“Get that fucking gun out of my face!”
“Or else?” I spoke calmly.
“Just get it out of my face.” Sweat was moistening the barrel of my .40 caliber pressed against Clyde Swinehart’s forehead.
“Tell me where to find Raven Quinn.”
“I don’t know where she is, maybe she’s dead. Wouldn’t keep her mouth shut. Folks in this county need jobs. Who cares if we screw up the environment a little? It’s just sand.”
“If she is dead, then you know who killed her.”
“Wasn’t me. I don’t know nothing.”
“If you don’t know nothing, then there’s no reason for me to keep you alive.”
“You’re bluffing. You ain’t gonna kill me. You’re a cop.”
“Another guy said that same thing to me about ten years ago. He wound up with a hole in his chest big enough to shove your fist through. And, actually, I’m not a cop anymore.”
“Lot of people wanted Quinn quiet. Talk to the guys who own the sand mine. They got the big money to lose.”
“Company owners tell me they’ll just move to another county or cross the river into Minnesota if mining gets voted down here. It’s you local truckers who’ll be left holding liens on two hundred-thousand-dollar dump trucks with no frac sand to haul. Little pissant haulers like Swinehart Trucking ain’t got a chance. You and your boys stand to lose everything if this mining bill is voted down.”
“Leave my boys out of it.”
“They’re in it up to their ball-sacks. And I’m going to find them if I don’t get the right answers from you.”
“Listen, me and my boys got nothing to do with Raven Quinn. Didn’t know she was missing till you just told me.” He reached up his hand and tried to brush away the .40 caliber. “You put that gun down and I’ll tell you what I heard.”
“This better be good.” I said as I stepped back and held the gun three feet from his chest.
“Some guys were talking in the diner the other morning.”
“What guys?”
“I don’t know their names. They work for the mining company. Claimed if Quinn didn’t shut up, she was gonna end up buried under that pile of frac sand waiting to be hauled to Texas. There’s ten thousand tons of sand in that pyramid. Ain’t no way you’d ever find a body in that mountain.”
“I don’t like that story. I’m going to find your sons and see if they can come up with something better.”
“Leave my boys alone!”
“Not gonna happen, Swinehart. You had your chance to tell me what happened. Now give me names of the guys you heard talking or your boys will get their turn in front of this gun. And leaving you here alive to call and warn them I’m coming isn’t going to be an option. You got one more chance to tell me something useful. Otherwise, I got to put you out of your misery.”
“Can’t shoot me in cold blood.”
“Self-defense.”
“I ain’t even armed.” Swinehart was really sweating now.
“I see a shotgun leaning against that wall next to your desk.”
“You gonna let me go for my gun?”
“I was thinking of just shooting you right where you’re sitting.” I kept my voice as monotone as I could. “Then taking that shotgun and blasting a couple holes in the wall next to the door. When my buddies from the sheriff’s department get here, I’ll say I stopped to talk to you, and you opened fire. Had to defend myself. I think they’ll believe that.”
“You’re crazy. She had it coming—whatever happened to her. Yapping to anybody that’d listen to her. She was a witch for Christ’s sake. People around here need those sand mines. Nobody’s gonna miss her.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. See, Raven and I are real close. And if she’s still alive, I’m gonna find her, and if she’s not alive, then I’m going to deal with the assholes who killed her. Right now, you and your boys are at the top of my list.”
“You’re crazy. You can’t shoot me in cold blood.”
As the sun began to set over the peaceful rolling hills and valleys of the driftless area of western Wisconsin, three booming gunshots echoed through the idyllic coulees.
Three gunshots fired from six inches behind your ear can scare information out of the toughest son of a bitch. It can also scare the piss out of a guy, which it literally did to Swineheart. As the third shot let loose, so did his bladder. I didn’t know if he also shit himself, but he did start talking.
“I can’t hear a goddamn thing out of my right ear. The hell you think you’re doing shooting a gun four inches from a man’s ear?” He was rubbing his ear and shaking his head as he spoke.
“I wanted to get your attention. Next time I pull this trigger, I won’t be so considerate,” I said. “Now tell me what you know about Raven Quinn’s abduction.”
“I told you I don’t know a goddamn thing about Raven Quinn.”
“You said she had it coming. What’d she have coming?”
“Whatever happened, I don’t know. I been here all day.”
