The Night Is Cold

by Brandon Enns

  "What do you want, Allen?"

  "To work this serial case properly."

  Brian rolled over to face her. "Another Satan stamp?"

  "In Evergreen. Danny Adams, mid-twenties."

  "In Evergreen? Really?"

  "Break in, body gone. Another girlfriend came over right after it was done." Jennifer wanted to believe there was a link between the girlfriends, but after seeing how distraught the last one was, it was unlikely. No, her mind persistently went to Eli Baker. The fact that he had just gotten out of prison when the killings started was plenty enough for her to go on, but Brian was being a dismissive dick. There was information that she wanted and accessing it would require his cooperation.

  "What do you make of it?" Brian asked condescendingly, his breath heavy from intermediate stretches.

  "I'm not sure yet, I—"

  "You wanna continue to look at my ass then?"

  "God no, please."

  "I'm offended."

  "Could be a connection. The girlfriends caught both men cheating? Did the deed for one another?"

  "Horrible boyfriends."

  "Yeah, maybe." She had missed the reference.

  "No, like Horrible Bosses," he said with an upside-down grin.

  Jennifer was lost in thought, trying to conjure up something that wasn't on Baker. She couldn't.

  "What do you think?"

  Brian rose to his feet, gut sucked in, chest out.

  "Ya know, I always pictured you as a strong independent type."

  "You know me. Fragile and dependent on men in yoga pants."

  Brian stepped in closer. A sting of body odor smacked her on the nose. "You wanted more responsibility...give me more. Show me something tangible within a week, and I'll give you some freedom with this."

  "What was the word on the Naicam scene?"

  "We think Reider was bludgeoned based on the bat fragments. But he could have been stabbed. There was a hell of a lot of blood. Another stamp, another body missing. Our behavioral guy thinks he's keeping them as trophies."

  "Dead though?"

  "Very. Thinks the sigil may be a way of claiming his victories."

  "Abused as a child?"

  "Not necessarily. This is a war to him. Battle. He was likely an outcast. Perhaps military."

  "Or military aspirations not fulfilled," she added. "Why choose the devil voodoo?"

  "We're looking into it. But it could very well be distraction."

  Jennifer scratched her head and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I need to speak with Baker."

  "No."

  She paused. "Baker."

  He looked like he wanted to hit her. In her dreams.

  "We would be crucified for going after Baker. He just got out of prison for being falsely accused, Allen."

  "I'm aware."

  "Don't be a smartass. Even if we tried to open a case against him, which is ridiculous, we would be shut down immediately. I'd get a call from Ottawa and it would be over. Don't waste our resources on a tortured man that deserves to live his life quietly. Away from you. I couldn't image how sweet that would be, Allen."

  "Baker..."

  He leaned his head back, squeezing his eyes shut.

  "Give me a little time. I'll be in stealth mode," she said.

  Brian cursed under his breath.

  "One week," he said. "You talk to no one in the office about this. No files on his old case, no questioning him."

  "Well, what good is that then?"

  "Files are sealed. The whole thing shouts sensitive matter. The uppers have it squeezed tight. But you could, oh I dunno, maybe follow him. See what he does with his day-to-day. Question any acquaintances he might have, keep a discrete

  eye on those he associates with. It's called..." he snapped his fingers pretending to think, "investigating, that's what it's called."

  "Why you gotta be such an asshole?" she blurted out, the heat rising to her cheeks.

  "What did you say?"

  Conservatively, she responded, "Asshole, sir."

  "The reason I'm being an asshole, Allen, is because it seems to be the only way to get through that skull of yours."

  "I see."

  "Do you?"

  He was giving her something at least. "I do. Thank you, sir."

  ***

  Jennifer began with the retrial. Kyle Morrow—Tanner Pearson's roommate and best friend—was behind bars. She had not attended the trial, nor had she looked at the file yet.

