Killer Blonde

by Allan Evans

  Reynolds ran her hand across Cade’s chest. “Tell me more.”

  Cade smiled, enjoying being the center of her attention. “High-speed chases look like fun because they are. Take away alcohol and stupid, and the world would require about 90% fewer cops. Most would say if we could make one change to improve society, better parenting would be toward the top of the list.”

  “I absolutely agree,” Reynolds said. “If every parent taught their child to be responsible for their actions and own the consequences—good or bad—our community would be significantly better.”

  “You’ve been chasing windmills for a long time?” Cade grinned.

  Reynolds laughed. “A girl can dream, can’t she? I’ve always wondered about something. Why do so many cops show up for some minor incident like a fender bender or a traffic stop?”

  “The official answer is wanting to support and protect our fellow officer. The real reason is probably boredom. Simple boredom. You drive around for hours on end and when something happens, you want to be part of it. Cops are people too. The laws of human nature apply to us too.”

  “Are you a gun nut?” Reynolds asked as she glanced at his pistol on the nightstand. “Just wondering.”

  “I have a healthy respect for them. Typically, cops run the gamut from those who only shoot to qualify with their duty weapon, all the way up to passionate gun enthusiasts with safes full of guns, who go to firing ranges as a hobby, and buy and sell among one another. Cops generally support the right of people to own, use and carry guns, so long as people act reasonably and responsibly. Cops who carry concealed firearms in plain clothes or while off duty are careful to keep the weapons concealed. And speaking of concealed, the gun on his hip, that’s the one he wants you to see. It is not alone. There’s always a backup weapon hidden somewhere.”

  “Cops get a bad reputation,” Reynolds said. “I heard a joke recently. How many cops does it take to push a suspect down the stairs? The answer: None, he fell.”

  Cade laughed, shaking his head. “Unfair, so unfair. I heard one too. An officer stopped a guy for speeding and put him in the back of the squad car. The officer says it’s his birthday and he’s feeling benevolent. He tells the guy if you give me a good, original excuse for your excessive speed I won’t write the ticket. The guy replied that some years ago his wife left him and ran off with a police officer. Confused, the officer asked why is that an excuse for your speeding? The guy smiled and said, ‘I thought you were bringing her back!’”

  Reynolds laughed, a musical sound Cade could get used to. “I bet the troopers hear it all,” she said. “I’m sure your favorites are the ones beginning with ‘Do you know who I am?’ or ‘I pay your salary.’”

  “Surprisingly, I’ve never heard either. But I’m not concerned about those people. It’s more the regular repeat offenders that are the issue.”

  Cade rolled Reynolds onto her back as he kissed her. When they broke for air, she asked, “I’ve heard it’s the 80/20 rule: 80 percent of the crimes are committed by the same 20 percent. Is that true?”

  Cade looked into her eyes. “Let me put it this way. If you get a group of four or five cops together and ask them to name the last time they arrested someone who’d never been arrested before, be prepared for a thoughtful silence.” He stroked her cheek, “Enough about work. Let’s get back to pleasure.”

  She giggled and Cade felt her hand slide south. “It would be my pleasure,” she said softly.

  Mine too, he thought. Mine too.

  Afterward, Reynolds set a plate of cookies and several bottles of water on the bedside table. “Figured you might be hungry.”

  Cade nodded and picked one up, looking at it carefully. “Is it chocolate chip or raisin?” he asked. “Raisin cookies that look like chocolate chip cookies are the reason I have trust issues.” Reynolds’ giggle was exactly the response he hoped for.

  Life was good.

  The door split down the middle under the force of Sweetwater’s attack. Shards of wood sprayed across the small bathroom. The woman stood frozen, her mouth open, cell in hand. Spring’s eyes were wide with terror.

  Sweetwater reached and plucked the phone from her trembling fingers. The 911 operator’s voice could be heard asking questions, questions Spring would never answer. Sweetwater locked eyes with the trembling woman, lifting the cell to his ear. He listened to the 911 operator ask for Spring’s location. The killer growled, “She’s mine now,” and dropped the phone and ground it into the tile floor with his boot.

