by Allan Evans
And then the car was still.
Stunned, confused and scared, Stephanie couldn’t believe she was alive. The highway was up above her. The Honda’s front end was resting on something—a tree or a large rock, maybe. Even though the engine was still running, Stephanie wasn’t going to be driving it anywhere. She was stuck.
A bobbing flashlight caught her attention as a solitary figure made its way down the embankment. The man shined the flashlight directly at her, blinding her with its harsh light. He tried her door and rapped the flashlight handle on the window to get her to unlock the door. Stephanie fumbled for the lock button, relieved to hear the door locks pop open.
When the man opened her door, he asked if she was okay. Stephanie heard herself say something about her shoulder but was too dazed to know for certain. She just knew it hurt. The man leaned into the car, reaching for her seatbelt buckle, awkwardly pressing against her. “Sorry about this,” he said quietly.
Stephanie knew she was in trouble. When he leaned in, the man smelled her hair, triggering a flash of memory. This was not her shining knight coming to her rescue.
The last thing Stephanie Harding ever saw was the man’s eyes as he grabbed her head, fingers entangled in her hair, forcing her to look at him. They were the deadest eyes she had ever seen.
The killer was on autopilot. Time was critical now. Get down to the Honda. Get down to the woman.
He was prepared to bust through the window glass if needed, but the woman let him in.
Opening her door, the killer asked, “Are you okay?” In his own way, he cared. Still playing the part of the hero coming to her rescue. Not for long.
She complained about her shoulder, talking disjointedly about the pain. “Let me get you out of here.” He reached across the woman to release her seatbelt. “Sorry about this,” he offered as he got close. The first sign of his slipping control was when he pushed his face into her hair and smelled. He knew it was a mistake when the woman went rigid. It enhanced the experience for him, seeing the utter shock as things clicked into place for the woman. This was not a rescue.
He clawed the fingers of his left hand into her hair and wrenched her head, forcing her to look at him. He could almost taste her fear, as he subconsciously licked his lips, looking into her eyes. Mmm.
With a quick jab to her face, the woman slumped unconscious. Breathing heavier now, he ran his hand up her thigh. With this one, the time for subtleness was gone. The killer grabbed her skirt, tearing the material.
Not much time left, he popped the top buttons on her blouse. Like the Janek woman, he felt her heart beating. One last time, he looked at Stephanie before he grabbed her by the back of her head. Even unconscious, she was beautiful. With a trace of sadness, the killer knew it was time to finish.
Stephanie Harding’s face became one with the steering wheel as the killer killed.
“There’s been another one.”
The adrenaline rush pushed Cade’s brain to full alert. The clock on the bedside table read 4:20 a.m. There’d be no more sleep for him. “Where?” he asked. Standing up, looking for his jeans, pulling on his Duluth Pack sweatshirt.
“Stillwater, on Highway 36,” Crash Simpson said, “Three quarters of a mile south of downtown.”
Really close to home. “I can be there in five minutes. See you.”
Cade grabbed a pair of socks and hustled out the door.
The scene was lit by the flashing of a dozen emergency service vehicles. A fatality brought in everyone: Stillwater police, Stillwater Fire and Rescue, Washington County sheriff’s department and because it was on a state highway, the Minnesota State Patrol. The Patrol brought its own contingent of troopers and one larger-than-life accident investigator, Crash Simpson.
“This one’s bad,” Crash said in an emotionless voice. The haunted look in his eyes agreed with his words.
These things were never good. “How so?”
Crash leaned in closer. “He’s not trying to hide it. Remember Janek’s clothing? The way it resembled—as you so eloquently put it—a prom date’s parking grope. This woman’s body goes way beyond that. Her underwear was torn and her breasts exposed.”
“Cause of death?”
“Head trauma. But it’s worse than last time. You’ll see.”
They made their way down the rocky embankment. A red Honda sat nose up, lifted by an outcropping of rock, elevated roughly twenty degrees. The driver’s door was open. Cade could make out a woman’s body, dressed in expensive clothes, behind the wheel. Before heading for the woman, he veered for the rear of the Honda. Kneeling, he shone his flashlight across the trunk. The reflective dot was there.
