Figure Eight Read online

  “Theft has dropped significantly. As a matter of fact, the professional shoplifters that drift in each summer have found easier pickings in the towns around Musky Falls and pretty much left us alone. These security systems worked so well it actually almost became another business venture. As a matter of fact, a few weeks later after they had installed a couple of the systems, the chief showed up one night for dinner with a whole marketing plan and partnership agreement for selling them. He was pretty disappointed when Ron and Nick told him they had already agreed to provide the systems to local businesses at cost, and had gone ahead and given out a list of the part suppliers and an easy ‘how to’ manual so business owners could install them in their own stores.”

  “What about the chief? He and Nick were close, right?”

  “Yeah,” Julie answered, “but not as close as Ron and Nick, but good friends. I kind of always got the feeling that the chief was, I don’t know, a little jealous of those two.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing really. It’s just that Ron and Nick were pretty successful in their careers and financially very secure. Ron’s jewelry business is a gold mine, and he is pretty well off. Although you wouldn’t know it by looking at him, some folks around here say that he is one of the wealthiest people in town. I don’t know if that’s real or just talk, but he sure isn’t hurting. Nick was more conservative. He wasn’t wealthy, but he was comfortable and very secure in his place in the world. The chief was always kind of on the outside of their business dealings. He knew about them but was not part of their schemes.

  “Later, after they left, I heard Nick and Rose talking. I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was grading papers, and Rose was fixing Nick’s old sweater again.”

  “Not his old gray wool army sweater?” I asked.

  “Same one, I bet. Rose said he’d had that sweater forever, and he wouldn’t let her get him a new one, even though it had repairs everywhere.”

  “When I was a kid, I fell in the lake when it was cold out. Uncle Nick put that old sweater on me while he got a fire going. It was so big, it went to my knees, but it sure was warm. Anyway, what did you hear?”

  “Anyway, Nick was talking about how Don wanted to be the lead man in the camera security company. He figured he could sell these systems all over, and it would be a big boost to his retirement. When he found out that Ron and Nick were just about giving them away, he got angry and chastised them for not bringing him in.”

  Solving a crime requires that anything that ties one thing to another is recognized and duly noted. If later on it turns out to be nothing, you can always let it go. But in the meantime, you have to keep track of it. In this case, money may have been the motive that got Uncle Nick killed. Don Timmy is close to Uncle Nick and wants to beef up his retirement. Not so friendly Officer Lawler works for Don, and Lawler is connected with Attorney Anderson.

  Probably just a small town coincidence, or maybe not. Best to keep track. For now, even though he was chief of police, Timmy would not be privy to what we had found. Not that I thought he was a real suspect, but you never knew.

  I had a couple of ideas of how we could proceed, but I needed to think them through. We were not out to catch a shoplifter; we were looking for a killer. A premeditated murder conviction is a life sentence in Wisconsin. Most killers figured out that after the first murder, the next few didn’t mean much, especially if they meant reducing your chances of getting caught and doing any time at all. I was thankful that Bud and Julie were willing to help, but there was no way I was going to put them in harm’s way.

  I needed to set a trap with the right bait. I think we had pretty well figured out what they wanted. The stuff on the Kirtland’s warbler, the presence of the bird, and Uncle Nick’s documentation of it were sure to sink their ship. They knew he had something. The search of the desk, and only the desk, led me to believe that someone thought that is where they would find what they were looking for. Why the desk? Some hired thief would go through that place like a tornado, probably counting on a bonus if he found what he’d been hired to find. It would also be against any thief’s code of conduct to leave cash behind. Somebody who knows the lay of the land focuses their search on areas they know are likely hiding places, usually based on prior knowledge.

  The fact that the thief had prior knowledge and knew about the bird made it crystal clear that they knew about the bird because Uncle Nick had told them.

