They had the door in stock, so if someone could be there that afternoon, he was sure Mitch and his son could install it then. I gave him my cell phone number, and told him to call when they knew the time they would be there.
Next, I got the number of the safe house from Communications to see how Eliso was doing. Kelly, the house manager said she’d been crying off and on, but had eaten, and slept some the night before.
Then I called the Swiss Apostolic Church and checked in with Reverend Joos. He was upset, but coping, and had not heard a word from Martin.
Smoke phoned a little before 11:00. “All done with the interview?” I said.
“Yeah, it was a big help with the case against that meth cooker, Schneider. Well, I’ve got good news, questionable news, and not such good news.”
“You don’t mean about Martin?”
“No. Not about him. Good news is that I found a Georgian translator through International Communications in Saint Louis Park. Winnebago County is in their service area.”
“I had no idea.”
“Nor did I. Never needed a Georgian before. They are sending a woman by the name of . . . Dali, that’s D-A-L-I. She’ll be here at the sheriff’s office at one thirty to talk to Eliso. We’ll use one of the interview rooms. I’m still planning to talk to Juergen at twelve thirty, and I think forty-five minutes will be about as much as he can talk. If that. ”
“Yay. I’ll plan to be both places. I got the construction guys coming at three to replace the glass in my door.”
“That was fast.”
“Fortunately.”
“Now the not-good news. Neither Champ nor Fletch has shown up at Champ’s office yet today. And no one has gone in, or out, of Champ’s house, either. We’re hoping if they figured out that Juergen told Martin, and Martin told us, about their operation, that they didn’t skip town.”
“Geez, Louise.”
“Edberg did have one familiar man try to stop by Champ’s office, but of course it was locked up.”
“Familiar, as in?”
“An older gent who had been there another time, one who acted really upset. Edberg followed him home.”
“Sure, the one who was so upset the night I was watching with Edberg. Maybe Bob should pay him a visit.”
“Maybe. And now for the questionable news. There is no legal birth record for Emma Hueber in Hennepin County. No children listed as being born to Curtis and Anita Hueber at all.”
“Get out. So the certificate is fake?”
“As a wooden nickel.”
“Get out,” I said again.
“We’ve got so many balls up in the air that Twardy himself offered to contact the Salt Lake City County, Utah authorities to see if he can get to the bottom of the whole Laban Hueber birth and death.”
“Good for him. Those are the kinds of things that make him the respected sheriff he is.”
17
I met Smoke in the lobby of Oak Lea Memorial Hospital at 12:27. We got Juergen Dettwiller’s room number from the front desk receptionist, and headed back to B-Wing. Deputy Brian Carlson had been pulled off his major crimes assignment to stand guard, providing protection for Juergen. He was sitting on a chair outside his room.
“Greetings, my friends,” Carlson said. “Hey, Corky, sorry for all that’s been happening. Want me to stay over at your house tonight?”
Not a bad idea, and something we had planned to arrange. “Thanks. We’re figuring out what we’re going to do, so I’ll let you know later today. I appreciate your offer.”
“No problem. Glad to do it.”
“How’s our patient?” Smoke said.
Carlson bounced his head up and down. “A lot better than last night. The pain meds make him sleep a lot.”
“We’ll talk to him, very briefly,” Smoke said.
I followed Smoke into the private room with its mauve walls and large window that overlooked the hospital’s courtyard. Juergen’s eyes were closed, and opened when I put my hand on his. “When I saw you last night I thought at first maybe you were an angel,” he said and glanced at my badge and gun.
“Her sweet face and blonde hair fools a lot of people that way,” Smoke said.
Juergen smiled, revealing a man with a sense of humor. “Then I realized I was still on this side of heaven.”
“Sergeant Corinne Aleckson and Detective Elton Dawes,” Smoke said.
“Yes. Thank you for rescuing me, and Eliso, and for letting her see me last night.”
“Sure. As a matter of fact, we’ll be talking to her through an interpreter later on. We’re here to ask if you’d write out an account of your dealings with Waldo Champion and Fletch. When you’re up to it, of course,” Smoke said.
“Yes, I will do that. An interpreter is a good way to talk to Eliso. You have found one who speaks Georgian?”
“We have.”
“I do not know how Fletch talked me into such an arrangement with Mister Champion, but it happened fast, and it seemed there was no way of turning back. The good part was meeting Eliso. I pray all turns out well for her.”
“Juergen, the best thing to do is to heal, and get strong again. We’ll get it all sorted out. Do you know Fletch’s full name?” I said.
“No, I do not. And Martin, you have found him?”
My heart ping-pinged hearing his name. “No, unfortunately. We’re looking, and we’ll let you know when we do. That brings up a question. Why were you and Eliso at the church last night?”
“I had gotten a phone call from the bad man, Fletch. He said he was on his way over to talk to Eliso and me. The way he said it scared me, and I felt we were in danger. The hiding place at church came immediately to mind. I had just put Eliso in there, and was going out to find Martin to talk to him, because he doesn’t have a phone. Then I heard a noise and wondered if it was Eliso. I turned to go back to her, to see if she was all right, and the next thing I know I was lying on my back, and a large bald man was telling me I had been shot, but I was going to be okay.”
