Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series)

by Dennis Carstens

  He sat in the car at the red light and stared at the back of her tan, suede coat while she waited at the corner to his right to cross Grand. Without realizing it, at first, both hands had returned to the wheel whitening his knuckles. His breathing had gone back to the short, deep gulps and the pressure, the delicious anticipation, had returned to his abdomen. His eyes were locked on her as she waited for the light to change. There was just enough traffic moving along Grand to force her to wait for the walk sign, giving him the chance to stare.

  He continued to watch as she stepped off the curb to cross Grand. She was almost half way across before he snapped to enough to realize he had a green light. Glancing quickly in his mirror, to his relief, he saw no headlights behind him. Easing off the brake, the car rolled into the intersection. Calmly now, he told himself. Anonymity. Don’t do anything to attract her attention or anyone else’s. He passed her before she reached the opposite curb and for the first time, noticed the parking lot on the southwest corner to his right. He pushed the gas down slightly and went by her without turning his head, drove the fifty or so feet to the parking lot entrance and took the sharp right turn into the lot. There were no other cars entering so he eased up directly to the ticket dispenser.

  Punching the button for the ticket and pulling it from the machine he glanced quickly to his right and located the girl. He pulled into the lot past the upraised automatic gate after spotting her exactly where he hoped she would be, southbound on Victoria. She had walked straight ahead after crossing the street toward the dimly lit residential area south of Grand.

  He pulled the car around to the dark back of the lot and found an empty space that separated the parking facility from the alley and backyards of the houses behind it. Parking in the space between a van and another car impressed with himself at how calm he was and how clearly he was thinking. He had passed two laughing, hand-holding couples as he had driven through the lot and waited a few seconds to make sure they didn’t see him before exiting the car.

  While waiting for the couples to pass he laughed softly at how funny fate could be. But for stopping for the light on Grand and Victoria, if he had hit the gas and not the brake, this young girl would make it home and never know how lucky she was. Instead, her luck was about to run out.

  He reached over to the passenger seat to gather up his hunting paraphernalia. He pulled a latex surgical glove onto each hand stuffed the thin cotton ski mask into the pocket of his black nylon wind breaker and picked up the plastic handled bread knife with the seven inch serrated blade. The windbreaker wasn’t much warmth for a cool night like tonight. The light cotton sweater he wore under it, coupled with his pounding heart, should make up for the chill. The windbreaker’s main assets were its disposability and it was difficult to hold during a struggle. The chase and the struggle, he smiled to himself; that was the fun. The game.

  THREE

  Quietly getting out of his car and using the van as a screen, he stepped up to the six foot wooden fence with the horizontal cedar slats. Two quick steps up the fence and he was over and into the unlit alley. Crouching, leaning his back against the fence, knife in his right hand and searching the darkness to his left, toward the alleyway entrance. The stalker caught a glimpse of what he assumed was the girl, less than a hundred feet from where he knelt. “Have to get ahead of her,” he thought, just as her journey put a house between them, blocking his view. Find a good place, like an alley entrance, to wait for her. Let her come to him. Stealth, speed and surprise. Those were the keys.

  Staying low in a half crouch, he quickly crossed the alley into the back yard of the house directly in front of him. Moving fast but noiselessly, the stalker passed through the backyard and onto the sidewalk that ran along the side of the house to the front. Moving next to the hedge that ran along the property, he silently cursed his luck. The girl was just then coming into view at the street corner forcing him to remain frozen where he was.

  From a crouch, motionless, he watched her, still about one hundred feet from him, and listened for anyone or anything stirring in the houses. Hearing nothing except the dim sounds coming from Grand he focused his attention on the girl. Only a few more steps and she would be across the street and behind the house on the opposite corner.

  Having no idea how far she would go to her destination, he had to move faster to get ahead of her. It could be any of the houses and if she got behind a locked door, the game was over. Running across the street, his rubber soled sneakers making barely a sound, he crossed the sidewalk and into the yard of the house facing where he had been hiding. Without slowing down, he ran between the houses, praying he would not run into a fence hidden by the darkness. The moon that night was almost full but the sky was quite dark from the cloud cover over the city, the only light from the scattered street lamps and the occasional window with a light still on.

  Coming to another darkened alley, her pursuer silently hurried through it and look ed for the girl toward the light at the alley ’ s entrance. Keeping up the pace, believing he had gotten ahead of her, the stalker went across the grass through the fresh dirt of what would be a garden later in the spring. He made a mental note to get rid of the shoes knowing he had just left perfect imprints in the fresh dirt he had traversed.

  He crossed the next street, now two blocks from the crowds along Grand and decided the next alley would be it. If she was still coming, her hunter would wait for her and take her there. He went through one more yard and over a short chain link fence he was fortunate to see just before he reached the alley.

  He ran to the mouth of the alley and found a perfect place to wait. In the shadows of a garage crouching behind a row of half bloomed lilac bushes, he put his ski mask in place, looked back down Victoria hoping he would see her. There she was, coming right at him.

