It was after two before I got to bed and lapsed into a sleep coma. Five short hours later, pounding on the door woke me. It was soon followed by the unmistakable voice of Bud Treetall, “John are you here? It’s me, Bud. Okay to come in?” And without waiting for my response, he walked in.
“Bud, what’s up? What are you doing here so early?”
“Early? Why, John. It’s past seven o’clock. I figured you’d be up and going by now. Aren’t you feeling good?”
“No, Bud, I’m fine. I didn’t get home until two.”
“Oh, jeez. I forgot you had a date with Shelley last night. Oh, crap! I’m sorry.” Bud looked around nervously. “Oh, no. She isn’t here, is she? I will leave. Sorry, John. Julie told me to get out here right away this morning to pick up some of her boxes, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’ll grab the boxes and get going.”
“Bud, stop. Shelley is not here. Let me make some coffee and get my head going in the right direction.”
“Coffee sounds real good, John. I’ll load up those boxes while you make it.”
We sat on the front porch enjoying the morning. Bud told me about a project he was working on rebuilding a late 1800s log lodge on a neighboring lake. The owners had tried several contractors to get someone to do it with no luck. The guy at the hardware store told them about Bud, and he landed the job.
“That old lodge must have really been something in its day. They told me I was their last resort. If I couldn’t help them, they were going to follow the advice of two pretty good contractors who said to tear it down. I looked things over and tested the logs. The place looked pretty bad, but the structure itself was still strong.
I knew it could be saved. I’ve been working away at it, and figure it’s going to take at least two months.”
“Sounds like a job right up your alley, Bud. Nice to have two months’ worth of work, too.”
“I will still do what needs doing around here, John, so don’t you worry.”
“I’m not worried, Bud.”
“How’s Julie doing?” I asked.
“Truth is, she’s crabby as all get-out. I would never tell her
I thought that because it would make her crabbier, but she is.
This morning she told me to get out here to get those boxes of hers right now. Jeez, you would have thought they were full of gold. Nevermind that they have been sittin’ here. She told me she was going to clean the house top to bottom, and I needed to get out of her way.”
Unknowingly, Bud illuminated part of the puzzle. It was a housecleaning. The people running this criminal enterprise decided that several members of their organization had become a liability for some reason. In crime syndicates, if you screw up, you don’t get fired, you get dead. That leaves fewer witnesses to testify against you in the future. Somehow, Lance Brolan, his girlfriend, and I am betting Derek Anderson were all part of a housekeeping activity. Unless I missed my guess by a mile, Counselor Wheeler was right. There was something much bigger here that needed protecting. Even crooks didn’t start whacking people over a small-time money-laundering scheme. I was willing to bet that Anderson and Brolan were running a side game. They saw the chance to clean up a little dirty money by using local folks and took it. They broke the cardinal rule of a major crime syndicate: “Don’t crap in your own nest.” I needed to talk to Bear.
I picked up the phone as soon as Bud took off. I’d guess that over the years, only about half of the phone calls JJ Malone answered were actually completed. His telephone answering skills left much to be desired. The faint of heart would hang up thinking (correctly) that they had been connected to some sort of dangerous animal. I was not so easily put off. When he picked up with less than pleasant demeanor, I was not the least deterred.
“Hey, Bear, how goes it?”
“John, this better be important. I’m in the middle of something.”
“Well, Bear, it is. I need some information.”
“You want me to snoop around classified information, would be my guess. While you had all of my admiration when you were a cop, due to unfortunate circumstances you no longer are. If I share confidential information with you, I risk my pension. More importantly, I risk the wrath of Tanya, as do you—me for being stupid enough to share with you and you for being inconsiderate enough to ask.”
“Bear, how do you know I want you to access confidential information?”
“You are too good an investigator. You get what you can get, which is more than about ninety percent of the working cops could find. Then, you need longer arms to reach into places you can’t go. Am I missing something?”
