Murder Book

by Weber, Frank F. ;

  I felt bad for the way I had treated Vicki, so, stifling my irritation, I asked, “What can I do for you?”

  Vicki frantically said, “I took the quick way back to the shelter with Hannah, because I feel like crap. I had a tire blow out when I was driving by the Brennan farm. It’s getting dark, and my grandparents don’t drive when it’s dark. I don’t know who else to call. I’m scared, and I’ve got Hannah with me.”

  My pulse quickened. “Keep driving on it. Drive slow, but keep moving as far from the Brennans’ as you can. I’ll be right there. Lock the doors and stay in your car. Don’t let anyone in without calling me first.” I had to get her off that road before Al discovered her.

  I sped out of Little Falls and soon was driving down 210th Street. Why in the hell would Vicki drive by Al Brennan’s farm? The answer was simple. She had a history of making bad choices, and this was just one more. She was also still going through withdrawal, so likely wasn’t thinking clearly. It didn’t take long before I spotted Vicki cautiously steering her gray Grand Am to avoid the steep ditches on both sides.

  She pulled over, and I was relieved to find Vicki, unharmed, huddled next to Hannah in her car, a winter jacket tucked around her daughter’s little body. I instructed her to pop the trunk, found the jack and spare tire, and began removing the lug nuts on the rim.

  Vicki stepped out of the car and stood over me, thanking me profusely for the help. She periodically blew into her cupped hands to keep them warm. “Boy, am I glad to see you. I was so freaked, I thought I was going to piss my pants. I don’t know why this had to happen tonight, of all nights. I was trying to get to the shelter as fast as I could, so I took the shortcut.”

  I wasn’t up for chit-chat. “You can sit in the car with Hannah if you want.”

  “She’s sleeping, and I can see her from here. I feel like the least I can do is keep you company. I kept driving slow, just like you told me.”

  “You did a great job keeping the car on the road.” I worked as fast as I could, feeling the bite of the cold on my bare hands.

  Vicki shivered and nodded her head in the direction of the Brennans’. “It happened right in front of their farm. If it wasn’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.”

  Twilight was settling in as I jacked up the car. Vicki looked down the road, lost in thought, her expression pained. She was battling legitimate fear, meth withdrawal, and bitterly cold temps. She was a pretty tough lady. She asked, “When you think about it, what are the odds that I’d know both the killer and the man falsely accused?”

  I glanced up at her and kept working while I could still feel my fingers. “Pretty damn good, Vicki—this is rural Minnesota.” I didn’t add that hardcore partiers know each other well in this part of the state.

  “Al isn’t like you or Jeff. Al hung around people who used heavily, because that’s where he could find victims who wouldn’t report the hurt he put on them. He’s a predator.”

  Vicki checked back in on Hannah, then returned to my side. “It’s pretty cold in my car, but I think Hannah’s okay. The heater’s not great.”

  “Get Hannah and put her in my car. The keys are in it, and it’s still warm,” I said. She gratefully did as I suggested.

  When Vicki returned, I told her, “Once I get this tire changed, you drive my car, and I’ll follow you to the shelter in yours, so you can keep Hannah warm. We can switch when we get there. If you want, I can have my dad look at your heater. He can fix anything, and he enjoys helping people.”

  Vicki nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

  I removed the tire and carefully examined it. I had a feeling this wasn’t simply bad luck. I saw what appeared to be a bullet hole in the side of the tire but said nothing to Vicki, not wanting to alarm her further.

  Vicki questioned, “How many girls do you think Al Brennan has raped?”

  “I need you to not talk for a minute, so I can think.” I glanced down the road. I didn’t see anyone, so I went back to work, fumbling slightly as my fingertips began to numb.

  Vicki didn’t notice the tire. Instead, she was openly contemplating not talking. “Do you mean not talking right now, or when you’re done? Because I’m cold and I’m freaking out, being on this road, and it helps me to talk about—”

  I interrupted her. “Vicki, I want you to go. Drive to the shelter. I’ll meet you there.”

  Vicki abruptly froze. In cold fear, she slowly put her hand on my shoulder and whispered, “Jon. He’s coming . . .”

