by Allan Evans
Driving a half-ton Chevy pickup, the killer knew Goodwin’s sedan would be no match. And given the Ford’s drifting between the lines, Goodwin was either sleepy or distracted or both.
The killer punched the gas pedal to the floor and hit his brights, as he turned the pickup into the rear quarter panel of Goodwin’s vehicle. The effect was instantaneous: The Ford’s rear tires lost traction and started to skid. The killer jammed his brake pedal until he was clear of Goodwin’s spinning vehicle. In a moment, Goodwin was stopped directly in front of the killer, while Winters continued completely oblivious of her protector’s fate.
If that didn’t wake up the fraud, I’ve got another surprise that will.
The killer was out of his vehicle in a heartbeat and at Goodwin’s door as the BCA man stepped out, his gun hanging impotently at his side. It looked like Goodwin was in shock as his mouth hung open, and confusion colored his face. Before Goodwin could react, the killer’s gun’s barrel slammed down and Goodwin slid to the pavement, unconscious. A little more work to be done, the killer ripped open Goodwin’s shirt, baring his chest. Reaching into his pocket for his knife, it was time to make a statement.
As he drove down Saint Paul’s most prestigious thoroughfare, Summit Avenue, Cade pondered the cryptic call from Capt. Rejene. Apparently, he and his boss were both summoned to the governor’s residence with no notice and no explanation. This governor was a career politician, a real political animal. And like most animals, Governor Ritter hated being cornered. In the last month, critics had publicly shredded him for his policies, saying they looked to be dictated by public opinion rather than his own convictions. After the patrol’s public humiliation, Cade had to believe Ritter’s summons would not be for the good of the Patrol.
He turned into the governor’s drive and a State Patrol officer waved him in, pointing to a small lot. Cade knew many people didn’t realize the State Patrol had a capitol security division handling the security for the governor and the Minnesota State Capitol grounds. He waved at the trooper, a man he didn’t recognize. Cade pulled into a spot next to Rejene, who leaned against her vehicle. “Let’s go,” she said moving toward the mansion’s entrance, not waiting for him. Cade hustled to catch up.
An aide directed them into Ritter’s office where the Governor and a handful of staff huddled around a conference table. “We’re going to need the room. We’ll meet up after lunch,” he told the others at the table. When the room had cleared, Ritter looked between Cade and Rejene. He sighed. “I have a big problem. Our serial killer struck again early this morning.”
Cade glanced at his boss, but she kept her eyes on the governor. Ritter continued. “We’ve kept this one quiet, but the shitstorm is coming. When the media gets ahold of this, it’s going to be bad, really bad.”
“Was the victim Ellie Winters?” Cade asked. “This story will go national if it was.”
Ritter put his head down. “Worse than Winters.” He looked up, his eyes sunken and red. Clearly sleep deprived. “It was Freddie Goodwin,” Ritter said, his voice soft and flat.
Captain Rejene looked shocked.
“Goodwin’s dead?” Cade asked incredulously.
Ritter shook his head. “No, he’s still alive. But I don’t know if that’s good or bad at this point. Goodwin had taken on Winters’ security personally. Around five this morning, Goodwin was behind Winters on 394 as she headed to the radio station. He was forced off the road and the killer used a knife to carve a message—using Goodwin’s chest as his canvas. It was the most gruesome thing I’ve ever seen.”
“What was the message?”
“There was only one word.” Ritter looked angry, his staccato speech betraying his emotions. “Goodwin’s at Hennepin County, the docs trying to stitch him back together. But his head is messed up. He’s paralyzed with terror and I’d be surprised if he ever comes back to law enforcement.”
“What was the word?” Rejene asked again.
“Fraud.”
Rejene and Cade traded glances.
“What about Winters?” Rejene leaned forward.
“She made it to work, completely oblivious. She’s going to go ballistic when she finds out how close the killer had gotten to her. And I wouldn’t blame her.”
The room was silent, all three lost in thought. Cade was the first to speak. “So, now what?”
