The Equalizer (4 page)

Chapter 4

W
hen we pulled into the
sheriff’s reserved parking spot, I spotted the local media vehicles. Mac Simmons, editor of the local weekly paper,
Prairie Falls Times Journal
, and Jim Logan, from WRPF, the local radio station, exited the front doors of Simmons’s car. Then who should pop out of the
Birch County Register
van—but the Lewis woman who rear-ended me. She presented a press credential for the county’s only daily paper, and introduced herself as a reporter. Huh. Vince Swanson, a photographer for the paper stayed in the vehicle. The three reporters began firing questions at us.

Jack held up his hand. “No comment yet, folks. You’ll be the first I’ll notify.”

Ms. Lewis smiled flirtatiously at Jack and handed him a card. “Victoria Lewis. I look forward to your call, sheriff.”

As we walked into the Sheriff’s Department building, he looked at her card. “She’s new.”

“
Yes, I believe she is.”

“
She’s . . . what you kids call . . . hot?”

“
She is that.”

“Well, she must be a member of the Lewis family who owns the
Register
and several other newspapers across the country. Things are changing.”

I didn’t even bother to ask what he meant by that because I had a feeling it was sexist.

Jack took the elevator to the third floor and went directly to the evidence room. I wanted to check the contents of the briefcase after the deputy in charge logged all the items into the database. He’d attach a barcode label to each and as we wanted to examine items, we’d need to sign them out on the chain of custody log.

Jack emptied the contents of the briefcase and fingered through it. “Doesn’t appear to be anything significant. Go have something to eat,” said Jack.

As I made my way
to my assigned Explorer, Ralph drove up and rolled down his window. “So, you’re gonna need a new vehicle.”

“
I drove the Civic one hundred eighty-three thousand miles and never had a collision—until today.”

“
Impressive. If I were young like you, I’d buy the red Mustang convertible Daniels has in the showroom. The ladies like those.”

I smiled. “But the gas mileage . . .”

“
Screw the gas mileage. Buy something fun. You can be practical when you’re old like me.”

I laughed. I was born practical.

“
You should get pre-approval on your car loan. First National will cut you a deal if you mention you’re with the department.”

“
Good to know.”

“Did you get anything from any of the neighbors?” I asked him.

“
Only caught the Albrights at home. They’re newly retired. Going back out later this afternoon. Have you eaten yet?” Ralph asked.

“
Just goin’ to get a bite,” I said.

“
Hop in.”

“Things winding up out at the scene?” I asked.

“Pretty much. They were bringing the trucks, boat, and trailer into the county garage when I left. So, tell me about your accident,” Ralph said.

I gave him the condensed version.

“Victoria Lewis, eh? Don’t know the name.”

“She’s a new reporter for the
Register
.”

“
Ah,” he said. “You can bet if you rear-ended her, it’d end up on the front page.”

I laughed. “You’re probably right.”

We drove one block south and down old Main Street. Within the last two years, the exterior of most shops received a facelift with the help of grants. The city adopted new strict guidelines on storefronts and signage, invested in banners that changed with the seasons and holidays, and hung large flower baskets in the summer down Main. Prairie Falls was ready for an influx of tourists.

“Downtown looks nice with the changes,” I said.

“Thanks to the new progressive city council members willing to spend a little money. For several years running, we fought a few old-timers and their don’t-change-our-town policies. Did you read the article in the paper noting downtown retail sales were already up this year?”

He pulled up the side parking lot of Dotty’s Café on east Main Street. It was a short block from the Birch River that used to border the north and west edges of town before the newer developments were built. The yellow, freestanding cafe had an old Ski Doo perched on the roof. Legend has it that the snow was so deep one year, Dotty’s husband drove it right up on the roof, and there it stayed.