  I turned slowly to see a figure in a camouflage jacket with a crazy head of hair step out of the ditch, carrying a rifle. A silhouette of that hair was all I needed to know it was Al. If Vicki and I ran together to my vehicle, he would have plenty of time to kill both of us. I decided to make him choose. This time, Vicki wasn’t going to get a raw deal.

  I turned to Vicki. “Take my car to Little Falls. Be careful not to go in the ditch turning it around—it’s a tight U-turn. Hannah’s life may depend on it. My cell phone’s sitting on the seat. When you’re on the road, call 911, and tell them where I’m at. Go!”

  “But what about you—”

  “Just go!” I gave her a harder shove than I’d intended, but she grasped my sense of urgency. She ran to my car, ripped open the door and jumped in. She began turning the vehicle around.

  Al started to lift his rifle, but then looked back at me.

  Vicki almost caught the edge of the ditch with a front tire.

  Al studied me as he hesitated, still weighing his options.

  Vicki made the turn and straightened the wheels out. Icy gravel shot out from the under the tires as she sped away.

  With Al focused on me, I couldn’t chance going for my gun. The distance between us was too great for my handgun to deliver a lethal shot, but his rifle certainly would. I couldn’t afford to escalate the situation. Since Vicki’s car was now my only mode of transportation, I decided to finish changing the tire. I slid the spare on the bolts, hyper-aware of Al’s movements.

  As Al approached, he asked, “Can I help you?”

  I stopped working on the tire and turned cautiously to face him. “Do you always bring a rifle when you’re being a good Samaritan?”

  Al’s eyes were dilated black, and he smirked in giddy gratification. He continued to hold the rifle at his side with his finger hovering over the trigger. He remained at a distance where he could easily raise it and fire before I got to him. Al responded, “I think it’s in my best interest to stay armed.”

  I tightened the lug nuts, willing my fingers to continue working.

  Al commented, “A real spare tire. Not one of those doughnuts.”

  “I have a feeling she can thank her grandfather for that.”

  “Why did she take off like a screaming banshee?”

  “Her daughter’s sick and she needed to get to Little Falls. I told her to just get going. I’ll switch vehicles with her later.”

  After lowering the jack and tossing it in the trunk, I turned back to Al.

  He gave me a menacing smile, deepening the lines around his mouth. “I saw you studying the tire. Guessing you found a bullet hole.” With his finger now securely snugged around the rifle’s trigger, he aimed the weapon at me and instructed me to slowly remove the gun from my shoulder holster and toss it in the ditch. I reluctantly complied. Then he tilted his head at me. “Why didn’t you leave with Vicki?”

  “I didn’t think we’d both get to the car without getting shot. But if I stayed, you’d let her go and focus on me, since I have a gun.”

  “The smart thing would have been to leave the whore for me. We would have both been happier.” In his grating tone, he said, “I had a feeling you boys were coming for me. So, I grabbed my rifle and walked out to the road to see if there were any squad cars sitting out here. I was thinking I could really use a head start. I needed a car that wouldn’t be immediately traced back to me, and here comes Vicki. It was like being handed a gift. I knelt down, and hit that tire with a perfect sh
ot.” Al looked at me for adulation. When I didn’t respond, he continued. “Then the stupid bitch tries to drive away on the flat tire! She wasn’t going to get too far, so I figured I’d take my time and let her change the tire. Save me some work. But she just kept rolling along until you showed up.”

  Al was comfortable spewing information to me because he intended to kill me. He asked, “Where’s your phone?”

  “In my car,” I said, pointing down the now-empty road where Vicki had driven away.

  He gestured the rifle at me, and I felt my insides clench. “Empty your pockets.”

  I pulled my pockets inside out, showing him my billfold, some change, and a pen. Al was satisfied that I didn’t have a phone. This meant he could take me anywhere and the police wouldn’t be able to trace my location. He maintained his distance, so I had no chance to make a move.

  Trying to buy some time, I said, “I’d bet you could survive for a long time off the grid, with all the hunting and trapping you do.”

  “I’ve walked through woods no other human has ever seen.”

  Al’s finger flexed on the trigger, so I talked faster. “Don’t you think it would be too much of a coincidence to have my body, or blood, discovered so close to your farm?” His trigger finger had almost passed the point of no return.

  Al smiled and relaxed his finger off the trigger a fraction.

