardinal’s hoodie,” Spanky said. “See the dark stripe from the shoulder down the arm, two white stripes on the upper sleeve?”
“You know your sportswear,” Tamika said.
Just as Hawk replaced the nozzle into the pump, the driver of the van quit pumping gas and looked toward the big guy who was walking back toward the van. I caught my first glimpse of his face.
I said, “The small guy could be Raybern Ginty, the guy I interviewed in Vegas.”
Tamika pointed to the screen. “Hey, look, it’s Shannon driving up to the pump across from your friend. Does she know him?”
“Yes, of course. They must not see each other.”
I backtracked through the tape, so I could see the Pilot rolling in again. It definitely was Shannon, but who the hell was sitting in her front passenger seat? Too big for Luke. She got out to pump gas. I moved my face closer to the screen. Who the hell was that?
“They’re following him,” Spanky said.
My attention diverted from Shannon’s car back to the white van rolling out behind Hawk as he drove out of the station and turned east.
“Tamika, see if you can pick up the tattooed dude inside the station.”
She went to her computer and clicked away until she found him. “Here he is,” she said.
The man looked to be in his thirties, long thin face, big nose and ears.
“He looks familiar,” Tamika said.
“Let’s have Samantha Polansky make photos of the men, then enhance the plate on the white van,” I said.
Samantha was our IT person.
“Hey, look at this. I think the white van used the ATM at Wells Fargo.”
Spanky scrolled the film to the point where the white van pulled up.
“Same hoodie. See the white stripes?” Spanky said.
“Yep, he withdrew cash,” I said. “What time does the recording say?” I asked.
“Twelve forty-two,” he said.
“That’s an hour and a half after their encounter at Frank’s. Something happened within that time frame.”
“So, if they hurt your friend,” Tamika said, putting a finger up, “they did it without anyone seeing.”
“His broken taillights indicate they could have rear-ended him to get him out of his vehicle,” Spanky said.
I said, “Then forced him into their van where they robbed him. One of the passengers could have driven his Mercedes off, parked it at Nissen’s farm. They could have forced his pin number out of him.”
“I’ll bet his body isn’t far from where his car was found,” Tamika said. “There’s a million places to dump a body around here.”
“Tamika! This is Cal’s friend we’re talking about,” Spanky said.
She looked at me with wide eyes. “Oh, sorry. Was I being insensitive? I was, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, but I’m thinking the exact thing,” I said.
“Why didn’t they steal the Mercedes?” Spanky asked.
“Because they’re not car thieves. They’re something worse,” I said.
“When is the canine unit going to be dispatched?” Spanky said.
“I’ll check right now. I didn’t finish interviewing Cat Hawkinson’s friends. Which of you wants to drive down to the Cities tomorrow?”
“I will,” Spanky said.
“There’s a list with phone numbers on my desk. Tamika, you contact Samantha to make some still copies. You know what we need.”
“On it.”
I wanted to ask to have the photo of Shannon’s passenger enhanced. But shook off the thought. I was being ridiculous—it was probably her dad.
I went into the conference room where we met for larger cases. It was a white board opposite a bank of windows. I drew a line down the middle of the board. On the left I wrote “Brooks’s Cabin Burglary” and circled it. Then I drew a web of four lines off the circle to resemble a wheel, and I wrote the neighbors’ names on two and made question marks on the others. It was possible the perpetrators were kids or druggies looking for something to pawn for quick cash, like a shotgun. I made a note to check the area shops.
In the middle of the whiteboard I drew another larger web: one circle in the middle with Michael Hawkinson’s name in the center. Off it I drew three lines with a circle at the end. In the circles I wrote people, circumstances, motive. Off people I drew six lines for Raybern Ginty, Nevada Wynn, Roseanna Martinez, tattoo guy, Cat Hawkinson, and Irving and Monica Ames. We always look at the family.
For circumstances I made lines for Mercedes found abandoned, gas station interaction, cash card used by someone in white van. For motive I had a question mark. I’d have to add to the web as evidence came in. I wasn’t certain if these two cases where related. Hopefully, the DNA tests would tell us.
I filled out a search warrant for Hawk’s financials and phone records and went over and had Judge Olann sign it during his lunch hour.
At one o’clock, I met the canine unit out at the Nissen farm site where Hawk’s car had been found abandoned. We had one search-and-rescue dog, a Malinois/German shepherd mix named Vito. He was purchased from some Eastern European country, made possible with a generous donation from anonymous benefactors. They were Silver Rae Dawson’s parents. Their daughter’s remains had been found fifteen years after she went missing. Memorial donations had poured in from across the nation, and the Dawsons wanted to do something with the money that would help others in their situation. Little did I know when I suggested the fund to the Dawsons, the dog purchased would be deployed to help find my best friend.
