Crow Wing Dead

by Midge Bubany

  “Life sucks sometimes. Cat and I fought about having kids before she left on her trip. I’d give anything if she’d change her mind.”

  “She might be so happy to see your ass, she’ll do just that.”

  There was a pause in the conversation, then Hawk said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you this past year. You were going through a tough time, and I dropped the ball. I kept thinking I’d call you, but I’d get busy with work, and Cat keeps our social calendar overbooked. I’m sorry, man.”

  “It’s okay, Hawk. Life gets in the way of living.”

  It was a good lesson for me—to reach out to people who are grieving. Grief doesn’t end the day of the funeral. It occurs in waves. But at first it’s like trying to crawl out of a deep, dark hole and just when you are at the top, this crush of sadness knocks you back down. Everyone handles grief differently; as I threw myself into my work, Shannon and Luke withdrew.

  When we pulled into the drive at the Donavan home, Cat ran out the door. When Hawk stepped out of the vehicle, she jumped on him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he held her in his arms. After he set her down, she got on her tiptoes and kissed him all over his face. I stood ten feet away watching, wishing Shannon and I had the same emotional connection and passion. It was ironic. I thought Shannon and I were the ideal couple, and Hawk was a chump for marrying a superficial bitch.

  Monica and Irving Ames came out of the house. Monica was wearing a dark-pink-and-white sundress. She moved in to give Hawk a long hug, followed by Irving who’d changed into khaki shorts and a flowered Hawaiian shirt. If Cat and her family were faking joy and relief to see Hawk, they all deserved an Academy Award.

  Cheney slunk out of the house like a cat and went to Hawk. The two men shook hands and gave each other a single nod. Cheney was short on words.

  Irving Ames said, “Well, let’s not stand out here. Come on inside.”

  “Mind if I stick around until the first deputy on watch arrives?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” Monica Ames said. “Can I get you a beer?”

  Although I enjoyed beer, I resented she pegged me as a beer drinker.

  “No thanks. I’m still on duty.”

  I stood behind the seating area where the family had assembled and observed the scene. Hawk was being pummeled with questions. He held up his hand and said, “First, can I have that beer you offered Cal, Monica?”

  “Oh, of course.” She hustled off to the kitchen and returned with a large glass of dark beer.

  Cheney Martin leaned against the fireplace, his arms crossed, his expression sober as he quietly observed the reunion. Normally the more Hawk told a story, the bigger it got. This time he stuck to the same details.

  A half hour later, Deputy Jenny Deitz sent me a text saying she was in position.

  When I excused myself, Cheney said he was also leaving. Before I got to the door, Cat sprinted over to hug me. “Cal, thank you for bringing Michael back to me.”

  “Happy to,” I said.

  Hawk came up behind Cat to give me a hug. “Thanks, buddy.”

  “You bet.”

  “Cal, any chance you can go with me tomorrow when I’m questioned by Crow Wing County?”

  “If you like. I’ll pick you up at eight thirty.”

  I gave him a quick hug, and then Cheney and I stepped outdoors.

  “Mr. Martin,” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you have a business card?”

  He removed his wallet from his back pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to me, and I did the same.

  “Just in case you think of something that could help us.”

  He nodded.

  “Are you a Johnny Cash fan?”

  Remaining expressionless, he said, “No, why?”

  “Your outfit could be out of his closet.”

  His mouth twitched.

  “By the way, your window tint is darker than permitted by Minnesota law.”

  He gave me a minuscule nod. He waited a couple seconds, then said, “You gonna write me up?”

  I smiled. “No, I’ll wait and get you for a more serious offense.”

  For a brief moment, one side of his mouth lifted. His sunglasses hid his eyes, so I wasn’t sure if he’d attempted a smile.

  Without a goodbye or a nice meeting you, Cheney started his truck and drove off. I followed him down the driveway. He rolled past Jenny parked at the end of the road.

  Jenny checked him out as he pulled out onto the road. I pulled up behind her squad and walked up to the driver’s side.

  Her window was open. “Who was that?” she asked.

  “An employee of Hawk’s father-in-law. Why?”

  “He was totally hot.”

  “Was he? Pulling overtime?” I asked.

  She was normally on dogwatch 7:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m.

  “Yep, we’re saving for a house and need the extra money.”

  “Good for you. You should drive up past the T and to the left. It’ll draw less attention.”

  “Good idea, then I can pee in the woods.”

  I flinched. Not an image I wanted.

  “Oh, come on, Cal. It isn’t much of a problem for you guys to be on guard duty for twelve hours without a bathroom like it is for us squatters. The trees will come in handy.” She chuckled.

  “Okay then. Watch out for the poison ivy and keep one hand on your firearm.” I patted the top of her car and walked back to mine.

  “Thanks for that, Sheehan.”

  Before I went back to Prairie Falls, I stopped by Woody’s Custom Builds. The doors were locked, no lights were on, which was weird for the middle of a business day. Thinking Woody split, I called Lee Sabin to tell him he might want to check on Woody’s whereabouts.