The council didn’t ask Dotty to change. They knew it’d ruin the ambiance. Entering the restaurant was like walking back in time—I’m talking decades. A combination of grease, food, and cigarette odor lingered from a time when customers could light up with their morning coffee. Sunlight spilled through the storefront windows onto the black-and-white tiled floor. Dark-red Naugahyde booths lined the right side of the café all the way to the rear wall. On the opposite side was a long counter. Four retired locals sat on stools drinking coffee and rolling dice. Several empty tables for four filled the area between.

It was late for lunch, after 3:00 p.m. Ralph and I sat a booth in the center of the restaurant. Ida, undoubtedly the skinniest person in Prairie Falls, approached with two laminated menus edged in red tucked under an arm, and two red plastic glasses of ice water balanced in one hand. I drank my water down without taking a breath.

Ida was pushing seventy. Her black hair was pulled up into a knot on the top of her head—the ends, darker than the rest, stuck straight out like pins in a cushion. Her eyebrows were drawn on in black, thin arches giving her a look of surprise. She set the menus in front of us.

“Special today is the hot beef sandwich with a side salad.” Her bass voice reflected way too many cartons of cigarettes. She stayed, waiting for us to make up our minds on the spot.

Ralph said, “Well, then, that’s what I’ll have—with blue cheese and coffee.”

She stared at me tapping her order pad with her pencil.

“I’ll have chili, a grilled cheese, and milk, please.”

Ida could write and chew gum at the same time. She’d had lots of practice. She briefly scribbled on her pad and left.

Dotty, an extra large blonde and owner of the establishment, came from kitchen, scraped a chair across the floor from the table next to us, plopped her generous behind down and said, “Hi, Ralph.” She then turned her attention to me and said, “Hello, Deputy Eye Candy.” I blushed every time.

“Yeah, that’s what we call him at the department, too,” Ralph said.

“Oh, I’d lift my nightie for you too, Ralph honey.”

Whoa! I don’t welcome that image.
But I did enjoy seeing Ralph blush.

“Now, what’s this I hear about murders out on Emmaline?” she asked.

“You know my lips are sealed, Dotty,” said Ralph.

“Well, rumor has it one’s Ted Kohler. It’s got everybody scared so you better find the killer real fast so the town business doesn’t dry up.”

“Way to put the pressure on, Dotty,” I said.

She nodded. “I’m serious. It could be bad for us.” She scraped the chair back to the other table and waddled back to the kitchen.

“
See, she’d lift her nightie for you too,” I whispered.

He snorted. “Shoot, I had to think of cleaning fish to knock that picture out of my brain.”

I laughed. “I won’t let you forget that one.”

“
I’m sure you won’t.”

“Man, news travels fast.”

“News is in the paper before it happens,” he said, chuckling.

“People say Kohler was a nice guy.”

“Yeah, real friendly. Always had a smile and a wave for ya. Model citizen—did a lot of community work, sponsored a Little League team, active in Lions Club and in his church.”

“His wife says he didn’t have any problems with anyone. Way I figure it, if you’re alive you have some kind of conflict. Now for Ronny, conflict was normal. He was always riling somebody.”

Ralph nodded. “You’re right. The Kohlers are really respected in town so this is going to hit the community hard.”

Ida refilled our water glasses and sashayed off.

He sat back. “So, are you seeing anyone now?”

I screwed up my nose. “What was that segue?”

“I don’t know. I guess all that eye candy talk made me think about how you and Adriana were a good-looking couple. So, if you’re not seeing anybody, Liz could set you up again,” he said.

Here we go again. Since Adriana Valero and I parted ways last summer everyone seems to feel the need to set me up.

“
Frankly, I’m on blind date overload. So, no thanks,” I said.

“Maybe you’re just too damn picky. What was wrong with Heather?”

“Have you ever been to her house?”

“
Can’t say that I have,” he said.

“
She’s a doll collector”

“
So?”

“
So she has like a thousand of those suckers everywhere on shelves—staring down at you with their beady little eyes—like Chucky. No more set ups, Ralph.”

