by Midge Bubany
I led the way to the door. Sydney Dirkson, Hawk’s private-eye cousin, answered the bell. She took one look at me and raised a brow. “Jealous husband?”
I shook my head and said, “Raccoon. Never try to get one out of your garage.”
She smiled and said, “Raccoons must have a heck of a good left-hook.”
“Yep.”
She touched my arm. “Since you all are here, I’m assuming whatever’s going on at the farm south of town concerns Mike.”
I gave her a shrug, then introduced the sheriffs.
“Please come in,” she said, stepping aside.
The living room was packed with people: Tom and Barb, Cat and her parents, and others I didn’t recognize.
The only sound was a heartbreaking moan coming from Barb as she anticipated what she was about to hear. Cat met me just inside the room and clutched my arms, her face full of despair.
I whispered, “It wasn’t him.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head. “Not him?” she whimpered. A hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, thank God.”
I made quick introductions then the sheriff asked Tom and Barb if they wished to speak in private. They declined. So in front of the family and friends who had gathered in their living room, the sheriff announced that it was Paul who had been found shot to death.
A collective gasp filled the room. Every face reflected pure shock and horror.
Irving Ames broke the silence to ask, “Are you sure?”
I nodded. What a question. “Yes, I’m sure.”
As Cat had begun to sob, Cat’s parents rushed to her side. Irving held his daughter as she whimpered, “He’s still missing, Daddy. He’s still missing.”
The Hawkinsons remained motionless on the couch. I went to Barb and knelt on one knee. I took one of her hands. “I’m so sorry. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
She looked up at me and said, “Can you tell Tulia? She should be told.”
The look on her face broke my heart. “Sure.”
“Are you okay?” she asked, touching my cheek. “What happened to your face?”
“I tripped. We’ll get out of your way.”
Tom walked us to the door. “I want to see Paul,” he said.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea,” I said.
“Why?”
Hudson said, “I tend to agree with Cal. He was shot in the back of the head and the bullets do terrible damage coming out.”
Tom gave his head a shake. “It’s something I gotta do.”
The sheriff said he’d get back to him on when and where.
Patrice drove me directly over to Tulia’s house.
When we pulled up she said, “Want me to go in with you?”
“Up to you.”
“I’ve had enough for one day, thank you.”
As I approached the front door, Tulia was at the picture window in her front room. She met me at the door.
“Hi, may I come in?”
“What happened to you?”
“Nothing, really.”
“Something happened.”
“Doesn’t have anything to do with Hawk or Paul.”
“Are you looking for Paul? Because he ain’t here and he didn’t bother to come home last night.”
“Are you gonna let me in?”
She pushed open the screen door, then stood just inside with her arms crossed tightly across her mid-section.
“Let’s have a seat somewhere,” I said.
She walked to her kitchen and plunked herself down with a thud in a chair. I walked around and sat opposite her. She picked up her Marlboro Lights pack and pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a pink lighter, took a deep drag, then blew the smoke out the open window. She stared out and said, “Who’s with you?”
“My boss.”
“I’m not trying to be rude, but what do you want?” She took another pull of her cigarette.
“When was the last time you saw Paul?”
She exhaled the smoke, this time not trying for the window. “Last night at the bar. He left about nine o’clock, said had to take care of something, and he’d see me later. But he didn’t come home. The rat bastard’s probably with another women.”
“Tulia, Paul was found dead this morning on a farm south of town.”
“A farm? What was he doing there?”
Her eyes went round and quickly began to glisten with tears. She slowly lifted her hands and covered her face bringing the cigarette precariously close to her hair. I reached across and pulled it from her hand and stubbed it out. Then I walked around the table, bent down and put my arm around her shoulders. Her body shuddered as she sobbed.
“How did he die?” she asked, pushing through her tears.
I returned to my seat. “He was shot.”
Tulia looked at me, her face contorted with the agony of grief. “It was those creepy shit birds who killed him, wasn’t it?”
“Which shit birds?”
“The ones you showed me pictures of—the ones who were talking to Paul the day Mike disappeared.”
I returned to my chair. “We don’t know anything yet.”
The only shit bird out of that crew of dirtbags who wasn’t incarcerated at the moment was Nevada Wynn. I’d mention his name and Woody’s to Tim Hudson. If Paul told Woody what he told me. That’d do it.
“Did Paul know Norman Kramer?”
She hunched her shoulders. “Norm? Sure.”
“That’s where it happened—at Norm’s. Norm’s dead too. Were they friends?”
She looked confused. “Not really. Norm came into The Dive once in a while. You know how Paul talks to everybody.”
“Did he ever tell you what they talked about?”
“I’m sure it was bullshitting: sports, weather, that kind of thing.”
“There’s a group gathered at Hawkinsons. You might want to join them.”