“What about your boys?” I raised the .40-caliber toward his chest.
“Boys are hauling sand up in Coulee County. Been working all day.”
“You just got the one truck. They can’t both be driving it,” I said.
“Well, they might help out some other truckers once in a while.” He squirmed in his chair as he spoke. Sitting in overalls soaked in piss looked uncomfortable.
“What other truckers?” I asked.
“I don’t know their names, just some guys they met at the railroad station where they dump the loads of sand.”
“Don’t you drive the truck?”
“I take a shift sometimes, but I mostly do the mechanic work between hauls.”
“You get one of your sons on the phone, and you tell him I’m going to be at that yard where they pile the sand. I’m going to be looking for them, and I’m going to be armed. If they don’t know where Raven is, then they better find somebody who does know. Because I been in law enforcement long enough to know that if a kidnap victim isn’t found in twenty-four hours, then the chances of finding her alive diminishes mighty quickly. I’m going to get answers or somebody’s going to get hurt.”
“You said you ain’t a cop anymore. You got no right pushing people around.”
“Listen, Swineheart, the sheriff’s department’s working their investigation, but they pretty much gave me a blank check to run my own. And I have no intention of playing by the rules. So, if you’d rather have me focus on your boys instead of manning up yourself, that’s your choice. I’m going to get answers from one of you.” I holstered my weapon and started for the door. I was half hoping he’d make a move for his shotgun.
“Wait a minute,” Swineheart called out. “There’s a couple of haulers—Torey Smylor and Gabe Hutchins—they’re hocked to their eye sockets paying off a used Peterbuilt. Work damn near 24/7 to make payments. Families live in two old 50-foot trailers outside a little burg called Martin’s Dam. They asked my boys if they’d cover a shift today. Said they wanted to be sure to be on the ledger for every load. Didn’t say why. Figure they were up to something. None of my business. My boys were just doing a favor. If Smylor and Hutchins had something to do with your missing friend, it ain’t my boys’ fault. You remember that. How I helped you.”
“Sure as hell took you long enough.” I said as I went through the door. “But if I find what I’m looking for, I’ll call us even.”
Surprisingly, Martin’s Dam showed up on my GPS system. It was twenty minutes across the Coulee County border, and from Swineheart’s place it took less than an hour to find. Martin’s Dam consisted of the remnants of a stone dam across Beaver Creek and the crumbling stone foundation of what had once been a mill for grinding grain. An abandoned tavern, adorned by peeling brown tarpaper-brick siding, a collapsed front porch and roof, and a broken Blatz beer sign listing at a 45 degree angle from the ground, stood alongside the disintegrating remains of three clapboard houses uninhabited for probably a generation. The entire area was overgrown with thick brush and weeds. In a field a quarter mile north of the dilapidated buildings was a trailer park with two doublewide mobile homes and three standard trailer homes. A gravel driveway united the five homes. The yards consisted of scattered rocks and stray gravel dispersed with weeds and litter. As I approached the settlement, I noticed a Ford 150 truck parked beside one of the doublewides. I was hoping I might catch one of the truckers at home.
I knocked on the door closest to the Ford 150. Nobody answered. I tried again, but no response. I walked to the next trailer and knocked but got the same response. At the third unit, one of the older trailers, my rap on the door did get a reaction.
“Go away if you’re selling something or if you want to tell me about your religion.” The voice sounded like an elderly woman.
“Not peddling anything,” I said. “Just looking for one of your neighbors.”
“Don’t know my neighbors, so go away.”
“I got a twenty-dollar bill here if you point me toward Torey Smylor or Gabe Hutchins. I was told they lived in one of these mobile homes. Twenty bucks just to tell me where they live.”
The door opened slowly but only about three inches. “Show me the twenty,” the voice said. I pulled out my money clip, snapped off a twenty, and shoved it toward the opening. The door opened a little wider, and I saw a woman in her seventies, quite frail, with long strands of gray hair hanging like dirty curtains, framing her hollow face.
“Why you looking for them?” she asked. “You a cop?”
“No, I might have a job for them,” I lied.