  The closest street light was across the street and even luckier, burnt out which made him all but invisible between the side of the garage and the bushes. As dark as the place where he waited was, the alley behind him was even darker. With no moonlight and the rows of garages blocking the streetlights, ten feet into the alley was virtually a black void.

  Breathing normally again, he watched his quarry through the sparse bushes as she crossed the corner about eighty feet away and still coming on. He reached between his legs with his gloved left hand and felt his erection. My God, he thought, that’s the biggest, hardest one ever. He squatted waiting and watching, eyes wide and unblinking. His hand unconsciously stroking his penis through the cloth of his dark slacks as she continued to casually stroll along the sidewalk, seemingly without a care in the world.

  As she reached the end of the row of lilacs just before the alley entrance, he sprang. She was slightly ahead of him with her back to him but no more than three feet away. With one quick, almost silent motion, he stepped to her, grabbed the back of her hair in his left hand jerked her head back and brought the knife up to her throat. She violently gasped, all of the air leaving her body in one huge forced expulsion.

  “Don’t make a sound bitch. Understand? Be quiet and you won’t get hurt.” With his mouth up against her right ear, she could feel and smell his breath on her face.

  “Please, please don’t hurt me,” she croaked in a hoarse whisper.

  Holding her hair in his hand he propelled her into the darkness of the alley, repeating several times in his guttural whisper, his admonishment to be quiet and no harm would come to her. Pushing her along, her psycho nightmare held her head back by his fistful of her hair, neck stretched and eyes wide with terror, until they reached the opposite corner of the garage he had crouched alongside while waiting for her. He jerked her around to face him and as he did so, her left knee came up aiming for his groin, catching him just to the right of his genitals. At that same instant, he saw her left hand come up and the vaporized spray explode toward his face.

  Reflexively, he ducked his head to his left, closed his eyes, stepped forward and threw a fist straight into the girl’s jaw. The force of the blow loos
ened several of her lower teeth, lifted her of off the ground and onto her back on the surface of the alley, banging her head and almost knocking her out. For a moment he stood over her, fully as terrified as she was, eyes wide open and nostrils flaring, allowing his conscious mind to comprehend what had just happened. After a second or two, the scent of the pepper spray penetrated his nose and snapped his brain like a slap across the face and no longer afraid, he became enraged.

  He leapt, spread eagle, on top of the girl, landed on her hard, wanting to punish her, hurt her, for not obeying him. It excited him though, too. It added excitement to his hunt. As he landed, her right shoulder snapped, loudly dislocating it and knocked most of the wind out leaving her stunned and helpless, gasping for air. Straddling the now disabled girl, he placed the knife on the ground and began to pull at her clothes. None of the others had aroused him this much and he felt as if a fire was consuming him with a rage and desire. No other thoughts or feelings penetrated except the thought of having her, hurting her, taking her. He unzipped her coat and pushed both halves to the side as he pushed up her sweater, bunching it up around her shoulders exposing her bra covered breasts. He began working on the button and zipper of her jeans with both hands.

  Michelle’s breathing returned, her mind and eyes cleared enough even through the excruciating pain in her shoulder. “No. No, please,” she pleaded through the pain. “Please wait, no. Please. I’ll help you, just don’t hurt me, please.”

  He leaned down and put his mask-covered face almost on hers, their noses

  touching, and said, “Shut up, bitch. Whore. I know you’ll help and love it.”

  It was then she realized he was using both hands to disrobe her and realized he must have put the knife down, or dropped it during the attack. Just as he was rising back up, lifting his head away from her, she balled up her left hand in a fist as tightly as she could and with all of the strength she could summon, punched him on the side of his face. The blow staggered him, causing him to lean to his left and almost knocked him off her. It hurt him, but not enough.

  Shaken but still in control, with one quick move, he struck her across the face with the back of his right hand and began to grope on the floor of the dark alley, trying to locate the knife. She tried to raise her right hand to hit him again, the slap she had taken serving only to anger her more. Not knowing what was wrong, why she could not raise her right arm, the pain in her shoulder like a fire, she swung at him again with her left. Except this time she went for his face and eyes, clawing and scratching in a desperate attempt to blind him or at least hurt him enough to drive him away.

  He let out a short, sharp cry as one of her fingers raked him under his left eye. She did not catch the skin enough to scratch him but did snag the mask. She jerked on the eye hole bringing his head down and the mask off as his right hand came up with the knife. As the mask came away in her hand a break appeared in the cloud cover blocking the night sky. Behind the hole in the overcast sky the moon suddenly flooded the alley with light as if someone had turned on a light.

  They froze, predator and prey, suspending their death struggle for no more than one very long second as the sudden light illuminated both their faces so that each could see the other for the first time. Their eyes locked and for the briefest moment time itself seemed frozen, a snapshot of the only two people in the universe. For her, it surely was because this was the last moment of her existence.