  The general rule is if you go to great lengths to hide something in a secret vault, whose location is known only to you, you don’t go talking about what’s hidden there with some guy on a bar stool next to you at the Moccasin Bar. You tell a trusted friend or someone who can help you with what you’re trying to accomplish. Nick sure didn’t trust his lawyer, Anderson, and there was nothing to indicate Anderson knew. No it would have to be someone real close, someone he trusted completely.

  You start looking close to home. The chief and Ron were his best friends, and it was likely if he confided in anyone, it would have been one of them. The chief was a career cop. If Uncle Nick had confided in him he would have put two and two together and pushed the investigation. The chief just didn’t fit.

  This is how we arrived at the idea that Uncle Nick’s old buddy Ron Carver might have something to do with this. Good friends are good friends, but throw a few million bucks into the mix, and well, things can change in a hurry. Carver was a guy who had been around, savvy to the ways of the world.

  I sat down with Julie and Bud and told them what I thought. At first, they were convinced that I was completely off base, and then Bud remembered an incident that had occurred locally the year before.

  “I don’t think it’s Ron, but remember Tom Porter and his mother, Julie?”

  “I do. That was really strange. I went to school with Tom. He was always such a nice guy,” she replied.

  Bud continued, “Tom was a really nice guy and had lived with his mother all of his life. They went to church every Sunday and helped out in the community. Well, Tom’s mom stopped showing up with him, and people naturally asked where she was. Tom told everyone that her sister had taken ill, and she had gone to help out. Turned out that what really happened is she figured out Tom had been secretly draining the money from her bank accounts. She confronted him, and Tom killed her and stuffed her in a freezer. Nobody ever would have expected something like that with those two.”

  We were all exhausted and gave it up for the night. I retired to my new residence, the cozy cabin behind the main house. I was tired, but sleep wouldn’t come. Visions of sweet little Angelina Gonzalez visited me twice, blood on her face. She and I were joined forever by tragedy.

  Morning came as only it can on a Northern Wisconsin lake. The air cooled overnight, and a light mist covered the lake as the sun rose, it burned the mist off and gave promise of a beautiful day. The little log cabin was small but cozy. There were only three rooms: a bathroom, bedroom and a combined living space that included a kitchenette area with a coffeemaker and—lo and behold—some coffee. I brewed up a pot and took a cup out to the dock. The sun was just coming up, and the morning light perfectly framed the shape of Julie sitting on the end of the pier.

  “Mind if I join you?” I asked.

  She just turned around, smiled, and moved over to make room.

  “Are you really going to live up here, John? Walk away from your life down in the city and come here to live, where you get at least an extra month of winter each year, and usually the most exciting thing that happens is a bear or two shows up on Main Street?”

  “Julie, I am staying. I need this place. I am not going back to the city. There is nothing for me there.”

  “You still have nightmares about what happened. I heard you through the window last night shouting. It must be terrible.”

  “It is what it is; wherever I land, I can be sure that Angelina Gonzalez will be there with me.”

  “Do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener. I don’t know if I can h
elp, but I can listen.”

  “There’s really nothing to tell that you probably don’t already know. The whole thing happened so fast, and then I changed the Gonzalez family and me forever. Their hope and love died. I took it from them, and I am so sorry that words don’t even come close. I didn’t do my job, and the circumstance I set up got her killed. It was my fault, all my fault. I should have protected her. I didn’t. I killed her, and as sure as I am sitting here, when I die, I am going straight to hell for what I did to them. I am so sorry. I wish I could do it over again—just turn back the clock. I know I can’t, and I know that thinking that way is useless, but I can’t help it. If I could only do it over.”

  My voice was shaking, and I just hung my head.

  Julie reached over and put her arms around me and held me. She didn’t say anything. She just held me. When she finally let me go, I saw that my tears had soaked the shoulder of her sweatshirt. We sat for a while longer and then went into the main house. There standing in front of the stove was Bud, wearing cutoff sweatpants, a ragged t-shirt, and a red and white Wisconsin Badgers apron. He had every burner occupied with scrambled eggs in one pan and sausage in another. A cast iron griddle stretched between two burners with pancakes bubbling away.