  Sweetwater looked up, letting his eyes take a walk over Spring’s body. The killer took his time examining the nearly naked woman in front of him. She wasn’t going anywhere. And he knew the police couldn’t stop him. The closest the authorities could get to his location from Spring’s 911 call was the nearest cell tower. If the call was quickly lost, the 911 center typically only knew the location within a mile radius of where the call originated from. Not much help. The FCC’s plan to enhance cellular technology would eventually provide more precise location information; specifically, the latitude and longitude of the caller. This information would be accurate to within 50 to 300 meters. However, their plan was years away from being realized.

  His prize looked exceedingly vulnerable standing there in her matching bra and panties, her last lifeline smashed into pieces at her feet, framed by the jagged remains of her bathroom door. Sweetwater enjoyed the firmness of her well-toned body. This would be a night to live up to his every fantasy. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Sweetwater pulled out the lengths of cord he’d pre-cut to restrain the woman. Time to get started.

  Cade’s cell vibrated, the sound penetrating his slumber. He slid out of bed, disoriented as he searched for the offending device. A glance at Reynolds’ bedside table clock showed him the time: 1:24 a.m. Shit. His pants were discarded on the floor, his cell in the front pocket. He fished it out, noting the source of the call was dispatch. There could only be one reason.

  “Dawkins,” he said as the adrenaline kicked in, pushing away the fog from his brain. Getting woken up in the middle of the night had to be near the bottom of his list of favorite life events. Right down there with car trouble and girlfriends telling him, “We need to talk.” On the phone was the 911 call center’s watch supervisor, Russ Horstead. They’d met on several occasions and Cade like him.

  Horstead got right to the point. “At 1:21 a.m., our Roseville communications center received a call from a cellular phone. We pinged it to a tower located in east St. Paul, near 35E. Let me play the call for you.” The Minnesota State Patrol 911 Communications Center in Roseville handled the emergency calls from much of the state with a secondary facility located in Rochester.

  Cade heard several clicks and then, “911. What is your emergency?”

  A woman’s voice. “There’s a man in my house. I’m locked in the bathroom and he’s right outside.” Cade could hear the panic in her voice.

  The 911 operator: “What is the address there?”

  A loud crashing sound, reminiscent of splintering wood. A sharp inhalation of breath followed by rustling, the phone being jostled. Cade could hear the sound of breathing. Then a man’s voice. “She’s mine now.”

  The voice came out as a low growl, but Cade recognized it just the same.

  A loud sound, the phone clearly dropped. And then the call ended with a crushing noise.

  “The call came in roughly three minutes ago?” Cade asked. He moved fast now, gathering his clothes, getting dressed. Reynolds looked at him with a concerned look. Cade held up a finger.

  “That’s right,” Horstead answered. “But we don’t have an address, just a mile radius in St. Paul. There could be thousands of homes in our target area.”

  Cade slipped his boots on and leaned back, touching Reynolds’ cheek. “We need to flood the area with every squad you can round up. Get Ramsey County, State Patrol, and divert as many St. Paul officers as you can spare from the other precincts. See if Maplewood and Roseville can offer
help as well. We may not be able to stop him, but maybe we can catch him.”

  Taking the stairs two at a time, Cade was downstairs and out the front door in a heartbeat. “There shouldn’t be many cars on the side streets at this time of the morning. Instruct the responding squads to look for solo male drivers, maybe with a military-style haircut. Everyone needs to be stopped. Any other vehicles moving in the area should have the license plates recorded.”

  “You’re talking a massive operation here.” An implied question was in Horstead’s hesitation.

  “This is the blonde-killer we’re talking about here. Our response has to be immediate and it can’t be massive enough. We have to get this guy, so get everyone rolling.” Cade looked back at Reynolds’ house. A dark thought colored his urgency to move. Could this be a diversion? The killer, clearly strategic in his planning, the call could be a feint to open up Reynolds’ defense for a direct attack. “One more thing Russ, can you get a unit to my location?” He gave Reynolds’ address as he gunned the truck, taking the corner hard. The FJ Cruiser fishtailed as Cade pushed the Toyota to its limits. Best to cover his bases. The killer would definitely have his covered.