He sat back and gave out a good belly laugh. “So, you’ve had enough?” he said.

“Oh yeah.”

Ida brought our food. After we’d finished, she walked back with two pieces of pie a la mode and the check. “Dotty says these are on the house. Fresh blueberry just baked this morning.”

My belly registered full, but when I looked at Dotty’s blueberry pie, my brain said there was topping-off room.

“
Tell Dotty thanks,” Ralph said.

Dotty was at the pass through window from the kitchen. I lifted my fork and said, “Thanks, Dotty. You’re the best!” I took another forkful. “You need to wear sweatpants when you eat in here.”

As Ralph finished his pie, he patted his paunch. “That was good eats.” He picked up the check. “This is on me today. Celebrate your first two months on the Investigations Team.”

“Thanks, Ralph, and thanks for bringing me in on this one. Troy will be pissed he was in Vegas.”

“He has his hands full with the Drug Task Force, anyway. I just hope we can solve this, period.”

“But don’t you think we have some pretty good evidence?” I asked.

“What seems like good evidence can take us nowhere fast . . . but yeah, I think we have a little to help us.”

He gave me a ride to Daniels Ford so I could pick up a rental, then I drove the gold Taurus back to the department, parked it, and signed out my assigned tan Explorer. I drove over to Stillmans’ Dairy on the west side to confirm Eleanor’s story, and the first thing I noticed was that the parking lot was graveled. Now why didn’t Jack just tell me that?

I’d never been in the dairy. They sold many different items beside dairy products: poultry, eggs, bread, some canned goods. The woman behind the counter wore a white shirt with Candy embroidered in red above the pocket: I showed her my ID and asked her if she could verify Eleanor Kohler’s purchases.

She narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips, and her arms crossed across her chest. “What in the world for?”

I smiled politely and asked her to show me the cash register receipt.

“For heaven sakes,” she said, staring me down. “I didn’t know it was a crime to buy milk and butter.” She finally gave in and opened a drawer and fingered through the receipts.

“This is hers, she always pays with a debit card. Never a problem.” She handed the receipt to me. I checked the time. 6:51 a.m. I took a photo of it.

“Could I please have your name, ma’am?” I asked.

She glared.

“
For my records,” I said.

“
Candy.”

“
Last name?”

”Stillman,” she said, disdainfully.

“Thank you. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I forced a smile and walked out thinking they should keep Candy Stillman in the back killing chickens. As I stooped to pick up gravel samples, I glanced back to see her watching me through the glass door. I gave her a finger wave, but she didn’t lift a hand off her hefty hips.

By the time I returned
to the department, several media crews from across the state were parked in the front lot. I drove on by and pulled around to the back lot, and entered through the back security door. I stopped by the evidence room to check in the gravel sample. I called Larry Sauer, my friend and apartment manager, to ask if he’d feed and let out my yellow lab, Bullet. Because he considered himself Bullet’s co-owner, he jumped at every opportunity. He had a dog bed, treats, and a bag of food both in the office and apartment above mine.

We had our case meetings in the large, third-floor conference room, across from the investigations office. I spent time sketching the crime scene on a corner of the white board that covered most of the north wall. I noted the location of both bodies. Betty brought me photos of the victims. I placed them at the location on my sketch where the bodies were found. As I started a list of what I knew about each victim, Dotty’s comment came to mind: “Everyone’s scared.”

People are worried there could be more killings. So am I—we don’t know what went down.

Chapter 5

A
t six o’clock, Leslie Rouch,
Betty Abbott, and I were chatting in the conference room, waiting for Ralph and Jack. When they entered together, Jack threw down his brown-leather Franklin Covey on the large oak table. The
whack
silenced the room. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair and said, “As I thought would be the case, the press is hot on this one. I don’t want anyone giving out any statements, except Oliver Bakken or me.” Bakken was the county attorney.

No problemo.

Ralph began by stating the case number and victims. “Cal, thanks for starting things on the whiteboard. Leslie, how about you start?”