“Damn, I was hoping you were going to haul their asses off to jail. Racing around here day and night. Parking that damn dump truck in our driveway.” She opened the door and snatched the twenty out of my hand. “Hutchins lives in the first doublewide, but he ain’t home. Saw him leave about dawn, and he ain’t been back. Smylor lives in that dump of a prefab down at the end of the road, about a quarter mile. Uses this same driveway to get to his place. Throws up gravel every time he goes in or out. He left when Hutchins did at dawn, but Smylor came back maybe an hour ago. He’s home. Wife and kids are gone. Seen them leave right after he came home. But watch your step going to his place. He’s a crazy bastard.”
“I appreciate your help,” I said, digging out a second twenty and handing it to her. “You have been very helpful.” Without responding, she slammed the door, and that was the end of it.
Before driving to Smylor’s house, I got out my twelve-gauge shotgun and jacked a shell into the breach. I didn’t have time to waste. If Smylor was involved, I needed information fast. If he didn’t cooperate, I’d do whatever I needed to do to get answers. I wasn’t a cop anymore, so rules didn’t matter.
I drove to about fifty feet of his front door and parked the truck. I blew the horn a few times to get his attention, figuring there was a good chance he came home to sleep before taking his shift hauling sand.
After a few minutes, the door opened a crack and the barrel of a rifle peeked out. I climbed out of the truck but left the door open in case I needed cover in a hurry. I had my shotgun in my right hand but hidden behind the open door.
“What do you want?” he yelled through the crack in the door.
“Taylor Morgan sent me. Said he owes you for some work you did.”
“Never seen you before. Where’s Radd?”
“Radd’s got other business to take care of. I work for the mining company too. Come outside so we can talk. Mr. Morgan said he may have more jobs for you and Hutchins.”
“What kinda jobs?” He opened the door further but still kept himself hidden.
“Come out and we’ll talk about it.” I kept the shotgun out of sight as I spoke.
Smylor opened the door and came out on the top step. He was a big man and filled the entire opening. He held the rifle about waste high, ready for a fight but in a poor position to actually hit a target. I decided I had the upper hand with the shotgun, so I stepped out in the open.
“Where’s Raven Quinn?” I blurted out, unwilling to waste time playing games.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He paused. “Thought you worked for Morgan.”
“I work for myself, and I want to find Raven Quinn, and I don’t have time to stand here chatting. I know you and Hutchins were involved in her abduction, and if she’s still alive I want to find her now. If she’s not alive, people are going to die.”
“I had nothing to do with no abduction. I haul sand. That’s all I do for Taylor Morgan. So get the hell out of here.” He started to raise the rifle, so I fired a volley of double-aught pellets into the window next to the door. He froze as I pumped another shell into the breach.
“You want a shootout that’s fine with me,” I said, holding the shotgun in firing position. “Tell me where to find Raven, and you’ll live to see your wife and kids again. Keep lying to me, and you’ll die right there on your own doorstep.”
“I don’t know nothing. All I do is haul sand.”
“The Swinehearts told me they covered your route this morning so you could do a job for Morgan. I know you’re involved so don’t lie to me again. I’m ready to shoot it out right here. Maybe you are too, but you’re half my age with a lot more to lose. So, think about what you say before you open your mouth again.”
“Don’t shit me, man.” He sounded uncertain. “You ain’t ready to die here.”
“You know I been here many times before, looking Death in the face. Couple times we’ve been nose to nose staring each other right in the eye. Both times he blinked first, and I walked away. I got no fear of Death.”
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear your bullshit stories.”
“Okay, but there’s two things you need to consider. First, you’re a young man with a wife and couple of kids. You die today, you leave them in debt the rest of their lives. If I die here, a couple people’ll show up at my funeral and say, ‘Hell, I’m surprised he made it this long.’”
“Don’t talk about my family. And I don’t give a shit about your funeral.”
“Okay, here’s the other point to think about. We’re about thirty-five feet apart. That’s a nice deer rifle you’re holding. Hit a deer at two hundred yards—if you got time to aim. But in this distance in a quick showdown, there’s a damn good chance you’ll miss me. This shotgun is loaded with 12-gauge double-aught shells. No way I can miss you from this distance. I don’t have to aim. Shoot from the hip and at least half those pellets will find flesh to penetrate.”
“I don’t know nothing about Raven Quinn.”
“You’re a liar. I talked to the Swinehearts. They told me the whole story.”
“We didn’t kidnap nobody.”
