Preying in Two Harbors Read online

  Books in the Two Harbors mystery series:

  Convergence at Two Harbors (2012)

  Seven Graves, Two Harbors (2013)

  A River through Two Harbors (2014)

  Preying in Two Harbors (2015)

  Preying in Two Harbors

  Dennis Herschbach

  North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.

  Saint Cloud, Minnesota

  Copyright © 2015 Dennis Herschbach

  Cover photos © Diane Hilden

  Print ISBN 978-0-87839-792-1

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-87839-743-3

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition: May 2015

  Published by

  North Star Press of St. Cloud, Inc.

  P.O. Box 451

  St. Cloud, Minnesota 56302

  www.northstarpress.com

  Dedication

  Preying in Two Harbors is dedicated to my children, Letty, Jennifer, and Karl. I’m proud of you for who you are, for what you have accomplished, for the grandchildren you have given me, and for the support you have been to me.

  A very special thank you to my wife, Vicky Schaefer, for all the time she spent proofreading this manuscript and supporting my efforts during its writing.

  Table of Contents

  Preface

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Preface

  Extremism, whether right or left, whether secular or religious, can be, and many times is, dangerous. Ideologies become so firmly entrenched in an individual’s or a group’s thinking, irrational decisions become the norm and those involved become blinded by fear, by distrust, by hate.

  Preying in Two Harbors is totally fiction. True, many of the places are real, and even some of the characters were inspired by people the author may have known. Most of the characters are composites of persons, drawing from an incident in one life, another incident in another’s. Yet, the theme is one that is real. In Minnesota, a self-proclaimed minister was charged with fifty-nine counts of sexual assault involving underage followers. He escaped being taken into custody and is currently wanted by authorities. According to an article in the Minneapolis Star Tribune, August 14, 2014, he was spotted in Washington. Incredibly, he was seen with a young woman, who he escorted to a waiting car.

  In another article, the Star Tribune described a person with alleged ties to a white supremacist group who was apprehended while in possession of grenades, bullet-resistant vests, a fully automatic Uzi, a Sig Sauer AR-15 rifle, three fully loaded, thirty-round AR magazines, and a fully loaded sixty-round magazine.

  An FBI posting begins, “Last March, nine members of an extremist militia group were charged in Michigan with seditious conspiracy and attempted use of weapons of mass destruction in connection with an alleged plot to attack law enforcement and spark an uprising against the government.” The article went on to say that many militia groups subscribe to the idea they are protecting the U.S. Constitution.

  “The celebrating began before the coroner could collect the bodies of two Las Vegas police officers who were ambushed and executed while eating at a pizzeria.” An entry on a Facebook page said to celebrate because there were two less police in the world. The entry received 6,300 “likes” before it was taken down.

  The Two Harbors mystery series is fiction, but any reader can do their own research and discover that the topics written about are very real societal problems, and the author has attempted to draw to the public’s awareness that these problems do exist.

  Chapter One

  It was the last week of April, the first real spring day in Two Harbors, and on the corner of Waterfront Drive and First Avenue, Reverend Isaiah (at least, that’s what he called himself) waved his floppy, tattered Bible, thundering to anyone who would listen.

  “Wake up, America. Repent or experience God’s wrath. Repent before it’s too late to be saved.”

  His piercing blue eyes were sunk deeply into his face. They, along with a sharp, hooked nose, gave him the appearance of a hawk hunting prey. Reverend Isaiah thrust a bony finger toward The Pub, a local watering hole across the street from where he held sway, and continued his harangue.

  “There, my brothers, is a den of iniquity, a place where the sinful prepare their places in hell!” He swept his wizened hand in the direction of the bar and grill. A burly man in biker garb tried to pass on the sidewalk, but the reverend stepped in front of him. “Are you saved, brother? Because if you’re not, time is running out, and you’re going to be judged by God Almighty.”

  The man tried to step around the gaunt figure blocking his path, but the old man would not get out of his way. Finally, the befuddled biker said something and pushed his way past, crossed the street and looked back at the corner where the reverend was standing. He opened the door to The Pub, but before he could enter he heard one last salvo.

  “You just opened a gate to hell, my friend. I’ll be praying for you,” the preacher bellowed.

  Across the street two middle-school-aged boys were jostling each other as they walked. One had his arm thrown over the shoulders of the other. They turned and stared as Reverend Isaiah railed at them.

