The Delivery Truck Left Without My Files Or Its Driver

I had come early to catch up on repairs. The shop lights were still off when the truck arrived.

I stayed behind the locked office door and called the number Mara had given me for urgent contact. Then I called local police and described the truck, the ticket, and my earlier report.

I did not go outside to ask a patient question.

Some questions could wait.

Voss called my phone.

"Open up. We have a return."

I let it ring and saved the message he left.

He tried the front handle twice. Through the window, I saw him place a second sheet against the glass. It had my apartment address across the top.

The first patrol car arrived before he could move the piano off the lift.

An officer spoke with him beside the cab. Another came to my door and asked me to stay inside. After a while, two investigators arrived in an unmarked car.

Voss kept pointing at the wrapped instrument.

"It's a delivery," he said loudly enough for me to hear.

One investigator held up a document. Voss stopped pointing.

I watched them take his keys. They took him away, and a tow operator later removed the truck with the piano still secured on it.

My hands felt cold all the way to the elbows.

Mara called once I was with an officer.

"They served an existing arrest warrant," she said. "This wasn't based only on what happened this morning. You're going to get a fuller explanation when we can give it."

"Was he coming to take the drive?"

"I can't tell you his intent yet. Give the officer both sheets. Don't handle them more."

At noon, news reached me that investigators had searched Kline's house and the fund's office. There was no dramatic photograph of him being dragged down his steps. He surrendered through his lawyer that afternoon.

I preferred that.

Power leaving quietly was still power leaving.

Beth cried when she heard. Then she asked whether it was safe to open on Saturday. Her safety contact worked through that question with her. I could not answer it just because I wanted the answer to be yes.

The public charging papers arrived through June two days later.

Federal prosecutors accused Kline and Voss of extortion and laundering the proceeds. The fund had used instruments shipped across state lines, while the shops bought supplies from outside South Dakota. Investigators had followed both the threats and the money.

Nine businesses had paid $286,400 in all.

Most payments went through Prairie Key Fund as donations or host support. A large share then passed to Hills Ledger Services, a company controlled by Kline. Voss received regular transfers from that account.

The piano routes had given them reasons to enter shops, learn routines, and return without raising questions.

The public papers described bank records, host statements, false invoices, and delivery logs. My recordings were listed as one source among several.

That helped me sleep better than being called the man who broke the case.

I had carried one piece. Other people had carried theirs.

Lena had carried a piece, too.

With a lawyer, she had provided an older ledger and messages ordering her to mark forced payments as gifts. She admitted making false entries. Her cooperation did not erase that, and prosecutors had not promised to pretend otherwise.

"She sent the false witness form to you," June said.

"Did she know it was false?"

"That's one of the things being examined."

I thought about the missing page and her first denial. I could be glad she had helped without making her innocent.

At a later court hearing, Kline was released under strict conditions, including no contact with witnesses. Voss remained in custody after the judge reviewed the threats and his attempt to reach me. I received written instructions on reporting any contact from either man or anyone acting for them.

Kline's civil suit did not vanish with his arrest. June still had to file our response and demand the records supporting his claim.

My rent did not vanish, either.

I took small jobs. I replaced broken elbows in a church piano and fixed a sticking key at a school. Ruth sent me a check for her bench repair with two new customer names written on a card.

Mara called once to confirm that another investigator would handle my routine witness contact. She had told her supervisor about our feelings.

"I want the case protected," she said. "And I want you protected from doubts about why I helped."

"Will I still see you?"

She took a breath.

"I hope so. Later, when we can do it properly."

Months passed. Snow left the gutters. My calendar gained work slowly.

Then a court envelope arrived with a date, a courtroom number, and an order for me to appear as a witness at Kline's trial.