“I don’t think so.” She lit another cigarette. The smoke curled up from her fingers as she held it in her hand. “Tom and Barb will blame me, you know.”
“How would they?”
“Because of our former drug use.”
“Former? Because I’m pretty sure Paul was taking something.”
“All he’s had in months was Valium. He’s been clean lately.”
“Valium, or oxycontin?”
“Whatever.”
“Valium, oxy, beer, and pot? You consider that clean?”
“Well, pot and beer don’t really count.”
“Of course they do. And he’s associated with bad people because of it.”
She flicked the ash of her cigarette, but she hadn’t taken another drag.
“What do you know about Woody?”
She sent me a puzzled look. “Not much. I introduce Paul to him at The Dive. Paul needed a job and Woody had an opening.”
“Who was Woody to you?”
“A customer?”
“Were you his as well?”
She crinkled up her nose as if she didn’t understand.
“Did Woody ever give or sell you or Paul drugs?”
“Oh… um… yeah… sometimes.”
Paul had been a pothead since he was thirteen and easily hooked into the drugs Tulia had introduced him to. There was a reason marijuana was called the gateway drug, just like oxycontin was a quick slide to heroin.
“And you thought Woody would be a good person for Paul to work for?” I said.
“Why are you on my ass, for chrissake? My boyfriend was just killed!”
“You should know the kind of scrutiny you’re going to be under now. And you better give straight answers, so they can find Paul’s killer.”
A look of fear crossed her face. “Am I in danger?”
“You shouldn’t be alone. Is there someone I can call?” I asked.
“My sister?”
“Where does she live?”
“In Wadena.”
“You might be better off staying with her, because not only Crow Wing County but the media is going to be at your doorstep any minute. I’ll let the sheriff know where you’ll be.”
“Shit.”
“Give me your sister’s number. I’ll call her while you pack a bag.”
On the way back to Prairie Falls, Patrice said, “What do you make of all this?”
“I know there are two individuals who have motive: Paul’s boss Woody and Nevada Wynn, who, by the way, I can’t believe was allowed to make bail. I want to know who bailed him out.”
“You won’t get an argument from me.”
“The task force and Tim Hudson should be filled in on what we know.”
“Tim and I talked back at the farm. He said they found nothing at Woody’s shop or residence. They used a canine unit.”
“He may not keep drugs at his house or he’s had the time to get rid of the evidence.”
“Well, I, for one, am glad the murders happened in Crow Wing.”
It may be Crow Wing’s case, but there was no way in hell I was going to stay out of it.
Chapter 22
June 3
Twenty-three days missing
On Tuesday, Minnesota’s media coverage had switched from Victoria’s trial in Prairie Falls to the double homicide in Crow Wing County. The national stations soon picked it up.
For the last twenty-four hours my mind was on nothing else but Paul and Norman Kramer’s deaths and how they were connected to Hawk’s disappearance. One thing bothered me: I hadn’t seen Paul’s car at the farm. As soon as I got to the office, I called Investigator Lee Sabin., but I had to leave a message. I suggested they check The Dive’s parking lot.
Tamika arrived. She grimaced when she saw me. “Oh, Lord have mercy. I thought Troy looked bad.”
“I look worse than he does?”
She scrunched her face. “A teeny bit.”
“Great.”
Spanky entered the room, took a look at me and winced.
“I suppose everyone knows about the tussle?” I asked.
Tamika jerked back. “Tussle? You call that face the result of a tussle?”
Spanky sat at his desk and leaned back in his chair. “I didn’t tell anyone. People knew before I got back to the department.”
“Is Troy still in town?”
Tamika said, “No, he was on his way home last night when I saw him.”
“What exactly did he tell you?”
“That you slept with Adriana, so he kicked the shit out of you. His exact words.”
“Gaw… that’s just great.”
Spanky swiped a hand through the air. “People know you got your punches in too by just looking at him.”
“I tried. This has been a long time coming.”
Tamika threw her hands on her hips. “So, it’s true? You did sleep with Adriana?”
“Whose business is it?”
“Uh-huh, that means you did. She’s testifying today you know.”
“Good, then she can head on back to Minneapolis.” And to redirect the conversation, I asked how their testimonies went.
Tamika puffed up her chest and said, “Oliver said I was a rock star. But then, I didn’t sleep with any of the witnesses.”
I shot her a dirty look. “And you, Spanky?”
“Not so good. I think I may have lost the case for Oliver.”
“Couldn’t have done any more damage than I did,” I said.
“Hey, what do you know about your friend’s brother’s murder out at that farm?” Tamika asked. “That’s like crazy stuff.”
“All this shit leads back to Nevada Wynn.” I told them what I knew.
“Someone either silenced Paul Hawkinson, or it was a revenge killing,” Spanky said.
“Could be both,” I said.