  “Abomination! That’s what it is, abomination! Get your arm off his body. God commands men to stay away from men, demands that women stay away from women. This is how it begins, unnatural affection for each other. Do not fall into the trap set by those who would say that God is love. God is an angry God, a jealous God who demands our obedience. He is a God who punishes us for
our own good. The Almighty God has told me this town, your town, is an abomination to God, and like Sodom and Gomorrah, he is about to destroy you unless you repent of your sinful ways.”

  The two boys looked across the street at Reverend Isaiah in disbelief. One shook his head and said something to his friend, and they laughed. But they stepped apart as though a barrier now existed between them and walked on down the street. They weren’t laughing or jostling each other. That moment of innocence had been extinguished by the reverend’s unwarranted judgment. He continued his tirade until a cold breeze picked up off Lake Superior, killing the spring day.

  Reverend Isaiah stomped away from what he considered his corner, murmuring under his breath as he skulked down the street. He climbed behind the wheel of a battered, ten-year-old Ford Escort and pulled away from the curb, not bothering to look over his shoulder to see if traffic was coming. An alert driver slammed on his brakes, averting what otherwise would have been a collision.

  *****

  Climbing gradually, Highway 2 ran straight north out of Two Harbors. About three miles from town, the grade rapidly increased until cars, and especially trucks, labored to clear the crest. Near the top of what locals called Five Mile Hill, the highway intersected on the right with Gun Club Road. A little way down that road, on the left, sat what had been a country school in the 1920s.

  After students began to be bused into town for classes, the school was closed. The building became a township hall, then a community center, then stood abandoned until a biker group bought it for their clubhouse. They hand-painted a sign with the Harley-Davidson symbol on it and the words Death Riders in large black letters.

  “That crazy old coot, Reverend Isaiah, was in town again today,” a man with “The Hammer” tattooed in blue and red letters on each forearm said as he leaned back in his chair. He and a half-dozen other bikers were sitting on the porch, soaking up the April sun. He got up and plucked a beer from a cooler, popped the top, and returned to his chair. On the wall was nailed a notice, No Fags Allowed. Without waiting for anyone to respond to his announcement, he continued.

  “He stopped me on the street and asked if I was saved. I said, ‘Hell no, and I don’t want to be. I want to go down in a blaze of flames, just like a comet burning itself out.’ The old goat kept at me until I pushed him out of the way.” Hammer stopped to laugh at his own private joke.

  A couple of the others laughed, and the one called Blackie gave him a verbal jab. “Better be careful, that old man’ll put you on your back!” She took a toke on the weed she was smoking. Hammer mumbled something under his breath. He was six-foot-six and weighed in at two hundred eighty pounds. The scarecrow reverend would hardly have stood a chance in a physical altercation.

  “Tell you what, another two weeks and we’ll be riding our bikes anywhere we want. I’d like to take a road trip far away from here. What say, anybody up for that?” Most of the group was too wasted to respond.

  One of them looked at the blue sky and responded, “Sure, Hammer, sure. We’ll ride with you. Why don’t you go inside and make the plans? We’ll follow you.” He rolled in a ball and laughed and laughed as though he had made the greatest joke of all time. Then he instantly sobered and stood up. “You dumb shit. We ain’t goin’ no place. You’re as nuts as that preacher.”

  Hammer charged from his chair and hit Scy, short for Scythe, in his midsection with a full shoulder tackle. Together they tumbled off the porch into the cold mud and wrestled until they were covered in the red-clay goop. The two men were of equal size and neither could gain the upper hand. Finally, each lay on his back, exhausted.

  “Come on, you dumb shit, let’s get another beer,” Scy capitulated, and they slogged their way back onto the porch. Hammer went inside, but before sitting down, Scy grabbed another beer, then took a puff of what Blackie was smoking. Five minutes later, Hammer returned to the porch. He had washed the mud off and changed into cleaner clothes, and he wore a baseball cap, backwards so it wouldn’t fly off. Above its brim was his name, Hammer, and underneath the Harley symbol.

  “I’m going into town to see if there’s any action. It’s getting too cold to sit out here. Any of you numb-nuts wanna come?” No one answered. “Don’t forget to lock up when you leave,” were his final words. He fired up his Harley and roared away in a spray of mud and noise.

  *****

  Deidre Johnson stood at the kitchen sink, doing dishes. Her husband, Ben VanGotten, had driven their twin daughters to soccer practice in town, and she had stayed home to clean up after supper. It was a beautiful Saturday evening in the country, the end of the first nice day of spring, but as she looked out the window, she experienced a feeling of unrest that had gradually crept into her life the past few months.

