The Equalizer (12 page)

Before I went to bed I listened to the message from my mother. She just wanted to make sure I was okay. Seriously? “No, mom, I’m not okay.”

I had the nightmare.
I’m nine years old—playing video games in the den. My Grandma Dee left and tells me to mind Hank. He keeps pestering wanting me to help him build a rocket with Legos. I put him off because I’m really into Pac Man.

When Grandma comes home she asks where Hank is. I don’t know. We yell out his name, searching every room in the house. He doesn’t answer, so I run outside to look for him. I look in the sandbox, the swing set, then run to the lake. Hank knows he’s not to be down by the lake, but that’s where he is—floating face down. I try to scream for help but no sounds come out. My Grandma runs up behind me, shrieking. She yells for me to call 911, then splashes through the water toward Hank. I’m frozen and that’s where the nightmare always takes a hideous turn.

Suddenly, I’m pulled under the water. I can’t see what’s holding me down. I keep trying to kick to the surface, but remain under. Then I see Hank. I try to reach for him, but he drifts away. I’m out of breath. My lungs are going to burst. It seems to last forever. I’m kicking and thrashing and slowly—slowly—start moving upward.

I always wake when I reach the surface, breathing hard and drenched in sweat.

I’ll never get that image of Hank floating face down in the lake and Grandma Dee’s scream out of my head.

Chapter 13

DAY FOUR

I
woke up an hour
before
my alarm. At 5:00 a.m., I took Bullet for a run. Instead of mulling over the case, my mind kept flipping to my family. After I showered and dressed, I called Grandma Sylvia’s home phone. She answered on the first ring. “Are you okay?” she asked anxiously.

“Not really. I’m really pissed at all of you.”

She sighed. “I don’t blame you. Just don’t hate me. I couldn’t stand that.”

“I don’t
hate
you. Can I speak to Patrick?”

“First, I need to confess something.”

A dizzy wave swept through me
.
“Oh, Christ.”

“Okay. I’m just going to come out with it. When I said I was visiting my cousin in Kansas the past few years, I really went to California. Hope and Dee didn’t know about it.”

Wow
. “Anything else?”

“No.”

“Then let me speak with Patrick.”

I could hear the phone fumbling between them, then Patrick say, “Cal?”

“I read all the letters. I’m not saying I’m ready to forgive you or that what you did was right, but I think I understand your perspective.”

“You don’t know what that means to me.”

“That’s all I have,” I said.

“If you ever need anything or want to contact me, my cell phone number is on the back of the envelope.”

“What I need is time and lots of it.”

“Take all you need.”

“Thank you for the bonds and the insurance money. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“It’s the least we could . . . Cal, I really hope to hear from you . . . when you’re ready.”

“Tell Grandma if there’s anything else she’s forgotten to confess, she should send it in an email.”

“Right.”

I hung up the phone, and said to Bullet, “They’re all a bunch of lying bastards, Bullet.”

He barked in agreement. I had to get my mind off my dysfunctional family and onto the investigation, but first I needed to stop at the bank.

At eight o’clock, Pam Udell, the receptionist at Prairie Falls National Bank, was unlocking the front doors. I followed her inside and asked about a car loan. With all the money I’d received yesterday, I could pay cash for a car, but thought I’d like to hang onto it, maybe use it to buy a house someday. Pam made a call, and a moment later, Hamilton Fairchild shook my hand a little too firmly as he introduced himself. Evidently, he didn’t remember the time I helped him change a flat out on County 40 a few years ago while on patrol. That day Fairchild didn’t want to get his fancy clothes dirty so he let me do all the work. I found that mildly amusing.

Fairchild, a distinguished-looking man in his early sixties, wore an expensive gray suit with a starched blue shirt and coordinated tie. Comb lines were visible in his thick gray hair. I’d wanted so badly to say, “Nice to meet you, Slick,” but instead, I substituted “sir” and reintroduced myself.

“Deputy Sheehan? Aren’t you on the team investigating my son-in-law’s death?”

“Yes, sir, and I want to express my condolences.”

His eyebrows turned down as his eyes sank into sadness. “Thank you. Making any progress on the investigation?”

“We’re still gathering information.”

“Well, I certainly hope you get to the bottom of this.”

“As do we.”

“Now, what can I do for you?”

“I need to purchase a new vehicle and thought I’d come in for pre-approval.”

“Well, terrific. Do you have an account with us?”

“Yes, savings and checking.”

“That’ll make things easy, and we like to give our law enforcement officers in the community the best rate in town. My car loan officer is on vacation, but I can help you. Come on into my office.”

