Death in Cold Water (28 page)

“Ten minutes. Maybe more,” Rowe said, checking the gauge.

With a thumbs-up sign, the deputy jumped into the pool and disappeared.

Up top, the other deputy returned with coils of heavy rope. Cubiak and Moore rethreaded the pulleys as best they could and then started to pull.

The Rosses had used a double pulley system, but given the combined weight of the cage and the man trapped inside and the distance they had to lift, the job was hard. Despite his cold, wet clothes, Cubiak began to sweat from the effort. He took deep, measured breaths and ignored the burning in his muscles. The cage rose slowly, and bit by bit, the naked, shriveled figure of Gerald Sneider was revealed. He was bound up just as the sheriff had imagined, a replica of the boys in the boat.

Once the cage cleared the water, Rowe clambered onto the platform and the three of them lowered it to the floor.

The man inside looked comatose. Was he still alive?

“Gerald Sneider?” the sheriff said.

The captive remained motionless.

“Gerald?”

The man's eyes fluttered. He stared as if he were blind.

“Mr. Sneider?”

He blinked.

How the mighty have fallen, Cubiak thought. He had no sympathy for the pathetic specter of the rescued man, but he didn't want his condition to deteriorate further. They needed to work fast to keep him alive.

“It'll be another minute,” the sheriff said. Then to Rowe, he explained, “We can't get this damn thing through the door. Fuckers must have built it in sections and then dragged the pieces up and welded it together here. They may have been working on it when I came out to talk with Jon earlier this week. I remember seeing sparks through the door of the machine shed. That's where the tools are. We need them.”

Rowe leaned out of the silo and was shouting directives to the men below when Cubiak added, “Not a blowtorch. Tell them to bring a hacksaw. And blankets.”

“Stay with us,” Cubiak said as they waited for the equipment.

I
n all, the sheriff and his deputy wrecked three blades opening the cage. But they got Sneider out in time. His breathing was shallow and his pulse weak, but he was alive. Rowe undid the gag as Cubiak cut the cords that bound the captive's wrists, ankles, and neck. When they were finished they traded places with Emma Pardy and an EMT who'd been waiting on the ladder.

“I called Evelyn, too. He's outside,” Pardy said.

“Good. Thanks.” The sheriff looked at Sneider. “Save him,” he said.

Dr. Pardy brushed past. “I will.” She spoke with conviction but no sympathy, and Cubiak knew that she, like him, was thinking of the four boys in the rowboat.

C
ubiak had no memory of the climb back down the chute. He had no idea how he and Rowe, as cold as they were, had managed to hold on to the ladder.

The scene on the ground was one of controlled chaos. Someone had found the master switch and lit up the barn. One of the deputies, probably alerted by Moore, had blankets and dry clothes for Cubiak and Rowe.

After he changed, Cubiak returned to the barn. He watched Bathard tend to Pickler, and then he listened as Agent Harrison read their rights to the three Ross men—Jon, Leeland, and Stephen. Moore had the trio handcuffed and lined up against the wall: father and son standing tall and firm in their defiance, the nephew crumpling and blinking back tears.

Door County's fleet of three ambulances pulled in from the road where'd they been waiting. Bathard put Pickler in one. Moore walked alongside the gurney that carried Sneider to the second vehicle. Cubiak thought the agent would ride back with the rescued kidnap victim but he sent Harrison instead. Then, ignoring their protests, Moore escorted Cubiak and Rowe to the third ambulance.

“You were both in the water a long time. Too long by my count,” he said.

A contingent of the media had followed the flashing lights to the farm. By the time Sneider was out of the silo, the crowd of reporters and cameras had swelled, but Cubiak's staff kept the swarm from entering the yard, leaving only Cate to document the event. Taking advantage of the abundance of artificial light in the yard and the barn, she easily photographed the grounds. Moore was reluctant to let her enter the silo but finally relented and allowed her five minutes to climb the ladder and shoot the scene through the open door. She took seven and made it down in time to ride back in the gray-and-blue vehicle that carried Cubiak and Rowe to the hospital.

F
or the second time that week, Cubiak and Moore stood in the lobby of the Door County Justice Center and faced a mob of reporters and cameras. An hour earlier the two men had met privately to iron out the details of what would be revealed that morning and what held back until later.

The sheriff squinted into the bright lights. He wore his familiar rumpled jacket and tie and was once again in sharp contrast to Agent Moore, who'd shown up in a tailored three-piece suit, maybe one he kept ready for such an event. As they took up their positions behind a bank of microphones, Cubiak glanced down. His shoes gave new meaning to the word
dull
. Moore's gleamed, as usual. A forgivable foible, thought the sheriff.

Moore tapped a mic and waited for the room to quiet. “We've called this press conference to announce the safe recovery of Mr. Gerald Sneider.”

Most of the reporters had been at the Ross farm the previous night. Though the announcement was not news to them, the room still erupted in a buzz.

Moore went on undeterred. “I am also announcing the recovery of Verne Pickler, who was abducted and held against his will, and the arrest of two Door County residents and one former resident in the kidnapping and attempted murder of Mr. Sneider and the unlawful detention of Mr. Pickler. Charges are pending against the three suspects and will be filed on Monday.

The questions popped immediately.

When had Gerald Sneider been found? Where had he been held? What was the motive for the kidnapping? Who was Verne Pickler? How was he connected to Gerald Sneider? What else could Moore tell them about the suspects?

Moore provided few specifics.

“Are the suspects being charged as domestic terrorists?”

Moore hesitated, and a flush of color came up from his collar. “No, they are not.”

“Did federal agents locate Mr. Sneider?”