  He announced, “Bud’s kitchen is now open. Bring your plates and fill them up. There is plenty to go around.”

  Bud, for all his talents, was a very good breakfast cook, and Julie and I ate more than I thought possible. Bud ate the rest. It was delicious.

  We were settled back, drinking coffee, when a car came flying up the driveway and slid to a halt by the front door. Attorney Derek Anderson exited the vehicle and stalked up to the door, pounding as hard as he could. I went to meet him. When I opened the door and saw him, it was clear that something was wrong. He looked like ten miles of bad road, rumpled clothes, uncombed hair and bloodshot eyes. He had a wild look of desperation.

  My brain signaled possible danger. I blocked the door.

  “What can I do for you, Derek?” I asked.

  Unexpectedly, he bolted past me and into the house. He glared around. His eyes had a tic, and his movements were jerky. Then he began a screaming tirade.

  “I’ll tell you what you can do for me, Cabrelli. Get out of my life, sell this property, and go home. You’re trying to ruin me. We don’t need you living up here. We don’t want another person from the city moving up here to discover themselves. I got you a two million dollar offer for a property that’s worth half that. What is your problem?” he ranted.

  No physical threat yet, so I just let him burn it off.

  When he came up for air, I told him to settle down and offered him a cup of coffee. Caffeine was probably the last thing he needed, but it was what we had.

  Derek took the cup and sat down only a minute before he got wound up again.

  This time he made a mistake and turned his tirade toward Julie and began name calling that ended up with his barreling across the room at her. He was met halfway by a huge man still wearing an apron who lifted him off the ground, carried him with one hand across the room, and tossed him out the door like yesterday’s trash.

  I had underestimated Derek. He was up in a flash and came back at us with intent and malice. It was time to end this. Bud and I met him with like force, and Attorney Anderson found himself face buried in the dirt held firmly in place by one Arvid Treetall. I ran out and grabbed a stout piece of rope from the boat dock, and in a few minutes we had him tied hand and foot. I opted to leave him lying there in the yard screaming about suing me into financial ruin, having me arrested, and so on. I figured I would let him scream himself out and calm down some before he and I had a little visit.

  When something big is going on and all hell breaks loose, it usually starts with something like this; the pressure gets to the weakest link, and the link breaks and does something—makes a move. It’s that move that often starts the ball rolling. The weakest link was never the boss, the brains behind the whole thing. Guys like Anderson who think they are smart are used and abused by the real bad guys. They almost always get in over their heads. Then when things go bad, which they have a tendency to do, guys like Anderson always lash out, try to find someone else to blame. Whatever was going to happen had most likely already started. Now I needed answers, and I needed them fast. I was not the least bit concerned about how I got those answers.

  I told Julie and Bud that I could take it from here, and that they should head to town. Bud didn’t understand what I was really saying, but Julie did and gave me a sad look.

  “John, you need to stop. I don’t know what you’re planning to do, but it can’t be good,” Julie pleaded.

  “You’re right, Julie,” I said. “I should call 911 and let the police handle it.”

  I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911, no service.

  “I don’t have any cell service. Try yours.”

  “John, you know there’s no cell service here. You have to use the house phone.”

  “Watch him,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I came back in a minute with the phone and dangling cord in my hand.

  “Apparently during Attorney Anderson’s rage, he ripped the phone out. I guess 911 is no longer an option.”

  “I don’t remember him near that phone!”

  ‘‘He was moving so fast I don’t recall, but why would anyone else rip out the phone?” Again, Julie got it.

  She and Bud made no move to leave.

  “Julie, I am not going to hurt him or do anything crazy. I just need to ask him some questions. If it is just him and me, he will be more likely to talk. We need to know what he knows, and this is our best opportunity so far. Just give me a chance. If he doesn’t cooperate, I will either let him go or haul him in to the sheriff.”

  “John, we’ll go, but please promise you won’t do anything crazy.”