“No, Bear, that sums it up pretty well, with one important distinction.”
“The distinction is?”
“I’m working the case with the local cops. This case is a big deal, starting with a bunch of dead bodies.”
“John, did you sign on with the local PD? Are you carrying a badge again?”
“No, I didn’t and no, I’m not. They reached out to me for help, and I’m helping them. We’ve made a lot of progress, but I realized that this thing is likely a monster, and we all might get eaten up. I figured you could give me a little help to see if I was right, you know, before we went any further. Help me see if it’s time to turn this over to higher powers better equipped to handle things.”
“Fine, but no promises. Tell me what you got.”
“Before I do that, Bear, let me ask you a couple of things. Are you still one of the sitting members of the Organized Crime Task Force?”
“I am. Matter of fact, John, I was appointed to the command position.”
“Does Namekagon County contribute to funding that statewide operation?”
“Every county puts in something based on their population and the amount of criminal activity in their area. Although I’d venture to say Namekagon County probably puts in the minimum.”
“That doesn’t matter though, does it, Bear? If they put in a mutual aid request, they get the same response as anyone else.”
“True. Are they going to send me a mutual aid request?”
“If we need to, we could go through channels, send an official request, and wait while everybody looks it over. In the meantime, we will probably end up with a couple more bodies up here. But what’s the big deal as long as we follow procedure?”
“Whatever, John. What’s up? Tell me what you know.”
“Okay, but I already know what I know. Repeating it to you doesn’t get me anywhere. So, before we get started, I expect this to be an exchange of information—a dialogue between two trained investigators. If it’s not going to be that way, I gotta go. You give Tanya my regards, and tell her to stop putting so much starch in your lace panties.”
“Cabrelli, you are a horse’s hind end, you know.”
“As well as a horse’s hind end, I am your former partner and still best, most trusted friend, and you need to trust me now. This thing is real, and I need your help. If I send a mutual aid request, it immediately gets copied to all task force members, right?”
“Right,” Bear growled.
“That includes the Feds, right?”
“Right again, John.”
“Well, there are two federal agents assigned up here, and I think one or both may be bent. I’m not sure, but I am suspicious and have evidence to back up that suspicion. One of the agents assaulted a citizen in front of God and everybody. We have a surveillance photo of that same agent with a person of interest in multiple homicides. Those agents have gone back to Minneapolis.”
Bear didn’t respond for a couple of minutes. When he did, he was no longer the king of police procedure. He answered as JJ Malone, the cop.
“Let’s go for it, John. See if we can hash this out.”
“Okay, here you go. I think a large organized crime syndicate has set up shop here. I also think that organization has recently conducted a housekeeping effort that resulted in at least a couple of known associates getting whacked. I think a pro hit them. I may have information on him, and I think he is still around here. I will get to that, but first, let me tell you what I know and perhaps you can fill in the blanks.”
As I relayed the situation, Bear listened intently. Then came his turn. “The money laundering scheme is pretty straightforward and being used across the country. It’s usually a big enough enterprise that it’s the primary business of the bad guys involved. They get the money from their criminal enterprises, wash it, and the cartel ends up owning a position in a legitimate company, real estate holding, or something like that. This is big, big business, not a sideline. Last estimates put drug trafficking alone at over $100 billion a year. How they found their way to Musky Falls is a mystery to me. I mean, you guys hit the nail on the head. Buying property to launder cash in a small town is stupid business, and these guys are not stupid. Most of this happens in metro areas where they buy shopping malls, condo developments, golf courses, and marinas where they can dump ten or twenty million. They don’t screw around buying mom and pop bait and tackle businesses. They also don’t take out the people who run these operations for them. The people that do this are usually pretty sophisticated operators, not the general run of the mill street thugs. It’s bad business to get rid of your producers, and I’ve got to say, you guys are right on. They are protecting something much bigger. Maybe some of their guys got it in mind to run a little sideline show of their own. It would not be unheard of. It also would not be smart to do so without permission. What they are protecting is anybody’s guess.”
