Deputy #714 Is Down

By Christine Husom

When Deputy Vincent Weber is gunned down in a café, Detective Dawes and Sergeant Aleckson respond to the scene and work to keep their friend alive till EMS arrives. Then it's all hands-on deck to track down the shooter. After a deputy in another Minnesota county is killed, the FBI is called to lead the investigation. They follow leads and paths, then set a trap for the suspect. No one could've predicted the stunning way it would end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christine Husom
• Release date: Dec 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215839645

Christine Husom

Christine Husom is a national best-selling author from Minnesota. She pens the suspenseful police procedural Winnebago County Mysteries, and the cozy, but not too cozy, Snow Globe Shop Mysteries where bad guys demonstrate not everyone is "Minnesota Nice." She has stories in six anthologies and co-edited one. Her latest titles are Death To The Dealers and Cold Way To Go. Husom served with the Wright County Sheriff where she gained valuable firsthand knowledge for her stories. She is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime, active with the Twin Cities Chapter. She loves meetings readers at Speaking Engagements, Art and Craft Fairs, Book Events, Author Panels at libraries and other venues, and Book Clubs. www.christinehusom.com.

Book preview

DEPUTY #714 IS DOWN

Tenth in the Winnebago County Mystery Series

Christine Husom

The wRight Press

Copyright © 2023 by Christine Husom

Digital Edition

All rights reserved, including the reproduction in whole or part in any format without permission, except in brief quotations used in news articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and events are fictitious, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to an event, locale or person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The wRight Press edition published December, 2023

Cover photo by Magna Ehlers

Cover design by Precision Prints, Buffalo, Minnesota.

The wRight Press

46 Aladdin Circle NW

Buffalo, Minnesota, 55313

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

To the dedicated law enforcement officers who put their lives on the line to keep us safe. When they report for duty, they don’t know where their calls for service might take them. They need to be astute, prepared, vigilant, and have servants’ hearts. In addition to enforcing the law, they help people in many other ways, with positive results and impacts. Without order, we would have chaos, and I thank each of you for your service.

Acknowledgments

My humble thanks to my faithful beta/proofreaders and editors who gave their time, careful reading, and sound advice: Arlene Asfeld, Judy Bergquist, Barbara DeVries, Rhonda Gilliland, Ken Hausladen, Elizabeth Husom, Thekla Madsen, and Edie Peterson. Also, thank you to all the respected authors who read the manuscript and wrote reviews. I greatly appreciate each one of you and your talents.

And again, with deep gratitude to my husband, and the rest of my family, for their patience and understanding when I was stowed away for hours on end, researching and writing.

And to all my faithful readers. I couldn’t do this without your support!

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

Praise for Deputy #714 Is Down

"Deputy #714 Is Down puts you smack dab in the middle of the action, solving two major crimes right alongside the brave and compassionate officers of Oak Lea and Winnebago County. You get the scoop on police procedure while the story whisks you along on the trail of a deadly gunman." D. M. S. Fick, Author of Lewis Sinclair and the Gentlemen Cowboys.

"The latest from Christine Husom is truly a late-night page turner. What a ride! Deputy #714 Is Down kept me wide awake and turning the each page a little faster. It's a heart-pounding race against time. A fascinating game of cat and mouse where the lines blur -who is hunting who? It's a winner!" Timya Owens, Author/Editor, Killer Nashville Silver Falchion Finalist.

Once again, Corky Aleckson takes us behind closed doors, so we can experience the authentic difficulties faced by law enforcement to solve a murder. Even though she’s very competent and a team player, she’s often overlooked by male colleagues---until she comes up with the critical solutions. And like real life, the plot thickens, forcing Corky to dig deeply and come up with her best. You’ll love the ending! Colin Nelson, Author of Flashover, The Amygdala Hijack, The Inca Code, and just-released, Ivory Lust.

When one of their own becomes a mark, only to discover he's on a list, things start moving really fast. Even the FBI gets in on this one. The most intense of the series yet. Rhonda Gilliland , Editor and Author of the Cooked To Death Series.