  “I was about to call you, Cal. Jerry Ketka, one of Woody Nash’s employees, said Woody didn’t show on Monday. He’d complained he hadn’t been feeling well, so Jerry thought he stayed home to rest. Then this morning he finally went over to his house and found the back door open. Woody was sitting in his recliner, bullet through his forehead. Ketka called 911 and Brainerd’s chief called me right away, figuring it might be connected to our homicides.”

  “Not self-inflicted?”

  “Nope. His TV was on, three empty Millers were sitting on the table next to him, one in his hand, one left attached to the plastic rings in the cooler at his feet, so there was one missing can. Shooter probably took it.”

  “Killing makes you thirsty, I guess.”

  “I guess.”

  “Maybe he was having a friendly beer with his killer. Sounds like he was taken off-guard.”

  “That’s the way it looks. Anyway, thought you’d appreciate knowing.”

  “Yes, thanks. Only the one shot?”

  “Yes, from about five feet. We recovered a nine millimeter bullet lodged in the wood frame of the chair.”

  “Man, I was convinced Woody killed your other two victims.”

  “You had me thinking the same thing. Murder count is up to three now.”

  “BCA on it?”

  “They’re here now if you want to stop by. They said it looks like he’s been gone three, four days.”

  “Oh, I think I’ll stay out of this one. Are you looking at Nevada Wynn for it?”

  “You bet.”

  “Okay, keep in touch.”

  I found Patrice and filled her in on the news of Woody Nash’s demise.

  “Do you think Wynn killed him as well?” she said.

  “Could be. But there’s a new player in the mix. Guy by the name of Che­ney Martin.”

  “Cool name. Who is he?”

  “Irving Ames’s executive assistant. Hawk mentioned his suspicions about Wynn to him.”

>   “And you think Martin is part of a drug operation running out of the warehouse?”

  “I have no proof.”

  “Do you think Ames knows?”

  “I have no idea. Hawk says their companies are all legit, but if he only works with the one, he may not even know what all’s going down.”

  “Well, perhaps someone should start asking Mr. Ames some questions.”

  “I’d be delighted to.”

  When I entered the office, Crosby was sitting at Spanky’s desk.

  “Hey, Cal, I finished with Hawkinsons’ phone records.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “During her vacation, Catherine Hawkinson exchanged texts with only one number, her mother’s. I saw no other phone calls except the ones to and from her father, and you.”

  “What about the three amigos?”

  “They call each other all the time. Wynn had a few to North Cross, which would make sense since he works for them. Right? But Paul Hawkinson also called Wynn on May 8 and again on May 12. Here’s something else: Wynn called Norman Kramer on May 8, and Kramer called Ginty on May 12 and May 13.”

  “Interesting.”

  Crosby handed me a yellow message slip. “Oh, and Rex Balcer called. The bi-plane that’s been flying over town belongs to Brock Snyder. You know, the pilot who testified he was with Victoria on the day of the arson.”

  “I know who he is.”

  “I also did some research on him for you. He’s employed by Gopher Aviation based in Eden Prairie, and is Adam Lewis’s private pilot. Flies his Lear jet for him.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “But here’s the best part: Gopher Aviation is also one of Lewis’s companies.”

  “Does Oliver know this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I immediately dialed Oliver Bakken and shared what Crosby had discovered.

  “I appreciate your late effort, but the jury’s out, Sheehan, there’s not much left to do.”

  “If you could prove to the judge Brock Snyder had been paid off to commit perjury, well then, you’d have it all tied up in a pretty pink bow.”

  “I had a witness at Flying Cloud Airport testify Snyder hadn’t listed Victoria on his lesson roster. No employee saw her—that’s good enough. And, by the way, it was your job to investigate the case. Why didn’t you bring me this information weeks ago? Even yesterday before the goddamn jury went out? So, if anyone is to blame, it’s you.”

  “Wait a minute. I wasn’t told about Snyder.”

  “Join the club. I thought he was going to be a character witness. Her attorneys pulled a fast one.”

  “Couldn’t you have objected?”

  “I did! Jesus, how incompetent do you think I am?”

  “I don’t think that at all, but Victoria needs to be sent away for a very long time.”

  “She will be. Have anything more for me on the Hawkinson case?”

  “I have another individual to question, guy by the name of Cheney Martin. He’s Michael Hawkinson’s father-in-law’s badass executive assistant.”

  “Why him?”

  “I don’t like his looks.”

  “Oh, now there’s something I can use. Any word on the APB for Nevada Wynn?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Well, somebody shot Woody Nash. Who else would have motive? The badass Martin Cheney?”

  “Cheney Martin.”

  “Whatever. Gotta keep my line open in case the jury comes back.” Click.

  There were parallels between Adam Lewis and Irving Ames. Both were powerful businessmen owning multiple companies and knew how to manipulate the system. Adam Lewis was perfectly willing to do anything to shelter his wacko daughter from the law. Was Ames involved in any or all of the abduction business because Hawk stumbled onto something he wasn’t supposed to?