“I have a hunch in that direction, Bear. A lawyer working with us is checking something out.”
“What have you got on the possible hitter?” Bear asked.
I described what he looked like, both from my observations and the photographs. When I described the scars on his back and his speech, Bear stopped me.
“You saw a guy like this recently?” he asked.
“Yeah, very recently,” I replied.
“Could he have been speaking with an Eastern European accent?”
“Could be,” I said.
“You’re telling me you have a photograph of this guy?”
“Actually, we have several,” I said.
A sense of urgency had crept into Bear’s voice. “John, I need to see them right now, and I mean right now.”
“I can get them to you, but I will have to go back to town and have them scanned and sent. It will be a couple of hours at least.”
“Get to it then. I’ll call you back when I get them,” Bear ordered.
“Sounds like you may have an idea of who this bad guy is, Bear. You want to share your thoughts with me?”
“I will as soon as I confirm a couple of things. I hope I’m wrong.”
I drove toward town, and as soon as I got cell service, I called Chief Bork. “Hey, Len. I reached out to that buddy of mine, Lt. JJ Malone, head of the Organized Crime Task Force. He has an idea about our guy and wants to see the photos we have. What do you think about that?”
“If you think it’s a good idea, I’m with you. Our evidence still resides in Ron Carver’s vault. I’ll run over and see if he can scan them and send them to Lt. Malone. I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Chief. Any word from anyone else?”
“Nope, nothing. Although, I did run into Doc O’Malley. He’s got the parts for your jeep and said you should call him. I wouldn’t bother today, though. He had his boat hooked on, was filling the tanks, and putting ice in a cooler full of beer. I think he’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day.”
My next call was to Jack Wheeler.
“John, I was going to call you. I started my record search and was making progress when I hit a wall. I backed up and followed each lead that brought me to the dead end. We are on the right track. Taken individually, each one of these transactions would not put up any red flags, but together they have several things in common. They end up going through one of two law firms, both with large domestic and international practices. At some point in each chain of transactions, they go to a holding company in Eastern Europe. That’s when I lose them. Except for one—the holding company that was part of financing the purchase of Superior Shipping and Container. Then they disappeared from the record. Everything I could find regarding Superior Shipping and Container says it is a legitimate and thriving business. They arrange for shipping and importation of products from and to the U.S. via the Great Lakes. They have 200 employees and give generously to local charities. Their gross revenues for the last year put them at three quarters of a billion dollars. On the surface they appear to be an all-American company. That’s about all I came up with, but I can tell you something is not right.”
I brought him up to speed on my contact with Malone. He hoped that might open some doors for further research on his part.
I was in the grocery store picking up some essentials when my phone went off. It showed no caller ID number, so I figured it was Bear. I was correct.
“John, listen up. I’m going to be landing at the Musky Falls Airport in about two hours. Be there to pick me up.” Then he disconnected. The phone rang a minute later, and it was Bear again. “Get your posse together. I want to meet with all of you as soon as I get there.”
“I will try to find everyone,” I said.
“Try nothing, John. Get them together. Every last one of you better be there.” He disconnected again.
Two hours later a twin-engine plane landed at the airport. Malone exited carrying two black utility duffle bags with no markings. There was a group of people standing at the exit point from the field. They spread like the parting sea as he approached. He has that kind of effect.
I was glad I was there early. He threw the two duffle bags in the bed of the truck. One landed with a metallic clank. He got in and said, “Drive.”
“Hey, Bear, nice to see you too.”
“John, this is no social visit. I want to explain what I found out to all of you at once so I don’t have to repeat myself. Let me say this—you have stumbled your way into the middle of something that no one has been successful in even cracking the edges of before. I need to talk to you guys before I do anything else.”
Everyone was waiting at the police department.
