Killer Blonde

by Allan Evans

  He paced for a moment and moved back to the woman’s second floor. Sweetwater looked down at her body, lifeless now, but earlier so full of life as she’d struggled with the inevitable. The experience was remarkable, but he couldn’t let it end here. He had so much more to accomplish, including finishing his game with Dawkins. Dawkins’ voice was on the radio just then, asking for the officers’ continued vigilance on stopping each single occupant vehicle. Apparently, Dawkins wanted eyes on each stopped driver.

  A question occurred to him. Why? As careful as he’d been, there shouldn’t be a physical description circulating. Dawkins had heard his voice, but that wouldn’t be enough.

  An idea came to his mind as he looked down at the Spring woman. The Twin Cities had several HOV lanes. These high occupant vehicle lanes were designed to encourage carpooling. Carpool cheaters tend to get more brazen—and imaginative—when the traffic got worse and the weather heated up. Drivers used creative schemes to bypass rush-hour gridlock and break the HOV lane rules. A stuffed sweatshirt topped with a low-tipping ballpark cap was not an uncommon tactic for drivers seeking an instant passenger. Some were meticulous about strapping the clothes into a seatbelt, just in case. Empty car-seats covered in blankets are standard ruses, although the particularly crafty sometimes place a plastic baby doll inside. One woman employed a life-sized mannequin—topped with a wig and even wearing makeup.

  Sweetwater smiled as the idea formed. If Dawkins had his saturation patrol targeting single occupant vehicles, he could use his own mannequin—Spring—and slip right through the net. He darted to the bathroom and grabbed a towel. Surprisingly, it made him uncomfortable to touch her lifeless body. But necessity drove him to clean her up and dress her.

  Like a fireman, he hefted her body over his shoulder and carried her down to the main floor. He’d use her vehicle, knowing he’d never get back to his stashed vehicle. Parked out front on the street was her green Honda. He found the keys in a basket, moved to the window and waited. It was almost five minutes before a squad made its way down the street. This one was from Maplewood. After it passed out of sight, he counted to 30 and opened the front door. Baseball cap pulled low, Sweetwater stepped outside and looked around. He walked as matter-of-factly as he could and opened the passenger side door. So far, so good.

  Sweetwater went back and picked up the lifeless body of Candan Spring, carrying her across the threshold, out into the cool night. Down the three steps and the length of the walk, keeping his eyes on the Honda. If a squad came now, there would be no way out. He gently placed the dead woman in the vehicle and buckled her seatbelt. Safety first. Almost as an afterthought, he tucked the woman’s hair under a knit cap.

  He drove the Honda down the still-quiet avenue. Home was roughly five miles due west. However, he decided to continue heading east, away from the interstate—since most of the police presence would be concentrated there. Once he got far enough east, he’d go south before turning west. Glancing at the dead woman beside him, he turned onto a busier thoroughfare and thought things might work out after all.

  That was until out of nowhere, a trooper shot out from a side street, the squad’s emergency equipment activated. The bright strobes lit up the car’s interior. He glanced at the dead woman. Her head lolling lifelessly to the side. She would not fool anyone who gave her more than a cursory glance.

  Another vehicle pulled alongside. Sweetwater slouched down in his seat as he glanced sideways. It was Dawkins.

  Surprisingly, Dawkins continued, pausing briefly alongside the trooper before he pulled a U-turn and accelerated down Arcade. The trooper turned off his emergency lights and waved Sweetwater to go, making it clear he was free to leave. He let out the breath he’d held and headed for freedom. Of course, there was still the matter of his passenger’s body.

  Tensions ran high. Daylight fast approached and nothing had happened except for seven DUI arrests and a vehicle full of stolen goods and burglary tools. Cade knew their time was slipping away. Officers needed to be relieved, departments needed their squads back. Something had to give. He didn’t believe the killer had gone to ground. It wasn’t in his nature.