"When a Winnebago County, Minnesota deputy is shot and a deputy in another county is killed, the reader is drawn into an investigation to find the killer before they can strike again in Christine Husom’s latest thriller, Deputy #714 Is Down. Husom’s own law enforcement experiences ensure an accurate portrayal of the deadly cause-and-effect this all too familiar situation has on everyone involved." Thekla Madsen, Co-Author of The Detective Nicholas Silvano Crime Thrillers.

"Deputy #714 Is Down is a fast-paced, engaging mystery, a worthy addition to the fine series." A. W. Powers , Author of the Psychic Guardian Angel series.

"Deputy #714 Is Down, starts with a bang, kept me breathless in anticipation with the twists and turns, and made it a can’t put down read. Christine Husom weaves a mystery you won’t soon forget." Julie Seedorf, Author of the Fuchsia, Brilliant, and Whistle Stop, MN Cozy Mystery Series.

Titles by Christine Husom

Winnebago County Mystery Series:

Murder in Winnebago County, 2008

Buried in Wolf Lake, 2009

An Altar by the River, 2010

The Noding Field Mystery, 2012

A Death in Lionel’s Woods, 2013

Secret in Whitetail Lake, 2015

Firesetter in Blackwood Township, 2017

Remains in Coyote Bog, 2019

Death to the Dealers, 2021

Deputy #714 Is Down, 2023

Snow Globe Shop Mystery Series:

Snow Way Out, 2015

The Iced Princess, 2015

Frosty the Dead Man, 2016

Cold Way To Go, 2022

Deputy #714 Is Down

By Christine Husom

Copyright © 2023 by Christine Husom

All rights reserved, including the reproduction in whole or part in any format without permission, except in brief quotations used in news articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, locations, and events are fictitious, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to an event, locale, or person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The wRight Press edition published December, 2023.

Cover photo by Magna Ehlers

Cover design by PrecisionPrints

Buffalo,Minnesota.

The wRight Press

46 Aladdin Circle NW

Buffalo, Minnesota, 55313

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-948068-17-8

ISBN 978-1-948068-18-5

Dedication

To the dedicated law enforcement officers who put their lives on the line to keep us safe. When they report for duty, they don’t know where their calls for service might take them. They need to be astute, prepared, vigilant, and have servants’ hearts. In addition to enforcing the law, they help people in many other ways, with positive results and impacts. Without order, we would have chaos, and I thank each of you for your service.

Acknowledgments

My humble thanks to my faithful beta/proofreaders and editors who gave their time, careful reading, and sound advice: Arlene Asfeld, Judy Bergquist, Barbara DeVries, Rhonda Gilliland, Ken Hausladen, Elizabeth Husom, Thekla Madsen, and Edie Peterson. Also, thank you to all the respected authors who read the manuscript and wrote reviews. I greatly appreciate each one of you and your talents.

And again, with deep gratitude to my husband, and the rest of my family, for their patience and understanding when I was stowed away for hours on end, researching and writing.

And to all my faithful readers. I couldn’t do this without your support!

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

1

I clicked the call button on my Winnebago County Sheriff’s radio. Six oh eight, County. I'm clear the traffic stop.

Sergeant Aleckson, you’re clear at nine twenty-three, Communications Officer Robin confirmed.

The person I’d stopped drove away at a reduced speed, as per usual. I glanced at Whitetail Lake beyond the safety barrier. Waves rippled across the surface, and it appeared the lake teemed with spawning fish. Not the case that gray November morning. I entered the stop time in my log and pulled back onto County Road 35.

Robin was back on the radio before I’d gone a mile. Winnebago County and Oak Lea police, go to channel three. Her voice sounded panicked, and my body tensed as I switched from channel one to three.

