The Equalizer (3 page)

Completing the initial tasks of documenting the scene, Ralph gathered the group together. “Okay, we have four teams of two to cover specific areas. We’ve made maps for each team and assigned a zone. Work it like a grid, crisscrossing to make sure we don’t miss anything. We’re looking for shell casings, footprints, cigarette butts, wrappers, a confession . . .”

Everyone laughed.

Leslie added, “Try not to trample any evidence, and if you find something, mark it, and you can take your own photos but let John know so he can also photograph and document the exact location on the grids. Be thorough when you fill out the information on the evidence bags. We’ll collect and log in all the evidence in the van. Metal detectors are available for your use.”

Leslie showed us a hand-drawn map and assigned teams of two to specific quadrants. Shannon was my partner. Our area was within the perimeter of the landing and open area back to and including the road. We began by running a measurement of our area so we could track any evidence we would find. We would work the area south to north, then east to west. The grass surrounding the parking lot was long but sparse and easy to see through to the sandy soil. On the first pass through, a hundred yards from shore, along the western edge of the clearing, Shannon found a marijuana stub ground into the soil. The grass surrounding it looked a little trampled but there were no visible shoe prints. After we donned gloves, we labeled and photographed it, called John over to do his thing, then we bagged it.

The metal detector sounded near the center of the clearing. I was pumped when we found three bullet casings within a ten-foot radius. We followed procedure for handling the evidence, then turned it over to Leslie in the BCA van. Besides the casings and the one roach, Shannon and I recovered a Pepsi can near the building.

“Let’s check out the vehicles,” I said.

The door to Kohler’s pick-up was locked. Through the windows it looked showroom spotless. We took photos of the exterior, then made our way to the county vehicle and searched it. The county vehicle was unlocked with the keys still in the ignition. Sitting on the driver’s seat was a clipboard with Ronny’s log. He hadn’t marked the time he entered the park. I looked for his cell phone, but it wasn’t in the truck.

I asked the sheriff if we could get in the storage building where the county stored the dock. Jack said the code for all the park maintenance buildings was one two three four. How stupid was that? As I opened the double doors, dead leaves danced across the concrete floor. The only light came from four small dirty windows. Shannon swatted at cobwebs.

“Man, you wouldn’t want to have arachnophobia and search this place,” she said.

“You afraid of spiders?”

“No, bats.”

“They eat a lot of mosquitoes.”

“Yeah well, I had a bad experience with one at Scout Camp—one got into our cabin at night and was dive-bombing our heads.” She shuddered then shined her flashlight around. “How ’bout you, Sheehan? What gives you the willies?”

“Not much.” Yeah, I’d never tell.

She pointed to the sand on the single shelf in the rear then up to an access panel. “Why would they put a ceiling in this building?”

“Storage?”

She crawled up onto the shelf, pushed the panel aside, and her head disappeared inside.

“Look out for the bat!” I said.

Shannon ducked out.

I grinned. “They like attics.”

“Damn it, Sheehan. I knew as soon as the bat story came out of my mouth I’d regret it.”

“See anything furry with wings?”

“Ish, no, but I do see something here. Hand me the camera. Still got your gloves on?”

“Yep.”

“Good, because I’m gonna hand it down.”

After snapping photos, she handed me a black vinyl case. I waited until she crawled down so she could open it. Inside were two pipes, a plastic bag containing what looked like less than an ounce of heroin—plus a sandwich bag of weed.

“Who would store their drugs in a county building?” she asked.

“A
county
worker? Maybe Ronny? Hope we can get some prints off of it.”

After we relocked the storage building, Shannon beat it to the van to log in her find, and I walked back to check out the unisex toilet. There was nothing on the floor or trash can—not even the usual paper towels or strips of toilet paper. Two rolls of toilet paper were placed on a shelf above the toilet but the paper towel dispenser was empty.

As I rejoined the group who had gathered, Ralph said, “Good news. Looks like we have five casings all the same type. Odell recovered a bullet in a tree near Peterson’s body and Cal found one in the dock. Good work.”

