Frozen Assets Read online

  The day I closed on the sale of the house, the volunteers from the women’s shelter came with a truck to take away the furnishings I had donated. The shelter usually gets thrift store stuff, so they were thrilled to get Ethan Allen and the like. I gave away my Manolo Blahniks, my Jimmy Choos, my Prada, my impress-the-client-at-cocktail-parties gowns and my designer power suits, all the bells and whistles I had accumulated as a top-drawer divorce lawyer.

  I locked the door for the last time and, without looking back, started up the engine and slowly drove away.

  16

  I was sitting in the ambulance quarters working on my latest knitting project and listening to the latest Grisham novel on my Walkman, when the pager went off. Without a word my partner and I headed for the bathrooms. You never know when you’ll get a chance to empty your bladder, so this was ritual before every run.

  Dispatch directed us to a vehicle rollover out on US Highway 141, nearly to the county line, and as we headed toward our destination, I could feel the adrenaline surge through my body. No street drug yet invented can match the thrill of screaming down the road, lights and sirens going, people pulling over in both directions, not knowing what the next few minutes or hours will bring.

  It was easy to find the location because of the logjam of emergency vehicles. The fire department was there in force and watching them was like watching a carefully choreographed ballet. Two men with chainsaws were cutting away the tree which had fallen over on top of the Cadillac Escalade where it had rolled approximately 20 feet down the hill and smashed into the tree. Two more were unhooking the snowmobile trailer which had been attached to the SUV. The SUV itself was upside down, and I could hear a woman sobbing, and what sounded like a toddler screaming. A fireman was on his belly with his head inside the vehicle attempting to calm the child, who was hanging upside down in its car seat. Two firemen in full turnout gear were taking the chunks of tree as they were cut and using them to prop up the SUV. I saw with horror that a woman was completely underneath the roof of the SUV with only her head showing. My partner and I exchanged looks - the human body is not equipped to stay intact when squashed by a heavy vehicle.

  A fireman waved us down to the vehicle, and we slid down the snowy slope carrying immobilization gear and a jump bag.

  "What have you got?"

  The fireman pointed inside, and we bent down to look. There was a man crumpled up in a tangle of limbs - obviously wasn’t wearing a seatbelt when the rollover occurred - and a wide-eyed, red faced screaming child of about two and a half hanging upside down in the rear of the SUV. We made sure that the car was adequately supported and wouldn’t shift. We didn’t want to further squash what I already feared was a very flat woman. (Okay, maybe that’s a little insensitive, but sometimes black humor is all that saves us from insanity.)

  I lay down on my back and, pushing with my heels and pulling on the crumpled door frame, scooched myself in until I was directly underneath the child. I took the weight of the child while the fireman cut the seat belts holding it in place, and nearly got the wind knocked out of me when the child dropped the five inches to my chest. The kid was heavier than it looked.. As two firemen, each holding an ankle, slowly pulled me out of the car, I gradually moved the child over my head and off my body onto the roof. Once I was out, the fireman reached inside and pulled the child out. We released the child from the car seat, and once my paramedic partner had examined the child for injuries, the child was passed up the line to a victim’s advocate who had come to the scene. She held the child and let it cry on her shoulder, and slowly walked back to her car with the baby. She would take the child to the hospital, just to be sure it was okay.

  We moved out of the way again, and a fireman, who had dug a hole in the snow so he could get closer to the woman, who we were now calling "Mom," crawled in and covered her head and face with a protective blanket. By now the woman’s crying had subsided to the occasional muffled sob. We reassured her that her child seemed to be fine, and that appeared to help her state of mind.