Officer down, she said. Seven fourteen’s been shot. Brookings Café, Oak Lea. Suspect fled, unknown direction, or if he’s on foot, or left in a vehicle. Tall. Wearing a long black robe with a hood over his head and face. And gloves. Seven twenty-eight’s onsite, multiple witnesses, ambulance en route. Robin was mute for a moment then said, Keep channel three open for. . . this.

Vincent Weber shot? No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

I pulled onto the shoulder. My vision tunneled, the periphery blurred, my heart hammered against my vest, and my respirations puffed faster than I dared count. My arms and legs felt like they were encased in concrete.

Three twenty, County. Shooter’s point of entry? Detective Smoke Dawes asked.

Front door, Detective.

Copy. All responders use the café’s east side entrance, Smoke ordered. On my way from the office. He’d get there ahead of me.

Oak Lea Police Officer Casey Dey responded next. Ten four. Two thirteen’s en route from the station.

Seven ten, en route from a mile south of Little Mountain. Todd Mason.

Seven twenty-three, ETA in three. Brian Carlson.

Oak Lea PD, and Winnebago County deputies, the County copies, Robin said.

It sounded like Smoke was running when he said, Two thirteen, preserve the scene at the front entry. Seven twenty-three, you’ll be the first deputy there. Assist Seven twenty-eight inside.

Ten four, Dey said.

Copy, Carlson said.

Be on the lookout for the shooter. Seven ten, start canvassing the neighborhood, ask residents and business owners if they saw the suspect running from, or getting into a vehicle, near Brookings, Smoke said.

Ten-four, Mason said.

Communications, get a statewide alert out to all Minnesota law enforcement agencies, Smoke directed.

Copy that, Detective, Robin responded.

All available units, report to the area, meet with Seven ten to divide up the search efforts, Smoke said.

Seven ten copies. Mason again.

More radio chatter. Each voice held urgency. An army of officers responded. Communications officers repeated Smoke’s directives, and instructed them where to report.

A fog surrounded and entrapped me. I had to push through it. Respond. Seconds ticked by before I hit the call button. Six oh eight, County. ETA in four. So near, yet way too far away.

Ten four, Sergeant, Robin said.

Sergeant, report inside the café, Smoke said.

Copy that, Three twenty, I said.

Deputy Amanda Zubinski was with Vincent Weber. I prayed for them both and for mental clarity as I activated lights and sirens and accelerated east on County 35 at the fastest speed possible. The weekday mid-morning traffic was light so few vehicles had to pull over to clear my path. I was in Oak Lea in a minute and at Brookings—a brick structure built in the 1950s, located a block south of the Highway 55 and Highway 25 intersection—in another three. Weber’s, Zubinski’s, Carlson’s, and Smoke’s squad cars, along with Officer Dey’s Oak Lea police car, sat in the half-empty lot. Smoke was parked near the entrance. The ambulance had not yet arrived.

I parked in the nearest stall, snatched my work cell from the dashboard, and radioed Communications my location. Oak Lea Police Chief Bud Becker drove into the lot and lifted his pointer finger as I climbed from my car. We exchanged a quick glance and a brief sense of calm washed over me. Oak Lea was his town and he meant to keep everyone in it safe. Officer Dey was stringing a yellow Crime Scene Do Not Cross banner between two front posts.

I entered the café’s east side entrance and did a trained visual scan of the area. Booths sat on either side of the café with three picture windows on the walls above them. Round and square tables filled the center area. A group of around a dozen people—staff and patrons—huddled in the back across from the side entrance. Their faces displayed bottled up emotions: shock, fear, uncertainty, disbelief.

A crack of thunder and bolt of lightning tightened my muscles and drew an array of audible gasps and words from the crowd. One woman screamed. Chief Becker touched my elbow on his way toward the witnesses.

My focus went to the crime scene as I moved forward to join the team. Nothing about it seemed real. Weber was sprawled face up on the floor next to a booth, eyes closed, his ruddy complexion pale. His uniform shirt and bulletproof vest were open, the flaps pushed aside.