  I continued. “You may be the luckiest criminal ever. You left Mandy Baker just lying there, but my crazy brother came along and buried her for you.”

  Al snorted, “Your brother saved your ass. They came looking for you even without the body. If that body was found on your farm back then, you’d be in prison.”

  I pointed out, “Brittany isn’t saying anything.”

  “If I had to do it again, I’d put her in a place they’d never find her. Water by a road is too risky.” Al considered it all. “But there’s the whole issue of the bullet in the tire. How am I going to explain that?” He repositioned the rifle, pointing it at my heart.

  “I can help you walk away clean. We’ll burn the tire.”

  “You have no spine, do you?” Al laughed. “I’ve stripped and ridden your woman, and here you are kissing my ass.” He stepped back, and with an arrogant smile, said, “You can destroy some evidence for me, if you can do it quick.”

  A man who reacts with impulsive anger is easy to manipulate. I wasn’t going to be that man for Al. I carefully bent down and picked up the tire. I was hoping to hear sirens, but it wasn’t happening. As if reading my thoughts, he backed far enough away from me so throwing the tire at him ceased to be an option.

  I showed him the damage to the tire. “There’s no bullet in the car. It must have fallen out somewhere on the road. You live on this road and hunt on the land surrounding it. It would be easy enough to explain why a bullet from your rifle might be found around here. Once the tire’s destroyed, so is the bullet hole.” I hit the trunk. “There’s an emergency kit in the trunk, probably put there by her grandpa. It has cloth and matches in it. I’ll dip the cloth in the gas tank so it soaks up some gas, then lay the cloth over the bullet hole. It won’t be long before the tire’s burning and the evidence is gone.”

  Al nodded and, with a sardonic grin, spat, “All right, do it.”

  I took as much time as I could, without angering him to the point of shooting me, while I soaked up some gas and set the tire on fire. The black smoke stunk up the cool air as it billowed into the breeze.

  Al said, “I still have a problem, because you’re the one investigator who can find the error in my alibi. They had to bring in a damn farmer.”

  Acting as if I still hadn’t figured it out, I said, “You don’t have a nine-millimeter registered to you.”

  Al laughed gleefully. “Won it in a card game! They’ll never find it.”

  “I assumed that. Probably with Say Hey Ray and the boys?” I sank my fingers into my empty pockets, searching for warmth.

  The black tire smoke swirling around his raggedy hair created a picture of pure evil. “Mandy used to enjoy it. Then all of a sudden she was too good for me? She fought it, and it cost her. I was at her beck and call. She owed me.”

  Al realized I was stalling and an angry storm began to develop across his face. He hastily ordered, “Get in the car,” gesturing toward Vicki’s Grand Am. “You’re going to drive me to my hunting shack, and if you can follow directions, I’ll let you walk away. You’re going to have to walk back to town, though. I want a head start.”

  Al was an accomplished liar. Regardless of what he said, he was going to kill me. After everything he had disclosed, he had to. I got in the driver’s seat, while Al slid into the back passenger seat, keeping his rifle fixed on me. He instructed me, “Start driving, nice and slow, toward the south field.”

  I put the car in drive and slowly started down the desolate road. If Al had sat in the front passenger seat, I could have grabbed the barrel of the rifle. If he had sat directly behind me, Al would have struggled to turn to get a good shot at me if I jumped out the driver’s side door. His decision to sit behind the passenger seat made it more difficult for me to get out of this alive, but I had an idea that would involve some physics. The doors automatically locked when the car went into gear, so I unlocked my door and locked the windows as I spoke. I then reached over and closed all the vents; Al’s rifle came up at my unexpected movement. I explained, “Don’t freak out, here. I was adjusting the heat, and now I’m going to bend down and adjust the seat. Vicki’s legs are shorter than mine.” Pretending I was having some difficulty with the seat, I bent down toward the door, slightly opening it. In a sequence of quick moves, I cranked the steering wheel toward the ditch, stepped on the gas, and dove out, slamming the door behind me. I just needed Al to miss me with his first shot, so as I hit the gravel, I rolled quickly at an angle. My body was pummeled by rocks as I hit the road, but my will to survive kept me in motion.