Five minutes later, Investigator Lee Sabin called. “Sheriff Hudson said I should meet with you to pick your brain.”
“Slim pickings,” I said.
He laughed. “How about we meet at the Peppermint Café in Dexter Lake?”
“It’ll take me a half hour.”
Crosby walked in and said he’d planned on working on phone records all day.
I packed up my case files and my laptop, upon which I had downloaded Paul’s interview, and headed over to Dexter Lake, our eastern most city in the county. The Peppermint Café was downtown and although a popular spot with the locals for breakfast, it was fairly empty this morning.
As I entered the café, every eye followed me to a booth in the back corner. The waitress, who looked twelve, arrived with a menu and a glass of water. She’d stared at me with her overly made up eyes like she wanted to ask about my face. “This is what my wife did to me when I ate the last of the ice cream.”
She squinted her eyes at me. “You shouldn’t have eaten her ice cream.”
“Now you tell me. There’ll be one more. Could I please have a cup of coffee while I wait?”
She left and never came back. Ten minutes late, Sabin walked through the door, and all the heads swiveled toward him as he made his way to the booth. He had a strange gait—he was pigeon-toed. Sabin was around my age, a bit shorter. We shook hands. He set his briefcase on the seat next to him.
“Sorry I’m late. Did you order yet?”
“I was waiting for you and apparently the waitress was too because here she comes with a big smile and coffee.”
She looked at Lee and practically crooned, “Coffee?”
“Sure,” he said.
She filled his cup, then stared and smiled at him and asked if he was ready to order. I guess women like his blond surfer looks.
I pushed my cup toward her. “Coffee for me too, thanks.”
She filled the cup but didn’t smile at me like she had him. I’m losing it. Then again, it could be my beat-to-shit fighter face.
She waited while Lee looked at the menu. We both ordered scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon, and toast, and the waitress strutted off.
“So, what did happen?” Lee asked as he pointed to my face.
“I was sucker punched.”
“By someone you arrested?”
“No, my former girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend.”
He gave me a crooked grin. “Oh. So, are you married?”
“Separated.”
He nodded but didn’t press any further. I didn’t really know him, but I liked him. I might have told him the truth.
I tapped my file folders. “So, how should we do this? Do you have questions or do you want me to give you what I have?”
“Give me what you have.”
He pulled a yellow legal pad out of his briefcase, found a pen. “I’m ready.”
I told him everything I knew about the players, and before I could show him Paul’s interview, our food arrived. After we finished eating, he asked if I would send the interview via email and he’d watch it later, then asked what I needed from him.
“Did you find Paul Hawkinson’s car?”
“No, and it wasn’t at The Dive.” He made a note.
“Also, are the DNA tests taken at the farm back yet?”
“They should be in within twenty-four hours. Your sheriff thinks Michael Hawkinson was never on Kramer’s farm. She thinks he was killed earlier this month.”
“Does she?”
“What’s she like?”
“Generally supportive, thorough. Makes investigators wear uniforms.”
“That�
��s a bummer.”
“It is.”
When I got back to the office, I called North Cross and asked for Zeke La Plante, Wynn’s boss. He was out of the office for the day.
“Where is he?” I asked the receptionist.
“I’m not allowed to give out that information, sir.”
“Please connect me to Haldis Moore.”
Haldis said Zeke called in sick.
“Can you locate Nevada Wynn for me?”
“I will try.”
“Thank you.”
“Is he in trouble again?”
“He was arrested in connection to a burglary and kidnapping.”
“Jeepers. I don’t get why we keep him on. I have your card in my desk. I’ll get back to you.”
“Did anyone at your company post bail for him?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Someone bailed him out, and he was kept on the payroll because he served a purpose. Knowing who bailed him out might get me closer to finding answers. I paid Dale Shepherd at Absolute Bail Bonds in Prairie Falls a visit. Dale was a round, hairy guy who wore a Packer’s sweatshirt everyday, and played classical music in his shop. He checked his paperwork for me.
“I remember that case. A Minneapolis attorney name of George Ball co-signed for the bond. Dressed like a chump, but I was told by my Minneapolis colleagues, he always delivers his clients to court.”
I called George Ball’s office and was told he was unavailable. I left my number. I sincerely doubted I would hear from him.
I didn’t want to drive down to the Cities yet again, but I had to find Wynn because I was convinced he knew what happened to Paul and Hawk. I called Patrice to share my plans to go to Minneapolis tomorrow. I decided to be a team player and ask Lee Sabin if he wanted to ride along.
Chapter 23
June 4
Twenty-four days missing.
Bright and early Wednesday morning, I picked Lee Sabin up at the Crow Wing County Sheriff’s Office on Laurel Street in Brainerd. He wore black slacks and a light yellow shirt without a tie. I could have worn street clothes but chose to wear my uniform when dealing with Wynn and North Cross.