“Deputy Vincent Weber.”
He looked at me. “And then I saw your angel face.”
Smoke nudged me when we were walking to our cars in the hospital parking lot. “I think that’s what I’ll call you from now on. Angel.”
“Don’t you dare. But I did find Juergen rather charming. I can see how Eliso could be happy with him.”
“We’ll see what happens when Immigration actively joins us in the investigation.”
“Yes. Most of it will be out of our hands when they do.”
“I talked to Gerard Graham at ICE again, before I got here. They’ll need to talk to both Juergen and Eliso, of course. But they’re more interested in Champ and Fletch. They’re happy we’re doing all we can on this end to help identify and catch them.”
When I arrived at the office, I stopped by Communications to be sure the remote camera monitor was on. It was, so I headed to the interview room. Smoke was chatting with an older woman whose gray hair was pulled into a tight bun on the back of her head. When her dark brown eyes fixed on mine, I read both forthrightness and compassion in them. I extended my hand when Smoke introduced us.
“We really appreciate your help with this, Dali.”
“My pleasure, Sergeant. It is impossible to properly communicate when two people speak two different languages, particularly in official police matters,” she said.
Amanda Zubinski had picked Eliso up from the shelter, and the two of them joined us in the hallway. Mandy excused herself, telling us to call her when we had finished. Eliso picked me out of the group, and reached out her hand. I took it, and held it, as we filed into the largest of the four interview rooms—one that was seldom used—and settled in.
I listened with interest and appreciation as Smoke asked question after question of Eliso. She answered each one, with Dali as the go-between, the person who enabled two people to “properly communicate” as she had so aptly said. I loved the cadence of the Georgian language and tried unsucces
sfully to pick out a word here and there.
Eliso unveiled her story. She had lived a life of poverty in Georgia and dreamed of a way to escape each and every day. She’d heard others talking about a man in a nearby village named Orbeli who was helping women find husbands in America. She’d walked many miles to meet with him, and told him she was interested in a husband in America. Eliso was given papers, including a birth certificate, passport, and work visa that got her through customs at the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport.
Two men, she knew only as Champ and Fletch, had met her at the airport, and brought her to a small office where Juergen Dettweiller picked her up. Juergen handed Champ a thick envelope that Eliso innately knew was a stack of bills. The three men had some discussion, and Eliso sensed Champ’s words had threatening overtones, although she didn’t know why. It was a relief for her when she and Juergen were finally on their way to his house.
Eliso admitted she knew Orbeli’s business was not legitimate, and that she was in the United States illegally, and in possession of false papers. She agreed to cooperate with the authorities to help uncover, and break up, the human smuggling operation.
Smoke laid his pen on his notepad. “Dali, tell Eliso I’ve spoken with an agent from Immigration and Customs Enforcement and they will be out to interview her, and Juergen, at some point. The larger concern they have is with the operation as a whole, and catching the men responsible.”
Eliso was solemn as she nodded. I had a burning question, and pulled the photo of Maisa and the children from my breast pocket. I handed it to Eliso, and asked her, through Dali, if she could identify them. She studied it for some time, perhaps appreciating the familiar background of her home country, but no, she did not recognize Maisa, or the children.
Smoke had warned me not to get my hopes up about Eliso knowing Maisa, but I was still disappointed. It had been nearly two weeks since her body had been found in Kevin Lionel’s woods, and she had yet to be identified. I drove home recapping all that had transpired the last days, and then spent the next hour watching Mitch, and his son, replace the broken pane of glass in the door. Which brought me back to the night before, and how it had ended with a bang. Literally.
I was scheduled to start a six-day work stretch the next morning, after what was supposed to be three days off. I prayed for a good night’s sleep, and amazingly, had one. The first in a very long time. Eric had floated in and out of my dreams, but I was more comfortable with him being there, and at peace when he took me in his arms, and held me. That’s where I was when I woke up.
When I got to the office Tuesday morning, I first checked my mailbox then my voicemail. There were several messages, but the one that got my attention was from my least favorite caller of the season. He had been silent for some time, but that message was particularly troubling. “So you have a big furry friend to warm you up at night.”
I stopped myself from hitting 73 to delete the message, knowing it could eventually be used for evidence. If we’d ever figure out the caller’s identity. Either it was gorilla man, or he had seen him, or heard about him. Did he also know gorilla man had attempted to break into my house on Sunday night? “Leave me alone,” I said as I slammed the phone back in its cradle.
As I was mentally running through the list of people I figured did not like me, for one reason or the other, my cell phone rang. The display read “unknown caller, unknown number.” I braced myself for another veiled threat from my mystery person.
“Sergeant Aleckson, it is Martin Geiger.”
“Martin! Thank God, Martin, where are you?” I stood up and started pacing.
“I am in hiding.” He said it like he had been practicing the explanation.