“John, we can’t meet here. Tell them to meet out at your place on the lake. I’ll explain why when we get there. Now get in there and tell them. I need to stay put.”
No one questioned my request. They grabbed their stuff and went to their various means of travel. The sheriff, chief, and Jack Wheeler rode together in the sheriff’s unmarked SUV. Ron rode out on his Harley.
I pulled into the yard and Bear managed some conversation. “Nice spot, John.”
We were seated around the table and did introductions. While a new guy showing up could have been the beginning of a jurisdictional pissing match, it wasn’t. No one had any doubt who was now in charge. Lt. Malone was in the room and had taken command.
“So, gentlemen, I think you have found something here, and I don’t believe in beating around the bush. I brought with me the pictures you sent over. I don’t know for sure, but I think they are the only known photographs of a guy who is known as the Wolf.
“The Wolf came to the attention of U.S. authorities about ten years ago. There was a war between two rival organized crime entities—one an entrenched street gang and the other a newcomer gang that originated from the Czech Republic in Eastern Europe. No one is clear why the Czechs wanted the other gang out of the picture, but they did. Supposedly, some preliminary negotiations broke down when two of the negotiators the Czechs sent were beaten so badly one of them never regained consciousness. The local gang figured there would be retaliation and geared up. They expected a typical drive-by affair—they shoot your guys, you shoot theirs, and so on. Well, one day the head of the Czech outfit arranges a parley with the head of the local gang. We had a snitch in the room. The Czech tells them that they can stay in the drug business north of Fifth Street, but they had to relinquish their territory south of Fifth, including the docks on Lake Michigan. The gang leader laughed at the Czech and told him to get out. The Czech and his entourage left. Two days later, around 5:00 a.m., the local gang’s headquarters was blown off the face of the earth, killing everyone inside as well as two of the next-door neighbors. An hour after that, someone walked into another one of their hangouts and shot everyone in the building dead. Word on the street was that the hitter was a guest star who came in for the hit, did it, then was gone. There was some pretty intense pressure put on possible participants, including some ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ cards, but we got nothing on this guy.
“Over the last few years, there have been other hits that went down along the same lines. The only connection for sure was that the people that were taken out all had something to do with the Czechs. If it’s the same guy who did all this business, he’s a real pro. He is coldly efficient, and collateral damage doesn’t bother him in the least. We are aware of the incident at the Superior docks. When the PD put out a description, we got a notification. It didn’t get us too excited, though. There was no apparent organized crime connection, and the killing was up close and personal. The Wolf’s MO is shoot them in the head from a distance, blow them up, whatever. Getting next to them and breaking their necks, well, that’s not exactly his style.”
“Except if …” I broke in.
“Except if what, John?” asked Bear.
“Except if he needed information. He crushes ones trachea with his bare hands, and this makes the other one feel cooperative. Then he leaves no witnesses.”
“Maybe so, but these guys have plenty of people on the street who could get information.”
“Maybe the info was critical to their operation, and they needed someone they could completely trust to get it?” I asked.
“Could be. I don’t know. I do know this. If the Wolf has surfaced in northern Wisconsin, coming out like this is dangerous and increases the chance of exposure. The incident with you and the chief here was probably a farewell salute. My bet is he has gone to ground, but maybe not. Either way, I am here to work with you to see what we can find out. If it is him, then something big is going on here. By the way, John, find it a little exciting taking fire like that?” Bear cracked a smile.
“Yeah, Bear, it was exciting, except we didn’t hear the shots and didn’t figure it out until the jeep stopped,” I replied.
“It was way too exciting for me. I prefer catching fish,” the chief interjected.
“Was that brass you recovered 7.62x39?”
“It was.”
“There are millions of guns chambered for that round, but it’s the same as we found at the raid on the local gang headquarters and other scenes. Could be a coincidence, probably not the same weapon, but we have all the shell casings we collected from the scene in evidence. We should compare the brass you found. Guys like this don’t keep or use the same guns. Most of the time the weapon they used in the hit is resting at the bottom of a lake or landfill soon after they are done. Who knows? Maybe this guy is sentimental and uses the same gun. It’s worth checking it out.”
