Sibley's Secret

have covered the crimes of the past. These secrets are not known except by me at this point.” She looked searchingly at Kiki for assurance that she wanted to hear the rest.

  “Please go on, Miss Albrecht.”

  The woman paused and seemed to take a deep breath. “When John killed Mr. Hicks in self-defense, he tried to cover it up. First he took Hicks to the hospital, then he told Carter to hide the guns. Next they took some things from Mr. Hicks’ warehouse that Hicks had stolen during the first war from dead Germans and in Russia before their unit came back. John was part of Hicks’ Army unit. After they got back from Europe, he wrote articles against Hicks for the Lansing paper about his thievery. After he shot Hicks, John for some reason thought that the material Hicks stole would be seen as a motive for him to kill Hicks, so he took it and brought it here to the farm. Carter helped him do it all.”

  Kiki, interjected, “So, John stole things from Hicks who had stolen in the Army to try to hide a motive for killing Hicks. Is that right?”

  “I think so, Kiki, but I don’t think John was thinking clearly at the time, especially about bringing Carter into it.”

  “Okay, sorry for the interruption.”

  “That’s fine, dear. Anyway, Carter was conflicted for the rest of his life about the whole event. His father’s last words to him were to keep the stolen goods hidden so that he wouldn’t be implicated in Hicks’ death. The following spring, Carter and his mother, Sarah, had only survived the winter by selling some of Hicks’ German war souvenirs in Ann Arbor. The same mean Sheriff that got John electrocuted, found out about it. He had tried to force the two remaining Albrechts off the farm so he could have it for next to nothing. He came here to find the Army boxes that some of the Army troops said Hicks stole. Since nothing was at Hicks’ property, the Sheriff came here, thinking that he could get the family put in jail and foreclose the farm if they had it.

  He was a mean man. He didn’t have any warrants like would be required now. He was going to haul Carter off for trying to keep the corrupt cop off the property. Carter was twelve then and the Sheriff was going to toss him in jail. Sarah went berserk, after what had happened to her husband, and attacked the man. Carter tried to help, and, together, Sarah and Carter killed the County sheriff. His body is buried with the car in the ravine behind the orchard. The man was evil; he used his office to steal property from many people in Jackson, using bootleg bribes. His name is still plastered all over town.

  Kiki took a deep breath, “Would you like a glass of water? I need one; this is a lot to digest.”

  A moment later, she brought two glasses with ice and Miss Albrecht seemed unusually relaxed, obviously glad to be sharing her burden after all these years. Kiki asked, “So, you want to keep the property title to protect the secrets?”

  “That’s partly correct, dear. Those that know could be guilty of a crime, but I don’t know what would be. Except we still have all the stolen things Mr. Hicks brought from the war in the equipment shed. Carter never wanted to sell any of it, fearing more questions from the law.”

  A piece of the puzzle was still missing. Kiki said, “My father owned this property for over forty years. He owned it when I was born. He raised me on it. He wanted me to take it over: I didn’t want anything to do with it.”

  “I know the whole story, Kiki. Do you want to hear it?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The older woman looked even more serious, “It might be harder for you than the other part.” They both knew it was a rhetorical statement, she was going to tell the rest, and Kiki was going to listen. She deserved to know.

  Outside, Jason and Jim were talking generally about life in Jackson. Jason was fascinated when he learned Jim was a detective. He had been interested in law enforcement himself. Most kids growing up around Jackson either thought about farming or the state prison. There was a large population of prison guards and administrators, so almost all the younger generation thought about becoming cops at some point in their lives. Jason was now beyond the age for most police recruits and had gone to college majoring in advertising. He didn’t like it, but he was good at it. He was currently unemployed after the Detroit city bankruptcy was declared and was thinking about moving to Chicago. He and Jim had been having a lively discussion when Jim’s mobile phone range. “Yeah, where? Alright, I’ll be right there.”

  He excused himself from Jason and stepped to the front door. “Excuse me, ladies, I have a duty call and need to go quickly.”

  Kiki, said, “Go ahead, I’ll stick around here until you come back.”

  Miss Albrecht volunteered, “Or I can have Jason take you home, dear.”

