Imprisoned by Fear. Kathy Lange
been talking to Bruce about buying some neighboring property to Byron’s homes. If they own a certain amount of acreage, they can remain rural and not part of the city, ultimately saving tax dollars.
One evening Byron is helping Dilan study for a biology test. They have been absorbed in homework for almost three hours. He is grilling Dilan with question after question. It’s amazing how much brain knowledge he has about plants, which is what the test is on. I remember very little detail of some of the things I learned in high school. Who does? This morning right away he had asked me a question that would probably stump me, and it was, “Who was the one pope that was not elected by the people?” I thought for a moment and said that it had to be the very first one. I was right and I think he was surprised that I got it right. Most of the time he uses such unusual words that I have to ask him what the word means. He helped Dilan study for three hours without a break. I thanked him after they were done, but he seemed to enjoy and even thrive in that opportunity to work with a young person in that capacity.
The next Friday night brought in snowy weather. “The roads are too slippery to drive out of town in this weather,” I said. We decided on Cabin Fever, since it is right down the road. Byron didn’t want to go. He said, “There are too many locals.” I thought he may be getting more comfortable as he did go to the West Side Café once for breakfast without incident. He still does not want to go anywhere local. His life has completely changed now. He mentioned over dinner one night that he wasn’t invited to judge a science fair in Minneapolis this year. He was always invited every year. He wasn’t invited to a Boy Scout retreat as he has been in the past. His life very much had revolved around being a Boy Scout adviser and mentor. “That part of my life is over,” he said one night. We all felt very sad for him.
John took him for a drive on Sunday (March 17) to visit his mom in Crosby. They left while I was in church on Sunday. John is very diligent about visiting his mother. They took her out for a chicken dinner at Coach’s, a bar and grill restaurant in Deerwood. They have a chicken special every Sunday and all the locals go there. It is a noisy place, but the food is excellent, so you can overlook the noisy environment. When they got back, Byron was telling me that he mentioned to my mother-in-law about Indian finger weaving. He had instructions in his home somewhere, and he would retrieve them and teach her how to do this. Being she is part Native American, this would be a perfect craft for her. She loves to crochet, and this could be something she could do in conjunction with that. He also brought a brochure for a Scandinavian Festival in June at the Nisswa Pioneer Village. He seemed like he really wanted to attend, so we will have to make sure we are free that weekend. He also mentioned that there are several powwows held during the summer and one, in particular, is a good one with a craft and food festival near Bemidji. Byron then informed us that he knows the dance of this ceremonial celebration as he has had the opportunity to dance in several powwows. He has the full ceremonial dress and everything. All three of us, John, me, and Dilan, looked at each other in amazement. Byron, dancing in a powwow, was a bit of a surprise.
I was watching the Good Wife on Sunday night, and Byron came in, sat down, and turned on the lamp. “I have something to show you and I showed them to Dilan as a contribution to his education,” he said. He told me to open my hands and placed two unusual looking gold coins in it. They looked like foreign money but inscribed in English and were quite heavy. He said they were just like the others that had been stolen. (He had about $25,000 worth of gold coins stolen in the October 27 burglary.) The coins in my hand were worth over $2,000. He had purchased them when gold was $300 an ounce and now it was at $1,200 an ounce. Each of the coins was a pure ounce of gold. I asked him what Dilan said when he saw them, and of course, he was amazed. I can’t imagine what high school kids did with 20 gold coins worth that much money as they have never been recovered. The thought of pawning them or selling them would certainly raise questions. What happened to 20 gold coins worth about $25,000? I asked if he could get reimbursed from his insurance company for the loss. He said, “No, the coins would have had to be covered under a separate policy and are not traceable anyway.” He would never recoup the loss of them.
One Sunday afternoon Byron wanted to go for a walk in the woods. It was a sunny day, but windy and cold. We went to check out his rental property, which is what he calls the house he just bought in July. He bought the 5,300-square-foot home in July (2012) as it adjoins his family property. He had wanted to buy it for years, but the owner wanted too much money and they finally settled on a price that was agreeable. At one time she had wanted $450,000 for it. It is a grand home with two fireplaces, six bedrooms, five bathrooms, a huge kitchen, and a sun room. When I first saw the home that was tucked back in the woods, I thought it was a dream home. The burglars had broken into the detached garage of this property too. Byron has the doors double bolted and double locked too. The padlocks are readily visible sending a message forbidding entry. As Byron toured us through his home, he showed us the bedroom that he would be sleeping in as soon as all the snow melts. He is planning to live there permanently and board up all the windows in his other home. We walked over to his Elm Street home. He was looking for a camera so that Dilan could use it for one of his classes. He proceeded to tell me all the things he had wanted to change some day, the floors, the laundry room, and the kitchen remodeling. We went downstairs where the shootings took place. This was the first time I had ever been down there. You could see the bullet markers in the cement wall—about six of them with numbers assigned to each hole. The carpet looked clean, but he said he had cleaned best he could one day. He seemed nervous to be there as he was quickly moving about. He stopped to show me some of the souvenirs he had purchased from all his travels while desperately looking for that camera. The basement is filled with many electronics parts and stereos and record albums by the thousands. In his shop area is where the monitors were for the outside cameras. He had to be in that room to view the cameras. On Thanksgiving Day, he was in a different room in his reading area. There are shelves of books and a chair centered in the U-shape of the shelves with a lamp. It’s like an intimate, cozy spot to quietly read, but I knew that was the chair where he was reading when he heard the glass break on Thanksgiving Day. He still seemed a bit uncomfortable and uneasy there, but I could tell he wanted to find that camera and quickly get out. Then he started talking to me about the shootings while we were there. “You couldn’t see their faces as they were coming down.” The stairway is narrow, and his chair faces the stairs from the side. He went on to tell me that if he is found guilty, he will make a public statement that lets all criminals know that they can be safe in the city of Little Falls because criminals are welcome here and are protected declaring that a homeowner is not protected by the sheriff’s office. His motto for criminals was, “Come to Little Falls! Nothing will happen to you.” I was standing there thinking how sad it would be if he really was found guilty. It is not a concept I had given much thought to. Sadness and anxiousness overcame me, and I just wanted to immediately leave his home. On the walk back, I noticed that the neighbor girl was outside smoking a cigarette. This was the same girl that Byron suspected of stealing his military jacket and leaving a joint in one of his cars. She had been there when we walked by upon entry and had stood there and took a picture of us walking by with her camera. For what reason, I am not sure.
Byron has stopped the video recording of the Elm Street traffic this week. He says he has enough information to submit to the DEA.
On Easter Sunday 2013, Byron is recollecting the event of his Thanksgiving Day events to Mr. St. Onge, who is visiting our home this evening with his young son. Here is how he tells it: He is downstairs reading. He hears someone trying to get in the door. It rattles. The intruder tries another door. It rattles too. He has double locked them because of previous break-ins. He sees the shadow of a person moving across the wall downstairs. Maybe they will go away because all doors are locked and dead bolted. He hears them now upstairs, running across the wooden deck. He hears them try more doorknobs. Suddenly a window is breaking. He hears glass shatter now. He is in fear for his life. “This is gonna be bad,” he says to himself. He stops the story there and says the rest will come out in court. George St. Onge came over to visit because he, too, has been burglarized many times at his business where he sells motorcycle parts outside Little Falls. He actually has trails leading outside his property where thieves have entered his property so many times. He has called the sheriff’s department only to be told, “There is not much we can do.” Mr. St. Onge could identify with Byron’s frustrations with being burglarized so many times as