  After reading through, the facts did not make her feel particularly confident about her hunch on Baker. Morrow had lied about going on his hockey road trip so that he could spy on his cheating girlfriend. Not good. After Pearson's death, she and Kyle continued to date and eventually got married. He became abusive, and it continued to worsen until she finally came forward, stating that she was overwhelmed by guilt because someone else was in prison for something Kyle had most likely done. They were able to convict Kyle on motive, his girlfriend seeing him driving around the area the night Pearson was murdered, Kyle's now lack of alibi (friends that had admittedly lied for him now dismissed), and his abusive history, now revealed to the courts. A guilty verdict was often difficult to achieve without a murder weapon, but

  the situation was special, and the motive, damning. It was Tanner Pearson, an important figure, and it was a major screw-up. Morrow had to go down with little duration after Baker's release.

  She needed more on Baker, but she didn't have the access. They had him on DNA at the crime scene—hair follicles—and accounts of him “stalking” Pearson from two sources: a bartender and a regular customer/drunk. The locations were Leopold's Tavern and The Thirsty Scholar.

  The physical evidence on Kyle was thin. Of course, they had him on DNA, it was his place; what an idiotic detail that should have been omitted. The forensics gathered enough fingerprint activity in Tanner's bedroom to suggest that he had been in his room frequently, more than what could be considered "normal," whatever that was.

  Neither of the two new crime scenes had garnered DNA matches or clues leading to any suspects already in the database, aside from the confirmed baseball bat. They had concluded that the bat used was not made by any brand or supplier. Either they didn't exist anymore, or he was making the bats himself. Unfortunately, Tanner Pearson's murder scene showed no evidence to match the baseball bats to the two new cases. All they knew was that Pearson had obviously been horribly bludgeoned.

  There were no eyewitnesses, and neither of the families had any clue how such a thing could happen. No enemies, fights, arguments, nothing.

  Should I call my father? They hadn't spoken since she left ten years ago. What would she say? Even if he was willing to have a candid conversation with her after all those years, she knew what he was like. There was no way he'd share

  confidential information with her. No chance.

  Jennifer was getting hungry and decided to collect everything she needed and leave for home.

  ***

  An empty TV dinner sat in her lap. Her drunken haze weighted her eyelids as she watched her Oilers turn the puck over like it was a ticking time bomb. The score was 4-1 Kings. Tired and thwarted by life, she used her remote to select a recorded CTV News segment. It was the one of Eli's release. When he walked out of that prison, greeted by nobody, she paused the footage when the camera was zoomed in on his face. His eyes. They looked dead. Soulless.

  Her phone rang, and she saw that it was Jacey. After consideration, she hit ignore and looked back at evil incarnate. He was her killer. He had to be.

  ***

  The next morning, Jennifer stared at three outfits that she always wore. A black blazer, a gray, and a brown, all with matching pants and an assortment of white blouses.

  She called in sick to Ben (an older Corporal about to be promoted to Sergeant)—avoiding Brian altogether—and put on her favorite pair of worn-out jeans, a white T-shirt, and a gray Saskatchewan Roughriders bunny-hug over top.

  In a news article, she
read about the new home that Eli Baker had purchased with the settlement he received from the government. Its location was listed, and she figured it was a good day to get the hell away from Brian and to explore the country.

  ***

  She drove slowly down a gravel road, taking in her surroundings, or lack thereof. All snowy covered crops to both

  sides of her, golden tufts poking through. She could see in every direction forever. To her surprise, she saw an owl up on a telephone pole. Growing up, she wished she could have one as a pet, a big snowy one that perched outside her window. She would have named him Bernard.

  Jennifer stopped at a construction zone and checked her bearings before turning left toward Eli's acreage. As she drove, she shoveled a small handful of Smarties into her mouth.