Ritter stood. He walked to the window and stared out for a long moment. He turned back, facing the two State Patrol representatives. “The media is going to crucify me. As it is, I’m going to take a lot of heat and the democrats are going to be coming after me, looking for my head. I can’t let this get out without a plan. And that’s why you’re here.”
Walking up to Cade, the governor held his eye. “I’m dumping this back in your lap.”
“Governor…” Rejene started.
“There’s no discussion Capt. Rejene.” Ritter took a step towards her. His eyes grew dark. “I don’t give even the smallest shit about jurisdiction. To me, Dawkins is our best chance to stop this killer. Executive orders hereby have been drawn up giving the Minnesota State Patrol responsibility for the apprehension of the serial killer preying on our highways. You’ll have the full resources of the BCA backing you up. But make no mistake, Mr. Dawkins, you are the person in charge of the investigation. Succeed or fail, it’s on your shoulders.”
“I’m comfortable with that,” Cade said and moved toward the door. “The case should never have left us, anyway.”
“Make us proud and get the bastard,” Ritter said, holding the door open for Cade. “Capt. Rejene, a word.”
Ritter stood at the door, making no effort to close the door. Cade stopped to take in the exchange between the Governor and Capt. Rejene.
“I need to be clear about this: If Dawkins can’t stop this maniac, I won’t be able to save his job. There’s simply too much media pressure to end this case.”
“Seriously? You’d sacrifice Dawkins just to appease the media.” Rejene shook her head. “Why am I even asking? Of course, you would.”
Ritter took a step toward Rejene. “You had better tread carefully, Capt. Rejene. Insubordination does not sit well in my office. And be aware, the repercussions of failure will most certainly go further up the food chain than Dawkins.” Ritter waved for her to leave, his message clear. “Just do your job and there won’t be any issues.”
Cade waited for his boss at the corner. If Rejene knew Cade overheard her discussion with Ritter, she didn’t let on. “What was that all about?” he asked.
Rejene stopped. Hands on her hips, her eyes betrayed her fury. “If this case continues much longer, the bastard’s throwing you under the bus to save his own ass. Ritter will crucify you, making you his public scapegoat. It’s a brilliant strategy actually. Because if you catch this killer, he looks like the savior for putting you on the case.”
“No worries then. I’m going to catch this guy.”
“I hope so. I really hope so.”
With the governor’s expectations starkly clear, Cade headed back to meet with Rob. As Cade brought him up to speed on his morning meeting, Rob listened without interruption. After a moment of contemplation, he asked, “Where do we begin?”
“First things first. We look for other cases. Grace over at the BCA said this killer has killed before. That’s what killers do. The murders feel too precise to be the beginning of a killer’s life cycle. And since Reynolds’ source mentioned Chicago, it’s a good place to start.”
Rob shrugged. “But we’ve looked for similar cases, remember? And came up with nothing.”
Nodding, Cade pulled out his notepad. “Grace thought the killer will have had a pattern, but a different one from what we’ve seen here. It might be a different type of victim, but there will always be a pattern. And she said the murder would still be an intimate encounter. Bare hands, maybe a rope or knife, but not guns or poisons. The killer is a hands-on kind of guy.”
“So, we focus on finding a pattern, looking for simila
r cases.”
Cade shook his head. “Not we, me. I have a Chicago connection I want to exploit, for lack of a better word. I’m taking a quick trip south, see what I can dig up.”
“And me?”
“I’d like you to look into how he targets the victims. Each of the women was of a certain type, eerily similar in appearance. So, how does the killer find them? Look at what these women have in common, where they may have crossed paths with this guy.”
Rob nodded. “One thing’s for sure: he’s not picking his victims at random.”
Cade stood up. Pacing always seemed to improve his thought process. “If we can discern his method of targeting these women, we should be able to find the killer himself. Possibly set a trap. Catch him in the act.”
Rob shook his head. “That’s a dangerous game you’re suggesting. A lot can go wrong.”