It was then I noticed Bob Brutlag standing to the east outside the taped area. “Bob’s here.”

“Leslie, he’s the 911,” Jack said.

“Good. I want to speak with him.”

“Set up a time for him to come in to the department for a formal statement later,” Ralph said.

As Leslie, Jack and I walked toward Brutlag, Jack said, “Even though he looks like a hippie, don’t underestimate him. Guy’s a gear head. Best mechanic at Daniels Ford.”

Hippie?
My mother’s a hippie. This guy looked like a typical red-neck biker—with his untrimmed beard; long, brown hair pulled back into a ponytail; a Harley Davidson jacket and baseball cap, dirty jeans, and work boots. He saluted Jack as we approached.

“Mornin’, Bob,” the sheriff said.

“Mornin’,” Brutlag answered readjusting his cap. Standing along side of Jack whose belly mounded from chest to groin, the guy looked scrawny. He was maybe six foot, but he couldn’t weigh more than 160 pounds soaking wet.

Jack gestured with his hand from Leslie to Bob. “Detective Leslie Rouch from the BCA, this is Bob Brutlag, our 911 caller.”

Brutlag nodded to Leslie.

As an afterthought, Jack added, “Bob, you know Cal Sheehan?”

“Sure do,” Brutlag said, and extended his hand first to Leslie, then to me, but avoided eye contact with both of us. Brutlag sniffed a couple times. His eyes were glassy and blood-shot. Maybe it was
his
stash in the storage shed—anybody could know that idiotic code.

I first met him when I responded to a noise complaint he’d made when a group of college kids had a kegger here in the park. He’d probably have been partying with them if not for his pretty Hispanic wife who’d just had a baby. She used to work at Buzzo’s Sports Bar in town.

Jack lit a cigarette and offered one to Brutlag, then lit both. Bob sniffed again, took a drag of the cigarette, leaving it precariously perched between his lips. He squinted as the smoke drifted into his eyes. He took the cigarette into his fingers, and flicked ash.

“I understand you made the 911 call, Mr. Brutlag?” Leslie asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” He took another drag then spit on the ground. Leslie made a face and stepped back.

“Did you hear gunshots this morning?” I asked.

He shook his head slowly as he took the last drag of his cigarette before he ground it out with his boot.

“Living so close, I’m surprised you wouldn’t have,” I said.

He glanced at me before looking at Jack. “I sleep like a rock.”

“How far away is your home?” Leslie asked.

He pointed to the northeast. “It’s on the peninsula, maybe five hundred yards.” A copse of pine blocked the view to his property.

“What brought you to the park this morning?” Leslie asked.

“
I walk the trails. Guess I’ll think twice about it from now on,” he said, snorting, twitching. He twitched a lot.

“
Is this landing busy?” Leslie asked.

“
Not at all, especially this time of year,” Bob said.

“
Did you see anyone else or any other vehicles in the area?” I asked.

“Just Kohler’s pick-up and the county truck.”

“Did you enter the dock or boat at any point?” Leslie asked.

Bob focused on Jack as he spoke. “I could see from shore he was dead. Dint ’spect there was any use going in the boat to try to save him.”

“You’re not working today?” I asked.

“Second shift.”

“
You ever see anything suspicious, like illegal activity, going down out here?” I asked.

Bob puffed out his lips and said, “Just kids partying.”

“
Were you wearing those boots this morning?” I asked.

He nodded.

“
We’ll need a photo of the bottoms to ID your footprints,” I said.

Bob screwed up his face and got a nod from Jack before he complied. He placed his hand on a tree for balance and lifted his feet one by one so I could snap the photos of soles of his brown boots. Standing close to Bob, I detected the odor of marijuana.

“
The soles have a distinctive pattern. What kind are they?” I asked.

“
Redwing, steel toe,” he said.

Jack took a cigar out of his front shirt pocket, cut the end, lit it, then produced puffs of smoke. He spat a speck of tobacco off his tongue.
These guys ever hear of lung cancer?