  The timing of her arrival could not have been better. Having parked across the road with a visual on his house, she spotted him near a bluff of trees with a rifle in his hand. He prowled ahead through deep snow, looking as though he was stalking something. Is he hunting for a buck? Or has he concocted some other sort of sick game in the fields behind him? She looked down at her service pistol and decided to take it with her. She exited her car and pursued him, crossing the road and entering the bush, tracking his location.

  Jennifer stepped deep, her right boot filling with snow. Through the spruce trees, she saw him moving along the front edge of the bush, gazing out at the field. What the hell am I doing? If I make a sound, he might mistake me for an animal and open fire. Or even worse, realize I'm a human being and hunt me anyway. Maybe perform some sick satanic ritual. With my luck, it will involve some sort of masked dance and chant.

  He dropped to one knee and raised his rifle to his shoulder, peering through his scope. Jennifer flanked to the right, trying to gain an improved visual of the field he had his sights set on. After finding a subtle opening, she stopped, stepping on a thick branch that cracked. His head jerked to the right, and she dropped to the ground. He must have seen me. Snow had

  burst into her neck, melting down her collar.

  Buried halfway in the snow, she peeked around a spruce tree to find him looking through his scope, his rifle sweeping across, closing in on her. Do I make a break for it? Stay calm, he's not going to fire. Worst case he will see it is a person. It will probably just scare him off back to his house... The hardened criminal who spent ten years in prison will be scared off. Yeah, sure, let's go with that.

  His gun was almost in line with her. She jumped to her feet and took off to the right, running at full speed through the trees zigging and zagging, expecting bullets to come flying her way. They never came, though. After distancing herself from him, she stopped and looked down at her old white Sorel boots, anticipating blood, either from herself or from a body she had stepped on. Just move back toward the road. Run to your car and drive home.

  Logic could not outweigh her curiosity. She moved gingerly, head on a swivel, trudging north toward the field. As she neared, she regained a visual of Eli. He had repositioned himself and had his gun pointed out toward the field. For a split second, she thought she saw his head drift away from his gun toward her, but she wasn't sure. He appeared to be focused out on the field again. She wanted to see what he had lined up but was worried that he would change his line of sight and blow her to kingdom come.

  He fired and admired his shot for what felt like an eternity. There was something about the way he carried himself with that rifle. It wasn't enjoyment. It was a discipline, like he was in his element, hunting to survive. She shivered from the cold, the dampness soaking through to her skin. She should have worn her winter coat. Finally, he walked out into the open

  field and she took a few strides before she was standing right on the edge of the bush line, leaning up against a tree, watching him walk.

  Jennifer glimpsed ahead to try and get a visual of the animal. In the distance, she saw something move, but it was far out and near another set of trees that could have played tricks with her eyes. When she turned back to Eli, he was staring directly at her, gun at his side. They were both frozen in one spot, his face free from reaction, eyes flat. With a vacant stare, he lifted his arm up rigidly and waved.

  She waved back.

  He turned and continued across the field, back to his home, without following up on his fired shot. Whatever he hit, he was leaving it.

  She couldn't bring herself to step out into the open, away from the bush, to search for whatever he had fired at.

  The walk back was haunting. She looked over her shoulder three or four times along the way.

  Jennifer made it back to her car. What just happened?

  Jacey called again. Jennifer would have been fine with a twenty-minute chat for the car ride home, but that would lead to her wanting to hang out, which she didn't have time for. After rejecting Jacey's request, they would fight, and the call would end with both of them being unhappy and frustrated.

  She ignored the call and sent a text.

  ***

  Brian cut into her investigation and took the lead on questioning family members of Danny Adams and Derek Reider. Not to her surprise, there was no valuable information that had come to light. She wanted to dig up files on Baker's old case just so she could confidently put her instincts on

  Baker to rest, but Brian was breathing down her neck. He would be watching the sign-in sheet for the file room like a hawk. Based on their current rapport, disobedience could result in losing her job, her career. What career though? The one that involved writing speeding tickets, petty theft cases, removing homeless guys from public washrooms, and pulling over sixteen-year-olds booze cruising to the nearest party outside the city?