  After once again ensuring that the SUV was adequately supported both by chocks and by ropes securing it to nearby trees, a fireman cranked up a metal saw and started cutting through the metal roof about six inches away from Mom. My partner had crawled halfway into the back seat to check out the man, but backed out shaking her head. "Nothing we can do for him. Looks like he bounced around there like a ball in a bingo cage. My guess is, broken neck, suffocation, or both." The man was in an impossible position, his legs thrown up over his belly and chest. Even if he had survived the initial impact, his breathing would have been impaired to the degree that it wouldn’t take long for his body to shut down for lack of oxygen. I could feel my ire rising. Here we had two adults who had the good sense to see that their child was well secured, but neither of them had the sense to use their own seatbelts. This child had most certainly lost its father, if that’s who he was, and could possibly lose its mother. I wanted to smack somebody.

  By then we had a fire truck, a tow truck, eleven private vehicles the firemen had used to get there, the ambulance, a State Police car and a county sheriff’s deputy car, not to mention all the looky-loos who lined both sides of the road. I love it when people stand at the edge of the scene taking in the beehive of activity. There’s so much noise with all the engines idling and power tools and compressors that they usually have to be asked several times to please move away and stay out of our way. Sometimes they have to be persuaded by a uniform.

  I overheard a deputy talking to a driver in a red and tan plaid jacket who had witnessed the rollover.

  "He was going hell bent for Texas, passed me like I was standing still and I was doing sixty! He whipped around me, nearly cut me off, if I hadn’ta hit my brakes, and then I guess he hit some black ice because the next thing I know, he’s spun around and coming back this way, and then down the hill he went. All happened so fast I didn’t even have time get out of the way and if he hadn’ta gone down the hill, you guys’d be scraping me up off the road." He waved his hands and kept talking, embellishing his tale.

  Now I really wanted to smack somebody.

  I returned my attention to the woman under the car. A flap of the roof had been cut out around her, and two fireman, on their bellies, were gradually sliding a backboard underneath her, as they dug out the snow inches at a time. Once they had her on the board, they carefully dragged the board out from under the vehicle, being careful that she didn’t slide off. Once extricated, she was quickly wrapped in blankets, fitted with a neck brace and strapped snugly to the board. Four firemen carried her up the hill, with another on either side of her in case somebody lost his footing. We put her on the cot, shoved it into the ambulance, and closed the doors.

  If you get all your education from television, you believe that ambulances are always going full tilt and that once a patient is loaded, the rig burns rubber and screams off to the nearest hospital.

  Maybe that works if you’re only a few blocks from the nearest hospital, but when you could be fifteen, twenty, forty miles away, you have to do things differently. In reality, we are limited as to when we can use lights and sirens, and then only to get traffic to pull over. We are technically not supposed to exceed the speed limit, which can be difficult when you’re high on adrenaline.

  I got into the back and helped the paramedic work on the patient. I laid out the items she needed to put an intravenous line in, then put sticky patches on the woman’s chest and sides and hooked her up to the heart monitor. On went the blood pressure cuff, which automatically inflated and gave us a readout of blood pressure and pulse. I put a clip on one finger to get a reading of how well she was taking in oxygen. Then I got out, went to the drivers seat, and pulled away from the scene. At the speed limit.

  That particular call had a happy ending, at least where Mom was concerned. Despite having the big SUV roll over on top of her, other than some scrapes and bruises, she was uninjured. The car had just squished her down into
the snow before it came to rest against some trees which kept it from sinking farther down into the snow on top of her. Her husband wasn’t so lucky. As we suspected, he was beyond anything medicine could do for him. The victim’s advocate had transported the child to the hospital, where it - she, actually - was happily reunited with her mother. The advocate had made some calls for the mother, and family members were on the way northward to take the two survivors home. The local mortuary was on its way to pick up the body of the father so an autopsy could be performed. Even when it seems a cause of death is pretty evident, they like to know whether drugs or alcohol were a factor, or if the guy had a heart attack which made him lose control, or whatever. Given the litigiousness of today’s society, it’s probably a good thing to get all your facts at the outset just in case.