  The killer was almost giddy with the excitement of the moment. After breaking down the bathroom door, the woman had resisted vigorously—which Sweetwater both admired and enjoyed. It was always better when they fought back. He let her hit him, knowing she couldn’t possibly hurt him. Yet, she’d been able to stun him with a poke to the eye. Angry, Sweetwater caught her with an open-handed smack to her head. The blow took the fight out of her, allowing him to carry the woman to her bedroom.

  Her chest rose and fell as Sweetwater waited for her to come to. He didn’t have to wait for long.

  Candan Spring’s eyes fluttered open and after a moment, panic took her as she realized her predicament. She struggled, thrashing against her restraints as she held Sweetwater’s eyes. She knew her life was in his hands and it wouldn’t be for long. Sweetwater leaned closer. “Recognize me?”

  Spring’s eyes narrowed. Sweetwater could see the moment of realization as her eyes widened. “But, you’re a cop.”

  Sweetwater smiled, not a warm smile in the least. “Yes, but I have a little hobby on the side. One that can be a little indulgent.” He produced a knife and held it up for Spring to see. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

  Cade’s truck roared up the ramp from 35E, turning left onto Wheelock Parkway. He swung into the elementary school parking lot, a convention of flashing emergency lights. A dozen squads were circled wagon train style around the St. Paul watch commander. Cade recognized him as Matt Gralinski and headed in his direction. Gralinski held up a clipboard and shouted out patrol sector assignments. As quick as a squad arrived, the veteran commander sent them back out. He nodded at Cade and continued until the last squad headed out. “I’ve got Fire and Paramedics coming to block the interstate ramps. I don’t want anyone getting by us.” The watch commander ran a hand through his reddish hair. “I hope we get this guy.”

  “Me too. It kills me to know he’s nearby with some woman. Do we know who she is?”

  Gralinski nodded. “Caller registration records showed this as belonging to Candan Spring, with the Minneapolis Athletic Club as the address. Looks like it’s a company-issued cell phone. We’ve got people working on getting ahold of someone there, but we haven’t been able to find a local address for her yet.

  “Seriously?” Cade spat out the word.

  Gralinski shook his head. “Afraid not. It’s not like the old days when everyone had a landline and we’d have an address. Cell phones and digital internet phones play havoc with 911 calls.”

  “That has to be our number one priority.” Cade wanted to punch something. Anything.

  “It is. Maybe tonight will be our night,” Gralinski said. “You better get moving. I’ll have you cruise the east side of the freeway and direct you in whenever a squad pulls someone over. That way you get eyes on each suspect. We’re not letting this asshole get away.”

  Rob pulled up and got out of his truck. His hair stuck up, and his plaid shirt was misbuttoned and hung over his paint-splattered Packers sweatpants. Rob looked more homeless than most of the street people he’d come across. “I see your mom finally stopped laying out your clothes for you,” he told Rob who held up a finger.

  Rob was assigned the west side of 35E and they both rocketed out of the lot as more cruisers pulled in. Cade headed across the interstate on Wheelock Parkway, slowing after the four-way stop. The killer is here. Now we have to find him. He swiveled his head, intent on finding any sign of movement. The strobe on his dash didn’t do his night vision any favors, but it was necessary so he wouldn’t be stopped by the saturation patrol himself.

  Within a minute, the first call came through. St. Paul had a single male in a pickup truck pulled over on Larpenteur Avenue. Cade cut over at the next intersection and was behind the officer within a minute. He pulled his Glock, holding it at his side. The officer exited his vehicle and approached the driver’s side. Cade crossed behind the pickup, noting the construction debris in the bed. At the passenger door, he peered in at the driver who was obscured by the hoodie he wore. The officer glanced across the top of the cab and Cade hooked a thumb at him. Get the suspect out of the truck.

  The moment he was out and the hoodie came down Cade knew it wasn’t the guy. This one had shoulder length stringy blond hair and a mustache. He also knew right away the guy should not be behind the wheel as the guy lost his balance and almost fell before catching himself on the front of his Chevy. “Good luck,” he called and headed back to his own vehicle.