I followed him into a large, corner office that smelled of furniture polish and leather. Fairchild sat behind a handsome, dark wood desk in a matching chair, and I sat on one of the two club chairs opposite him. His grief seemed to evaporate as he turned to his computer to gather my personal information. In a few short minutes, he said I had excellent credit and approved me for a loan of $20,000 more than I wanted to spend.

“Could you excuse me? I’ll get a copy of this for you.”

While he was out I took notice of the artwork on the walls. As I glanced at the professionally framed photos, one struck me. I got up to get a better look.
Holy shit!
It was a photo of Fairchild and Eleanor Kohler, brandishing rifles, standing next to an elk hung from a rafter.

Fairchild walked and said, “That was taken several years ago when we used to take family hunting trips to Montana.”

“Eleanor hunts?”

Fairchild grinned proudly. “She shot that elk.”

The implication must have suddenly dawned on him, because the back peddling began: “She hasn’t hunted since she’s had the kids. Doesn’t even own a gun anymore.” Fairchild sat back in his chair and said, “ All right then, what kind of vehicle are we looking for?”

“Haven’t firmed up that decision,” I said, my mind stuck on Eleanor brandishing a rifle.

He looked at me for a moment then said, “I have a thought. As soon as the sheriff releases Ted’s truck, Eleanor wants me to sell it. It’s only two years old, low mileage, worth well over twenty-thousand, but I’d give you a really good deal on it—maybe eighteen.”

“I was thinking something easy on gas.”

“Well, think it over.”

Buying a dead man’s vehicle was a little too weird.

Fairchild walked me out into the lobby, grabbed a handful of pens just like the one under Kohler’s truck seat from a basket, and handed them to me. We’re always short of pens at the department.

“Coffee and cider over there. Think we even have some ginger cookies. Well, good luck on the investigation,” he said.

I nodded. “I hope we can solve this quickly for your family’s sake—and the Petersons.”

“Yes, yes. Such a tragedy for all.”

We shook hands and I stopped to deposit the insurance check and put the bonds in my safety deposit box. I left the bank with pre-approval and a fist full of pens, blown away by the fact that Eleanor was a crack shot. I also had a feeling that Fairchild wasn’t deeply grieving his son-in-law’s death.

Troy Kern was due back
today from a vacation. He was not going to like missing being part of the case and I was hoping Ralph wouldn’t think we needed him. Our personalities clashed. He thought he was a comedian and I thought he was an asshole who got off on making a guy feel like a fool. Every deputy started off with jail duty for a year or two. When I started ten years ago, Troy worked the control room in the jail. My second day of work, he arranged to have me process a guy by the name of Harvey Vann. Vann went on benders for days and finally ended up either in the hospital or in one of our jail cells designed for prisoners who were out of control due to drugs, alcohol, or mental illness. He had a habit of stripping when he topped off his tank, and that evening, patrol brought him in wrapped in a blanket. He was belligerent and smelled like shit. It took everything I had to keep that fat, naked, stinking man in control while I was processing him.

Later, Shannon, also a recent hire at the time, told me they usually had three deputies on Vann, and that Troy and his cronies were in the control room watching me on the monitors, laughing their asses off—all part of an initiation ritual. My initiation. Shannon said hers occurred on her first night, she mysteriously got locked in a cell with a prisoner and Troy didn’t release her for an hour.

When I walked in at 9:00 a.m. Troy was sitting at his desk in our shared office. Divorced, in his early forties, about five-foot-eleven and 190 pounds, he has a distinguishing cleft in his chin, wore his brown hair over-gelled in the tousled look—thought he was cool.

“How was Vegas?” I asked.

He threw a pencil across his desk. “Why didn’t someone call me to tell me about the double murders?”

“You were on vacation.”

“This is the biggest case in the history of the department—I should have been notified.”

“Not my call. Talk to Jack.”

“You better believe I will.”

I shrugged. Troy left for about an hour. When he came back in I was on the phone with Juanita Brutlag. I made a few notes, then made my way to the ten o’clock case meeting. Present were Sheriff Jack Whitman, Sergeant Ralph Martinson, Leslie Rouch, Betty Abbott, me, and as we were just getting started—Troy Kern showed.

Ralph began by asking Betty what she’d found on Kohler’s computers.

Then I realized I should have checked Ronny’s phone. I’d let myself get distracted with my family’s bullshit.

When I refocused, I heard Betty say, “We found passwords in Kohler’s desk drawer for both work computers. Samantha Polansky was able to work on them—nothing significant on messages sent and received. Internet history showed only work related searches or online newspapers. His secretary used her desk computer for personal emails but nothing stood out to help the case. Samantha will work on the home computer next. If anyone can find something, it’ll be Samantha.”

After only a year on the job, Samantha already had a reputation as our “kid computer genius.” She looked sixteen but was in her early twenties.

