Killer Storm

by Jen Wright

  I took a separate vehicle and met everyone at the last known address of Steve Latrell. It was a three-story dilapidated Victorian with a turret on the left front corner. I just hate it when houses like this are let go. Latrell's name was still on the mailbox. We had two probation officers, myself, and two squads there for backup. Lou approached the door from the side. Charlene, who is only five feet tall, stood behind him and peered around his shoulder. He gave three strong knocks, and a young woman of about nineteen with stringy blond hair answered the door.

  "What can I do you for?"

  "Steve Latrell?" Lou asked.

  "Sleeping. Can I take a message?"

  "We're with probation. We need to get him up. Where is his bedroom?"

  "In the back. Can you do this? I mean, doesn't he have rights?" She seemed scared but was trying to show attitude.

  "We can," Lou said, and he lowered his voice. "Do you need to put up a fight for show here?"

  She nodded, and while gesturing us in with her hand, said, "Get the fuck out of here! He isn't here. You can't go in there."

  The police escorted us into the room where Steve was sleeping like a baby. Lou ordered him to get out of bed with his hands in sight. He complied. He had big baggy basketball shorts on. His short brown hair and the soul patch on his chin weren't the only things that made him look like a gangster. He had tattoos covering both arms and his neck. He was handcuffed behind his back and led into the living room. After we searched the couch, we told him to sit down. He put up some resistance to a full house search but knew that it was a condition of his probation and that we would take him into custody and do the search with even more people under a search warrant. He was allowed to watch from the couch as we began the painstaking job of searching his house.

  The TV shows are very inaccurate about how long searches take. It is a huge task if you do it right. Each book needs to be paged through. Every cupboard emptied. Every toilet tank searched. The freezer contents examined. In a probation officer search, the police are only allowed to provide security as we sift through the contents of the house. The first discovery was a Colt 45 under his pillow. Loaded. The second find constituted several bundles of cash wrapped in tinfoil in the freezer. We also found several bags of crack cocaine all divided up into small rocks above a ceiling tile in the bedroom.

  Once we found the drugs, the police could take over. It had now become a new crime investigation. I wondered what would have happened if he had not been sleeping. I was also surprised that we didn't find any other weapons. He must have been only a soldier in the gang. We would find out how loyal a soldier he was.

  He was booked for third-degree possession with intent to sell and for being a felon in possession of a firearm. He would also be held for violation on his open probation. All this would be used as leverage to get more information on the rest of the gang. He could be held without bail on the violation of probation.

  Because Lou was consulting on the case, he would have firsthand access to the interviewing. We were usually not privy to that process. I did feel bad for him, though. He had been working way too much overtime. It hardly showed on him at all. I requested that he keep us posted and wished the officers well. I asked Char to spend some time with Steve's girlfriend to see if she would give any information up about the associates. It was a long shot but worth a try. By the time I left Latrell's house, it was well past three o'clock.

  Chapter 9

  I called Dar to see if she could make a late lunch. She said she would meet me at the Lift Bridge Café.

  I had to sit waiting for her for ten minutes. I usually hate that, but I was consumed with the details of this gang thing.

  I watched two kayakers hurriedly paddling to get under the lift bridge and through the port to avoid meeting any larger vessels. I always joke about how the lift bridge must have been designed by an architect's kid playing with tinker toys. It has thousands of metal pieces welded together to form a bridge. The road portion of the bridge lifts up enough to allow all sizes of vessels to pass underneath it into the port. When an ocean-bound ship passes, it delays traffic to Park Point for a half hour. When a small sailboat passes, traffic is only delayed ten minutes. Sometimes the bridge operator allows several boats to pass in succession, limiting the number of lifts per day.

  I resolved to make efficient use of my own time as well. I spent the time waiting for Dar by sorting through some of the facts of the case, trying to make something fall into place. How could we get at the other members of the gang? Could we keep Nichols and Latrell segregated at the jail? If not, could one of them be shipped to a neighboring town's jail? What were they going to try next?