  I Googled Cheney Martin and got a few hits. Linked-in profile: He graduated with a master’s degree from St. Thomas University in 1998. Employed at IAEI for three years. He didn’t have a Facebook account, but neither do I. No prison record. One speeding ticket in the last three years. He had a conceal/carry permit. Big surprise there.

  Through Cat Hawkinson, I contacted Irving Ames. I asked him and Che­ney Martin to come to the department for interviews. I asked they bring in any firearms they had with them. Both said they didn’t bring them with, which was bullshit.

  When the two men arrived together an hour later, I had them placed into separate rooms. I interviewed Ames first. When I entered the interview room, he was sitting with a straight back, arms crossed in front of him, chin up, defiant expression. He exuded the confidence of a rich man who believed he was in charge. Not in my interview room.

  I went through the ritual of giving all the required information.

  “Mr. Ames, I was told you weren’t thrilled about your daughter marrying Michael Hawkinson.”

  “You have kids?” he asked.

  “I’m asking the questions today, Mr. Ames.”

  He narrowed his eyes and gave me a How dare you, you little shit stare. He took the time to take a deep breath and lean forward as he stared deliberately into my eyes.

  “Well… if you have a daughter, no one will ever be good enough for her. That’s just the way it is, so at first, no, I wasn’t thrilled. But the more I got to know him, the more I appreciated him.”

  “And when did you offer him a position in Ames Lyman Pumps?”

  “A few months after they were married. Why?”

  “And has Michael met your expectations in his job performance?”

  Ames lifted a hand and glowered. “What the hell does this have to do with anything?”

  “Has he?”

  “Yes, as it turns out, he’s an excellent salesman.”

  “Does he treat your daughter well?”

  “Yes, she seems happy.”

  “And what role does Cheney Martin play in your operation?”

  “He’s my right-hand man. Why?”

  “What made you hire him?”

  “I liked his style, and he was a Navy man like me, a seal. Did three tours of duty. Did you?”

  “So he’s skilled in combat—but what about his business training?”

  “He has a business degree from my alma mater, St. Thomas. Why is this pertinent?”

  “From your alma mater? No wonder you promoted him to your assistant.”

  Mr. Ames shot me a dirty look. I could have gone too far, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from continuing. “I should think it’s a bit unusual for a recent graduate to rise to his level.”

  “It was my choice, wasn’t it? And if he hadn’t done well, I would have fired him.”

  “Tell me. Does he make decisions on his own, or does he run things by you?”

  “Everything is passed by me… the important things anyway. Not the day-to-day piddling bullshit.”

  “Would suspicion that there may be illegal substances stored in your warehouse and transported in your trucks be piddling bullshit?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “North Cross Shipping is your warehouse, right?”

  “It is.”

  “Michael mentioned to Cheney that he suspected Wynn was transporting imported illegal drugs through North Cross. If I were the boss, I would certainly want to be told that kind of information.”

  His lips jutted forward. “If that’s true, I’m sure Cheney checked it out and found the complaint without merit, but I will discuss this with him.”

  “When I questioned Estelle’s Candies in Prairie Falls about a delivery Wynn had made to them, the plant manager noticed additional boxes behind the pump in the truck. Zeke La Plante at North Cross said Wynn had no other official shipments. We
know Wynn and his minions are drug dealers and are responsible for Michael’s kidnapping and were extorting money from him. They killed his brother and they would have killed him if Kramer hadn’t let him go—and because he did—Kramer was also shot.”

  “First of all, I don’t know this Wynn personally. Cheney told me he was in our Second Chance Project where we hire former convicts to give them a new start in the community. I suppose there’s always failures in any program like this.”

  “The recidivism rate is higher than we like.”

  “So, you believe Wynn is responsible for the two deaths in Crow Wing County?”

  “Three—Woody Nash, Paul’s brother’s boss, was also killed. We’re pretty sure Woody and Wynn were working together to transport drugs up to this area. We believe Wynn transported boxes containing illegal substances, which he later dropped off at Woody’s shop the day Michael was taken. They were to replace what had been stolen from Paul Hawkinson’s garage a few days earlier. Wynn was making Paul come up with the money to replace the drugs. That’s why they were extorting money from Michael. So either Wynn killed the three, or someone connected to him did.”

  “To silence them?”

  “Leave no witnesses behind. Michael isn’t safe until we have Wynn in custody. You do understand if your son-in-law is in danger, so is your daughter.”

  Ames took a deep breath as he contemplated what I said. “So what do you what me to do?”

  “Keep Michael and Cat in a safe place. Hire security, although Cheney sounds like he’s bodyguard material. How long can you stay in the Donovan house?”

  “Sonya said as long as I want.”

  “Right now, no one knows where he is. After tomorrow’s news conference you will be followed by the press. I know a guy who may be able to help. I’d have to ask him if he’s interested.” Lord help me, I was thinking of Bobby Lopez.

  “All right. We’ll do whatever you say.” He pulled his wallet out and picked out a card. “Here’s my card with my private number.You call me when you have that bastard.”

  I nodded. “Sir, I meant you no disrespect, when I questioned you. I apologize for the remarks I made about hiring Cheney. You have every right to hire whomever you like.”