The blonde woman was elegantly dressed, wearing a short skirt, silky blouse and over-the-calf boots. Blood was splattered across the windshield, the ceiling, dashboard and both side windows. The woman’s face was a mess. Her blouse was open and her bra out of place. Her skirt was bunched up and torn. Cade felt his temper rising.
Backing out of the car, he looked at Crash, who simply nodded. “I’m going to start gathering road evidence. I’ll call you before the chopper arrives.” He headed back up the hill.
“Wait, chopper?” But Crash was already up the hill and hadn’t heard Cade’s question. Cade walked to the rear of the Honda, fishing out his cell. He got Rob after several rings and briefed him on the fatality. Rob said he’d be on scene in a half hour.
Next, Cade called Capt. Rejene, her voice thick with sleep. “It’s not going to be good news, is it?”
“We’ve had another one-car fatality, this one outside of Stillwater. Another blonde woman who looked like she was assaulted before her face was hammered into the steering wheel. Much more violent than either Janek or Allard.”
Cade could hear Rejene’s sigh. “The media…”
“They’ll be all over this one.”
“Damn. What about her vehicle, any sign of a PIT maneuver?”
Cade walked to the side of the Honda, his flashlight dancing over the area behind the rear tire. “As a matter of fact, there’s damage consistent with such an impact.”
“And the reflective dot?”
“It’s still there. No effort to hide it. Everything about this one is much more overt.”
“Damn.” Her expletive hanging there, neither one ready to add to it.
A long pause followed by a longer sigh. “I’m going to have to go to the BCA with this. I’ve got no choice.”
“I know, but it sucks. I can do the same things their investigators can, plus I’ve got the background on this case.”
“Out of my hands. Sorry.” Rejene did sound sorry. Didn’t help though.
Crash waved for Cade to join him up on the highway. “Trooper 7 will be here in a minute. Figured you’d want to join me in the chopper for the aerial view.” They walked past the cluster of vehicles, and Crash said, “Don’t want the chopper to contaminate the scene. Better to have it land a ways off. And all the same, I could use the exercise. If I don’t watch my figure, no one will.” Cade followed the portly man down the highway without comment.
Hearing it before he saw it, Cade scanned the skies for the State Patrol helicopter. Trooper 7 was used for emergency transport, manhunts and apparently for aerial views of larger accident scenes. So far, Cade hadn’t had the pleasure of riding in Trooper 7—or any helicopter, actually. His stomach tightened as the chopper roared over the tree line and swung down to the highway.
Crash ducked and jogged to the chopper. He glanced back, seeing Cade still rooted in place and waved him to follow. Reluctantly, Cade joined him. “Take the front. I need to be in back to shoot pictures from both sides,” Crash shouted over the roar.
Handed a headset, Cade shook hands with the pilot, a fifty-something trooper with a name badge reading “Hyde.” Bushy hair, aviator sunglasses on his head, a toothpick hanging out of his mouth, with a face that’s clearly avoided a razor for the better part of a week, Hyde looked the part of a veteran pilot. Didn’t ease the growing tu
rbulence in Cade’s belly in the least. “Hang on,” Hyde warned.
As the chopper bolted from the ground, the door next to Cade popped open. “Holy shit,” Cade blurted. Under the mistaken impression that helicopter doors were meant to stay closed during takeoff, the sudden loss of said door dropped Cade’s stomach. He leaned in, wanting to put as much distance as possible between him and the open door of death.
The air rushed in, the ground becoming trees as the pilot rolled the chopper up on Cade’s side. The door slammed shut as gravity did its job. “Sorry about that. This old bird has her quirks.” Crash busted a gut laughing at Cade’s expense.
“You knew?” Cade jabbed his finger at Crash. “And you had me sit up here?”
Wiping away a tear, Crash said, “Yeah, it happens a lot during liftoff. Honestly, you looked so nervous already. If I had told you, would you have even climbed aboard?”