  When Dar came in, I offered her a hug. She accepted, stood back, and looked me over.

  "You look terrible."

  "Thanks! I've missed you, too."

  "That is not what I meant, and you know it. Isn't it ironic that you were the one who had to cancel lunch today? I mean, you were always so pissed off at me for messing things up."

  "This is starting off on a good foot. I wouldn't exactly say pissed off, more like frustrated. I think it is disrespectful to leave someone waiting. Some things are unavoidable. This was beyond my control."

  "I think it is all about how you define 'out of your control.'"

  I sat there reflecting on our relationship, about how judgmental I had been about her lateness or just plain forgetting about things. Sometimes I didn't even give her a chance to explain.

  "I was judgmental of you."

  "So, tell me what's up. Someone broke into the house?"

  "I wouldn't say broke in, more like intruded. I think he was trying to deliver a message."

  "Did he have a part in the murder of that whole family?"

  "There is a pretty good chance of that."

  "Jo, he could have been there to kill you."

  "That is one possibility."

  "At our... I mean, your house. The dogs, are they OK?"

  "They alerted me to the intruder. They may have saved my life."

  She paused and examined me.

  "So, do you think he was there to kill you?"

  "Honestly, I don't know. If he was, he didn't succeed. Can we talk about something else? How have you been? Where are you living?"

  She hesitated, as if to consider the wisdom of changing the subject, and begrudgingly answered.

  "I'm at the Lester River House. It's a co-op for women. We all share in the housework, cooking, and cleaning. You pay based on your income. It's pretty cool."

  "That is so you. I could never do that!"

  "I know."

  "Dar, I'm sorry about how things ended. I think I had let things build up without talking about them, and well, I never meant to yell at you like that."

  "Thanks. I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have walked out. I just felt so judged all the time. We're very different people – too different. Well, maybe just different in ways that were bad for us as a couple."

  "It didn't help that neither one of us was big on talking about things."

  "That's true, but I think if we had been talking, we would have been fighting."

  "Hard to say."

  "Kathy and Donna are well?"

  "Quite. Those two are so stable."

  I didn't have the nerve to ask her if she was seeing anyone. I'm pretty sure she knew I wasn't. Her instinct to call me at K. & D.'s was right on. We made some uncomfortable small talk, ate warm mushroom salads, and walked out together. The funny thing was, I was still physically attracted to her. How the heck could I be attracted to someone so totally incompatible to me? Weird.

  It felt good that she didn't seem to hate me.

  Back at the office, there was nothing new about the investigation. While Latrell had not asked for a lawyer, he also wasn't talking. I walked down to Char's office. She had just returned from talking to Latrell's girlfriend.

  "Her name is Nicole Redding. She's been seeing Steve for six months. She hooked up with him right after he moved here. S
he knew about the warehouse in Morgan Park, but other than that, she wasn't talking. She denied knowledge of guns or drugs. The apartment was in his name." In an attempt to get information out of her, Char had pointed out to Nicole that she could be charged with being an accessory to Steve's crimes. Even after receiving promises of protection, the woman wouldn't budge.

  "Nicole is originally from Virginia, Minnesota. She said she met up with Latrell at a party, but she wouldn't say where. She's three months pregnant." I thanked Char for her report and walked down to my own office.

  I took a minute to call my dad. Thankfully, he wasn't home, and I left a message that everything was fine. I had no need for a fishing trip yet.

  I also called Kathy about dinner. She let me decide what to get but told me to bring enough for four. They had invited another guest for dinner. Was this what she was hinting about when she asked me if I was ready to date? I couldn't see a way out and wished she hadn't told me about it. I hate blind dates, but this wasn't really a blind date. Just dinner. With two very good friends and someone I had yet to meet.

  Chapter 10

  I took the scenic route to burn a little time. There were less dead deer on cars in the middle of the week, and I was glad for that. I let my mind go fully into hunter-bashing territory.