“We’ve been sick with worry. We thought the worst, that someone—”
“I should have contacted you before, but I was afraid for the safety of my friend who is helping me.”
“We need to talk,” I said.
“But not on the telephone.”
“I’ll come and pick you up. Tell me where you are.” I heard a woman’s voice speak quietly on the other end. “Martin?”
“I will get a ride. Your police car will alert the neighbors. Where shall I meet you?”
“The sheriff’s department office at the courthouse. Go to the south side of the building, across from Bison Lake. When can you be here?”
There was a brief exchange between Martin and his friend. “In thirty minutes.”
“Good. I will be at the south entrance to let you in. Drive safely.”
“We will.”
Smoke was out on an interview when I called and told him Martin was safe, and on his way to see me. “Our prayers have been heard,” he said.
I hung inside the south entrance door until I spotted Martin walking on the veranda, huddled against the chill of the wind blowing off Bison Lake. I opened the door for him, and when he stepped inside, I grabbed his hand in mine for a firm handshake. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”
He nodded. “It has been a frightening few days.”
“Let’s head to an interview room.” I escorted him down the hall, and into an unoccupied room. I sat down next to him, not three feet away, on the same side of the table. “Tell me all about it.”
Martin kept his voice low. “As you know, when I saw that man in my house, I ran to the church to call you. The lights were on in the sanctuary, which was normal. They remain so until Reverend Joos locks up for the night. I went into the office, but left the lights off. There was enough light shining through the glass side panel for me to see. I heard first a sound like a door closing then someone walking. There are some creaks in our floors.
“I thought it must be one of our church members there. Then it suddenly occurred to me that the man in my house may have followed me there. If that was the case I felt I needed to leave before he found me. Those thoughts happened in less than a second, it seemed.
“Since the sounds were from the sanctuary, I slipped out of the office, and was in the semi-dark of the hallway and stayed low, and close to the wall, on my way to the side door. That is when I could see inside the sanctuary. I saw the man called Fletch walking toward the altar holding a gun.”
“Fletch.”
“Yes. I did not know he was actually pointing it at someone until he said, ‘The buck stops here.’”
“The buck stops here?”
“Yes,” he said.
I wrote the sentence down on my memo pad. Apparently Juergen Dettweiller had no memory of that part. “Go on.”
“I pushed open the side exit door, making a loud noise to distract Fletch, and ran. I knew your deputies would be there any minute, and prayed it would be in time to catch him. I kept running as fast as I could. When I heard a car, I hid behind a tree until it passed. I saw it was one of your deputy cars, and hoped they would get to the church in time to catch Fletch.”
“Why didn’t you go back to talk to them?”
“I wasn’t sure where Fletch was. He had a gun, and I thought he might use it on me.”
“I thought maybe he had, that you were the one who’d been shot.” I took a second. “Then what happened?”
“I ran to the home of a widow I know. She is not a member of our congregation, and not someone I am known to be associated with. I thought if I went to a church brother’s house it would put all of us in danger.”
“You did a good job of disappearing. Between Fletch, and your church folks, and the sheriff’s department, none of us could find you.”
“I was very saddened to learn Juergen had been injured. I could not see him from where I stood that night. I learned of it the next day, when my friend heard it on the local radio news. I would like to see him, if it is safe.”
“We’ve got him guarded twenty-four-seven. I’d be happy to take you there.”
“That would be good and kind of you.”
“In the meantime, if you could write down everything you’ve told me, so when we find Fletch, we can arrest him.
” I phoned Smoke. “Martin ID’d Fletch as the shooter.”
“That is really something. Trustworthy eyewitness testimony will be key for our case. Now we need to attain Fletch’s identity, and locate the dirty bugger,” Smoke said.
Joel Ortiz stopped by the squad room in civilian clothes. “Hey, how are you doing after your attempted break-in Sunday night?”
“Hanging in there, thanks.”
“Were you looking for this? It was half-hidden under the floor mat of our squad car. I found it yesterday when I dropped my phone, and it landed by it. I would have left it in the car, but I stuck it in my pocket and forgot to.” He pulled a folded slip of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me.
“I didn’t know I was missing anything.” I opened the note and the words made my heart stop beating for a second. Then it pounded fast and furiously. “Where did you find it?”
“Under the driver’s seat, half-under the mat. Why?” he said.
“Did you read it?”
“No, when I saw it was addressed to you, I folded it up before I was tempted to.”
I stared at the words another second. “A young boy is in trouble and this piece of paper is going to help save him.” I handed it to Ortiz to read.
“To Sergeant Corky. My brother needs help. My parents make him work really hard. I’m scared for him. Can you please help? Emma Hueber.”
I took the note back from Ortiz and ran to the sheriff’s office. He was sitting at his desk when I burst in. “Corky?”
“Sheriff, I just got this.” When I gave him the note, I explained how I had let Emma and other neighborhood children sit in my squad car the past Saturday. “She had to have put it there, and the poor thing has probably been wondering for days why I haven’t done anything about it.”
A Death in Lionel's Woods Page 24