Murder in Winnebago County

by Christine Husom

  36

  “This came in about twenty minutes ago. Communications assigned it to you.” Sergeant Chip Roth handed me the paper citing a burglary complaint report from an Ann Browne in Rockwell.

  Rockwell. “I handled a home burglary complaint there a couple of weeks ago. Same deal—party returns home from vacation and discovers someone has broken in. Rockwell hasn’t had a problem with that for a long time. Hope it’s not a trend.”

  “Neighbors just gotta watch out for each other,” Roth said.

  “Easier said than done. Anything else?” I asked as I scanned the burglary complaint.

  Roth handed me some long narrow envelopes, each containing a warrant on someone wanted for something. “Here. Warrants left the usual stack. Not that you’re going to have any time to track down warrants with all the extra calls we’ve gotten the last thirty minutes since the sheriff held the press conference. Oh, and guess what? I managed to track down Keith Gilles, believe it or not. Got him locked up. Again.”

  “Good job. Where’d you find him?”

  “His mother’s place. I think she was sick of covering for him. When she opened the door for me, she called for Keith to come into the living room.” Roth huffed out a little laugh.

  I shook my head. “How long has he been hiding out since he jumped bail?”

  “Six weeks, seven weeks.”

  “Oak Lea Bail Bonds will be happy they won’t have to hire a bounty hunter to find him.” I gathered my briefcase and gear bag. “Okay, well, enjoy the rest of the day.”

  “Yeah, if I turn off my home and cell phones and don’t answer the door.” Roth rocked his head back and forth and rolled his eyes.

  I let out a loud exhale. “I know. I haven’t even checked my home messages yet. After the news broke, my mother, who never calls my cell, was the first to call me on it. Then she called my grandparents in Nisswa and my brother in Colorado, so they all called me. And the man I’ve been seeing left me two messages when I was taking the other calls. I finally got back to him just before I went on duty.” I paused, then asked, “And you know Sara Speiss?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Well, she called me from Brainerd, and like just about every other county employee, is pulling her hair out trying to figure out who had it in for both Arthur Franz and Marshall Kelton.”

  Roth rubbed his hand across his midnight shadow of a beard. “The whole county is goin’ nuts. Just to let you know how bad it is, I think since the sheriff gave his press conference, Communications has gotten over forty calls from people reporting suspicious persons. Communications had to call in two more officers to field phone calls. Nine-one-oners can hardly get through.”

  “Unbelievable. We have to get to the bottom of all this—stop this madman, whoever he is,” I determined.

  “We will. With the BCA involved, and everybody and their brother calling in to report their theories, something will pop.”

  On the drive to Rockwell, I laid my memo pad on the seat next to me and paged through it, keeping one eye on the road. There was a notation to ask Marion McIllvery whether Arthur Franz had kept an appointment calendar.

  No time like the moment.

  Marion picked up on the third ring. “How are you, Sergeant?” She sounded more rested than the last time we had spoken.

  “I’m doing pretty fine, thanks for asking.”

  “I was watching the Twin Cities Triathlon, and the little scroll on the bottom of the screen said Sheriff Twardy of Winnebago County had held a press conference to address the murders of two prominent attorneys. It will be on the five o’clock news.”

  Poor Communications. They would have to call in still more back-up. “It doesn’t seem real all this is happening here, but I guess that’s what everybody says when it happens to them,” I said.

  Marion’s voice gained volume. “And what did Artie, or Marshall, for that matter, ever do to anyone? Nothing personal, surely, nothing to deserve this. What kind of a sicko kills someone, two someones, and makes it look like suicides?”

  “Someone who doesn’t want it to look like murder, so there won’t be an investigation. At least that’s what Detective Dawes thinks.” I was in Rockwell, so I pulled my squad car over in front of a hardware store to finish our conversation.

  “Marion, did Arthur keep an appointment book or daily planner?”