  I had just finished cleaning and restocking the rig and was hosing off the road salt when a black SUV with tinted windows pulled in next to my personal vehicle. The front doors opened, and out stepped Agents Heikkinen and Walters.

  Aw, shit.

  I’m very eloquent in times of crisis.

  I ignored them as they approached and had to firmly step on the urge to turn the hose on them. Heikkinen walked in front of me and I could ignore her no longer. Walters nodded a greeting. I nodded back.

  "Slumming, are you?"

  She smiled derisively. "Yeah, sure. We have some questions to ask you."

  "Can’t this wait? I’m on the job here. My shift is over at six."

  She shook her head. "Now will do just fine."

  I shrugged. "So, ask." I kept washing the ambulance.

  After a moment’s pause, she asked. "What do you know about your neighbors.?"

  This caught me completely off guard and when I spun around to face Heikkinen, I got Walters with the water. Right in the face. I looked at him, horrified, and then I started laughing. He glared at me for a minute, then one corner or his mouth started to twitch, as if a smile was trying to fight its way out.

  "I"m - sorry -" I gasped, trying to catch my breath, but unable to stop laughing. "I just came - from a - run - stress - sorry -" It took some effort, but I finally got myself under control. "Sorry. But the expression on your face...." I sputtered into laughter again, and this time both agents joined me.

  "There’s a bathroom through there, " I pointed to the door which led to the crew quarters. "There’s towels you can use." He nodded and went through. Heikkinen leaned toward me and stage-whispered "That was good for him. He tends to get a little, er, pompous at times." We giggled like schoolgirls.

  By the time Walters had returned we were calm and semi-serious.

  "Okay, guys," I said, "what’s going on?" I squeegeed off the windshield as I waited.

  This time it was Walters who took the lead. "We’re interested in the people who own the property adjoining yours. On two sides you have timber company land, and at the back there are about five hundred acres of heavily wooded terrain. We’re wondering if you’ve noticed anything different going on recently." His manner was coldly professional. You’d never suspect we had lunched together and traded wisecracks.

  I shook my head. " Haven’t you already gone over this with me? Nothing’s changed. I never noticed anything period, at any time. I’ve never walked to that edge of my property, mainly because it’s so heavily wooded it’s hard going, even in winter when there’s not so much undergrowth. I’ve never seen anyone going in our out, but then I don’t really pay much attention. So why are you so interested.?" I held up my hand to forestall comment. "I know, I know, you’re the Eff Bee Eye and you ask the questions. But if you want someone to help, you could be a little friendlier, y’know."

  Again, that moment of communication between the two. Heikkinen took up the thread. "We’re trying to trace the movements of a group which we believe is moving contraband through this area - "

  "Contraband?" I interrupted. "What kind of contraband? Drugs? Arms? Illegals?"

  Walters gave me a penetrating look. "Interesting you should list those three items, since that is exactly what we’re looking at. Are you sure there isn’t something you should be telling us?"

  I bristled. "And you really think I’m stupid enough to do that if I actually knew anything I wanted to hide? Get real." Asshole.

  We were saved from further sparring by the pager, toning us out for another run. "Oops, sorry guys, gotta go."

  Walters gazed levelly at me. "We know where to find you."

  Why did that have an ominous ring to it? I didn’t have time to contemplate it as my partner and I jumped into the rig and took off for a reported four-wheeler accident. Probably somebody going to fast, not wearing a helmet. Job security.

  17

  My curiosity piqued, I spent the next few days trying to track down my neighbors. I spent hours on the internet researching the various companies as I backtracked from the present owner. I went into the corporations departments databases of every state. I even subscribed to one of those "find anyone, anywhere" on-line services which claim to be able to find anyone you want to look for.

  At the same time, off in a little corner of my mind, I was miffed that Agent Walters had been so, so, almost unfriendly. How could he still think I might be involved in something illicit after we had - what? Had lunch together? The Committee was in full voice. Yeah, right, that clears you completely. The FBI always crosses you off their list of suspects if you use the right fork and don’t belch in public. But he seemed so nice! It’s a ruse to get you to confess.