  “Nothing crazy.”

  They both loaded up and left. I gave them a few minutes to make sure they didn’t try and sneak back on me.

  20

  Cabrelli

  I crouched down by Attorney Anderson and rolled his head to the side. He looked up at me, still wild-eyed, but nothing like he had been.

  Through dirt-caked lips, he spat, “Cabrelli, I am going to have you arrested and sue you into nonexistence.”

  With that, the devil in John Cabrelli came to the surface, and I nudged ol’ Derek with my foot in the ribs, not so hard as to puncture a lung but a solid nudge nonetheless, enough for him to know I meant business. He moaned, and I gave him another for good measure. He was silent.

  “Here is the deal, Derek. You are going to answer some questions and share some information with me. You have waived the right to remain silent. If I ask a question and you don’t answer, I will move to the ugly part of this process. I know how to dispense ugly. Just how ugly depends on you. Understand your big mouthed threats only piss me off. They have no effect other than that. I don’t care what happens to you. You had some part in killing my uncle. You will share what you know, starting now.”

  He had recovered enough to attempt more attitude. Threats only work if they are real. So I took Derek out on the boat dock and hoped to cool him off by holding him upside down with his head under water. It’s funny how that affects a man when his hands and feet are tied. That water must have had a soothing, calming effect because Derek Anderson, attorney at law, began to sing like a bird. He couldn’t get the words out fast enough. Every once in a while he faltered, and I again had to apply the healing powers of the lake, but soon I believed he had told me most of what he knew.

  Derek Anderson was now mine. I had him. He was corrupt, and he had been caught in a compromising position that had allowed him to be manipulated and become part of the plan to steal Uncle Nick’s land. He was naive enough to believe that the compromising situation, and David Stone finding out about it, were just happenstance.

  David Stone had played him like a fiddle, and now Derek’s life was flashing before his
eyes. But Anderson wasn’t a killer. He suspected that Stone had something to do with the murder but knew nothing concrete. He couldn’t figure out the potential advantage to killing Uncle Nick. More importantly, he didn’t mention the Kirtland’s warbler. He didn’t know about the bird. Stone had promised him a fortune if he got the property, ruination if he didn’t.

  I took out my pocket knife, cut him loose, and lifted him to his feet. We were face-to-face talking when a sheriff’s car pulled in. It may be more accurate to say that I was explaining what I wanted him to do, and he was attentively listening.

  I recognized Deputy Rawsom from the break-in. He got out of the car but stayed by the door eying up the situation before he made a move, his smarts and experience showing.

  With my arm around Anderson, we walked toward the squad to meet the deputy. Anderson started slowly at first but then got my drift.

  “Got a 911 call that there might be trouble here,” the deputy said.

  “Sorry to trouble you. My lawyer and I were having a discussion that got a little carried away. We’re good now, though. Worked things out.”

  The deputy looked at me and then looked at Anderson. I was relatively unscathed, while Anderson, now soaking wet, appeared as if he had been dragged, as they say in the North, through a knothole backwards.

  “How about you? You’re Derek Anderson, the lawyer from town, aren’t you? Any problems here?”

  With little energy, but enough to convince Deputy Rawsom, Anderson agreed that everything was okay.

  After a check of our IDs and a little info for his report, Rawsom got back in his car and drove out just as Bud and Julie, the 911 callers, pulled back in.

  I truly believe that Julie was shocked to see the deputy leaving alone and even more shocked to see Anderson alive—if soaking wet.

  Anderson and I had a seat at the picnic table, soon joined by Bud and Julie. They waited.

  I filled them in. It seems that the brilliant Attorney Anderson had been offered a chance, through a client, to be on the ground floor of a new high-tech company. The client told him that without a doubt he would be able to double his money within a month. Everything was set. The company was ready to go. Why let Derek in? Well, this guy liked to take care of his friends, share the wealth. He would have to do some talking to the rest of the partners, but he knew that there was one share available. He would see what he could do.