Smoke had his hand and forearm positioned under Weber’s left shoulder and the other gloved hand pressed on his upper chest area. Blood circled around the outline of Smoke’s hand and spread on Weber’s T-shirt. Smoke glanced up at me and said, Bullet entered his chest under his armpit, just outside of his vest.

Amanda Zubinski knelt beside Weber, one hand under his chin to keep his head tilted back and his mouth open. Her opposite index finger and thumb pinched his nostrils shut as she delivered life-giving breaths.

Brian Carlson knelt on Weber’s other side. An open AED case was on the floor beside him. When I moved in beside the team, I spotted a small hole in the back of the booth.

Carlson, we’ve gotta get his duty belt off. Sergeant Aleckson, can you assist? Smoke said.

Carlson unbuckled the belt. We worked together and slid his service weapon and taser holsters off the belt, followed by cases that held his radio, ammunition, freeze-plus-3 mace, flashlight, knife, keys, memo pad, and work cell phone. We left his personal cell phone and wallet in his pockets.

Smoke called out to Becker, Chief, get folks into the kitchen until we’re clear here. And see if you can locate a bag for Weber’s equipment.

My eyes locked with Smoke’s. Has a pulse, stopped breathing. His voice was a hair above a whisper. Talked to the emergency room doc, asked him if Weber’s heart stops beating if chest compressions would be safe, given this. He glanced down at Weber’s wound. Doc said to go ahead if that happens.

Oh, dear God, please no.

I dropped down next to Mandy Zubinski. Let me spell you.

She gave a quick head shake and delivered the next resuscitation as her tears fell on Weber’s cheeks. I needed to stay strong and not fall to pieces like I feared might happen.

Mandy, let Corky take over till EMS arrives, Smoke said.

She sniffed and shifted. I used the cuff of my sleeve to blot her tears as I moved into position. My mouth had never touched Weber’s before, and it felt both natural and unnatural to deliver respirations that inflated his lungs. His skin was cool next to mine, and I prayed it was because my body had heated to about a hundred degrees; not because life was leaving his.

I kept my focus on Vincent Weber as Smoke and Carlson exchanged words. Chief Becker came over with a paper bag, and Smoke and Carlson put Weber’s belt and contents into it.

Mandy sucked in a loud, ragged breath as I delivered another lifesaving one to Weber.

Carlson, secure his equipment in my trunk, Smoke said.

Copy. Carlson left and returned in short order.

I’ll stay with the folks in the kitchen, Becker said.

Good, Smoke said.

Mandy let out a few coughs then said, "I’d just joined Vince. He got here a few minutes before me, had a cup of coffee in front of him. I hadn’t ordered. No clue what was happening at first. I saw Vince glance up and frown at what turned out to be the shooter. My back was to the door. And I almost never sit with my back to the door. Vince kind of turned to the right as his hand went for his gun. Before he drew, before I could react, there was a loud shot.

People started screaming. Vince jerked backwards then fell sideways. I rolled out of the booth, drew my gun, but the shooter was gone. That’s when I saw the blood on Vince’s shirt, and moved to catch him so he didn’t fall head first to the ground. A guy helped me lay him on the floor.

Dear God, Smoke said.

I continued to deliver breaths, and when the emergency medical technicians arrived, a heavy weight lifted from my heart. EMT Max pushed in the gurney with a tank of oxygen and IV drip bottle attached to its rail.

We’ll get him on the gurney, cover the wound, and assess, EMT Lisa said. I stood, helped Mandy to her feet, and we backed away to give the EMTs the space they needed.

Max lowered the gurney, removed a backboard from the top, and laid it on the floor next to Weber. Let’s slide him on.

Aleckson and Carlson will assist, Smoke said as he continued to apply pressure on Weber’s wound.

We moved into position. The EMTs took Weber’s upper body. Carlson and I slid our arms under his hips and legs.

To the board on three, Lisa said.

We moved him on the third count. Now to the gurney. One, two, three. And we lifted the board onto the gurney.

