The Cold Trail

by J. C. Fields

  “Does she ever talk to Brian?”

  “Only on Christmas and his birthdays. He writes her letters, but she doesn’t write back. I can’t tell if it bothers him or not. He’s like me, doesn’t like to burden others with his troubles.”

  “Both of you are better off without her.”

  The younger Kruger stared off into the darkness but did not respond.

  The conversation shifted to Brian’s soccer games scheduled for the following week. With a planned week of catching up on paperwork and working out of the Kansas City FBI Field Office, Kruger was looking forward to seeing some of the games.

  After his father went in for the evening, Kruger sat for a while longer on the back porch. The discussion about having someone in his life stirred emotions he had not felt for a long time. Being a single parent was hard enough; he didn’t need the distraction of starting a relationship with a woman. It would be nice once in a while, but where to meet them was the other problem. His distaste for bars and social gatherings did not help.

  After turning the lights off on the porch and locking the back door, he noticed how quiet the house was. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he retreated to his room, got ready for bed, and started reading the files on the missing women again.

  ***

  Wednesday found Kruger working the phone on several closed cases being prepared for trial. A few minutes after completing a four o’clock conference call with a prosecutor in Denver, his cell phone vibrated. Glancing at the caller ID, he frowned. Unknown was displayed.

  “Kruger,” he answered.

  “You will never find them.”

  The voice was electronically modified.

  “Who is this?”

  “The man with the black hair.”

  Kruger froze. His mind raced, determining the proper response.

  “Which one will I never find?”

  “Any of them.”

  “Aren’t you taking a risk calling me? I might be able to trace the call.”

  He heard a metallic laugh.

  “No, you will not be able to trace the call.”

  “Okay. Why are you telling me this?”

  “So you will stop wasting your time.”

  “Thoughtful of you.”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “May I ask your name?”

  “You may ask.”

  “What is your name?”

  More metallic laughter.

  “I will tell you this, you will never figure it out. I am smarter than you. Just remember that.”

  The call ended abruptly. Kruger did not close the line immediately, but picked up his desk phone to call FBI Headquarters in Washington.

  ***

  “What do you mean they can’t find a record of the call? I have the number on my phone.”

  Kruger was pacing on his back deck as he talked on his cell phone. It had taken the FBI technicians two hours to determine the call did not originate with another cell phone.

  “I can’t explain it, Sean,” said Paul Stumpf, a deputy director of the FBI and Kruger’s immediate supervisor. “You’d have to talk to the techs. All they told me was the call did not go through Alltel’s network.”

  “Then how did he call me?”

  “They think it was done by computer. But since Alltel doesn’t have a record of the call, no one knows.”

  “So, he was right, I wouldn’t be able to trace the call.”

  “Apparently. You reported the voice was mechanical. Do you think it was a pre-recorded call?”

  “No, he responded to direct questions. He might have been typing the words, but I don’t think so. He laughed several times.”

  “How’d he get your number?”

  “Hell if I know. That’s another question I need answered.”

  “Unless…” Stumpf was quiet.

  Kruger waited patiently.

  “Who would know you’re investigating the abductions?”

  “You and the field offices.”

  “Exactly. Some of your emails probably identified your cell phone number and that we knew about his black hair.”

  “I don’t like the implications of this conversation, Paul.”

  “I don’t either. Let me do a little digging on this end.”

  “Call me when you know more.”

  The call ended, and Kruger took a deep breath. As he let it out, a bad feeling rushed over him. With the lack of evidence in each abduction and the sudden appearance of someone who could manipulate the phone system, he feared the case would never be solved.

  Part 2

  Present Day

  Springfield, MO

  “Final will be worth twenty-five percent of your class grade.”

  A moan rose from the students in the room.

  “Another twenty-five percent will be determined by your second half paper. Fifty percent of the semester is already in the books. So, those of you with less than stellar results in the first half can re-invigorate your final grade with a second half project. I will be in my office today and tomorrow, after that… See you all on Thursday.”

  Sounds of chairs scooting, papers rustling, and disgruntled conversations could be heard as the students filed out of the classroom on the third floor of Hill Hall. Psychology professor and retired FBI agent Sean Kruger, PhD, smiled to himself as he placed class notes in his backpack.

  “Mean professor.”

  Startled by the voice, Kruger looked up.

  JR Diminski stood in front of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest, a mischievous grin on his face.

  “It’s Abnormal Psych 251. Fewer than three students, if that, will want the extra project. It’s the only undergrad class I have to endure.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you, Sean.”

  “I’m bored.”

  “Obviously.”

  Kruger stood straight, smiled at his friend, and swung the backpack over his shoulder. “What brings you to campus, JR.?”

  Diminski shrugged and fell into step behind the dejected professor as he answered, “Thought we were having lunch together.”

  Kruger stopped and turned to look at his friend.

  “Shit, I forgot.”

  “Do you have time?”

  “Always. Let’s go off campus. Let me drop off the backpack in my office, and I’ll drive.”

