said.
He’s trying too hard to cover his nervousness—or he’s an idiot.
I ignored him and shuffled my note cards.
“Investigator Sheehan will be taking your statement,” Jack said.
Bob nodded, his mouth still stuffed with doughnut. Ridiculous.
I said, “We’re also video recording for future reference. When you’re finished chewing, Mr. Brutlag, we’ll start with your name and address.”
Bob looked for a camera as he swallowed. He took a sip of coffee, cleared his throat, and then complied, giving his name and address.
“Where were you were Friday morning, October 7th?” I asked.
A corner of his mouth turned up—as if the question was humorous. “You know where I was. You saw me.”
Jack leaned forward and whispered, “ Just part of the process, Bob. Answer the questions even if you think we already know the answers.”
Bob snorted. “Gotcha. I was going to go for a walk in the park.”
“The park meaning?”
“Emmaline County Park. That what you want me to say?”
“I just want you to answer the questions. What time did you leave your house?”
“Maybe quarter to eight.”
“You said you were going for a walk. Where exactly did you plan to go?”
“I walk the trails.”
“How often?” I continued.
“Most days, but not always in the morning.”
“On October 7th specifically, where did you walk?”
“Down my driveway a ways then I cut across to the landing. I was going to take trail loop and back, but then I saw Ted Kohler laying there in his boat . . . so I stopped and walked home to call 911. Well, actually, I ran.” He gave out a little hoarse laugh.
“No mobile phone with you?” I asked.
“I usually carry it, but wouldn’t ya know, that morning I forgot the damn thing.”
“How close to the victim did you get?”
“On shore next to the boat.”
“Did you enter the boat at anytime?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone else in the vicinity?” I asked.
Bob shook his head and said, “Nope.”
“Did you hear the gunshots that morning?”
“No, sir.”
“You live what? Five hundred yards from the park? And you didn’t hear rifle shots?”
“No. I sleep pretty sound.”
I stared at him and watched him fidget. “Every little sound could be important. What do you remember seeing or hearing as you approached the park?”
Bob moved his head back and forth in little movements, his eyes cast upward as if he were trying to retrieve the information. His shook his head. “Nothing. Sorry I can’t be of more help to youse.”
“Do you own firearms?” I asked.
Bob’s face dropped as if it was the first time he considered he might be a suspect. “I have two rifles, a Winchester and Remington, plus I have a Browning 410 shotgun.”
“Caliber of the rifles?”
“Both .30-30s.”
“Would you be willing to surrender your rifles so we can eliminate them as the firearm that killed Mr. Kohler and Mr. Peterson?”
He nodded assent.
Jack sat back in his chair. Bob took another slurp of coffee.
“Did you know either victim?” I said.
Bob eyes jumped to Jack, then me. “Sure, I knew ’em both. I’ve seen ’em both at Buzzo’s and Cadillac Jack’s. Plus, Kohler always requests me as the mechanic to service his vehicles.”
Buzzo’s was a popular sports bar hangout on East Main. Cadillac Jack’s was located on Clooney Lake two miles north of town, adjacent to Jack’s home.
“Tell me about your relationship with the men.”
“What’s to tell? Ronny and me got along okay. We weren’t pals if that’s what you mean.”
“And Mr. Kohler? How well did you know him?”
“Talk to him about his cars is all.”
“What was your opinion of Mr. Kohler?”
“He wasn’t exactly my favorite person.”
“Why?”
“He was a hypocrite, you ask me.”
The sheriff adjusted in his chair. He was staring at Bob.
“How so?” I asked.
“He acted all superior and churchy, but I think underneath he was a prick.”
Jack shifted in his chair.
“Can you
He’s trying too hard to cover his nervousness—or he’s an idiot.
I ignored him and shuffled my note cards.
“Investigator Sheehan will be taking your statement,” Jack said.
Bob nodded, his mouth still stuffed with doughnut. Ridiculous.
I said, “We’re also video recording for future reference. When you’re finished chewing, Mr. Brutlag, we’ll start with your name and address.”
Bob looked for a camera as he swallowed. He took a sip of coffee, cleared his throat, and then complied, giving his name and address.
“Where were you were Friday morning, October 7th?” I asked.
A corner of his mouth turned up—as if the question was humorous. “You know where I was. You saw me.”
Jack leaned forward and whispered, “ Just part of the process, Bob. Answer the questions even if you think we already know the answers.”
Bob snorted. “Gotcha. I was going to go for a walk in the park.”
“The park meaning?”
“Emmaline County Park. That what you want me to say?”
“I just want you to answer the questions. What time did you leave your house?”
“Maybe quarter to eight.”
“You said you were going for a walk. Where exactly did you plan to go?”
“I walk the trails.”
“How often?” I continued.
“Most days, but not always in the morning.”
“On October 7th specifically, where did you walk?”
“Down my driveway a ways then I cut across to the landing. I was going to take trail loop and back, but then I saw Ted Kohler laying there in his boat . . . so I stopped and walked home to call 911. Well, actually, I ran.” He gave out a little hoarse laugh.
“No mobile phone with you?” I asked.
“I usually carry it, but wouldn’t ya know, that morning I forgot the damn thing.”
“How close to the victim did you get?”
“On shore next to the boat.”
“Did you enter the boat at anytime?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone else in the vicinity?” I asked.
Bob shook his head and said, “Nope.”
“Did you hear the gunshots that morning?”
“No, sir.”
“You live what? Five hundred yards from the park? And you didn’t hear rifle shots?”
“No. I sleep pretty sound.”
I stared at him and watched him fidget. “Every little sound could be important. What do you remember seeing or hearing as you approached the park?”
Bob moved his head back and forth in little movements, his eyes cast upward as if he were trying to retrieve the information. His shook his head. “Nothing. Sorry I can’t be of more help to youse.”
“Do you own firearms?” I asked.
Bob’s face dropped as if it was the first time he considered he might be a suspect. “I have two rifles, a Winchester and Remington, plus I have a Browning 410 shotgun.”
“Caliber of the rifles?”
“Both .30-30s.”
“Would you be willing to surrender your rifles so we can eliminate them as the firearm that killed Mr. Kohler and Mr. Peterson?”
He nodded assent.
Jack sat back in his chair. Bob took another slurp of coffee.
“Did you know either victim?” I said.
Bob eyes jumped to Jack, then me. “Sure, I knew ’em both. I’ve seen ’em both at Buzzo’s and Cadillac Jack’s. Plus, Kohler always requests me as the mechanic to service his vehicles.”
Buzzo’s was a popular sports bar hangout on East Main. Cadillac Jack’s was located on Clooney Lake two miles north of town, adjacent to Jack’s home.
“Tell me about your relationship with the men.”
“What’s to tell? Ronny and me got along okay. We weren’t pals if that’s what you mean.”
“And Mr. Kohler? How well did you know him?”
“Talk to him about his cars is all.”
“What was your opinion of Mr. Kohler?”
“He wasn’t exactly my favorite person.”
“Why?”
“He was a hypocrite, you ask me.”
The sheriff adjusted in his chair. He was staring at Bob.
“How so?” I asked.
“He acted all superior and churchy, but I think underneath he was a prick.”
Jack shifted in his chair.
“Can you
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