“I…well, probably not.” He shook his head. “I almost wet myself back there.”
Hyde laughed. “You should have seen your face. I’ve got to tell you; this job never gets old.”
Crash got them back on track. “See my line there, the orange line? That’s where the scene started. Same scenario as the Highway 5 crash. Yaw marks followed by scuff marks.” On the road below the hovering chopper was a parallel pair of orange marks, looking much like an equal sign. Right after that was a series of red dots adjacent to black tire marks. Crash continued, “There is one difference, however. See how I’ve marked our victim’s road marks in red? Now look down where her car left the highway. There are skid marks—just regular skid marks this time—that I’ve marked out in blue. When I’m plotting out the crash scene, I use orange spray paint to highlight where the scene begins and then again where it ends. I’ll use red to mark the events as they happened to the victim’s vehicle. If there’s a second vehicle, I use another color of spray paint.”
Cade nodded. “Hence the blue.”
“That a boy,” Crash said. “We have a second vehicle leaving behind road evidence this time. If I had to venture a guess, I would say your man was in a big-time hurry to stop and get down to the woman.”
The marks were heavy and black. “Agreed. It feels like he’s losing control. Everything about this is more overt. The subtlety is gone.”
Crash looked back at Cade, serious. “If this continues, it’s going to get real ugly.”
Not knowing what else to add, Cade simply nodded. It was going to get bad.
Somebody was in Rejene’s office. Cade tapped lightly on her door, wanting to let her know he was back at headquarters and gave a wave as he headed back to his desk. He’d taken just a few steps when Capt. Rejene, standing at her open office door, called for him. “Dawkins, there’s someone you should meet.”
Rejene gestured to the man seated in her office. “Cade Dawkins, this is the BCA’s Freddie Goodwin.” Standing up, Goodwin stepped close to Cade and offered his hand. He towered over Cade’s six-foot frame. Though Goodwin’s proximity made him uncomfortable, he recognized the BCA man’s intimidation ploy and stood his ground. Goodwin looked to be about forty and may have been in shape once, but his soft pudgy face showed a shift in priorities. His face had that dark leathery quality which suggested many hours spent in a tanning salon. Cade disliked him immediately.
“Nice to see you again,” Cade offered. Goodwin had just joined up with BCA as Cade left. Prior to that, Goodwin had spent most of his career as a field agent with the FBI.
Goodwin stepped back studying Cade. “I hadn’t realized we’ve met.”
“I was just leaving the BCA as you were coming aboard. You were sort of busy decorating your office that first month.” Cade caught a glimpse of Rejene’s smile as she turned away.
Goodwin’s eyes narrowed. Suspecting his status had gone from too small to notice to too large of a target for Goodwin to ignore, Cade tried to play nice. “I guess you’re here to help with my case.”
Goodwin had the pained smile of a waiter listening to the restaurant’s signature dish being mispronounced for the umpteenth time. He shook his head. “We were just discussing the case. My case actually. I’m going to need your case file and notes. After that, you’re free to do whatever it is you do. I heard there was a fender bender on 94 this morning you could, um, investigate.” He locked eyes with Cade.
Goodwin, a classic one-trick pony, stepped into Cade’s space again. “I want to make sure you understand this. This is my case now. Here in Minnesota, it’s the state patrol, not the state police. Our legislators—not usually the brightest bulbs in the shed—got this one right and saw fit to limit the scope of your responsibilities. You hand out traffic tickets and help little old ladies find their way home. I handle the murder investigations.”
Each and every one of the muscles tightened in Cade’s right hand. He held the fist at his side through sheer willpower.
Goodwin jabbed a finger at Cade. “If you mess with me or my investigation, I’ll have my boss contact the chief of the State Patrol. And guess which one outranks the other.” His smile returned.
Though he was aware of it, Cade’s body was now on autopilot, the outcome predetermined by nature’s fight-or-flight response. And flight was never an option. In a fraction of a second, Cade’s weight shifted to his left foot and his right arm tightened.