  “You...” she started to say as he thrust the knife under her chin, through her tongue, her mouth and into her brain. He jammed the blade with such force it went in all the way to the hilt bending the tip on the underside of the top of her skull. With the same quick motion, he jerked it free just as the blood started to pour from the wound and fill her now dead mouth. The light of life in her eyes was gone even though her heart continued to pump and her lungs continued to expand and contract with breath. They would continue to do so for another minute or so until they realized the brain was no longer able to instruct them. It was over for her though. The fear, panic and pain. Michelle Dahlstrom, the beautiful daughter of the state’s number one citizen was no more. Her life ended with a last second gurgling as her final breaths came to an end.

  It was over for him too. This hunt. This game. The moonlight replacing the darkness would make him easy to see and in his panic had left him no choice but to bring it to its premature conclusion. It would have ended this way anyway, he thought. But he was sorely disappointed. He had wanted more. Not necessarily the rape itself. No, it was the struggle and the fear that he craved. The power over another human being.

  Spent now, exhausted but unsatisfied, he stood and grabbed the girl’s corpse by a wrist, dragged her out of the alley and left her lying alongside the garage. He knew she would be found soon enough but probably not before morning. After wiping the knife on her coat, he retrieved her purse and tossed it alongside the body. He then shoved the ski mask into his pocket and stood over her, the moonlight still bright enough to see her face, to take a last look at her. As the clouds moved their curtain back into place, he turned and trotted off into the night.

  FOUR

  Jacob Waschke stood at his kitchen counter trying to decide if he should have a third cup of coffee which, he told himself, he should not. It was only 6:45 A.M. and he already had a cup and a cigarette before his morning shower and a second of each afterward. His day just beginning, there would plenty more of each before it was over. “I gotta cut down on the caffeine and quit these damn cigarettes,” he said out loud to himself. As he started to reach for the coffee pot, the phone rang, temporarily saving him from himself.

  “Yeah, Waschke,” he gruffly said as he put the phone to his ear.

  “Is this Lieutenant Jake Waschke?” asked the voice.

  “Yeah, you got him,” he said.

  “Jake, this is Gary Linaman with St. Paul. “

  “Hey, Gary. What can I do for you?” Waschke replied. Jake knew who the St. Paul detective was but had never actually met him, let alone worked a case with him.

  “Well, we got a homicide over here I’d like you to take a look at,” Linaman answered.

  “Why’s that?” asked Waschke without much enthusiasm.

  “It may be your stalker,” he answered.

  “Oh shit. What makes you think so? Describe it for me, Gary,” said Waschke, his attention now riveted.

  “Okay, let’s see. Young woman, early twenties. Very attractive, pretty. Signs of attempted rape.”

  “Attempted?”

  “Yeah, she’s still pretty well clothed so I don’t think he got the job done. Signs of a struggle. What looks like a knife wound under the jaw line. Won’t know for sure until the autopsy, of course.”

  “It may be our boy,” Waschke agreed. “Where are you?”

  The detective gave him the location and the Minneapolis police lieutenant was out the door and on his way to St. Paul in just over two minutes.

  Waschke found the crime scene off Grand and Victoria easily. He had grown up in St. Paul’s Midway area, had lived in the Twin Cities area all his life and knew it as if a map had been photocopied into his memory.

  Unable to get any closer because of the St. Paul police, he left his car about a block away. Linaman had put out the word to watch for him and with all of the publicity from the serial killer terrorizing Minneapolis, his face on the evening news made Jake Waschke a well known personality to all of the local police departments. He made his way past the numerous emergency vehicles and the yellow taped crime scene. By following the activity, Jake easily found the detective who was obviously in charge, and headed for him.

  “Detective Linaman?” he said to the man’s back.

  Linaman turned to face the direction of the inquiry and for a brief moment, his eyes betrayed his slight shock. Jake had that effect on people when they first met him. At six feet it wasn’t his height but rather his shoulders and bulk that gave him the initial impression of towering over people. It was usually unsettling when f
irst encountered, especially to a suspect. It was an advantage Jake enjoyed and had learned to use well.

  “Jake Waschke,” he said as he held out his hand to the officer. The detective took his hand for a perfunctory, businesslike greeting and said, “Gary Linaman, Lieutenant. Thanks for coming. Sorry about bothering you at home but your chief said you’d probably want to see this.”

  “No problem,” said Waschke. “Where’s the body? Can I look at it?”

  “Over there, by the side of that garage,” he answered as they headed in that direction. “Woman driving down the alley, a neighbor, saw her this morning around six. One of our guys, John Lucas, spotted the knife wound and thought of you guys right away.”

  “I know John,” said Waschke. “Good cop. Where is he?”

  “Knocking on doors around the neighborhood, checking for possible witnesses,” Linaman answered. “Probably won’t find much. She’s been dead a few hours already. Doubt that anyone saw anything. You got gloves? I don’t think our lab people are done yet.”

  “Yeah, I do,” he answered as he took a pair of latex surgical gloves from the exterior pocket of his gray wool sport coat and pulled them onto his hands. Waschke squatted next to the body and gently pushed up on the chin to look at the wound. There was a great deal of blood that had coagulated around the wound and neck. It was a familiar sight Jake had seen four other times over the past three months. He tilted the head slightly to the left to look at the bruising on her right cheek.

  “He punched her,” he said in a matter of fact voice.