“So, what do you think happened, Jack?” Bob asked.

“Well, what I think and what I know are two different things. We have two victims, and that’s pretty much it, at this point.”

“
Two
?” Bob asked. He seemed genuinely surprised.

“We found Ronny Peterson in the woods,” the sheriff said.

Bob grimaced. “Nooo. What the hell?”

Jack shrugged. I was surprised he gave him any information at all.

“We’ll need you to come in for a formal statement, Mr. Brutlag,” I said.

“Be at the department tomorrow at 10:00 a.m.,” Jack said.

“All right, I can do that,” he said with a crooked smile.

“You can go on home now, Bob,” Sheriff Whitman said, “and keep this under your hat. We’ve got next of kin to notify before it’s spread all over town.”

“I hear ya. Mum’s the word,” he said crossing his lips with his index finger, then walked away.

“Seems like you know him well,” I said.

Jack said, “Since he was born. His dad, Pete, is a good friend of mine.”

“Pete live here in the area?” I asked.

“He moved to Arizona a few years back,” he said. “Gave the place to Bob.”

As I watched him walk off I put Bob on my suspect list.

After the two bodies
were placed in the BCA van for transport, Ralph gathered the investigators and deputies. He said he would question the four Lake Emmaline residents, but we also needed to canvas area motels and resorts to interview duck hunters or fisherman who may have been in the area. Jack said he’d have his secretary call in additional personnel. We would meet back at the office at 6:00 p.m. It was already closing in on 2:00 p.m.

Ralph grabbed my arm. “I’m gonna stay and finish up out here. Cal, Jack’s going to notify Mrs. Koehler now. Why don’t you go with to question her?”

“
Sure,” I said.

“Listen, mention we have a substantial search warrant. Georgia has it.”

“
Okay, see you later,” I said.

As I followed the sheriff’s new cruiser back into town, I played out how the family notification would go. I’d never gotten used to giving families the worst news they would ever have. If I ever did, it’d be time to quit.

Chapter 3

A
s the sheriff and I
walked into the administration office, his secretary, Georgia, handed him search warrants for the victims’ homes, office, computers, vehicles, credit cards, and bank and phone records. Hopefully, we’d find a motive somewhere for these senseless killings.

Jack disappeared into his office, while I got a cup of coffee from the squad room. Tasted like shit but it was hot. When Jack came out of his office, he handed me his keys and ordered me to bring his cruiser around to the back entrance.

The sheriff’s cruiser was one of the last Crown Vics off the production line and loaded with all the bells and whistles. I turned up the heat and directed a vent toward my hands. When I pulled around, he climbed in the passenger side and began pointing out the car’s features, but the only one I cared about was the heater. It was thirty-eight degrees according to the cruiser’s readings, and my hands and feet were ice cubes.

The sheriff directed without talking. Instead, he used two flops of his right hand to indicate the two right turns. Kohler’s home was located on a street of highly desirable remodeled homes in “old town.” When we came to a light-blue two-story with a big wrap-around porch on the corner of East Sixth Street and Morris Avenue, a single finger pointed to the correct driveway. I had to avoid two bikes dropped on the edge of the concrete drive as I parked next to a white Honda Odyssey minivan.

The sheriff turned to me. “Ya want to pull off the orange cap? Not too professional.”

I took it off and stuffed it in my pocket, then finger combed my hair.

The sheriff walked around in front of the cruiser making a detour to peek in a window in a side door front of the three-car garage.

“Huh, Ted’s Town Car isn’t in there.”

As we walked up the steps to the back porch, Eleanor Kohler flung open the door.

“
Sheriff? What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Eleanor, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “What is it?”

“Can we come in?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said.

We followed her across the porch, stepping around an obstacle course of large toy trucks and through a mudroom. As soon as I entered the kitchen, I was hit with the aroma of fresh baked goods. It took me back to my childhood with my Grandma Sylvia’s ritual of Saturday baking. We entered a large, gourmet kitchen complete with professional-quality stainless steel appliances and cherry cabinets. Several freshly baked loaves of bread and two batches of cookies lined the granite counter—a small smudge of flour dotted her right cheek. I didn’t know anyone under sixty baked like this anymore.