Bear got out a pen and wrote down a name and address. “Chief, if you wouldn’t mind, will you send the shell casing you found to this address, next day signature required.”
“I’ll get right on it, Lt. Malone,” the chief told him.
Next, Malone dialed a number on his cell phone. It didn’t go through and he growled, “No service here?”
“Nope. Sorry, Bear, but I have a landline that works,” I replied.
Malone dialed a number from memory. “Sergeant, this is Malone. I have a shell casing coming to you by way of Fed Ex. Check it for any trace prints, partial or otherwise, and compare them to any other in the database of the same caliber. You can limit that search to suspected organized crime involvement. Give this priority one. Call me when you get the results.” Then he hung up.
“Now, we all need to have a serious talk. Everybody grab a chair,” Malone instructed. We did, and he gave us his pronouncement. “This whole situation is completely unorthodox. Chief Bork, you are running around with Sheriff Rawsom here and three civilians conducting a criminal investigation.
“The Feds are already here, but you have chosen not only to keep them out of the loop but also sent them packing. At this point I agree with your choice, and I don’t see this as a problem. You did a good job of putting together some leads. The next call I make is going to Organized Crime Task Force HQ, and I’m going to activate a unit and have them deployed up here. Chief Bork and Sheriff Rawsom, this is still your jurisdiction, and we will respect that working together, but from here on out everything is on a need-to-know basis. Ron, Attorney Wheeler, and John, I appreciate and commend you for your efforts, but this is where it ends for you. You have all done a good job developing intel, but regardless of your history, this is a law enforcement only case now.
“Lt. Malone, if you deploy a team up here, that means the Feds will know something is going on, right?” the chief inquired.
“To start with, we aren’t going to tell them. That’ll give us a jump on the local guys. That won’t last, though. Word will get out, and then we’ll have to deal with them. For now, no Feds. I will need you and the sheriff to complete a mutual aid request,” Malone answered.
“Initially, what is the purpose of the team you are having sent up here? Are they undercover, or are they suits following up on leads?” asked the sheriff.
“Both.”
The sheriff continued his line of questioning. “Interesting. Lt. Malone, what is it they can do that we can’t do ourselves?”
“They are trained in this type of investigation. These things are complicated and require a tight, concerted effort. You have the responsibility of taking care of all of Namekagon County. We need everyone to be on task 24/7, no diversions. We also need manpower. I know that rural departments are spread pretty thin. You can’t put your whole staff on one case. It wouldn’t work. If something else goes down, you’ve got to handle it.”
“How many investigators are you having sent up from Madison to assist you?” the chief asked.
“A team of four to get rolling. A tech and three detectives,” he replied.
“Lt. Malone, what if we could provide the needed personnel, assigned to you 24/7? No distractions. Investigators familiar with the case,” the chief continued.
“Well, you can’t, and we are losing valuable time here. I need to get this thing rolling,” replied Malone gruffly.
The chief nodded to the sheriff, who stood up.
“Ron Carver, Jack Wheeler, and John Cabrelli, would you please stand?” directed the sheriff.
We all did and faced him. “As the sheriff of Namekagon County, Wisconsin, I have the power to deputize any and all citizens that I feel necessary in an emergency. Musky Falls, Wisconsin, chief of police, Len Bork, agrees with me. It is not incumbent upon you to agree to be deputized. I will have no hard feelings against anyone who chooses to walk away from this situation. That is probably the best choice of action. If you choose to stay and be deputized, please raise your right hand.”