  My dog Java has a tendency to chase deer. One crossed the driveway in my yard while we were both out one day. He was gaining on it when it suddenly changed direction and came toward him. Java stopped and ran in the other direction. He then jumped up in the air as if he were trying to see over something, sure that the deer was headed in that direction. I was amazed at his attempt to save face. He was a tough guy while it was running away from him, but the minute he was faced with the prospect of a confrontation on equal ground, he ran.

  Deer hunting seems even more unfair to me. As I understand it, hunters can feed deer all year, even scent the area and themselves with deer sexual hormones (how gross is that!). Then they sit up in a tree and wait for their prey to come within range and shoot it with a high-powered rifle. In my mind, a fair fight would mean the hunter stalks and runs the deer down, wrestles it to the ground, and kills it with his bare hands.

  Java is at great risk during deer season because some hunters think the law says they can legally shoot and kill dogs that chase deer. The law is designed to protect hunters who accidentally shoot dogs they mistake for deer. The thinking that they are justified in shooting a dog for going after their prey pisses me off to no end. Let me at the bugger who takes a shot at my dog.

  Thankfully, mental hunter bashing had successfully kept me from thinking about work and the potential setup. I was nearly home, or rather, to my temporary home.

  The house was lit up with a cozy fire in the woodstove. The house smelled of chocolate, and I was curious about dessert. The table was set with cloth napkins and a candle ready to light. Holy! This is something, I thought, but did not speak until I had ascertained whether the guest had arrived yet.

  "So, who's coming?"

  "Her name is Zoey Rundell. She's a new tenure-track Assistant Professor in the Psychology Department at Duluth University. She and Donna have become friends at work. Zoey asked Donna to speak to her Psych 101 class about screening for mental health at the Student Health Clinic. They may do some research together."

  "Cool."

  I was hopeful this would not be a setup. They were just making new friends. My life was so out of control, I was beginning to lean toward paranoia.

  "Are you sure you want me here? I could eat and run."

  "Absolutely, I think you'll really like her."

  "Do I have time for a walk?"

  "Make it quick."

  I decided to skip the walk and take a quick shower to clean off the day. I always feel a bit groady after doing a home search, and I hate the smell of latex gloves.

  When I got downstairs, Zoey and Donna were sitting in the living room area, and Kathy was in the kitchen getting the Thai food into serving dishes. Donna introduced me as their houseguest. Zoey looked about my height with an athletic build. She was also unmistakably woman. She shook my hand firmly and looked directly into my eyes. Her hand was warm to the touch. She had short, curly brown hair just starting to gray. I put her at around thirty-eight years old. She had stunning green eyes with a glint of mischief in them. It was similar to the spunk I find intriguing in some of the kids I work with.

  I found my interest piqued, but my self-talk said: Don't go there. Your life is too out of control. You don't do well with compatibility screening. I hate when my self-talk takes on a clinical tone. It means I am trying to detach.

  Kathy called us to the table at the end of the introduction. The pad Thai was a big hit. Zoey talked about her work. She had done private practice in New Mexico for about ten years following the completion of her Ph.D. and then transferred to the university setting. She had been in Duluth since the summer session began in June. She ran into Donna in the faculty dining room, and they talked about doing a research study on mental health screening at the Health Center where Donna works. I had heard this before, and her rendition was nearly identical to Donna's. It looked like Donna had found a friend.

  I explained my job and was a little uncomfortable talking about it in front of Donna and Kathy. I focused on the good work the juvenile unit does, the groups they run, their undying love of kids, etc., etc., etc.

  I caught Kathy rolling her eyes at Donna a bit. She then interrupted me by saying, "And you do have to deal with some pretty unsavory characters in your office, too, right? Like the little shit-heads who murdered that whole family."

  This was a little uncharacteristic of her, to display such unguarded anger. We all gave this a moment to settle in. She squirmed.