Deputy Dan Babcock was the dog’s handler. Dan had picked up Hawk’s Twins baseball cap from Mrs. Hawkinson. That was the only thing of his his Mom hadn’t laundered. I was there to document and record the search.
Dan took the dog off leash to let him track. With nose to the ground, Vito sniffed around and looked up at Dan.
“He’s not picking up a scent,” Dan said.
“So he wasn’t here?”
“Either that or the recent rain washed it away.”
I nodded. “Okay. Let’s go on over to the Brooks’s cabin to see if Vito picks up one there.”
Dan followed me over. Chester Brooks agreed to meet us there with the key. Before we entered, Dan gave Vito another smell of Hawk’s cap. The dog moved quickly about the room, and Dan said it was clear he caught a scent on the floor, a chair, and in the bathroom.
We tried the garage, no scent there. So, we knew Hawk had been at the cabin and possibly at the farmstead, but neither place had any traces of blood, or shell cartridges, which allowed me to remain optimistic he was still alive.
I thanked Dan and Chester, then headed back to my office where I had a message from Oliver Bakken to see him ASAP. Before I did so, I went into the conference room and drew a line from the burglary case to the missing persons case and wrote M. Hawkinson was at cabin. There were plenty of people between the farmstead and the cabin Hawk could have asked for help, and he wouldn’t abandon his car and walk three miles to the cabin and burglarize it. He was forced. But why?
It was a nice day, so instead of taking the tunnel to the courthouse, I walked outside over to the impressive red-brick building built in 1913. I walked past the courtrooms and offices on the ground floor and down the marble staircase to the county attorney’s office on the lowest level.
Oliver’s clerk said they were waiting for me. John Mertz, assistant county attorney, was half of the “they.” Mertz was in h
is early forties, balding, and had a pleasant disposition. I liked him more than Oliver who reminded me of a rooster, the way he strutted and held his beak of a nose high in the air.
“You wanted to see me?” I said.
Oliver pointed to the empty chair. “Have a seat.” I did and he said, “Ready to testify in the Lewis trial?”
“No.”
Oliver pursed his lips. “John will prep you. Jury selection will wind up by Monday. Just so you know, the defense will be allowed to bring up your prior relationship with Miss Lewis, and Troy’s with Ms. Valero.”
“Terrific. I thought you said it wouldn’t.”
“The judge said the defense’s argument that the relationships tainted your arson investigation was valid. Also, defense added a last-minute character witness,” Oliver said.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Brock Snyder,” Mertz said. “We’re investigating him.”
“Did her attorney mention if she’s showing up?” I asked.
“Didn’t ask. Don’t care,” Oliver said.
“Good for you,” I said.
“We’ve got her. Now John will brief you.”
I followed John into his adjoining office and once we closed the door behind us, I said, “Shouldn’t he be more worried than he is?”
“Just between you and me, Oliver’s worst enemy is his ego. When he feels intimidated, the posturing begins. Acts like he won and the buzzer hasn’t sounded. Do you know he wouldn’t have caught that Brock Snyder was added as a witness if I hadn’t pointed it out.”
“Who is he?”
“At this point, all I know is that he is a pilot. He lives in Minneapolis, divorced, no children.”
“A pilot? I wondered if he was the jerk in the biplane who was flying too low over town.”
“I’ll check to see if he owns a plane. Now, we’d better brief you.”
So I spent an hour I didn’t have, going over Oliver’s questions and likely ones the defense would hit me with. John said to answer the questions truthfully and not give any additional information unless Oliver asked for it, which was nothing new. But this was not an ordinary case. Oliver was up against a defense team skilled at discrediting testimony and rattling prosecutors.
When I got back to the office, Tamika showed me the photos Samantha Polansky had made up. She was able to print off good images of the two men at Frank’s. One was a partial face shot, and it looked like it could be Ginty. The windshield created a glare so we couldn’t get a good shot of the front passenger.
“Tamika, may I ask you a question?”
“Ask away,” she said.
“Have you spoken to Shannon lately?”
“Sure, we talk most every day.”
“Do you know who was with her that day at the station?”
“I think you should ask her.”
“But you know?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Not her dad, then.”
“No.”
“Is she dating?”
“Cal, I’m not getting in the middle of this.”
“But you’re listening to her, so you already are.”
“Listening. I’m also offering her advice, which she isn’t taking.”
“Which is?”
“To end it.”
“With me or him?”
“Him, of course.”
“Jesus Christ, just tell me who it is.”
She shook her head.
I drove directly to Shannon’s house. Her Pilot was in the open garage along with Clara’s Volvo. Clara answered the door.
“Well, hi, Cal, this is a surprise.”
“I need to speak with Shannon.”
“Come on in.”
“No, would you tell her to come outside? I don’t want to talk in front of the kids.”
“You seem upset.”