  “Why, yes. I gave him a Palm Pilot for Christmas last year. Why?”

  “We didn’t find one among his things, and we thought there might be some answers in it. You know, maybe someone he met with recently. So you don’t have it there?” I asked.

  She was silent for a moment. “No. I didn’t even think of it until you mentioned it just now. Artie always kept it with him. But you said you didn’t find it?” she questioned.

  “Not in his office or car.”

  “And it’s not here. Like I said, he always kept it with him. That is strange.”

  Smoke’s phone was busy, so I left him a message to call me. I found the Browne residence in a fairly new development near the elementary school. A short, slightly chubby woman with brown hair, about my age, opened the door a second after I rang the bell.

  I extended my hand. “Hi, I’m Sergeant Aleckson, Winnebago County—”

  Before I could finish, the woman took my hand and guided me into the house. “Come in, Sergeant. This is so upsetting.” I glanced around the simply furnished, not very creatively decorated, but neatly kept, living room.

  “Just for the record, are you Ann Browne?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She dropped my hand but kept walking, so I followed her down a short hall into a bedroom. “We just got home from an eight-day vacation. We were going to come home tomorrow, but decided to spend our last day off at home instead.”

  She walked into the bedroom, then continued, “Anyway, we got home about an hour ago, and when we carried our suitcases in the bedroom, we saw someone had been in here.”

  I looked around, but the only things I could spot out of place were the two suitcases.

  “We called nine-one-one right away, and the first thing they said was, ‘Is this an emergency?’ and I said, ‘Someone was in our house when we were on vacation’ and they said, ‘Okay,’ and then they asked me my name, address, and all that.”

  Ann Browne looked around as if she had suddenly remembered something. “I don’t know where my husband is. Oh, probably still unloading the car.” She spoke her thoughts out loud.

  “Missus Browne—”

  She waved her hand to correct me. “Ann.”

  I nodded. “So tell me how you know someone was here.” I retrieved my memo pad from my pocket, ready to take notes.

  “Hello, Corky.” I wheeled around to face the male owner of the voice. Jason Browne, tall, lanky Jason Browne. Another ghost from my past. “I heard you became a deputy,” he said. I hadn’t seen Jason for over ten years, and he acted a little embarrassed to see me.

  I held out my hand, which he took. “Good to see you again, Jason. I didn’t realize this was your house. So Ann is your wife?” I asked.

  “She is,” Jason said and smiled.

  I nodded. “She was about to tell me what happened.”

  Jason walked over to the bed and pointed to the carpet. “There are two bullets here on the carpet. I have a stash under my bed—I inherited my dad’s guns and ammo when he died. We keep the guns in a case in the spare room, and the ammo under the bed here.” He picked up an old box of bullets and handed it to me. “This box was full, and when I saw the bullets on the floor there, I checked. And besides the two on the carpet, there are three others missing from the box.”

  “And the pistol they go with?” I wondered.

  “Still in the case. It seems like it was moved, but I couldn’t swear to it.” We headed into the other bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it was clean, but sparsely furnished. There were no pictures on the walls or other personal touches lying around.

  Jason started to open the cabinet that held seve
ral guns, but I stopped him before he got the door opened. “Are any of those guns loaded?” I asked.

  “No,” Jason answered, looking a little surprised. “None of them have been loaded since I’ve had them. I’ve never actually shot any gun. I mean, I’m not a convicted felon. My case was pled down to a gross misdemeanor, but . . .” Jason looked at his hands, then stuck them in his pocket.

  “He just feels so bad about what he did when he was a kid and is a little afraid something awful might happen if he goes hunting, or target shooting, you know.” Ann Browne finished for Jason. I had a feeling she did that a lot.

  “I understand. Which gun belongs with the bullets?” I asked, peering at two pistols.

  “The Browning,” he said.

  I slipped on a pair of latex gloves, removed the nine millimeter pistol from the case, and examined it closely. It was clean and unloaded.