  Shut UP! I screamed silently. Go away and leave me alone. For once the Committee adjourned.

  I must have spent thirty hours in front of the computer over a period of a week, until I finally threw up my hands in defeat. I still didn’t know who owned the property next to me. I called a friend of mine in Detroit who is a private investigator, and asked him to see what he could come up with. Then I mentally dropped the matter and went on about my life.

  The sameness of my days was interrupted by a call from the Court Administrator.

  "Hey, Molly, got a job for you."

  This meant that the judge had appointed me to represent someone who, for whatever reason, could not be represented by the two lawyers who had the public defense contract. I had, when I moved to the U.P., agreed to take the occasional case just, so to speak, to keep my hand in. I maintained my license to practice law, simply because you just never know.

  "Hi, Lori, what have you got?"

  "Did you read about the three kids who escaped from Camp Ottawa?" I had. "Well, after they broke into two garages they finally found a car they could hot-wire, stole it, and crashed it in Wisconsin, just outside of Cranden. Your client has a broken leg, a fractured collarbone, and had his spleen removed."

  I whistled softly. "Jeez, what happened to the other two?"

  "One spent some time in surgery repairing some damage to his kidneys –"

  I interjected, "Bet nobody had their seat belts on."

  "–and nobody was wearing their seatbelts. Two of them went through the windshield and were lucky they weren’t decapitated. Your guy was in the back seat and didn’t make it through the windshield, but he was thrown over the seat when the car rolled, and he smacked up against the dashboard pretty hard.."

  I rolled my eyes. People never learn. When you roll a car and you’re not belted in, you boink around like a marble in a band-aid can. But I guess it’s just not manly to care about your own safety.

  I sighed. " Okay, when’s the arraignment?"

  "Wednesday at 2:30 pm. Shall I fax you the details?"

  I said yes and gave her my fax number, as if she didn’t already have it in her address book. Then I called the prosecutor’s office and asked them to fax the police report to me. It showed up within the hour, along with the felony complaint.

  It was sunny, fairly warm for February, about forty degrees, so I made a cup of strong tea and took it out onto the deck. The dog and cat accompanied me; there are f
ew things in their lives they enjoy as much as lying in the sun on a warm deck. Simple pleasures. I’m still working on being able to let everything go like the critters do, and just BE. Seems I’m always doing, instead.

  The police report read like a thriller novel. Three kids, all age 18 or 19, in a minimum security prison camp and within ninety days of being paroled, decided not to wait. They used their blankets and pillows as dummies in their beds, then after the eleven p.m. head count, hid themselves until the coast was clear, then climbed the fence, threw blankets over the razor wire, and headed out. Of course, they didn’t get away unscathed - the razor wire shredded the blankets and all three got their hands sliced up.

  Their absence was noticed at the next count, and the search was on. While every law enforcement officer and off-duty prison guard combed the area for the trio, they were hidden away in an unheated garage owned by someone who only came to the U.P. in the summer. In the wee hours of the morning they deemed it safe to leave. By that time they were near-hypothermic so they headed toward a house that showed occupancy. They broke into the garage and tried to hot-wire the car, but couldn’t. So they went on to the next house, with the same result.

  The third time must have been the charm, because this time they were able to hot-wire the car, push it out of the garage to the road so as not to wake up the homeowners, then head off into the dawn. The homeowners all reported the break-ins the next day, but by that time the kids were over the border into Wisconsin. They weren’t making very good time since they had opted for the more isolated roads which don’t get plowed as often. When they spotted the red-and-blue flashing lights in their rear view mirror, the driver hit the gas. The car skidded on a curve, rolled over several times, then smashed into a jack pine. If the police car hadn’t been there, chances are they would have all three died from exposure, since the traffic on that particular forest road was practically nonexistent.