No one did anything for a second. Neither the chief nor the sheriff had discussed this with us. Then Ron’s hand went up, followed by Jack’s. I did nothing. My mind raced with flashes of memory. If I raised my hand, I would enter back into a world that I was trying to put behind me. There would be no going back. The room was silent. I looked at Bear, who had a pained look on his face. Then I looked at the brave men with me, good company to be in. I slowly raised my right hand, and Sheriff Rawsom deputized us with the full powers of a Namekagon County sheriff’s deputy. He gave each one of us a badge and ID wallet.
“This is nuts,” Malone said incredulously. “Even if we did try it this way, the Feds know me. The word will be out, and this thing will turn into a cluster. No way is this happening. No way that I am going to be any part of this. No way, no how.”
“That is your choice, Lieutenant. Call for your plane and we will drive you back to the airport,” said the sheriff.
“You’re sending me packin’? Like hell you are! Goddammit, Cabrelli. Is this something you came up with?” Bear glared at me.
“No. I’m as surprised as you are, Bear,” I answered.
“This is a stupid and dangerous idea. These are very bad people. We need to move if we are going to take them down before they kill anyone else. If and when we take them, they will not go without a fight. And these guys know how to fight,” Malone warned.
“When it comes to that, we will activate the tactical unit for the takedown. They may be small-town people, but they are damn good at what they do,” said the chief.
Silence again. I could see the gears turning in Bear’s head, his face locked in a scowl.
“So, Bear, now that you have decided to throw in with us, what is our next step?” I asked in my cheeriest voice.
“Well, John, since you sonsofbitches seem to have all the answers, how about you figure out a plan that won’t get everyone killed?” he snapped.
The next three hours were spent discussing the situation at hand. All at the table showed fatigue, stress, and resolve on their faces. It was agreed that we would meet at my cabin the next morning at seven to delegate responsibilities and begin the process of ridding the north country of the devil. Following the roar of a Harley, all the men left for town to go home to their beds and sleep the sleep of those who would wake up to face certain danger.
Bear stayed with me, and I set him up in the cabin behind my house. That night I broke out some two-inch T-bones and craft beer from a local small-batch brewer. We sat on the dock looking out at the lake. After a few minutes Bear turned to me. “So I’m sitting here with my oldest friend on a boat dock looking out at the most beautiful lake I’ve ever seen. He has just recovered, as much as he is going to, from two bullets. Now, when he could be taking his rest, moving on to the next chapter in his life, he decides to see if he can collect a couple more bullets. I gotta ask. Do you have a death wish? Is that what this is about?”
“No death wish. I hope to live to a ripe old age. I intend to spend the rest of my life here looking out on this lake every day. I want to settle down, start new. Unfortunately, for the moment I have to take care of the task at hand. I am going to find my uncle Nick’s killer, and I’m going to bring him to justice. I owe Uncle Nick at least that.”
“Your uncle Nick is dead, John. It seems a foolish effort to risk your life to try and settle a debt for a dead person. I know how important he was to you. I also know how the sad circumstances of his death are probably eating at you. But nothing you’re going to do here is going to bring him back—nothing.”
“Bear, I gotta do what I need to do. I’m going to follow this situation to its natural end. I do want to say I feel a whole lot better about my chances now that you’re here … a whole hell of a lot.”
“Yeah, well, we’re going to have to see what happens. I have a bad feeling about what we are doing.”
“If you’re worried about the guys you’re working with, don’t be. They are real and they are invested in this case, I promise you, and they will stand tough when and if it is necessary. Their local knowledge will be invaluable and will allow us to work on this thing on the down-low as long as possible.”
“Nope, it’s not you or your crew that I’m worried about. This is their home and they will do the right thing to protect it. I have a gut feeling that when this goes down, we’re going to need an army. There is something here that doesn’t make sense. You have uncovered a bunch of information, every bit of it leading to someplace much bigger, much darker. If this guy is the Wolf, he kills like he changes his socks.
“Let’s enjoy this beer and these steaks. Tomorrow we start.”
“Sounds good, John. You finish cooking. While you’re doing that, I’m going to use your phone to call Tanya and let her know you haven’t got me killed yet.”