“If that’s your final story, then let’s get this over with. I’ll count to five and if you don’t tell me what I came to find out, I’m pulling the trigger. Or if I see even the slightest flinch, I’m opening fire.” I paused just a second to let him digest what I just said. Then I started, “One…two…three…”
“Okay.” He put down his rifle. “A guy from the mining company talked to us in a bar the other night. Said all we had to do was pick up Quinn at her house. Told us to wait down the road till we saw you leave. We waited a couple hours. When you drove by, we went to her house. They told us they just wanted to talk to her. We didn’t know they were going to hurt her. Just figured they were trying to buy her place.”
“Either you’re stupid or you’re a liar.” I said, raising my own weapon and pointing it squarely at his chest. “You want to see your wife and kids again, you better tell me where she is.”
“I don’t know, honest. We just took her to a guy’s house.”
“What guy?”
“Name is Radd something. Works for Taylor Morgan.”
“Radd Barman. Where’s he live?” I stepped toward him as I spoke.
“Cabin off of McCormick Road. Near the river.”
“How do I get there?” I was ten feet away. I could see the sweat running down his face.
“Just take 37 east about seven miles. Take a right on County Q, two miles to McCormick Road. First house on the right. A-frame with yellow windows.”
“She better be there, or I’ll be back,” I said as I lowered the shotgun and backed toward my truck. “You want to test the accuracy of that rifle from there. I’m ready.”
He just stood there.
As I lowered my weapon and started to climb into my truck, I saw Smylor raise his rifle. I ducked into shooting position behind the door as a 30-30 round ripped into metal not a foot away. I dropped down and fired low, taking Smylor’s legs out from under him. He fell off the steps, his rifle flying from his hands. He was moaning. I thought about finishing the job but decided to let him think about his actions while his legs bled out on the gravel.
I threw gravel fifty feet in the air as I tore down the driveway toward highway 37. I slowed down just a little as I passed the trailer of the woman who’d helped me. Luckily, there was little traffic on 37, so it only took ten minutes to get to the A-frame. There was a pickup in the driveway but no sign of lights inside the house. I pulled right up to the front steps, grabbed my shotgun, and pounded on the front door. This time I’d skip the subtle act. There was no response to my pounding. I tried the doorknob. It wasn’t locked so I walked in, shotgun poised to fire. It was a small house, basically a kitchen, living room and bedroom downstairs, and a loft upstairs. No basement. It only took a couple minutes to see the place was empty. Not what I was hoping for.
I went out back and looked for signs of life. There was a trail through the woods that led down to the river. I followed it but saw no trace of life. I went back to the truck and laid on the horn, hoping to draw out Radd Barman. He was my last good chance of finding Raven alive.
I replaced the two shells I spent at Smylor’s. After a few minutes I noticed a flock—more correctly, though I hated to think the word, a murder of crows explode from nearby trees, setting off a salvo of squawks and caws. I figured someone must be heading my way. I raised my shotgun as Barman came strolling out of the woods. I was not encouraged by my thoughts of what he was doing back there. Barman would have seen me sitting with Raven at the town meeting he’d disrupted, so there was no point in trying to hide my identity. As he approached, I could see the shock on his face when he saw it was me. He was definitely expecting someone else. He froze as I aimed the shotgun at his chest.
“Where’s Raven? And don’t bother lying. Smylor and the Swineheart brothers already told me you were in charge of the kidnapping.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stood there stupidly, not knowing what else to do but lie.
I fired a round into a tree next to his head. Scraps of exploding bark ripped into his face and neck. Now he knew I meant business.
“Know what I’m talking about now?” I asked.
“Go ahead, shoot me, see how easy it’ll be to find your girlfriend if I’m dead.” He brushed the splinters of bark off his face. “Swinehearts are liars. So’s Smylor.”
“Listen, Barman, some men are patient and use good judgment in a crisis. But I’m not one of those men. I shoot first and deal with the regrets later. I just left Torey Smylor in a puddle of blood in his driveway. Try calling him if you don’t believe me. I may go to jail for that, but that’s not my concern right now. So, you can either tell me what you know, or I’ll do to you what I did to Smylor. Shooting two assholes ain’t going to get me more jail time than shooting one, so I got nothing to lose. Talk fast, or you’ll be laying right there full of buckshot. Then I’ll head for Morgan’s office and see if he wants to talk.”