“A lot has gone wrong. The stakes have become too high. We’re going to have to take a risk or two.”
Rob was on his feet. “It’s not our ass you plan on risking, is it? What happens if it goes wrong? What happens when an innocent—an innocent you placed directly in front of the killer—gets brutally murdered? I want you to think this through before that happens.” Rob’s eyes narrowed at Cade.
Cade walked over to Rob. “Relax. I’m just thinking out loud. I’m trying to prevent anyone else from getting hurt, remember? Let’s get his methods figured out before we do anything else.” He patted Rob’s shoulder. “Are you okay, big guy?”
“I’m a little caffeine-deprived.” Rob had a hint of a smile.
“We can fix that. Grab the case files.”
Rob hesitated. “I might be a little pastry-deprived as well.”
“We can fix that as well. C’mon.”
They stopped at a local coffee shop just off the freeway in Maplewood. Caribou Coffee was Minnesota’s answer to Starbuck’s, and like Starbuck’s, they were everywhere. After ordering, Rob said, “We need to spread these files out and look for commonalities. If we’re going to catch this guy, we need to find the connections.”
Cade picked up his coffee and took a sip. “C’mon, caffeine, bring on your magic.” They moved towards the seating area.
“Excuse me.” It was the barista. “Are you cops?” she asked.
Rob looked at Cade and shrugged. Cade opened his jacket, exposing his Glock and the badge clipped next to it. “We are. Why do you ask?”
“I heard you talking. Are you looking for that killer? The one who murdered those women?” Her eyes searched theirs. “Holly Janek was my aunt.”
“I am sorry. By all accounts, she was a great woman. Yes, we’re working the case. And we’re going to catch her killer or die trying. I’m Cade Dawkins, this is Rob Zink.” Both men shook her hand.
“I’m Haily,” she said, looking intently at Cade. “Dawkins. I’ve heard your name before.” She gestured for the two to follow her. She pushed open a door to a glass-enclosed room with a large table. “This is our community room. Groups can use it for meetings or projects that benefit our community. I can’t think of anything that’ll benefit our community more than catching that bastard. Use it for as long as you want. And the coffee’s on us.”
Rob’s eyebrow went up. “This could work.”
After several hours, the room had been transformed. Each of the victims’ pictures was taped up, a large sheet of presentation paper mounted below it. Notes on the specifics of each killing were jotted down. Two more sheets were mounted on the adjacent wall labeled respectively, Commonalities and Differences. Rob stood in front of the blank sheets with marker in hand. Cade leaned back in his chair, taking the first sip of his third coffee. It was looking like it was going to be a long day. “Let’s begin with the commonalities. Women.”
“Brilliant.” But Rob wrote “women” on the board.
Cade ignored him. “All were blondes. Each was of a similar type, similar build, similar look.”
“They were all hot,” Rob said as he shrugged. He jotted, “nearly identical victims.”
“Agreed. Each of the killings took place at night. On quiet stretches of road.”
Rob paused and turned toward Cade. “Is it at all odd each of the killings took place on state highways? In the east metro?”
Cade leaned forward. “Not if the killer lived in the area. Many killers work in small geographic areas. But what were you thinking?”
“I’m just thinking out loud, but the killings took place in the only area guaranteed the case would come to us. And when it was taken away from us, our replacement was attacked, putting it back in our hands.” Rob ran his fingers through his hair. “I hate coincidences. I really do.”
Cade nodded. “But I don’t see the killer’s gain. Why kill so the case goes to us?”
Rob shook his head. “No idea. And why is the killer targeting these attractive blondes? Unresolved mommy issues?”
Cade laughed. “I don’t know about your mom, but mine didn’t look like any of our victims.”
“Not mine either.”
“Stacy’s mom had it going on, though,” Cade said with a grin.
“I see what you did there. Nice reference.”