  Jim nodded and left.

  Shot

  Rack, Odd Job, cursed to himself as he worked back through the woods quicker that he had come. The berries and wild roses scratched his hands and face as he hurried with the gun case back toward the car. He had the gun evidence in his hand and needed to get out of the area quickly. He would drive back to Chicago.

  Evan lay on the ground, slowly recovering his senses. His wind had been knocked out when he hit the ground and his right shoulder hurt like hell. He had no sensation of being shot, no clue, until he saw Karina in the dirt in front of him. She was only a foot from his face, staring wide-eyed at him, beautiful as ever, but her hair was in the dirt! It took a moment to realize the dampness between them was her blood.

  Rack had taken the only shot that presented itself between the silos. He should never have taken it, but the message said “now,” so he did what his client ordered. In another second, he would have lost sight as they passed behind the second silo and gotten to their cars. Then there would be no shot. He fired and the man fell, and so did the girl. It was a single shot, but the .556 jacketed bullet was traveling almost three thousand feet per second. It passed through the man with only minor distortion, then mushroomed in the woman. Both went down and he assumed both were dead.

  Evan struggled with his left hand to call nine-one-one.

  When Jim arrived, one of the Sheriff’s deputies was already on scene and the medics were examining a female on the ground, but weren’t opening any bandages. An ambulance left when he got there, using siren and lights.

  He asked the officer from his office to make sure no sightseers contaminated the scene. Fortunately, there were no pedestrians and few cars out in the farmland in the mid-morning.

  “The girl’s dead, Jim.”

  “Okay, Donny, let’s get the medics off and leave the body as they found her. If we can’t help her, then I want photographs and things as you found it. Who called 9-1-1?”

  “The male victim used his cell phone.”

  Jim took out his notepad, “How’s he doing?”

  “Critical from what I could tell.” Donny Mitchel had been in the Army in Afghanistan and had seen wounded before.

  “Okay, describe the scene when you got here.”

  The officer did a good job detailing what he had seen. From the position of the bodies, it looked like a through-and-through single shot. They calculated the rough path of the bullet and Jim radioed for some reserve police to comb the area for shell casings.

  He was on scene for about an hour, until the body was finally removed, then he drove to the hospital. The male victim had just been moved to the ICU after surgery and was partially awake. The procedure had been mainly to clean the wound and examine for internal damage. There didn’t seem to be any internal bleeding, so the biggest risk now was infection. It was important for Jim to get as much information as possible in case the man deteriorated.

  Evan was a little groggy but reasonably lucid. “How you feeling, sir?” Jim knew he must feel like shit.

  “Are you the police?” The man had several tubes and wires attached to his body and he was tucked in tightly with white bed sheets. He showed some minor abrasions on his face where he fell.

  “I’m with the County Sheriff’s office. You know th
at you were shot, right?”

  Evan tried not to snicker, “So I gather.”

  Jim, took out his notebook, “I always like to tell people why they’re here. You’d be surprised how many can’t figure it out.”

  “I believe it. Can you tell me about my girl (he wanted to say girlfriend), is she here too?”

  Jim hated this part. He asked gently, “What’s your name, sir?”

  “It’s Evan, Arthur Evanoff. I’m from Boston.”

  Jim put down is pad, and breathed in, “Evan, I’m sorry, she’s not with us.”

  “Did she go somewhere? Somewhere else?”

  “No, Evan, she died at the scene, it appeared to be instantaneous.” Jim didn’t know why, but the idea of a sudden death made some people accept the news more easily.

  Evan closed his eyes, still seeing her eyes, staring directly at him. She looked alive, not dead. Karina cannot be dead! Oh God, what have I done? He mumbled, barely perceptively, “If I’d just left her alone in Moscow, she would never have been in danger.”

  Jim asked, “What do you mean by that, Evan.”

  Evan was struggling against the drugs to remain awake and the nurse asked Jim to leave, but Evan insisted on telling him about Gregori Jelavich, how he had threated Karina. Jim had never heard of Jelavich, but believed Evan had a good grasp of the situation.

  “What was the young ladies’ name?’

  He spoke weakly, “Karina, Karina Chuikov.”