“Okay. The doc doing the autopsies called me with something he thought we should know—Kohler has some contusions on his chest, back, and abdominal areas—possibly a week old.”

“Did Eleanor mention anything about that?” Ralph said, looking at me.

“No, not a thing,” Jack said. “Maybe he fell or something.”

Ralph wrote in his notebook. “We’ll have to find out. Okay, by way of evidence, we have five casings and three bullets—one recovered from the dock, one in a tree trunk, and one still in Peterson. I don’t suppose the bullet in the dock passed through Kohler.” Ralph said.

“Not likely with the point of entrance, but the two recovered are Winchester .30-30, 150 grams,” Leslie said. “Those that passed through Kohler’s body and are most likely in the lake.”

“We need authorization to order a dive team to search the lake for the bullets, Jack,” Betty said.

“I won’t authorize funds for that,” the sheriff said.

Betty looked at Jack like he was crazy.

Ralph said, “I suppose that’d be quite an undertaking. Who knows how far that bullet traveled?”

“You have three other bullets to work with. When we gonna get the one in Peterson?” Jack said.

“I’ll ask. We should have the final autopsy reports in a few days, toxicology screens in a week, “ Leslie said.

Ralph cleared his throat. “Good, it’s just that we’d like everything
yesterday
.”

“Understood,” she said.

He continued. “Well, I talked to a few residents. Jack’s son’s wife, Sarah, and the Albrights were home. They agree they heard six shots: three, then approximately ten minutes later, three more. Bob Brutlag was home but didn’t hear the shots. Martins weren’t home, but Del says during duck hunting nobody thinks much of hearing gunshots.”

Even though shotguns used for waterfowl (now in season) and rifles used for large game (not in season) sound completely different—the
pow
of a shotgun verses the
crack
of a rifle.

“And Jack’s son Ben was at Cadillac Jack’s by then,” Ralph said.

The restaurant was co-owned by Jack and Ben, but since Jack was elected sheriff, Ben took over as manager.

“Now, let’s discuss who we need to interview and what direction to go. Cal, write down the list on the whiteboard. I’ll take notes, then make copies for everyone.”

Ralph pulled out his laptop, and I stood, grabbed a marker and turned to the whiteboard.

“I had both victims’ home and work phone records run but haven’t had time to look at them,” Ralph said. “We’ll get bank records on Monday. Let’s get our interview list started.”

As I wrote on the white board, Ralph assigned interviews to either himself or me. I was to take Bob Brutlag, Ronny’s boss, and co-workers. I wasn’t exactly overjoyed when Jack said he’d be sitting in on the Brutlag interview. Ralph was looking into Kohler’s business records and interviewing Kohler’s family, in-laws, and secretary. Since I saw his kids and heard about the bruising in his mid-section, I had more of an interest in Kohler, but it wasn’t my decision.

“We’ll meet back here tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. and see what we’ve got at that point.”

After, I went into the office to check my phone messages. I’m a rule follower so I don’t use my department cell phone for personal use, which means I carry two and have to check both for messages. My own iPhone had no messages. The department cell included a message from V. Lewis. Not sure if it was an attempt to pump me for information or about the crash, I returned her call.

“Oh, hi! Thanks for calling back,” she said. “Look, I feel so awful about the accident, I’m going to buy you dinner.”

That was unexpected—and presumptuous. Yeah, I suspected she wanted to pump me for information.

“Thanks, but that’s not necessary,” I said.

“But I
want
to.”

“Sorry, I already have plans.”

“Oh.”

To fill the silence that followed I asked if she’d contacted her insurance company.

“It’s all being taken care of. Another time for dinner?”

“Ah . . . maybe,” I said and hung up. That was weird—but the invitation fed my ego and I found myself smiling.

No one answered
Peterson’s doorbell or phone. I left a message expressing my condolences and requested an interview at their earliest convenience.