  Capt. Rejene called. “We have an address for Candan Spring. Finally. It’s near your location. I’m getting everyone headed there. Be careful.” He jotted down her address but didn’t need the GPS to find the house. He’d driven up and down the area all night long. Cade’s frustration level was nearly redlined knowing he had been so close. Cade accelerated up Edgerton, anxious to help the woman.

  A St. Paul squad blocked Spring’s street at the nearest intersection. Squads converged from multiple directions. Gralinski, the watch commander, pulled up by Cade. “SWAT is en route, maybe ten minutes out.”

  Cade shook his head. “The killer could do a lot of damage in ten minutes.”

  Gralinski nodded gravely. “I know. Let’s get the neighboring homes cleared now, so SWAT can focus on the entry.” Rob joined the group, as the veteran watch commander directed the officers.

  “I want a look at the house,” Cade said. “Rob and I will approach it from the back. We’ll use the street behind, Nevada, and come up through the yards to the alley. I see the look you’re giving me Gralinski. We won’t get closer than the alley. Scout’s honor.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to hold up a finger or two to make the scout thing official?” Rob asked as they walked away.

  Cade held up a finger. “Happy?”

  “No, not really,” Rob said with a shake of his head. “But I’ll come with you anyway.”

  Weapons in hand, the two investigators jogged to the corner and turned left on the sidewalk. A brick church sat on the corner. Nevada Avenue, like much of the east side neighborhood, was a quiet bedroom community of pre-World War II homes. Built in close proximity, the yards were small. At the fifth house, Rob gestured them to cut between two homes. Not wanting to be seen by the homeowners, they both instinctively hunched down. Both officers knew the pitfalls of chasing suspects through a homeowner’s property. Whether it was enforced by a Doberman or a shotgun, some homeowners could go to the extreme to protect their property. Neither officer wanted to be a grisly anecdote to be shared with rookie officers.

  They crossed the alley and used Spring’s one-car garage for cover. He glanced inside, but didn’t see a vehicle. The back yard was fenced in with overgrown foliage obscuring much of the house. Confident he could not be seen, Cade edged around the garage corner. The house had a large picture window on the main floor and a smaller set of windows on the second story. A window overlooked the patio on the main floor in the corner of the house. No lights were on.

  Cade studied the windows, looking for movement, a shadow, any sign of life. He leaned close to Rob. “It feels empty. Know what I mean?”

  Rob nodded. “I’d be surprised if the killer was still here,” he whispered in reply. “Which wouldn’t be a good thing for the Spring woman.” He self-consciously checked his pistol.

  Cade’s anger rose and he fought the urge to enter the home. He needed to do something. His cell phone picked that moment to vibrate in his pocket. The display told him it was dispatch. He held it up for Rob to see and ducked back behind the garage. “Dawkins.”

  “Cade, it’s Russ Horstead. A woman’s body was discovered under the bridge on 94 near the Lafayette Bridge. Someone took their time with a knife.”

  “Shit. Does the woman have blonde hair?” Cade asked—though he already knew the answer.

  “She does. Sorry.” Horstead told him the crime scene techs were on the way to the scene. Cade said he’d be there in ten minutes.

  He reached around the corner and pulled on Rob’s jacket. “We have to go. She’s not here. A woman’s body was found under a bridge on 94 near downtown St. Paul. She’s blonde and had multiple knife wounds.”

  They sprinted down the alley and found Gralinski. Cade briefed him on the discovered woman’s body. “I know SWAT still needs to clear the house, but he’s gone.” A dark thought came to hi
m. “And I bet he was driving a green sedan.”

  Gralinski raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask.

  “If her body is laying under a bridge on 94, it means our killer had to drive her there. Ask yourself what would be the best way to get out of a saturation patrol targeting single male drivers.”

  Rob shook his head.

  “I saw a green sedan being stopped, but because he had a woman passenger, I waived the trooper off. Our killer was supposed to be traveling solo.”

  “This guy is smart. Don’t beat yourself up over this.” Rob put a hand on Cade’s shoulder.

  Cade shrugged it off. “The passenger was a blonde and I didn’t put it together. I should have seen his play coming. We’d taken away all his options, what else could he have done? I’m going to kill him when I find him.”