  She and Ben were married when his daughters were five. Now they were ten, almost eleven. Awhile ago, reality hit her. She was thirty-seven years old, had never had a child, was a stay-at-home mom, and was becoming a regular Suzie Homemaker. The girls didn’t need her the way they had when they were little, and she sensed their growing independence would only leave her more isolated. Not that life was bad.

  After they married, Ben had stumbled onto a real gem, forty acres of rural land fronting the west branch of the Knife River. It had a wonderful building site, and they constructed a home that fit the property perfectly. She had a garden, solitude when she wanted it, and a wonderful family. Still, she couldn’t shake the unrest that gnawed at her when she was alone.

  Deidre had been involved in law enforcement since her graduation from college, first as a deputy, then sheriff, and after she was forced out of that job, as a special appointee of the state’s Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. She had worked tough cases, dangerous cases, and thought she was ready to give up all that excitement and settle down. Now she wasn’t quite sure what she wanted.

  Her introspection was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into the yard and of two doors slamming in unison. Megan and Maren, her adopted daughters, stomped into the house. “How’d the game go, girls?” Deidre asked, not really needing an answer.

  “We lost,” Maren pouted.

  “Bad,” Megan added. Both made a beeline for their rooms without pausing. Ben stood in the doorway.

  “Those two. I don’t know what we’re going to do with them. They’re so competitive they embarrass me. Megan wouldn’t shake hands with the opposing team members, and Maren told each of them as they passed, ‘Next time, sucker.’ I told them we were considering not letting them play in their next game. Can you talk to coach tomorrow?”

  “Oh sure, make me the bad cop.” She smiled and wrapped her arms around her husband’s midsection. “Let me talk to the girls in a few minutes. If I can’t make any progress, I’ll see her tomorrow and figure out an appropriate punishment. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said, and led his wife outside so he could cool off. As they walked on the path that followed the riverbank, he stopped and put his arm around Deidre’s shoulders. “What would we ever have done if you hadn’t come into our lives? I think that every day and give thanks for what I have.” He kissed her on the cheek. Deidre said nothing but leaned closer to him. They were silent for many minutes as they watched the clear water spill over boulders buried in the streambed. Suddenly, a steelhead, a lake-run rainbow trout, broke the surface and leaped from one of the riffles. As it disappeared in its own splash, Deidre and Ben gasped in surprise. They laughed and returned to the house. That night Deidre and the girls had a long talk about sportsmanship and enjoying the game.

  After watching the ten o’clock news with Ben, she decided it was time to have a serious talk with him. She didn’t quite know how to begin. She turned off the TV and cleared her throat.

  “Can we talk for a minute or two?” She looked at Ben from across the room. He was sitting in his recliner, and reacting to Deidre’s words, he brought it upright.
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  “If this is about the girls and their coach, I’ll be glad to handle it. I didn’t mean to push it off on you.” He looked worried, afraid he had expected too much.

  Deidre laughed at his discomfort. “Don’t be foolish. We’re in this together, and I want to hold up my end of the deal. No, it’s not that at all. Really, what I want to talk about is how our family is changing. The girls don’t need me as much anymore. I’m alone all day while you’re at work and they’re at school. I think I’m beginning to become too much of a recluse. What would you think of my trying to find a job? I know you support us well, but I think I need to get out more, you know, be with people. What do you think of the idea?”

  Ben took a minute before answering. “You don’t need to ask my permission. I want you to be happy, to live your own life. I’ve no doubt you’ll never put anything ahead of me or the girls, so I say go for it, if that’s what you want. Any idea what you’d like to do? Just don’t tell me you have your heart set on working at the plant in Silver Bay.” He was referring to the taconite processing facility that was dirty, noisy, and dangerous.

  Again, Deidre laughed. “No, nothing dirty, noisy, or dangerous. I was thinking of trying to get on at the school as a teacher aide, or maybe getting a job at The Pub as a waitress. Thanks for your vote of confidence. Maybe I’ll begin looking around on Monday to see what’s out there.”

  Hand in hand, they climbed the stairs to their bedroom. Ben gave her a loving pat on her fanny as they entered the room.

  Chapter Two

  Nine-one-one,” the dispatcher intoned. “What is the problem?”

  “Send an ambulance as soon as you can! We need an ambulance!”

  “Please slow down and speak calmly. Now, where are you located?”

  The 911 operator heard the man on the other end of the line take a deep breath. “I’m near the soccer field off Paul Antonich Drive. There’s a man lying by the side of the road, and he’s unconscious. It looks as if he’s been hit by a car, or something.”