“Okay, put the gun down. It was Smylor and Hutchins took Quinn from her house. They brought her here. My orders were make sure she never talked again. Morgan said he wanted her planted in that pyramid of frac sand at the rail station. Said nobody’d ever find her body in ten thousand tons of sand. That was my orders.”
“Did you do it?”
“I didn’t. I’m not a killer. Figured I’d hide her till after the vote then let her go. Wouldn’t matter what she said once they approved the mining ordinance.”
“Where is she?” I moved closer, the barrel of the shotgun two feet from his chest.
“Put down the gun, and I’ll take you there. She’s okay. Smylor and Hutchins smacked her around a little when they took her from the house, but she’s fine. I didn’t touch her. Gave her water. But you’re not going to find her if you shoot me.”
I lowered the gun. “Take me there right now.”
“It’s an old hunting shack up on one of the ridges back there.” He pointed toward the woods he’d just walked out of. “Maybe three-quarters of a mile back, but you won’t find it without me, and I’m not taking you back there till I’m damn sure you’re not going to leave me up in those woods once you find Quinn. So, you want to find her, then you better put that gun down. I’m the guy who saved her life.”
“Yeah, you’re a real hero,” I said as I leaned my shotgun against the tree I’d just used for target practice. “Let’s go.”
“How about the handgun in the holster behind your back?” He knew he had the upper hand if we were going to rescue Raven. So I grabbed the .40 caliber from its holster and pointed it at Barman. “Okay, but first we check to make sure you’re not armed,” I said.
He raised his arms to allow me to frisk him. No weapons. I set my handgun beside the shotgun and said, “Lead the way, but if this is a wild goose chase, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
We never spoke again as we knifed our way through the thick brush and pushed up the rocky incline toward the abandoned shack. It was almost an hour before I spotted the shack.
“There it is,” he said. “She’s safe in there, so you keep going, but I’m done here. I’m driving away and not looking back.”
“I don’t think so,” I said as I reached down and grabbed my .25-caliber from the ankle holster. “I don’t plan on having you waiting for us when we come down this hill. No, you’re sticking with us till we get back.”
“Or you’ll shoot me on the way down the ridge.”
“If I’m alone when we head back down, yes, I probably will shoot you. But if Raven Quinn is walking with us, you’ll be safe.” I pointed the gun toward the shack. “Lead the way, and if there’s any of your crew in there waiting for us, you’ll be the first one to die.”
Before entering the cabin and a possible ambush, I called out, “Raven, are you okay?”
“Pat, I’m fine. I can’t believe…” Her voice cracked. She was crying.
Raven was tied to an old rocking chair with her right forearm and hand free enough to reach the gallon water jug on the table beside her, but she was unable to reach the knots securing her to the chair. She had a bruise below her right eye, but looked fine otherwise.
Barman stood near the door as I loosened the knots and freed Raven from the chair. My guess is he was considering making a run for the woods, but wasn’t sure how accurate that .25 would be hitting a moving target dodging through trees. I kept my eye on him as Raven and I enjoyed a hard-earned embrace.
“So, what are you going to do now, shoot me?” Barman asked.
“It’s tempting,” I said, “but I’d rather tie you to this chair and see how long that gallon of water lasts you.”
“He was the one let me live, Pat. I heard him talking on the phone to somebody who said he should bury me in the sand. He hid me up here instead.”
“Guess we can turn him over to Hennie Dugan, and let the Sheriff’s Department figure out how to charge him.”
The walk down the hill was just as long as the walk up, but having Raven safely tucked under my right arm, made the trip a whole lot easier and more enjoyable.
I had called Hennie before we started our descent of the hill. He and a squad car from the Coulee County Sheriff’s Department arrived shortly after we reached the A-frame. They cuffed Barman and loaded him into the Coulee County squad.
After checking to make sure Raven was okay, Hennie told us Taylor Morgan and Gabe Hutchins were in custody. “And,” he said with a wry smile, “Torey Smylor is in custody at Lake Hope Hospital. You might have some explaining to do there.”
“What happened, Pat?” Raven asked.
“Look at the driver’s side door of my truck,” I said to Hennie. “Smylor’s rifle slug is embedded there. He shot first, but I shot better.”
“Good enough for me,” Hennie said.
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