Eleanor gestured for us to sit at her large oak table, but stayed standing, her hands braced on the top of the chair. The bright kitchen light shone on her copper-red hair that accentuated her fair skin and striking green eyes.

“This is Deputy Investigator Cal Sheehan.”

She made brief eye contact with me. I nodded, forcing a smile.

”Tell me what’s going on,” she said.

Jack cleared his throat. “It’s best you sit down,” he said softly.

Her eyelids blinked rapidly as she hesitated before she sat. My stomach lurched to my throat. This was heart wrenching.

“I’m very sorry to have to tell you Ted was found dead this morning out on Lake Emmaline. He’d been shot,” Jack said.

Her jaw dropped, color drained from her face. “Oh, my God,” she said. She leaned forward and suddenly pushed herself up from the table. “Excuse me,” she said as she disappeared through a doorway in the hallway on her right.

Jack survey the room until his eyes came to rest on the baked goods. I could hear Eleanor vomit. The toilet flushed. After a full minute, she returned, her face still damp.

“Sorry about that,” she said as sat in her chair. Her hands were trembling.

“No problem,” Jack said.

“So who . . . shot . . . ?”

“At this point we don’t know. He was found in his boat still tied up to the dock at the public landing on Emmaline,” Jack said.

“
Did he intend to go to work today?” I asked.

“
Yes, and when he didn’t come home, I thought he might have gone straight in instead of stopping back at the house. He does that sometimes.”

“A local resident found him this morning, but I wanted to notify you in person,” the sheriff said.

She whispered, “Thank you for that, Jack. Did they take him to Nelson’s?”

“
No, he’s on his way to Bemidji,” he said. “An autopsy is required. Would you like me to let them know your preference for funeral homes is Nelson’s?”

“
Yes.”

I could hear the TV and kids’ voices in the back of the house.

The sheriff then asked, “How ’bout I call your dad?”

She nodded. Jack pulled out his cell phone and walked into the dining room.

Eleanor closed her eyes then placed a hand over her mouth. She moved it to her cheek and said, “This feels surreal. Forty-year-old healthy men shouldn’t die. Did he suffer?”

“No, I’m sure it was instantaneous.”

Eleanor gasped. “Do you think it was an accident?”

“I doubt it. Another man was also killed—a parks worker.”

“Oh, my God. Why?”

“That’s what we have to figure out.”

Jack returned to the kitchen. “Your dad said they’d be right over.”

Eleanor nodded.

“Would you’d like me to notify Ted’s mother?” Jack asked.

“
Yes, maybe that would be best.”

“
What time did your husband leave this morning?” I asked.

“
I’m not sure exactly. He was gone by the time I got home at 7:45,” she said.

“
Where were you so early?” I asked.

“At the dairy,” she said.

“
What time did you leave?”

“After 6:30.”

“
Did your husband go fishing often?” I asked.

Jack said, “Humph. Every morning.”

“Almost—never on Sundays,” Eleanor corrected, “but, yes, he’s a fishing fanatic. He goes out year round—pulls an ice house out on the lake as soon as the ice is thick enough.”

“
Do you know if he always used the public landing on Emmaline?” I asked.

Two nods.

“And that was well known?” I asked.

“Yes, I suppose it was,” Eleanor said.

“Do you know of anyone your husband had a quarrel with?” I asked.

She hesitated, looked at us deliberately before she said no, which made me believe she wasn’t telling us something.

“Does Ted have an appointment book, briefcase, or address book here at home?” I asked.

“His briefcase might be in his office upstairs. I’ll check.”

Jack started rapping the table with his beefy fingers until he lapsed into a small coughing fit. A couple minutes later Eleanor handed Jack a soft black leather briefcase.

“His appointments are all on the computer at the office,” she said.

“Does he have many employees?” I asked.

“Just Lisa Kelly, his secretary. I’ll call her,” she said.