“Okay, then. Now, let’s move on to Leslie.”

Leslie opened a leather folder case. She pulled out a few pages of notes. “We found nothing significant at Kohlers’ or Petersons’ residences.” She rose and moved to the map I’d drawn on the whiteboard and pointed to different locations as she spoke. “Now, from the blood spatter and where the casings were found, we feel Mr. Kohler was shot from approximately one hundred fifty yards on the western edge of the clearing. He was facing south toward the shoreline.

“Mr. Peterson was shot in the back from approximately two hundred yards. Our docs pulled one bullet from Peterson’s body. The five casings were found in two locations—two here and three here—and there were no fingerprints or smudges on them. So obviously they were handle with gloves. We figure six shots were fired, so we missed a casing. But I understand the scene was compromised last night, so no sense in trying to recover it.” She sat back down.

“The shooter didn’t pick up the casings because either he didn’t take the time or we aren’t expected to find the weapon,” I said.

Leslie pointed at me. “My thoughts exactly. Also, we entered a number of items in the BRO Lab in line for DNA testing: the Bible quote note in Kohler’s truck, a Pepsi can, two marijuana stubs, and a wad of gun. And with the heroin and marijuana find in the storage barn attic at the landing, it’s certainly possible this is drug related.”

Betty raised her hand. “We were able to lift prints from the containers. I haven’t had a chance to run them through AFIS. Cal talked Bob Brutlag into surrendering his rifles and we obtained two .30-30’s from the Johnston household, so we’ll be conducting ballistics tests ASAP.”

Ralph said, “We added Mike Johnston to our persons of interest based on a remark Bob Brutlag made in his interview. He said Kohler’s secretary, Lisa Kelly, claimed Kohler made a pass at her.”

Jack made a scoffing sound.

Ralph ignored it and continued. “Mike is Lisa Kelly’s boyfriend. We figured he had motive right there. We obtained a warrant for firearms he had access to and pulled two .30-30 rifles from the Johnston household. And that brings us to Cal’s interviews.”

I opened my folder. “Okay. The Petersons gave me names of Ronny’s friends. I was able to interview Max Becker, Chad and Todd Hackett, all of whom are roommates in a house on Fourth Street. All three had alibis and were not particularly cooperative—it was if they were distancing themselves. Peterson’s brother, Kevin, says Ronny had a run in with Nevada Wynn and one of his buddies, Pierce Redding, last summer.”

“Who’re they?” Leslie asked.

Troy sat forward. “Wynn’s a dirt bag dealer, street name, Snake. He moved back to Minneapolis when the task force turned up the heat on drug trafficking into our tri-county area.”

“Are they persons of interest?” Leslie asked.

“Yep. They’re on the list,” Ralph said. “By the way, Cal, did you ever find Ronny’s phone?”

Heat rose up my neck and face. “Yes, I found it in one of the Park Department’s trucks. I dropped it off for Betty. Were you able to pull prints?”

“Yes, scored two good ones, but both Ronald’s. It’s back in evidence.”

“Good, I’ll be able to look into his call log after the meeting.” I felt I covered my ass on that one, but no other prints means I couldn’t prove anyone else touched the phone or how it got into truck #10.

“Also, when I picked up Brutlag’s rifles, Bob gave me two phone numbers. I reached his wife, Juanita, this morning. She worked at Buzzo’s and said Kohler used to stop for drinks there at least once a week and he was overly friendly, but that’s it. To her knowledge, no one had any altercations with Kohler, including her husband. Ronny was a different story. She personally called the department on him more than once for bar fighting, and as a result he received two drunk-and-disorderly citations.”

“Cal and I dropped in at Buzzo’s yesterday afternoon. Man, were the rumors flying,” said Ralph.

“Like what?” asked Jack.

“Oh, everybody had an opinion: gang shootings, foreign terrorists, mafia hit men. Rodney Teal said some guys who looked like Tony Soprano were seen having breakfast at the Sportsman that morning,” Ralph said.

He continued. “Happens. Anyway, Hector pretty much substantiates what Juanita told Cal. We talked to Connie Hackett, she said Kohler was a charming man and Ronny was a doll.”

Everyone laughed.

“No kidding, that’s what she said.”

“Yeah well, she likes anybody with a pecker,” Troy said, getting a few chuckles.

Without reacting to Troy’s remark, Ralph continued. “Now, I want you to view two interviews Cal and I conducted. The first is Kohler’s secretary, Lisa Kelly and the second is her boyfriend’s, Mike Johnston.”

He opened up the file and projected the interview on the single clean space on the white board.

Everyone watched intently, occasionally making sounds or remarks. After, I noticed the smug look on Jack’s face. “See, I told you Ted never touched the girl,” he said.