  “Perfect.”

  Kruger’s office was on the third floor, next to the office of the Head of the Psychology Department, a position he would assume at the end of the current academic year. As they approached, both men could see campus police and several uniformed Springfield Police Department officers. As they approached, Dr. Doug Chambers, the retiring head of the department, broke away from the group of officers and approached Kruger.

  “Sean, we have a tragedy.”

  Frowning, Kruger stared at Chambers. “What?”

  “One of our graduate students has been abducted. It’s Cora Nelson.”

  Kruger did not reply right away. “When?” he finally asked.

  “Her roommate called the office thirty minutes ago. She watched Cora being thrown into an old white Chevy van in front of their apartment.”

  Taking a deep breath, Kruger calmed himself. He turned to JR to explain, “Cora is a graduate assistant. Very smart, very pretty.” He turned back to Chambers and asked, “Did the roommate see the abductor?”

  “All she saw was a tall man wearing a hoodie. He had long black hair sticking out from under it. She didn’t see his face because his back was to her.”

  The mention of black hair gave Kruger pause. A distant memory of a similar situation cascaded over him. “Which direction did he drive?”

  “She didn’t see. She was too busy trying to call our office. We called police and campus security.”

  Kruger looked around and grew angry. “Why are all of these officers standing around here?” he demanded. “They should be at the scene.”

  Chambers put his hand on Kruger’s shoulder. “They have perso
nnel there now."

  Ignoring Chambers, Kruger turned to JR. “Do you have your laptop?”

  Shaking his head, JR held up a cell phone. “Only this.”

  “Is it a Wi-Fi hot spot?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can you use my laptop to track her phone?”

  “I can do better. I can tell you where the phone is.”

  Not comprehending, he grabbed JR by the arm and rushed toward the stairs. As they got to the second floor, Kruger asked, “What did you mean back there?”

  “Project I’ve been working on for a client.”

  “Let’s get to the car. Then you can explain.”

  ***

  As the Ford Mustang GT screamed out of the faculty parking lot, Kruger turned to JR.

  “What did you mean about knowing where the phone is?”

  JR was in the passenger seat with Kruger’s computer open on his lap.

  “If I know a cell phone’s number, I can send a signal to make sure the GPS function is on. Even if it’s been manually shut off.”

  “Her phone number is in my contact info. I’m her advisor.”

  “Good.”

  Before handing his phone to JR, he pressed an icon. The call was answered on the third ring.

  “This is Joseph.”

  “Do you know any SPD sergeants?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I need to meet one at an address.”

  “Why?”

  “A student’s life is in danger.”

  “Where do you want to meet him?”

  Kruger gave him the address.

  “I’ll call you back.”

  He offered the cell phone to JR. Glancing briefly at his friend, Kruger asked, “How is this going to help us?”

  “I have a trucking company for a client. The owner has a problem with his drivers shutting off the GPS function on their company cell phones. It’s against company policy, and he asked me to figure out how to remotely turn it on when they turn it off.”

  “Sounds like you are turning into the men in black suits you’ve been avoiding for years,” Kruger chuckled.

  “Yeah, I’ve thought of that.”

  “Hypocrisy?”

  “Probably. But the client’s fee soothed my guilty conscience.”

  Before Kruger met JR, he was a computer software analysis for a large privately held software company. The owner of the company decided to bring in new investors to help expand his business. The new investors, through stock manipulation, suddenly owned a majority of the outstanding shares. They proceeded to fire the entire analysis team and outsourced their jobs to India. Within a year, the company was dismantled and sold, reaping millions for the new investors.

  After being dismissed, JR hacked the laptop of the new owner and found multiple files outlining illegal activities. He copied the information and tried blackmailing him. The reason he soon found himself in the company of two men who intended to end his life. JR managed to escape, but in the process, killed one and wounded the other.

  Kruger’s thoughts went back to their first conversation, when he was still with the FBI and sat down next to JR at a local pub in Springfield. Joseph, who was also sitting at the bar on the other side of JR said, “This is someone you need to talk to. He’s fair and will listen.”

  Joseph stood and left.

  “Before you wet your pants,” Kruger smiled, “I’m not here to take you back to New York. I know the truth, and I’m here to help you.”

  The man looked at Kruger calmly. “Don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, man. I’m just sitting here drinking a beer and watching a baseball game.”

  Kruger nodded, “Okay. Here’s what I know.”

  He proceeded to tell JR everything he knew while JR stared at the St. Louis Cardinals game on the TV. When Kruger was done, JR continued to stare at the TV. “And what do you plan to do with this knowledge?”

  Kruger sipped his beer as he watched the ball game. “Nothing. I need someone like you to help me once in a while. If you want to help me, fine. If you don’t, I’ll walk out of here, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

  JR turned to him and asked, “How do you know Joseph?”

  “Old family friend,” Kruger shrugged.

  “If I help you, what’s in it for me?”