Leaning forward, Cade considered his research into victim selection. “Serial killers tend to fixate on their targets by finding some quality that appeals to something dark within themselves. Experts agree these killers have a vision in mind of the type of victim they would prefer. This person would be thought of as their ideal victim based on race, gender, physical characteristics, or some other specific quality. But, it’s rare for the killers to find people who meet these exact qualifications, so they seek out people with similar traits. This is why serial killings often seem to be completely random at first—each victim may have something in common that only the killer easily recognizes.”
“But ours was never random,” Rob said as he sipped his coffee. “It was obvious right from the start. Almost like we were supposed to notice. Having nearly identical victims killed within a tight timeline and a tight geographical area certainly caught our attention.”
Cade paused, taking a sip of his coffee. “Yes. It did. But I’m not going down the conspiracy theory road, though. These killers have their own agenda, their own dark reasoning for doing what they do. When we figure out this guy’s agenda, we will catch him.”
Rob shook his head. “We’d better do it soon. I don’t want any more victims on our watch.”
“Amen brother, amen.”
Cade took the afternoon flight to Chicago. Sitting in the aisle seat next to a mother and daughter, he listened to their discussion on the reality show of the moment. Thinking it was probably the furthest thing from reality he’d heard in a long time, Cade had nothing to add to the discussion.
It would be good to meet up with his old friend, Alan Bowles. Formerly a detective with the Chicago police, Bowles was currently a private security expert. Originally from England, they were teammates years back when they played together on a summer soccer team.
Bowles had suggested they meet up at Smoke Daddy, the kind of barbecue-and-blues club that only Chicago could produce. Clearly not the sort of place to take a date, the club was loud and crowded. The customers look dangerous, like it would be no big thing to kill a man. The lighting was too dark to tell if the food could have the same effect, but it sure smelled good.
Bowles was at the crowded bar, staking out a place for Cade. A bottle of Carlsberg beer waited for him. They shook hands and appraised each other for a moment. Bowles had thickened since his playing days, no longer wiry in build. His eyes still held the spark and cunning which made him such a devastating goal scorer on the field. Cade once watched the opposing goalkeeper taunt Bowles mercilessly during a hot summer evening’s game. Bowles never gave up, but sometimes you simply run into a keeper that’s on top of his game. This keeper wanted to rub it their faces, though.
If the verbal sparring wasn’t enough, the keeper took a shot at Bowles during a scramble for a corner kick. J
ust as the ball was kicked and all eyes—including the ref—were on the kicker, the keeper sucker punched Bowles in the gut. Unfortunately in soccer, if the referee didn’t see a foul, it never happened. Cade helped Bowles back to his feet, asking him what he wanted to do. He looked at Cade with that spark of his and said, “Just get me the ball.”
As Cade played defense on the opposite corner of the field, it took some doing. But at the next opportunity, Cade picked off a pass and surged forward with the ball at his feet. Cutting to the inside, Cade looked up the field for Bowles, who was making a run to the right of the goal. Launching a ball over the middle third of the field, it was heading up and over Bowles’ right shoulder. Somehow, Bowles had caught the ball with his right foot and flicked it over the defender. Cade watched in amazement as Bowles shifted his body to his left to receive his own pass, the defender hopelessly out of the play now as Bowles went right at the keeper. In situations where an attacker is closing in on goal, keepers are trained to come out with arms spread toward the shooter to cut down the angle to make less room to shoot. Bowles took another touch closer and pulled his left foot back to shoot. The keeper dove to grab and smother the ball before Bowles could get off his shot.
Cade had replayed Bowles’ move many times in his head over the years, amazed each time at the result.
Bowles had faked the shot with his left foot and then pushed the ball to his right—just out of reach of the keepers’ outstretched fingers. Bowles went around the sprawled keeper and his next touch rolled the ball into the back of the net. As he walked past the prone keeper, Bowles calmly held up his middle finger.
The ref saw his gesture and gave Bowles a yellow card for unsportsmanlike behavior. Since the rest of the team hadn’t seen Bowles’ gesture, they were incensed, believing the ref gave him a card for scoring a goal. That moment had become a legend in the team’s history.