“I’ll need to talk to her. I’d appreciate the number and her address, if you have it handy,” I said.

She wrote the information on a Post-it and handed it to me.

“How long had she worked for Mr. Kohler?” I asked.

“
About a year.”

“
Did your husband ever mention problems with a client?” I asked.

“
No, never.”

“
Any issues with alcohol or drugs?”

“
No.”

“
How about finances?”

“
No problems there,” she said.

“
Any marital problems? Affairs?”

“
No.”

“
You’re sure that there wasn’t a conflict of any kind with an individual or within in an organization or . . .”

“
She already answered that,” Jack snapped.

Then in the doorway appeared a cute little girl about age five. She disappeared, and three seconds later, five children entered the kitchen. The tallest girl, who looked like her father, said, “Mom, what’s going on?”

It was at that moment I first noticed Eleanor blinking away tears.

“I’ll tell you shortly, Alicia. Now, please wait in the living room until our business is completed,” Eleanor said.

“
Why? What’s happened?” Alicia persisted.

“
Alicia, do as I say.”

Surprisingly, all five left, but I suppose if a sheriff and a deputy are sitting in your kitchen, even the smallest child knows to comply.

“
Kids don’t have school today?” I asked.

“
Teacher workshop day,” she said.

Jack pulled out the warrant. “Eleanor, we have a search warrant for your house, vehicles, and office.”

I added, “Phone and bank records, too. The crime lab will stop by the house today. There could be items taken as evidence. You can certainly leave if it’s easier on the children.”

She looked alarmed. “What would be here?”

“It’s just routine, Eleanor,” Jack said. “And do you have a key to the office we might borrow?” Jack asked.

“
There should be a set in the briefcase,” she said.

Jack opened the case, fingered through, and brought out a set of keys.

“
Office keys?”

Eleanor Kohler examined them and pointed out the office front door key.

“
We’ll return these as soon as possible,” he said jingling the keys, “and I’ll get back to you as soon as we know anything. We can stay until your folks get here,” Jack said.

“No, I’m sure you have a lot to do,” she said.

I said, “We’ll probably need to speak with you again, Mrs. Kohler. I’m so sorry for your loss.” I handed her my card and told her if she thought of anything else, to call me.

Jack rapped his knuckles once on the table. “Okay then.”

As we left the kitchen, Jack turned to Eleanor and said, “Did I see a new minivan in the driveway?”

“
We just got it this week.”

“Did you trade the Town Car in? ”Jack said.

“No, it’s in the body shop. There was a small dent in the driver’s door.“

“How did he get the dent?” I asked.

Eleanor looked at her feet. “I’m not exactly sure,” she said.

And you wouldn’t ask?

She was chewing her lower lip. She just wanted us out.

Jack said, “Eleanor, sorry about this. Ted was a good man.”

Eleanor nodded, tears resurfacing.

She closed the door behind us.

When we left the house I walked over and briefly looked inside the Odyssey. The exterior was immaculate. I knew crime lab would look through it so I walked around to the sheriff’s car and noticed a few pebbles of gravel in the tires. I popped a couple out and placed them in an evidence envelope I had in my pocket.

I still had the cruiser keys and saw that the sheriff was already sitting in the passenger seat. The man likes a chauffer. I backed out of the driveway. “Now that was the calmest reaction I’ve seen,” I said.

“
You don’t suspect her, do you?” he asked.

“
Most people break down. Her tires had gravel stuck in the treads. Where would she pick up gravel in town?” I said.

“People react differently to sudden death. You can always run by the dairy to check if she was there.”

“
I will.”

He shook his head and said, “Let’s go back to put the briefcase into evidence and pass the warrant and the keys off to the Rouch woman. I’d hoped they’d send Jim Wilson instead of her.” He sighed.

“
Shouldn’t we notify Mrs. Kohler of her son’s death first?”

“
I’ll do that after you drop yourself off.”

He didn’t want me along. I glanced up at the house and saw the youngest boy looking out a window. He couldn’t be more than six. I was determined to find his daddy’s killer.