  Rob gestured toward their vehicles. “Let’s get rolling. You can drive.”

  His eyes narrow, jaw tight and nostrils flared, Cade said, “Have dispatch clear the way. We’re coming in hot.” He took the corner hard at Wheelock Parkway just as the SWAT vehicle was making the turn onto Payne. “Too little, too late.” The speedometer surged to over 80 miles per hour as he flew down the hill. He ran the first stop sign they encountered.

  With Interstate 94 closed, it was gridlock for miles around. Cade shot down the shoulder, passing the line of vehicles on the jammed 35E freeway. He slowed and went around the trooper blocking the ramp to eastbound 94. The cluster of emergency vehicles gave him a clear beacon to where Spring’s body was discovered. He added his truck to the group and together they jogged to the bridge.

  A State Patrol trooper stepped forward. Cade recognized her as Kelly Kirkland, a tough trooper surviving and thriving in a male dominated world. Stone-cold and single-minded when action needed to be taken, she took it without hesitation. Cade was witness to her dogged determination at the 35W bridge collapse several years back. Even with the immense scope of the disaster she never gave in to tiredness or depression. She simply did what needed doing—for 17 hours straight. “Kelly,” he said and offered his hand.

  “Dawkins,” she replied giving him a firm handshake, nodding to Rob. “Gentlemen, I have bad news, some good news, and maybe more bad news.”

  Cade glanced at Rob. “Okay, let’s have it then.”

  Kirkland led them up the incline under the bridge. A group of law enforcement officers stepped aside. Representatives from the State patrol, St. Paul police and sheriff’s department were in the group, a particularly haunted look to their faces. Cade had never seen such a morose group gathered in one place. One look at the body on the cold concrete surface explained why.

  The woman—blonde of course—looked to be in her late 20s. Her eyes looked horrific with broken blood vessels, the red replacing the normal white in her eyes. She wore a black coat, opened to reveal multiple cuts. Cade had to look away.

  Kirkland spoke after a moment. “Her subconjunctival hemorrhaging—burst blood vessels—were caused by intense struggling. She looked to be alive for most of her ordeal.” Her voice trailed off.

  “I’m not sure there could possibly be good news involved in something so sickening.” He looked at Rob, who wore the same haunted look as the other officers.

  Kirkland led them back down the concrete embankment. “There is a witness.” Her voice had a tentative quality to it.

  “Really?”

  “Really. Says he saw the killer carry her body and display it. However, that brings in the other bad news.” She brushed back her sandy-blonde hair.

  “Go on,” Cade prompted.

  “Our witness is a borderline homeless character. And he claims to be psychic.” Kirkland folded her arms. A take-it-or-leave-it expression on her face. She pointed to the back of a Patrol squad. A man in his 30s pressed his face against the glass as he smiled and waved like they were old friends. “His name is Gordy Stensrude. And he’s all yours.”

  “Let’s see what we got.” Cade opened the door.

  Gordy Stensrude rolled out of the squad, falling to the ground. Lying on his back he looked up at Cade and then over to Rob. “Hey,” he said. Stensrude was dressed in camo pants, fur boots, and a vivid Hawaiian shirt over a long sleeve flannel shirt. He was stocky in build, had spiked blond hair and a weathered face which showed many hard miles. Cade thought the expression, “Rode hard and put away wet,” to be particularly apt in this situation.

  Cade held out a hand. “Let me help you up.”

  Stensrude shook his head. “I’m good. I’ve been on my feet way too much lately.”

  “Have it your way. I’m told you witnessed something involving our victim.” Cade chose his words carefully, not wanting to lead Stensrude. It was always better to get the witness’s own words and impressions. You never knew where it might lead.

  “I guess I had the vibration something was going to happen and I thought I’d spend some time under this bridge.”

  “I can see why. It’s a nice bridge,” Rob said as he looked around wearing a surprisingly deadpan expression.

  “I’ve seen better, I’ve seen worse. Anyway, I was coming here this morning…”

  “You didn’t sleep here?” Cade asked.