  With one more day before Brian's deadline, Jennifer got drunk at her favorite bar, Athena’s. VLTs sounded off from the corner as a couple old drunks laughed at their winnings from “smashing pigs.” The smell of chicken fingers and french fries made her stomach grumble. A young man, probably still in university, greeted her with a generic, "Hey, how's it going?"

  She let him down easy.

  ***

  Eli sat on his black leather coach upstairs by the fireplace. Instead of his usual Patsy Cline, he chose to sit in silence. Despite all of his recent victories, he was feeling down. He was angry with himself for losing control. His plan was supposed to be spaced out to keep the police on their heels and a full step behind. Not only that, he simply felt like an immature child throwing a tantrum.

  His nighttime tea did not soothe him the way it normally had. Is it because I've rushed it? Am I just fatigued? Or is it that woman? He should have approached her to chat, but he was worried about what he would say. Eli was assuming she was a distant neighbor, perhaps going for a long walk. Or even worse, a cop. They wouldn't be that sloppy, would they?

  That unprofessional?

  There were too many thoughts roaming around in his head, and it was ruining his peaceful evening. He needed to clear his mind, and the only way to do so was to arrive at a determination.

  His heart and mind finally calmed when he reached his decision. The only thing that made sense for him.

  The image of her was ingrained in his mind. He liked her long hair and how it moved with the breeze.

  After another sip of tea, he closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the crackling fire. Down below, there was a second fire burning next to the deer carcass that was hanging from the ceiling. Within that second fire lay Danny Adams, roasting to ash.

  9

  One year later. November 2017.

  Children were screaming and laughing. Eli stood nervously in the corner of the ice surface at the Rutherford Rink on the University of Saskatchewan campus. He held on tightly to the boards, worried that his footing wouldn't hold on the slippery surface. The U of S Huskies players glided around the ice slowly, the kids motoring around with choppy, short strides. They helped some of the kids skate while others were play fighting with some of the more rambunctious children. He glanced across the ice at the rink boards whe
re an Autism Services banner hung.

  Over the past year, he had become an important figure in the community, donating loads of money to various causes, but this one was closer to him. He had found a new purpose, and it was almost enough. Seeing all the happy faces playing on the ice made him think of Rodney.

  Everyone was piled together at center ice as a photographer lined up to fit everyone in. Eli hadn't budged from his safe corner, hoping that he could just observe from the sidelines where it was safe. One of the women who worked for Autism Services waved Eli over. He was reluctant at first, but she insisted, causing everyone to turn and watch him.

  As he baby-stepped to center ice, he slipped and almost tripped, ass over tea kettle. He caught his balance but felt a

  hot jolt of pain down his leg. He didn't let it show that he was hurting. Some of the kids laughed, but it was much different from the menacing laughs he had endured as a young boy. These were innocent.

  The woman addressed the group. "I just want to say something before we take this picture. First off, I'd like to thank the Huskies for taking the time out of their busy schedule to host us today. I know you guys are so busy between school and hockey, so thank you very much. We are very grateful. Second. Eli Baker. Your contributions have helped us do amazing things with this group of wonderful kids. After everything Mr. Baker has been through, he has been so gracious in spending time with the kids and helping us develop our program with his sizable donations. Thank you, Eli."

  Eli nodded in acknowledgment and shuffled into position for the photograph. The captain of the team draped his arm around his shoulder, his jersey wreaking of sour sweat. The camaraderie was new, uncomfortable, and sublime.

  ***

  Jennifer sat at her desk looking at a newspaper article. A large picture of the kids and the Huskies took up half the page. The title read: "Autism Services wins big. Eli Baker's one million dollar contribution assists for an exciting future." Jennifer read through the article that touched on the plans for AS, along with the generosity of Eli Baker.