  A rifle blast struck up a puff of dirt from the ground next to me. After watching the car slowly roll onto its side in the ditch, I considered running, but didn’t. I was a little dazed, but I needed this to be over. I ran to the car, which was now resting on its side, and waited for Al to try to climb out. Had my plan worked? When a rifle’s fired, an explosion puts the bullet in flight. If that explosion occurs in a small, confined space, such as inside a car with the windows rolled up and the vents closed, it should rupture the eardrums of the passenger. I glanced through the window to see Al crumpled against the door, holding his ears.

  In one fluid motion, I jumped up on the side of the car, pulled open the door and reached in, quickly grabbing the rifle. Al lay helplessly inside, still cupping his ears, his face contorted in agony. I stood over him ready to fire. I wanted to kill him for hurting Serena. I wanted to kill him for taking Mandy’s life. I wanted to kill him for raping Vicki. I wanted to kill him for trying to kill me. But what I wanted wasn’t the same as what was right, and when the two conflict, I try to do what’s right. Al wasn’t a threat to me at the moment, but he damned sure was evil. I told myself, Don’t play God. Just do your job.

  While I contemplated this, the crunching sound of tires rumbling heavily on gravel interrupted my silent inner battle. I was never so happy to see Tony’s ugly Chevy Celebrity. He led an ominous caravan. Tony’s unmarked squad car was the only one in this parade with its lights on. Behind him, half a dozen squad cars rolled at a safe distance through the dusk.

  As the Chevy came to a stop, Tony and Sean stepped out simultaneously. Police officers fanned out in a half-circle around us. It must have been a sight, me standing precariously on the rocker panel of a car resting broadside, aiming a rifle inside it. Tony ran to the car and scrambled up to join me.

  Without taking my eyes off Al, I commented dryly, “Could have used you ten minutes ago.”

  Tony gave me a curious look, something like a combination of respect and disappointment, and said out of the side of his mouth, “When I saw you holding that rifle, I was t
hinking we arrived ten minutes too early.”

  Together, Tony and I dragged Alban out of the car, depositing him roughly onto the gravel road. Sean calmly addressed the man on his knees. “Alban Brennan, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Brittany Brennan.” At least a dozen officers now had their guns drawn on Al.

  Sean turned to Tony and said, “Read him his rights. Hold the card in front of his eyes. With that blood dripping out of his ears, he probably can’t hear us.”

  Tony read Al his rights as the officers quickly cuffed him.

  Sean told me, “The sandy soil was the piece that finally convinced me. It gave us a motive for the attempt on your life. But I was starting to come around. I could never reconcile the fact that once Brittany regained consciousness, she still wouldn’t help us make a composite sketch of her abductor, even when we set it up so all she had to do was nod. That told me she knew her abductor personally. I showed her pictures of a variety of offenders and she had no reaction to any of them. Not even Jeff Lemor. This convinced me he wasn’t our guy.”

  I FELT A EUPHORIC SENSE of relief for having survived. Two thoughts occurred to me. The first was that Sean held his cards close to the vest. He only let out what he was holding when he felt he needed a little more information from others. My second thought was, is it over? Maybe Tony was right, and when it started to fall, it fell like a house of cards. With everything I’d been through, I still wasn’t ready to believe it. Regardless, I was damn glad to be alive. I needed to go to the law enforcement center and make a report of everything that had just happened, and then I was going to find Serena. I liked it better in the movies, where detectives and their lovers walked off into the night together after the big event, and no one had to do paperwork.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Seven

  JON FREDERICK

  THURSDAY, JUNE 5

  BUREAU OF CRIMINAL APPREHENSION, ST. PAUL

  SERENA AND I HAD DEVELOPED a nighttime routine. At the end of the day, we’d lie together on our new couch, watching Homeland on Netflix. Serena tells me it’s good. The comfort of her body, after an active day, always put me to sleep in minutes. When the show was over, she’d wake me and we’d go to bed. I’d wake when she had a bad dream, gently calm her and then give her a few minutes to compose herself before we snuggled. After her anxiety dissipated, we moved to positions of slight contact, and both fall back to sleep. Over the last month, her bad dreams had become fewer, so we’re both sleeping longer. I’ve concluded that you can’t make anybody love you exactly how you want to be loved, and it’s probably for the best. Serena’s love for me is beyond what I could have imagined, or created, and I accept it with gracious humility.