People, Places and Murders

By Avis R. Anderson

This is the 4th of 4 stories about the people who live in the
little town of Tower in Coal County in Eastern Montana.
When the world crowds in they protect themselves and each
other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9798369419816

Avis R. Anderson

Avis Anderson, granddaughter of Scandinavian immigrants, was born and has lived all her life on the Great Plains of Montana and South Dakota. “Big Sky” Country is a predominant influence in her life and philosophy. She spent 25 years as a high school teacher and librarian and currently is a Lutheran minister in her home congregation in Eastern Montana.

Book preview

People, Places

and Murders

Avis R. Anderson

Copyright © 2024 by Avis R. Anderson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 04/15/2024

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

859669

Contents

Prologue

Renewing An Old Acquaintance

I

Murder 1

The Story begins

Meeting The Neighbors

Country Call

The Betrayal

II

Murder 2

Spreading Fear

Potential Clients

Understanding

A New Player

Thoughts on the prairie

And then there is this

Rise of the 4th Estate

A Quiet Conversation

Nose to Nose

III

Murder 3

At the Ranch

Untangling

Camp Louis Riel

Unanswered Questions

Maximum Visibility

Closing the Circle

Justice

Historical note: Camp Louis Riel

Other books by

Avis Anderson

Pastor Sicily series

Until we meet again

The Breaks

Light will come

Pamphlets for

Frontier Gateway Museum

Grace Gilmore: an indomitable woman

George McCone: Pioneers sketches

With Eileen Melby

Ranchers, railroaders and retailers of Glendive:

their houses and families

For Joshua and Jayla.

Prologue

Reading through my journal again, I find myself picking out the threads of the past year’s tragedies and triumphs. I am still trying to make some sense of how it all fits together. It’s a tangled web and even after re-reading my notes and thoughts about the events, I am not sure there aren’t more unanswered questions than there are answers. Even after some resolutions, lives are still left incomplete. But there is no doubt that Eric Bloc and his militia invaded my life for a second time. With the help of friends, I was in better shape to meet him this time than the first, but he brought mayhem and tragedy both times.

Before all else

‘Swish swish swish’ the sound of the machete blade cutting through the tall grass was coming closer to where she lay. In the distance the night sky was glowing from the fires which swept over the thatched-roofed huts. Shadows appeared and disappeared before the flames caused them to wither and vanish. The screams had been deafening at first, but now they were fading off into silence. The sounds of trucks and the shouts of men were everywhere. The ‘swish swish’ meant she would soon be discovered. Her prayers were reduced to Help me! Save me! And then the noise stopped. The man moving through the grass responded to cries from his compatriots. She could hear him turn and move swiftly back toward the sounds of the trucks and the men.

She lay for a long time in the tall grass, her heart pounding, her breath coming in huge gulps of air. Then as the silence deepened, she rose slowly to her feet and looked around. At the first screams she had bolted from her hut in her sleeping clothes, a tee shirt and a pair of old jogging pants. She had slipped into her sandals as swiftly as possible, running out the door and into the blackness that surrounded the small encampment of huts. A small ditch around the camp had afforded her what protection was possible. Other members of the community were neither as swift nor as fortunate.

The raiders had come out of the night, their big trucks screeching to a halt in the middle of the village. Driving the people out of their huts the shouting men began to set the homes on fire. Then they turned their military assault rifles on the terrified people and began firing indiscriminately into the crowd. Those were the screams she had heard as she tried to cover her ears and keep from screaming herself.

The fires were still burning, but most of the village was smoldering ashes and the bodies of people she had eaten with, laughed with, worked with, were laying around in piles. She had thought of them as her family while she volunteered in this isolated rural village in Central Africa.

The plains and grassland swept as far as she could see. The rivers were dry from prolonged drought and the farmers struggled with their crops, carrying water from a village well to keep them alive.

It had reminded her of her parents ranch in central Montana, a place where the winds blew and the buffalo grass swayed in the breezes and the huge dome of sky covered all. Drought and plenty were the name of the game wherever humans tried to raise food.

She was numb. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her mind was screaming in pain, but no sound came out of her mouth. Never had she expected to see so much death and for it to come so suddenly.

She saw some movement. From under a pile of bodies a small hand crept out and a little wail was heard. It was the only sound of life in the night, except for the living fire that continued to eat away the huts causing them to crackle and collapse. She ran over to the pile of still warm bodies and slowly pulled away a little girl of a year. It was Tantu, daughter of Rachel and Thomas. Bewildered and frightened, when Tantu saw her, she lifted her arms to be picked up. Bending down, Sicily scooped her up and began crooning to her, rocking the baby gently in her arms, holding her close. They gave each other comfort and soon Sicily slumped down next to one of the huts where both she and the baby fell into an exhausted sleep.

That is where the government soldiers found them the next morning.

Renewing An Old Acquaintance

The first time I saw Bloc in Tower, we passed each other as he came out of the Post Office. I usually don’t pay attention to passersby other than a smile and nod. That is what you do in rural Montana. He looked straight pass me, hurried down the front stairs and climbed into a jeep that was idling at the curbside. When I got into the building I quite literally stumbled and had to grab a railing to keep from falling. That face!

Over the next several days there was a niggling in the back of my mind that said, Danger! In my anxiety, my sleep grew restless. I tried to see it as a subconscious burp, to talk myself out of it. After several nights I slept better.

Then I saw him again in the grocery store. He and a younger man, both in military fatigues, were loading up two carts with food. I had time to study him as I stood in line waiting my turn. Each time he took something out of the cart, his face was toward me. I could see the cold, blue, empty eyes. His hair was a military ‘buzz’ cut, dark brown, graying at the temples. Once outside, the men climbed into a mud-spattered jeep. Backing away from the curb, they drove away down the street.

The clerk had to ask me twice about paying, before I was able to shake my mind free of the apparition. Had he noticed me watching him? Did I make myself conspicuous by staring at him?

That night the nightmare returned to haunt my sleep.

Waking up, I lay exhausted until the sun began to light up the room and night moved into day. I had to deal with the man and who he was. It was the best exorcism I knew.

The third time I saw him he was heading into the bank. Ready this time, I positioned my Explorer so I had a good shot of the front door. My cell phone camera was set on the highest magnification. I was ready and when he came down the steps I was able to get a couple of shots. After a little photoshopping, the image was large and clear. At my kitchen table at the parsonage I sat looking at the pictures. My mind was ablaze with possibilities. Then I closed my phone and let the photos be for a few days. I had to be sure this was what I wanted to do. The nightmares refused to stop.

Quit making excuses! I told myself. If this man is the man you think he is, you have to know why he is here. Forcibly, I cleared my mind and went to see my friend, Sheriff Jess Spandler at the Coal County Justice Center.

The lives of people I have cared about were cut off from this earth and yet Bloc had not met the price he must pay for their lives. My hope still lingered that someday justice would be done. Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an everlasting stream. (Amos 5.24)

I

Murder 1

It Begins

November 28th. Bitterly cold day. Seems a little early, but then last year we had snow in October, so I suppose I am just not ready for it. But it comes and we accept and endure. Oh, dear, that sounds rather fatalistic. . .

It was hard to leave the old farm house. The kitchen