  “How did the burglar get in?” I asked.

  Jason and Ann looked at each other and she answered. “We don’t know. The doors were locked.”

  “Anyone besides you two have a key?”

  Ann nodded. “Jason’s sister. She’s been watching the house for us. She stops in every day after work, just to check. You know, does a walk-through. I called her right away, even before I called nine-one-one, and she said she was here yesterday and didn’t notice anything out of place. But she did say she might not have seen two little bullets lying on the carpet, you know. Anyway, she said she double checked the back door when she left and it was definitely locked.”

  “Okay, I’ll have a look around, take some photos of the bullets, and dust the gun and bullets for prints. Then I’ll get the rest of the information from you that I’ll need for my report.” They both nodded.

  The Brownes followed me as I explored the house, looking for signs of the burglar’s entry.

  “Did you open this window when you got home?” I asked. The kitchen window next to the back door was open a crack.

  “No, we leave it that way, you know, in case of tornados,” Ann explained.

  It was a common belief in Minnesota that having a window open a crack would help reduce the pressure of the strong winds blowing against an airtight house, and perhaps save it from blowing down during a violent storm.

  I stepped outside for a closer look. “Your screens come off from the outside, and a person could easily fit through this window. If it was me, I’d take my chances with the tornado and keep my house secure, especially with guns in the house.”

  Ann looked especially sheepish and put her hand on Jason’s bicep. “You were right, honey. We’ll keep the windows locked when we’re gone from now on.”

  When I had taken the needed photos and collected the latent prints from the Browning—there were none on either bullet—I sat at the kitchen table with Ann and Jason to verify the information they had given.

  “So you can’t think of anyone who would know you stored that ammunition under your bed?” I asked.

  “Not one person. Just Annie and I,” Jason answered.

  “Since nothing was taken, except for three bullets, my best guess is someone found your stash, got spooked, spilled some, grabbed what he could, and fled. Maybe it was when your sister came, or maybe it was someone ringing the doorbell. Obviously, those are only theories.”

  I paused, then went on, “My advice is, get a safe, or some kind of lock system for your guns and ammunition. Someone out there has been here once, and could come back now that he knows what you’ve got. Keep your weapons secure.”

  “Six oh eight, Winnebago County.”

  “Go ahead, Six oh eight,” Robin answered for Communications.

  “I’m clear the burglary complaint. Anything pending?”

  “Sergeant, phone Communications.”

  My heart thumped against my protective vest as I punched in the number. Of late, every time I was advised to call in, a major tragedy had occurred. “It’s Corky. What’s up?”

  Robin sounded frazzled. “Oh my God. We are swamped with suspicious person calls, and we have to check them out. Sheriff is putting eight more deputies on the road to handle them. He said when you were clear Rockwell, you should head back to his office for a strategic planning meeting. Oh, and Detective Dawes is crashing on a cot in the juvenile holdover for an hour, in case you’re trying to reach him. He didn’t get any sleep last night.”

  “Thanks, Robin.”

  By the time I got to the Winnebago Sheriff’s Department, the place was swimming in a sea of brown uniforms. Eight deputies who had a coveted weekend off had been called in for extra duty. There was a little grumbling, but with two unsolved murders on the books, everyone in the department was committed to finding out who was responsible.

  I stopped by Sheriff Twardy’s office and found a note taped to his door stating, “Meeting in Squad Room,” so I made my way there. The sheriff assigned the eight extra deputies to be rovers, responding to calls wherever they were needed in the county. The seven deputies already on duty patrolling their scheduled areas were relieved to have the needed assistance.

  “. . . So, report to Sergeant Aleckson. She’ll report to Detective Dawes. Dawes isn’t the investigator on call this weekend, but since he’s been working the Franz and Kelton cases, he’s offered to help work any leads you get.”

  I spotted Smoke in the group. Short nap.