  "Yes, that is true. Up until now, the gangs we have dealt with in Duluth have been relatively small time, and they are usually made up of kids with little or no coping skills who don't fit in. A gang helps kids like that pass for being cool, and it also gives them a place to belong. When they are part of a group, they feel strong. Invincible. As individuals, they are usually pretty insecure, even scared."

  I knew I was becoming defensive again but found myself unable to stop. "Way back when I was a juvenile PO, and gangs were beginning to take form in Duluth, I ran a support group for the parents of some of our kids. They were scared about their kids' gang involvement. Essentially the kids were wearing Raiders caps, colors, and jackets, and hanging around in the downtown mall. The parents' assignment for group was to steal an item of their kid's clothing with the gang colors and bring it to group. We then marched down to the mall, put on the clothing, and stood as near to the kids as they would allow. The kids were mortified and kept moving to avoid us. The parents learned about the power they have if they get together, and that the gang kids are still their children, not some abstract concept to be feared." The story ended the discussion, but I could tell Kathy was still feeling edgy.

  After dinner, we took a short walk. The moon was waning, so we had to use headlamps. Zoey seemed to really enjoy the experience. She also didn't seem to mind the cold. I wondered what the average temperature in Albuquerque was in winter. She did overdress, though, which is common for most southerners who venture into Duluth winters.

  After the walk, we played a couple of rounds of hearts. My attention was distracted by Zoey, and I did poorly. My friends made good-natured humor about my lack of concentration. The game ended when we were interrupted by a call to my cell phone. I took it in the bathroom.

  "Jo Spence."

  "Jo, we have a problem." The line went silent for a few seconds. I could picture Nate struggling to put something into words. I let the silence hang there.

  "Remember all of those drugs we pulled out of the warehouse in Morgan Park?" Another pause. "They're gone!"

  "They're gone? All of them?"

  "All of them."

  "And they were in your evidence room?"

  "Totally by the book."

  "How?"

&n
bsp; "We don't know. There was no sign of a break-in. The surveillance cameras were just turned away from behind. It's looking like an inside job."

  "Holy shit."

  "My sentiments exactly."

  "Any leads?"

  "We're canvassing the building. We have the time pinned down, but so far, nothing. We can't even pin it down to someone who was working."

  "Don't you have a sign-out system or something? A guard?"

  "Nope, that's just TV stuff. We just have surveillance cameras."

  "So, the stuff is back out on the streets?"

  "Yup, and the media is gonna eat this shit up. We've called in every available cop to track this down. We also have the jail staked out to see if Nickel's other threats are going to bear any fruit."

  "That's right! He said he was going to run the Police Department and the town. The doors to lockup were going to just open up for him. The jail folks don't have access to the PD evidence vault, do they?"

  "No, the jail is run by the St. Louis County Sheriff's Department. The evidence vault is DPD. That is a good thought, though. We'll keep a close watch for any contact Nichols has with police or deputies at the jail."

  "Can you get someone in undercover at the jail? I mean, have an officer pose as a prisoner?"

  "Only if we clear it with the Sheriff, and I doubt he would subject his staff to the scrutiny of the PD. That could set up some pretty bad blood if a cop had to turn in another uniform for something. I also think it would violate the uniform's fifth amendment rights. The perp. would in essence be confessing to a police officer without a Miranda warning. Interesting idea, though."

  I could hear the wheels turning in his mind.

  "Maybe we could get an informant in the same cell pod with Nichols and see what happens."

  "Do you need anything from me?"

  "No. I just wanted you to hear it from me."

  "Thanks, call if you need anything. I'll put in a fresh battery. Good luck with the media. This is going to look terrible."

  I went back out, and Zoey was getting her coat on. I told her how nice it had been to meet her. She replied in kind. Donna walked her out to her car. When Donna returned, we all sat down in front of the fire. Donna looked at me, raised her eyebrows like I was supposed to say something, and said, "Well?"