Capt. Rejene put a calming hand on Cade’s arm as she stepped forward. “Look, we’re on the same side here. We want this maniac off our highways as much as you do. You’ll have our cooperation. But don’t forget where the investigation began. You wouldn’t have this if it wasn’t for the fine work of our lead investigator here. Okay?” She held Goodwin’s gaze until he nodded.
“Fine. I’ll throw you a bone at the press conference.”
“Press conference?” Rejene looked to Cade who simply shrugged.
“At 4 today. BCA headquarters.”
“Why? Don’t we want to keep this quiet until we know more?” she asked.
“I’d heard you were from a small town, Captain. You’re being naïve. The media can be a vindictive bunch and will punish us for not looping them into this from the get go. And quite frankly, the people need to know what’s happened on the highways. They need to know they aren’t safe.” Goodwin seemed to be enjoying himself.
“And they need to know there’s a new sheriff in town,” he said hooking his thumbs in his belt.
“You know you’re not actually a sheriff?” Cade asked and right away wondered if he’d gone too far.
If Goodwin noticed or cared, he didn’t let it show. Instead, Goodwin paused at the door, looking Cade up and down. “And Dawkins, wear something suitable.” He was still laughing at his joke as he rounded the corner.
Neither Cade nor Rejene said anything for a long moment. “Well, that sucked,” Cade offered. He plopped down into a chair across from the Captain’s desk.
Rejene’s brown eyes burned. “That man is such a poser. I can’t wait for him to get his. No way he should be treating us the way he did.” She leaned on her desk, arms folded. “But you’re going to have to be there at the press conference. There’s no getting around that. We need a Patrol presence there or he’s going to throw us under the bus.”
Cade nodded. “He just might anyways. Goodwin is such the media whore.” He shook his head, picturing the afternoon ahead. “It’s going to be a helluva circus, isn’t it?”
It was a helluva circus. When Cade arrived at the BCA headquarters, media trucks surrounded the place. Inside was worse. The cavernous lobby was packed with television crews, newspaper reporters and a multitude of others that Cade could only guess which outlet they represented. He skirted around the back and found Freddie Goodwin in a conference room. A woman brushed Goodwin’s hair into place, a bottle of hairspray in hand.
“No tie?” Goodwin asked without looking. Freddie wore his uniform from his FBI days: a dark navy suit, crisp white shirt with a burgundy tie. Cade suspected the suit sold for more than he made in a month. Cade had gone with
a sport coat and slacks, leaving his only tie hanging in the closet. He preferred the comfort of the open-collared look.
“What’s the plan?” He wasn’t about to discuss fashion with Goodwin.
The woman patted Goodwin’s hair into place, spritzing enough hairspray to make sure it wouldn’t ever move again. “I’ll make the introductions and give a timeline of the killings. Then I’ll walk the media through our investigative process.” He stood up. “And we’ll end with a brief question-and-answer period.”
“Remind me why I’m here,” Cade asked. “It doesn’t sound like I’ll be needed.”
Goodwin rolled his eyes. “Don’t be such a media whore. I planned on mentioning you during the introductions.” He gestured toward the door. “We better get started if we want to make the 6:00 news.”
Cade found a spot as far away from Goodwin as he could, standing at the end of a row of suits from the BCA. He suspected the only reason they were here was to make Goodwin look more important. Glancing around the room, he spotted Reynolds DeVries right in the front and center of the room. She was the first to break the story and now all the stations were here, no one wanted to miss the breaking story of the year. Cade caught her eye and she gave him a shy smile in return.
Freddie Goodwin confidently strode into the room, waving at members of the media. He leaned over a balding man, who Cade recognized as a StarTribune reporter. Following the aftermath of last fall’s case, the reporter had interviewed Cade on several occasions. Goodwin clapped the man on the back as if they were old friends and moved to the front of the room. Much like a receiving line at a wedding, Goodwin shook hands with each of the BCA men in the row, starting with the man next to Cade. If the public snubbing was to teach Cade a lesson, the lesson was wasted. The less contact with Goodwin the better.