“I am.”
“I’ll get her.”
Shannon had already changed out of her uniform into a pair of black slacks and a silky white blouse I hadn’t seen before. I caught the scent of a new perfume as she stepped out the door. She’d dropped weight; her hair looked lighter in color and cut in a new style.
“What’s up?”
“Who are you seeing?”
She straightened her spine and sighed, and then Bullet bounded out the door, which had been left ajar. He wiggled his body up against mine, so I leaned down to pet him. That’s when I noticed her polished toenails in new sandals. She rarely bothered to polish her toenails.
I looked up at her from a crouching position. “So, are you?”
She shrugged. “Yes.”
My face prickled. I experienced it whenever I was blindsided. A lump formed in my throat, and I felt sick to my stomach.
“For how long?” I asked.
She ran her hand through her hair. “Not very.”
“I thought we agreed we’d wait until our counseling sessions were through—and together we would decide.”
“Well, we aren’t making any headway, are we? I told Michael I was through with marriage counseling. I’m taking Luke in for individual counseling and if you wish, we can continue to meet as a family.”
“Well, it’d been nice to have been in on this decision making process instead of finding out you were seeing someone while I was examining a frickin’ video feed from Frank’s Plaza.”
As I spoke, she looked around the neighborhood. I may have raised my voice.
Her face had turned crimson. She took a deep breath and blinked several times. “Shit,” she said.
“Just tell me who it is.”
She hesitated then whispered, “Mac Wallace.”
“Mac Wallace? The realtor with his smiley mug on all the billboards?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head and said, “Come on, Bullet. We’re going home.”
Bullet romped across the front lawn and waited at the truck door, his tail wagging a mile a minute. As I pulled away, I looked back to see her still standing on the steps with her arms crossed. She used a fist to wipe her eyes. Good. She should feel bad.
The phone was ringing as I walked in the door. The display said it was Shannon’s home phone. I fully expected it to be her, contrite and apologetic, but it was Clara.
“I just called to ask how you’re doing. You looked so upset.”
“Did you know Shannon was seeing another man?”
“She didn’t tell me she was, but I figured she was meeting someone going out all dolled up.”
“When did it start?”
“Beginning of March.”
“So over two months.”
“Yes. My daughter said she saw her with a man at Minnesota Fare.”
“That’s just great. I feel like a gigantic fool.”
“Cal, it’s not your fault, you know.”
“It’s never one person’s fault, Clara. I had my part in it. Look, I should be talking to Shannon. Is she home?”
“Yes, after you left, she canceled her plans.”
“May I speak with her?”
“Sure. Just a second.”
A minute passed before Shannon said, “Hi. Look, I’m sorry you found out about Mac before I had a chance to tell you.”
“You had the last two months to tell me. I think we need to end our relationship, so you can feel better about the new one. I’ll call Phillip Warner and get things started.”
Silence.
“Shannon?”
“If that’s what you want.”
I laughed.
“What’s funny?”
“How you turned it around on me. I can’t talk to you right now.”
I hung up, picked up Shannon�
��s favorite coffee mug and threw it at the fireplace. Bullet barked, then whined.
“Oh, shit. Sorry, boy.”
I put him outside and swept up the pieces. Then the front doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole and saw someone I didn’t expect to see—Cat Hawkinson.
I opened the door. “Cat?”
“You didn’t call me back.”
“Oh, sorry. I got busy.”
“Well, I need to know what’s going on.”
“Okay. Come on in.”
As we walked the hallway to the kitchen she said, “I was wondering if I might stay with you and Shannon, if you have room, that is. My new credit cards haven’t arrived yet. Daddy gave me some cash, but it’s not enough to stay in a hotel room for long.”
“Um, sure. You can take our third floor efficiency apartment.”
Our former nanny, Britt, used it, but Clara chose Colby’s old room.
She took a look around the kitchen she said, “This is nice. I like it.”
“Thanks.”
Her eyebrows knitted. “So, where is everybody?”
“Um… Shannon and I are separated, and the kids are with her this week.”
She made a flinching motion with her head and neck like she stepped in dog shit.
“Oh… why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’re having your own problems.”
“Can I ask what happened?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
Then came the uncomfortable silence where seconds seem like minutes.
I said, “Are you hungry?”
“Not really, but I suppose I should eat.”
“Italian, Chinese, or pizza. They all deliver.”
I didn’t want to be seen in public with Hawk’s wife—or any other woman, for that matter, so I could remain superior.
“Italian.”
We both selected a pasta dish, and I called in the order in. She had brought a bottle of wine, so we opened it. She suggested we sit out on the deck and wait for the delivery, and I didn’t know how to say I didn’t want my neighbors to see her, so I went along with it.
I shared with her most of what we knew and what we could do to find him, which wasn’t much without a lead.