I then drove over to the department garage where they’d taken Kohler’s truck, trailer, and boat, and the Parks’ department truck Ronny had driven. I found Leslie lifting prints off Kohler’s door handles.

“This truck’s the cleanest vehicle I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” she said. “Only thing out of place, a Prairie Falls First National Bank pen under the passenger seat, but I found something tucked in the owner’s manual you should see.”

She handed me a piece of computer paper in a plastic evidence bag. I read it aloud.

“The day one dies is better than the day one is born! It is better to spend your time at funerals than at festivals. For you are going to die and it is a good thing to think about it while there is still time. Kyrie Eleison”

“Holy shit. You found this in Kohler’s truck?”

She nodded.

“Kyrie Eleison. Latin?” I asked.

“Yes, it means ‘Lord have mercy.’”

“That’s interesting. You didn’t find Peterson’s cell phone?”

“No.”

“Strange, he didn’t have it on him and it wasn’t in the truck. I’ll ask his boss about it when I talk to her.”

“That would be good to find.”

“Did you take prints from the park restroom?”

“We tried. Strangely, there were none.”

“Really?”

“We expected to see at least smudges, but the surfaces were all wiped clean.”

“Maybe the killer waited in there and wiped it down after.”

Immediately after I left Leslie, I called Ronny’s boss, Naomi Moberg, who agreed to meet me at her office in fifteen minutes. Naomi and her ex were in my golf couples league. She’d had a rough year. After her mother died, her husband, Jeremy, left her for his young secretary. Personally, I always liked Naomi more than her arrogant prick of a husband.

The County Parks offices were located on the west side of town near the County Maintenance Buildings. The parking lot was empty except for Naomi’s blue Prius. She was waiting for me just inside the glass doors. She always looks like she’d just walked out of a beauty salon. She claims she’s an outdoorsy kind of gal, but her jeans, black V-neck knit top, and black high-heeled boots were as outdoorsy as I’ve seen her wear.

I followed Naomi a short distance through a door behind the receptionist’s desk down a hall.

“Isn’t this absolutely horrible?” she said. “You never think it’ll happen in your town to people you know.”

“Yeah, it’s a shocker. How’s your staff handling it?”

“Everyone’s pretty upset and rightly so. I called a meeting early this afternoon to let them know before they heard it on the news.”

“Good idea.”

When we entered her large corner office, she gestured for me to sit in a gray fabric armed chair across from her desk. She smiled faintly, tapping her long, red fingernails on the wood desktop.

“Your desk is as tidy as mine,” I said.

“I’m a bit of a perfectionist,” she said laughing.

“Me, too.”

I pulled out my recorder and notebook and turned on the recorder, giving the date, time, place, and case number, then asked Naomi to give her full name, position—that sort of thing. She sat straight in her chair like she had a rod up her back. I gave her a little smile, trying to put her at ease.

“How long had Ronald Peterson worked under you?”

“I hired him two years ago.”

“What kind work did he do?”

“Park maintenance.”

“Why was he out in Lake Emmaline County Park this morning?”

“He was going to be taking in the dock.”

“Was he going to do this himself?”

“No, Gus Taylor was supposed to help, but when he got to Emmaline, the Sheriff’s Department sent him away. He called to tell me the park was closed for an investigation, and at that point, I didn’t know what it was about. No one would tell me anything. Later, Ralph called me.”

“What sort of a worker was he?”

She hesitated. I waited. Then she sighed and spoke quietly. “All right.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning sometimes he showed up late for work, but always managed to quit on time, and didn’t always follow directions.”

“Employee of the month?”

She sat back and smiled. “Not exactly.”

“Did he get along with the other workers?”

“Usually, but there were some complaints, especially from the veterans.”

“An example?”