Max tore the wrapper from a hemostatic gauze patch, designed to stop bleeding in gunshot wounds and other traumas, and applied it to Weber’s chest while Lisa clipped an oximeter on Weber’s finger, put an oxygen mask on his face, and slid the straps around his ears. She placed two fingers on one side of his neck then slid them to the other side. No pulse, she uttered.

Mandy grabbed my arm with both hands, and it felt like everything slid into slow motion. Max pointed at the defibrillator. Carlson picked it up and set it next to the gurney.

Start chest compressions, Max said as he removed the oxygen mask. Carlson sprang into action. He located the spot beneath Weber’s breastbone, locked his elbows, laced his fingers, and with the heel of his bottom hand pushed and released, pushed and released. The tune Stayin’ Alive played through my mind, in sync with the tempo of Carlson’s compressions.

Max pulled a pair of scissors from somewhere and cut through Weber’s T-shirt, exposing his bared, broad, and hairless chest. Lisa ripped the covers from the AED pads and attached one underneath his collar bone on the right side of his chest, and the other on the lower left side of his rib cage below the wound area.

I kept count as Carlson delivered the chest compressions. I was up to a hundred and fifteen when the voice in the AED said, Do not touch patient, analyzing.

Smoke and Carlson removed their hands and took a step back.

Do not touch patient, analyzing heart rhythm. Do not touch patient. Step away. Shock will be delivered in three, two, one . . . I felt my heart jump into my throat when Weber’s body jerked.

It is now safe to touch patient. Start CPR, the voice said, and Carlson resumed. He did thirty compressions, and I moved in to deliver the two breaths as directed by the AED voice. Do not touch patient, analyzing heart rhythm. Do not touch patient. After a long moment it said, No shock advised. It is now safe to touch the patient.

Thank you, Lord.

Lisa and Max removed the AED pads, attached the gurney straps to secure Weber, placed the oxygen mask back on his face, and raised the gurney. All in about forty seconds.

Let’s roll. Give him an epi shot on the way if need be, Max told Lisa, as if she needed the reminder.

I ran ahead, glanced up at the threatening sky wondering when the rain would fall, and opened the rig’s door for the EMTs and their precious cargo. Smoke, Carlson, and Zubinski fell in behind. Smoke helped Lisa and Max roll the gurney into the rig. Lisa hopped in the back, followed by Mandy who turned to us. I need to go with.

Smoke nodded. Sure.

Mandy’s eyes met mine. Her face was drawn and flushed; her mouth downturned. I managed a half smile and a few nods. Max closed the ambulance doors, hustled to the driver’s door, and climbed in. Seconds later, lights flashed and sirens blared as the ambulance sped away at 9:44 a.m. with our friend, the victim of a heinous crime.

Smoke pulled off his gloves inside out. He withdrew a plastic bag from his pocket, stuffed the gloves inside, opened his trunk, and tossed it inside. We looked at the paper shopping bag that held Weber’s equipment. It’ll be okay in my trunk till I get back to the office and secure it in a locker. We’ll need to check his work cell phone for any suspicious calls or text messages.

Yes, I agreed.

Smoke rubbed the back of his neck, turned his head from side to side, and pulled out his phone. I gotta call Chief back. We talked for a couple seconds on my drive here. He connected with Chief Deputy Clayton Randolph, filled him in on the details then said, I know it’s very early in the morning in Hawaii, but the sheriff needs to be apprised a-sap. . . .You did? Good . . . . No, we’ll hold off on bringing in the crime scene team until we’ve finished interviewing witnesses.

A-sap was Smoke’s condensed version of ASAP, the acronym for as soon as possible.

Smoke continued, There were eleven people besides Weber and Zubinski in the cafe, and given how fast everything went down, it shouldn’t take thirty minutes between the four of us. Meantime, can you ask Doug Matsen to go to Holiday, the closest business with cameras, ask for their video footage thirty minutes before and thirty minutes after the incident. . . . Yep, we’ll keep each other in the loop.