  “Any questions?” Sheriff Twardy asked as he looked around the room.

  A few deputies shook their heads, but no one answered.

  “Okay, you’re dismissed. Communications has stacks of reports to follow up on. Divide ’em up and get to work. Oh, and thanks for pulling extra duty.”

  Smoke held back to talk to me. “I got your message just before the meeting. What’s up?”

  “I talked to Marion McIllvery to see if Arthur had a day planner. She said he had a Palm Pilot that should have been with him.”

  “Hmm. Since it wasn’t, are you thinking it may contain some information that would be incriminating to the killer?” he asked, thumbing his nose.

  “What do you think, Detective?”

  “I’d say could be. Oh, by the way, Captain Palmer is in the jail office, running the medical records of the inmates, including those still in custody. He’s checking on all psychotropic drugs, not only haloperidol. Our guy may have been on a different one prior, and on haloperidol now.”

  “That was smart.”

  “Yeah, wish I could say I thought of it, but it was Palmer’s idea,” Smoke said.

  “Does he have any idea how many inmates we’re talking about?” I wondered.

  “No. Haloperidol isn’t very common, but there’s usually someone in custody on a schedule two narcotic of some sort, not necessarily psychotropic.”

  “Like you said, we gotta start somewhere.”

  Smoke nodded and blinked his eyes. “Hopefully, it will help narrow the search when court admin runs the cases Franz and Kelton shared.”

  “They’ll start that Monday?”

  “I talked to Sandy Kress.”

  Sandy was the court administrator and had guarded the records there for at least twenty years. Smoke went on, “She’s got some family deal going today, but she’ll go in tomorrow and start the computer on its search. She has no idea how many hours it might take and doesn’t want to bog down the system during business hours.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You mean we’re not the only ones with dinosaurs for computers?”

  “Guess not.”

  It was a long evening keeping up with fifteen deputies who were keeping up with all the calls for service. Nick phoned after ten o’clock to invite me over for a drink after work. I was afraid I’d be tempted to have one too many drinks, so I headed home instead.

  My house was quiet, like usual. That night it seemed downright lonesome. I thought about calling my mom. To be honest, I was surprised she hadn’t called me again, with the murders all over the news. It was late and I was planning to go to church with her in the morning, so I decide
d not to call.

  I paced. I soaked in a bath of lavender salts. I sipped on milk warmed in the microwave. Finally, I grabbed the book from my nightstand I had started reading at least fifty times, only to fall asleep before getting very far. I was wide awake, but not absorbing much anyway. The author’s words waited, inviting on the page, but I couldn’t concentrate. I was too restless. On edge.

  A sense of foreboding was growing inside of me, tightening my muscles and bringing tears to my eyes. How were we going to solve these heinous crimes?

  37: Alvie

  Alvie had to take the day off from her mission. Since Speiss and Browne had both been away from home the day before, chances were they’d be gone for the whole weekend. Probably be coming home sometime that night. Half the people at work spent weekends at their cabins. The whole project was just getting so complicated. Alvie had made a decision. If she could get away easily later that night, she’d make a try for one of them. If not, it meant the next day would be better. Most people were home on Monday nights anyway.

  She and Rebecca had the day to spend together. Alvie would make it Rebecca’s day and do whatever she wanted. The world out there could take care of its own problems. Alvie could wait one more day to take care of hers.

  38

  I rolled out of bed feeling as if I had been run over by a bulldozer, but there was no point trying to sleep. It was Sunday morning, and my mother had been nagging me forever to go to church with her. If there was ever a time in my life when I needed spiritual comfort and help, it was then. My professional life was in turmoil, with the entire county in a panic over the murders of Arthur Franz and Marshall Kelton. It was extremely upsetting for all of us—the families, friends, co-workers, sheriff’s personnel, and the citizens in general. The people were looking to the sheriff’s department to solve the terrible crimes as soon as possible, increasing the pressure we already felt.