“Okay, here’s one: Ronny and Gus Taylor were supposed to pull the dock at Emmaline
yesterday
. I just happened to drive out late in the afternoon to check if the trails were holding up, and I saw the frickin’ dock was still there, so I called Gus and asked him why. He said he was waiting on Ronny, who was supposed to be done clearing brush at Birch County South with Harvey Kling. Then it got late, so Gus said they might as well wait until this morning. The whole thing was ridiculous. That job at South was a two-hour job at most. After I chewed Gus out, I called Ronny and told him he needed to get his sorry ass where and when he was assigned. I feel really awful—those were my last words to him.”

“You had a job to do, Naomi.”

She looked at her fingernails then up at me. “That’s probably why he was there so early this morning.” The pain in her eyes told me she was having trouble forgiving herself.

“I thought he was going to be late because of a dentist appointment. So when Ralph Martinson called to tell me Ronny had been shot out at Emmaline, I checked the log to make sure he had the right guy.”

“Quick dentist appointment?”

“No, it was canceled. The hygienist had called in sick. When I went over to tell his mother, she was
sure
I was mistaken—she immediately called the dental office to prove me wrong. So then she blamed the hygienist. She said
if
she’d come to work, her son would still be alive.”

“Unless he was the primary target, then it would have happened later.”

“Geez, I hadn’t thought of that,” she said.

“So, did Ronny have a department cell phone?”

“Yes, all full timers do.”

“It wasn’t on him or in his truck.”

She looked puzzled. “Huh. Maybe he left it at home.”

“Maybe. Can you give me the number of his phone?”

“Sure,” she said. She opened her desk drawer, and pulled out a sheet, then wrote the number on a Post-it for me.

“Did Gus and Ronny work together a lot?”

“When the job called for two guys, I paired Ronny with either Harvey or Gus because they kept Ronny in line better than anyone.”

”Did Ronny have a drug problem you’re aware of?”

“I thought I smelled marijuana on him once and warned him if I ever smelled it again I’d not only fire his ass, but I’d call the sheriff as well. Then I put out a memo that we would be doing random drug tests.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Maybe six months. I documented it just in case.” She pulled a file out of her desk drawer.

“And did you do the drug testing?”

“No.”

“This is his file. Do you want a copy?”

“Let me take a look.” I glanced through the pages.

“I can’t see anything that’d help, but I’ll give you a call if my boss thinks it’s necessary. What are the maintenance workers’ hours?”

“I’m flexible on hours as long as they get in eight hours, but most work eight to five with an hour off for lunch,” she said, as she played with a hoop earring.

“Do you know what time Ronny signed out the truck this morning?”

“Seven-fifteen.”

I handed her my card. “Look, if you think of anything else that might help us, no matter how insignificant it seems, give me a call.”

“I do have one question.”

“What is it?”

“Have you had dinner?”

“No, but Benson asked me over for pizza. Her kids want to see my dog.”

Naomi smiled. “Is that right?”

“Yeah . . . you know we’re just friends.” Why I felt compelled to explain, I wasn’t sure.

“Would you consider going out for dinner with me when you’re not bringing your dog over to see Benson’s kids?”

“Sure, sounds good.”

“Tomorrow night?”

I nodded, “All right.”

I accepted because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, or maybe Tamika’s remark about “my type” struck a nerve and I wanted to prove her wrong—though I usually don’t date women with kids because they complicate things.

Naomi drummed her nails on her desk.

My phone signaled a text message: It was from my mother:
R U on the big murder case?
I answered:
yes can’t talk now
.

“My mom.”

Naomi looked like she didn’t believe me. “Anyway, call tomorrow night when you’re ready for dinner—no matter how late. I’m thinking it’s time I start getting out there again, and I can’t think of a man I’d rather be with than you.”

I felt my face flush from the flattery. “Okay. Is a half hour’s notice okay?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Why is it feast or famine where women are concerned?
Wonder what Adriana would say if she knew I had a date with Naomi. And why did I care?

The Klings lived
in a small rambler on the north side of town still referred to the “new side” even though the homes are circa 1970s. I passed Shannon Benson’s house on the way.