  Another vehicle was stopped on Nebraska, a half-dozen blocks to the north. Cade flew past the tree-lined streets on Payne Avenue. He made a left on Nebraska and saw the flashing emergency lights up a block. He decided to cruise by and get a look first this time. He went past the Maplewood squad and pulled even with the Toyota. The man looked to be in his forties and wore glasses. Not our man. He reversed and shook his head to the Maplewood officer.

  Cade continued down Nebraska and turned left on Arcade Street. Another vehicle headed his way. He was about to pull a U-turn when a state trooper squad shot out of a side street and slid in behind the sedan. The trooper activated his emergency equipment, lighting up the smaller green sedan. The car pulled over right away. Cade slowed, pulling alongside. The driver was heavy-set with a baseball cap and there was a woman in the passenger seat. Continuing along, he waved off the trooper. Our guy travels alone.

  Another call came in, another stop. This one at Edgerton and Maryland. Cade pulled a U-turn and gunned it. He was worried their time was getting away from them. At the same time he received two more calls of stops. It looked like it was going to be a busy night.

  Sweetwater took a shower, wanting to remove any trace evidence. The key now was to slow down and be methodical. Take the time to eliminate any DNA, any evidence that could implicate him. Sweetwater lingered in Spring’s shower as he washed up, smelling her shampoo. Women always had so many bottles in their showers, choice clearly important to them. He had exactly one bottle of shampoo and one bar of soap in his shower. Really, it was all he needed. Why have choices in the shower when you’re there simply to clean up? He’ll never understand women, but he sure liked to use them. Sex, killing, whatever.

  After getting dressed, he moved to the front window and peered out into the night. The problem with breaking in was you always looked guilty on your way back out. It must be the chief occupational hazard for burglars. There’s no explaining away the 50-inch flat screen you’re lugging down the front steps. One glance and everyone knows the story. So, Sweetwater, ever cautious, surveyed the neighborhood looking for signs of life. Fortunately, it was a quiet neighborhood. No one should be out cruising—especially in the middle of the night.

  As these thoughts ran through his head, Sweetwater saw the headlights of an approaching vehicle. Time slowed to almost a complete standstill as the vehicle moved i
nto his field of view. It was a squad car. Sweetwater held his breath. The St. Paul squad rolled down the tree-lined street and continued on out of sight. After a long moment, Sweetwater let loose his breath.

  What was the squad doing here? If they knew where he was, the squad would have stopped. And there would have been more. Lots more. Maybe all of them.

  Another squad rolled past. This time it was a state patrol squad. Shit.

  Sweetwater turned and sprinted. Now was not the time to be patient. He grabbed his jacket, frantically searching for his radio. He slid the radio’s power switch and waited. It took a minute to get the gist of the situation. They didn’t know exactly where he was, so they called in as many cars as possible. A saturation patrol. Dozens of squads in a small area stopping every single driver they encountered. Saturating the area would make it nearly impossible to get the block and a half to his car, let alone get to the interstate. And he was inside the cop’s perimeter.

  He pounded down the stairs, spun around the corner and headed for the kitchen. Sweetwater needed to know if the alleys were covered. It took just over a minute before the sweep of headlights move down the alley. Damn that Dawkins. Had to be him behind this. Sweetwater shook his head. He’d wanted a worthy opponent. It looked like he had one.

  Options ran through his mind. Wait it out here. Move to a neighboring house. Leave the vehicle and stay on foot until he could get clear of the perimeter. Get to the vehicle and stay on side streets until he made it back to his Frogtown neighborhood. As fast as the options came to him, he ruled them out. He couldn’t stay here. After Spring’s 911 call, he knew Dawkins would find her house soon enough. Moving to another house would require a home invasion and bring its own set of problems. And once Dawkins determined where the killing took place, a house-to-house search would be the first tactic employed. Fleeing the area on foot would be too risky. The same could be said for staying on side streets. The police were targeting single occupant vehicles.