  Stensrude looked irritated. He sat up and crossed his legs as he stared at Cade. “I’m not homeless. I may move around a lot, but I’m not homeless. You’re being racist, dude.”

  “That’s not being racist,” Cade stood up for himself.

  “Whatever. I have my own trailer home. Someday I may get a double-wide when I have a family, but for now, I’m nice and cozy the way I am. But, like last night, I often stay in motels just for the room service. You see, I have rather sophisticated tastes.” He looked Cade up and down. “Not that you’d know anything about it.”

  Rob shook his head and covered his mouth.

  “I do see a lot of homeless guys around here though. Just saw a homeless guy on Franklin Avenue yelling at his shadow yesterday. Looks like six more weeks of recession...”

  Cade folded his arms. “Say, Gordy, can you tell us what you saw here? Under the bridge.”

  Stensrude scratched his head and kept at it for an uncomfortably long time. “It wasn’t a homeless guy. He had a car.”

  “Did you see what color the vehicle was?” Rob asked.

  Stensrude nodded. “It was a green Honda. Four doors, it had one of those parking lot security stickers on the driver’s side windshield and the rear tire pressure was a bit low on the passenger side. It was a woman’s car though, so he must have borrowed it.”

  It was Cade’s turn to scratch his head. “What makes you say that?”

  Stensrude smiled a smug little smile and pointed to his forehead. Cade looked over at Rob, who shrugged.

  “Okay Gordy,” Cade said, “tell us what you saw.”

  “This green Honda pulls up under the bridge and right away this guy is out. He books around the back of the car and opens the passenger door. He reaches in, unbuckles the blonde woman and pulls her out. At this point, it’s obvious something’s not right.”

  Rob asked, “How’s that?”

  “He pulls her from the car and drops her. Like she’s something he’s throwing away.”

  “That’s probably an accurate statement,” Cade said quietly.

  “This guy is strong. He just bends over and picks her up, putting her over his shoulder. Like you or I would pick up a bag of wood chips. He carries her to the spot over there,” gesturing toward the body. “He drops the woman like he doesn’t give a shit. And then does something odd.” Stensrude looks between the two investigators, clearly playing up the drama of the moment. It worked.

  “What did he do?” Cade asked, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

  Stensrude gets to his feet with a groan, stretched and twisted his back. Both investigators could hear the cracks echo under the bridge. “You,” he said to Rob, “lay down.”

  Rob looked at Cade.

  Stensrude laughed. “I’m not going to do anything to hu
rt you, big guy. Just showing what the man did with her body.”

  Rob didn’t look convinced. “Okay, but if you touch my junk, I’m going to shoot you. You’ve been warned.” He pointed a finger at Stensrude and sat down on the concrete.

  “When he dropped her, she was on her left side. Almost fetal. Do that.” Stensrude gestured to Rob to lie down. With a glance up at Cade, Rob leaned back and rolled onto his side. “So, our guy gets down on his knees…”

  Stensrude got on his knees and rolled Rob onto his back. He unzipped Rob’s coat and opened it as much as possible. “At this point, the guy stands up and looks like he’s going to leave. But then, he looks down at her for a long moment or three and brushes back her hair. The guy moves her arms and legs like he’s posing a Barbie doll. What you see up there didn’t happen randomly, he posed her that way.” Stensrude moved Rob’s limbs, lifting his arms up by his head and spreading his legs apart. Rob didn’t look at all comfortable.

  “When he was done,” Stensrude continued, “the dude stuck his finger in her mouth. No lie. Sort of sexual if she’d been alive, but super creepy ‘cause she wasn’t.”

  “Then…” Cade prompted.

  “He left. Ran down to the Honda, slammed her door shut and sped off.” Stensrude shivered.

  “Can you describe the man?” Rob asked as he got to his feet and zipped his coat.

  “Like I said he was strong. Stocky build, like he lifts weights. He had a baseball cap, but you could tell he had short hair. Buzzed like he’s in the army. Not super tall.”

  Cade stepped up to Stensrude. “Taller or shorter than me?”