  “I’ll start the process of clearing your real name.”

  JR looked at Kruger and smiled. “My name’s JR Diminski. Glad to meet you.”

  They had been friends ever since.

  Kruger’s thoughts snapped back to the present when JR turned to him. “The phone is two miles west of Ozark on 14, traveling west toward Clever.”

  “There are numerous turnoffs leading to the James River on that highway.”

  “Yeah, and the phone just turned south on N.”

  Kruger’s cell phone vibrated. He glanced at his dashboard and saw the call was from Joseph. He pressed the hands-free button on his steering wheel.

  “Kruger.”

  Joseph’s voice came over the speaker. “The sergeant’s already at the address.”

  “Tell him we are heading toward Clever on 14. The van turned south on N. I’ve been down that way. It leads to the James River.”

  “Got it. I’ll alert the Christian County sheriff’s department.”

  “Have them approach with caution.”

  “Will do.”

  JR glanced over at his friend and asked, “Can we make it in time?”

  Kruger didn’t answer. He just pressed harder on the Mustang’s accelerator.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, JR was directing Kruger toward a country lane on the western side of Hidden Valley Golf Links.

  “Where the hell does this lead us, JR?”

  “Toward the river.”

  Concentrating on his driving, Kruger asked, “How far?”

  “The signal stopped. We’re only a few hundred yards away.”

  Kruger slowed the Mustang as the road deteriorated to a rutted dirt path. The Mustang bottomed out several times as he drove further south.

  “When? How far?” His voice sounded strained.

  JR glanced at him. Sweat dripped down his forehead, his concentration total. Looking back at the laptop, JR frowned. “Just around this next turn.”

  Slowing the Mustang, Kruger followed the path. It emerged into a clearing where a dirty white Chevy van sat parked next to the river. Kruger accelerated toward the van and skidded to a halt within fifty feet. He shifted to first, set the parking brake, reached under his seat and extracted a gun, all in one fluid motion. JR recognized it as Kruger’s FBI service Glock 19. Before he could say a word, Kruger was out of the car and running toward the van.

  Chapter 6

  Somewhere in Christian County, Missouri

  Kruger pressed his back against the side of the van, next to the sliding door. He heard a muffled scream from inside and cringed. Without hesitation, he grabbed the door handle and pulled. As the sliding door flew open, he trained his Glock inside the van. His first impression was of a man kneeling astride a prone figure and removing his shirt.

  The man with stringy black hair twisted as he turned toward the now-open door. A knife was in his hand, and he sneered at Kruger. As the man raised the knife, Kruger pulled the trigger on the gun twice. The bullets found their mark, and the man was slammed against the far side of the van. The prone figure scrambled to her knees and crawled as quickly as possible toward Kruger.

  ***

  Kruger sat in the open door of the Mustang. With his hands clasped, he took a deep breath, and studied the grass next to his shoes. Four Christian County sheriff Ford SUVs were now in the open field next to the river. A medivac helicopter from Mercy Hospital was lifting off as he looked up. JR was leaning on the quarter panel of the car and watching over his friend when a larger man with corporal stripes walked up and stood in front of Kruger.

  “You want to tell me how you found him?”

  Kruger stayed quiet.

/>   JR tilted his head to the side and answered, “I guided him.”

  The deputy turned his attention to JR and demanded, “Who are you?”

  “A concerned citizen.”

  Corporal Gene Goodman stared at JR. “You being smart, son?”

  Kruger could not believe what he was hearing. He shook his head. “I’m ex-FBI, corporal. We knew she was in trouble and were able to help.”

  “How?”

  Looking up at the deputy, Kruger frowned. “Does it really matter? The girl is unharmed and safe.”

  “And the suspect is en route to a hospital with two bullets in him. I need to know how you found them and why you were involved.”

  Tired of the exchange, Kruger suddenly stood. The deputy was two inches shorter but outweighed him by fifty pounds. Large law enforcement officers stopped intimidating Kruger early in his law enforcement career. Leaning closer, Kruger stared at the deputy and said in a voice on the verge of a growl, “The girl would have been dead and floating down the river if we hadn’t arrived. Do you really want to know the details?”

  Goodman narrowed his eyes but did not divert his gaze or back up. “Eventually. Stand down, agent.”

  Kruger laughed. “You ex-military?”

  Goodman softened his glare and nodded.

  “How’s the girl?”

  “Shaken, but not hurt. Sheriff wants to talk to both of you. Don’t leave.”

  JR just shook his head as the deputy walked away.

  Looking over at his friend, Kruger grinned. “That was an unhelpful comment.”

  “He pissed me off.”

  “He was doing his job.”

  “Reminded me of a major I knew in the military.”

  “Morton?”

  JR nodded. “What now?”

  “Don’t know. Never shot anyone while I wasn’t an agent.”

  JR chuckled. “I have.”

  Both men started laughing.

  Five minutes later, Kruger noticed a man he recognized walking toward them. It was the sheriff of Christian County.