Moore gave a small smile. “Both Gerald Sneider and Verne Pickler were recovered as a direct result of action taken by Door County Sheriff Dave Cubiak.”

The news brought another murmur from the crowd, and Cubiak was aware of cameras turning in his direction.

“Where is Sneider now?”

“In the Sturgeon Bay hospital.” Under guard. That detail Moore didn't mention.

“And the suspects?”

“For now, they are being detained in the jail across the lobby.” Moore pointed over the assembly.

Heads swiveled around and then came back. Hands were still up.

“No more questions,” Moore said and nodded to Cubiak. Let's go.

I
n the jail, Cubiak listened as Moore and Harrison interrogated the three suspects, all of whom had waived the right to have an attorney present.

The feds started with Leeland.

“Whose idea was it to kidnap Sneider?” Harrison asked.

The suspect said nothing.

“Why did you kidnap him?” Moore asked.

Silence.

The session went on for some forty minutes, and during that time Leeland refused to answer any questions.

His only response came when Moore told him that his lack of cooperation wasn't helping his situation. Hearing that, Leeland laughed.

Stephen was second up. The Door County native made up for his cousin's reticence. Steve placed the blame for the crime on his uncle, Jon, and painted himself as an unwilling participant. The young man claimed that grief over his father's recent death had contributed to his irrational decision to go along with the scheme. He also insisted that he'd been led to believe his uncle and cousin were just trying to scare an apology from Sneider for events that had occurred at the Forest Home many years back.

Of the three men, only Jon Ross was belligerently proud of the operation.

“Yeah, it was all my idea,” he said. “It was me that convinced Steve to lure Sneider from the game. The bastard would rot in hell before he'd have anything to do with me or my boy. 'Course he wouldn't know Leeland, except by reputation, and he'd claim to not remember who I was, but I think that'd be a lie. So I convinced Steve to pretend he was doing an interview for that bigshot newspaper of his. I knew Sneider couldn't resist the chance to get his name in lights again. Mr. Philantropiss, I call him.”

It was all so easy, a piece of cake, he told them. “Steve told Sneider that his editor wanted some pictures of the Packer memorabilia, and so they drove up together, Steve recording all the bullshit Sneider was dishing out. When they got to Oostburg, Steve stopped like planned and I took over. Leeland was waiting for us at the house in Ellison Bay, and once Sneider turned off the alarm we waltzed in and left the note. It was Leeland's idea to tie the Super Bowl ring to the rope. Can't believe the fucker has three championship rings.”

Agent Harrison asked about the spiders.

“Yeah, that was my idea, too. I knew all about how he was afraid of them 'cause of how he used to try and be brave in front of us kids, putting one fucking little spider on his hand like it was some big fucking deal. ‘OK, Gerald,' I says to myself. ‘Let's see how you do with a whole shitload of the little buggers.' Turns out he didn't do so good, did he?”

At the break Cubiak told the feds to ask about the kittens.

“The kittens were part of this?” Moore asked in a way that made it clear he recalled the circumstances of their initial meeting.

“With that guy, anything is possible. And I'd just like to know.”

When Moore posed the question, Jon Ross erupted with a good laugh. “Yeah, that's right. I almost forgot about the damn kittens.” They always drowned the ones they'd didn't need, he told the agents, as if he were letting them in on a private joke. When the feds didn't react, he went on.

“Leeland insisted he had to have an alibi for the afternoon Sneider disappeared. We figured there'd be plenty of people watching the game at the Tipsy Too and that it was a good place to be seen. On his way there, Leeland was supposed to toss the litter in the bay. And what fucking good luck that the sheriff was sitting on the ledge fishing. Leeland saw the jeep and thought it'd be fun to throw the bag in right in front of him. Can't believe the fucker went in after them, but that was good, you see, 'cause then later when he spotted Leeland's truck in the parking lot and put two and two together, he actually came in and confronted him. The sheriff said he knew it was Leeland what tried to drown the cats. Now what better alibi can you have than your own fucking sheriff seeing you sucking down a beer when the crime of the century is being committed?”

“It's hardly the crime of the century,” Harrison said, but the elder Ross merely scoffed.

“What'd you do with the ransom money?” Moore asked.

“We never got it. Damn kids picked it up. I know you were there. You saw what happened.”

“And you know what, I'll give you that it was a pretty clever ploy to try and distract us that way. But we know you grabbed the bag. So where's the money?”

“I told you, we ain't got it.”

At that point, Cubiak joined the party.

“It's pretty interesting about the money,” he said, picking up where Moore had left off. “Not just the business about the drop but the fact that the ransom demands were not multiples of three, which you'd expect since there were three of you. Instead, you demanded amounts that could be evenly divided by four.”

Cubiak laid down a photo of the four completed skeletons that Cate had taken that morning.

“Four victims. You wanted Sneider to have to pay for their lives, didn't you?”

Ross's nostrils flared. “Something like that.”

“Which also explains the spiders and the cage. Money wasn't all. You wanted Sneider to pay with fear, and maybe even his life.”

“We weren't gonna kill him!”

“You'll have to convince a jury of that.” Cubiak looked thoughtful. “I'll tell you what I don't get, Jon, is the business with the snakes.”

“Andrew didn't say nothing?” Ross sneered. “I'll be damned. I can't believe he forgot. Maybe he was just too embarrassed. The snakes were to remind him of the summer he was one of the rich-kid campers. Andrew hated snakes. One day we decided we'd do to him what his father did to us and made him sit on his bed with a snake around his ankles and another in his lap. Like we figured, he pissed his pants and worse. Before we could get him to the shower, his mother showed up on one of her surprise visits and that's the last we seen of him at the camp.”

“Were you punished?”