Sergeant Matsen was in charge of Winnebago County’s Crime Lab and oversaw the four crime scene teams. Each team had two deputies, on call twenty-four seven for one week at a time. Joel Ortiz and Bruce Holman made up the current team.

After they’d disconnected Smoke said, Sheriff’s in Hawaii, Chief’s sicker than a dog, Lieutenant Armstrong’s out on medical leave, Weber is down, and his shooter is loose out there in the world. Chief said he’ll have Communications send a ‘we have nothing to report yet’ message to all the media outlets.

The media, Carlson muttered.

Smoke took a moment to look at his text messages and shook his head.

Chief Becker and Casey Dey came out the café’s east side door.

Becker pointed at the café. "I got a hold of Pete, the owner here. He was up at the restaurant supply store in Saint Cloud and will be on his way. Didn’t get into details with him, but said there’d been an incident here, and told him to drive safely, and concentrate on the road.

Officer Dey and I strung tape across the front half of the dining area to preserve the scene. The café’s phone rang a few times. We turned off the volume so the calls will go to voicemail for now. I let the witnesses back into the dining area, asked them to stay back by the kitchen and not to make any phone calls till we’d gotten their statements. If family members call, I said send a message back that you’ll call ʼem soon.

Good advice, Chief, Smoke said.

Reminds me, when we were in the kitchen the witnesses started going over what happened. I instructed them not to discuss what they saw until we’d interviewed them. Didn’t want ʼem to start comparing notes, maybe get false memories planted. Something along those lines, Becker said.

Smoke’s eyebrows lifted. Or start doubting what they saw, maybe think the other guy’s right, they’re wrong.

Happens, Becker agreed.

Okay. Let’s gather our thoughts, then get to the interviews, Smoke said.

I patted my front pocket. My memo pad’s in my car.

Smoke, Chief Becker, and Carlson headed toward the east side door, and Dey to his guard post.

2

On the way to my car I noticed a satiny black cloth on the ground next to the front entrance. Detective, Chief, Carlson, Dey? They turned, and I moved my fingers in a ‘come here’ gesture. You need to see this. This may be a piece of evidence."

Smoke’s brows lifted when his eyes landed on the cloth. Becker frowned. Carlson and Dey both shook their heads.

Carlson, will you take a photo? Smoke asked, and he did.

I withdrew a pair of gloves from my back pocket, pulled them on, and bent over. Ready, Detective?

Smoke said, Yep, go ahead and pick it up.

I used the pointer finger and thumb of each hand to lift the cloth from the ground. It was a face mask hood with holes for eyes and mouth, or nose. Carlson took more photos.

How’d you spot it there, your sixth sense again? he said.

My shoulders lifted. Maybe.

Smoke shook his head. I sure didn’t see it when I ran by there.

None of us did, Becker said.

When the call went out, Robin said the suspect was wearing a long robe and with a hood over his head. I imagined it as a robe with a hood, one piece, I said.

Pretty much the image I had, Carlson said.

If this belongs to the shooter, it makes me think he shed his cover before he fled the scene and accidentally left this behind, I said.

A credible theory. The atrium only has a what, three-by-three-foot window in the outside entrance door, and a two-by three-foot window in the inside door.

Yep, Becker agreed.

And the bottom edge is at the top of my eye level, I added.

So it’s possible the shooter slipped off his garb without being seen by the folks inside. I suspected something along those lines from the text message updates I’ve gotten saying our cops haven’t located a single soul who spotted a man running away in a long black robe with a hood. Nor did anyone see him walking up to the café dressed in that garb, Smoke said.

I nodded. Someone dressed like that would’ve gotten peoples’ attention for sure. The atrium could’ve served as a good quick-change spot before he stepped into the café, and when he stepped back out. But what a huge risk to dress and undress in there. Somebody could’ve gone in or out. Or tried to. The thought made my stomach tighten.

"Downright brazen. One good thing, there’ll