The I-94 Murders

by Frank F. Weber

  Marcus responded with arrogance, “I decide when this is over. You’re the only thing keeping Ava sane right now. She needs to talk to you every night. Either you protect her, or I’ll let them know I’m paying Clay Roberts to build your house.”

  My first reaction was to tell Marcus to go to hell, but I opted to carefully consider my options before making a decision that would end my career as an investigator. Two years ago, when I asked a woman involved in a previous case why she didn’t collect child support, she told me, “If you take their money, you’ve got to take their shit.”

  I’d taken Marcus’s money; there wasn’t going to be an easy way out. I had told him from the onset that my BCA work had to be a priority. That apparently didn’t matter to Marcus Mayer. I asked him to give me a minute and I’d get back to him. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the best moral path. Regardless of my dislike of Marcus, Ava needed protection, and the only way I could realistically protect Ava, was to keep her close.

  My incredibly kind parents, Bill and Camille, agreed to take Ava into their home, with the understanding she would surrender all of her electronics first. This would take Ava off the killer’s radar and keep my parents safe. I brought Clay Roberts along when I presented this plan to Ava. His model-like looks, combined with an offer to drive her to Pierz, sealed the deal. I would stay in the basement of the home I was building in Pierz, so I wouldn’t be in the same residence, but I’d talk to Ava face-to-face every day. The running water and plumbing had already been installed in my unfinished home. I called Serena to let her know I’d be staying in Pierz for the next couple weeks, and I wanted to see Nora every day, if possible.

  Serena quietly agreed before asking, “Can I ask why you’re being suspended?”

  I offered, “Are you ready to talk about us—otherwise, why bother asking?” I wanted to bring up Clay’s accusation that she was seeing another man, but didn’t want to admit the gossip was getting to me—and I loved her, so I didn’t want to argue with her.

  I revived the dead air between us by saying, “I’m sorry for being a jerk. I’m dealing with a lot right now.”

  19

  JON FREDERICK

  2:00 P.M., TUESDAY, JUNE 20,

  PIERZ

  THIS WAS THE LAST DAY I COULD help Clay work on my house, as I was being called back to work tomorrow. I’d enjoyed my time with Nora. She was a spunky, defiant two-year-old, which, come to think of it, were descriptors Maddy Moore might use about me. Nora had a keen awareness of other’s emotions, and since she was the only child, she was very comfortable interacting with adults. One morning, my parents were having an argument and had nothing to say to each other when they sat down for breakfast. Nora carefully looked them up and down, and then asked, “Are you doing okay?” They both started laughing and began talking to each other.

  I’m not going to pretend Nora was easy all the time (like kids on TV). She reminded me she was two, with declarations like, “I’m not taking a nap, ever,” but as exhausting as she was, it was all endearing to me. I knew it was much easier being just a part-time dad, but I wanted more.

  Ava was busy with my mom every day, performing her volunteer work during the day and gardening in the evening. The small-town baseball games, Wednesday fresh-bologna days at the Red Rooster Bar, and classic cars parked along Main Street on Thursday nights didn’t match the glamor of the Minneapolis night clubs. Still, Ava stayed. Her major attraction was Clay. Clay knew he looked good, and he didn’t hesitate to show off his muscular build with tight, white t-shirts. He particularly enjoyed removing them at times, in her presence, because it was “too hot.” While I made it clear to Clay that Ava was off limits until she was out of my parents’ home, it didn’t keep the two from flirting.

  My dad taught Ava to drive a four-wheeler (which she loved), so Ava delivered lunch and beverages every day to our work site. It gave me the opportunity to see her differently. My parents’ expectations of Ava gave her a sense of purpose and she became slightly more likeable. Still, she was inconsiderate and condescending to my brother, Victor, who lived with my parents, so no one was particularly disappointed that she was leaving with me the next day. Ava didn’t like conversing with anyone who could be perceived as less than ideal (when it wasn’t in context of charity work), even though Victor worked hard at being considerate to her.

  Clay was a few feet away from me with a nail gun, framing the shower in the master bathroom, while I was laying a seal of wood glue along the upstairs frame corners of my home. From my past participation in a model bridge-building contest in high school physics, I knew the glue was stronger than wood, and I wanted my house to be solid. I was close enough to converse with Clay but staying out of his way. Clay was an outstanding builder, so I had primarily been labor for him.

  Clay was complaining about the Pierz state championship baseball game of the day before. “Our first baseman is right there to make the play—the ball hits the damn bag and skips over him, and we lose the state tournament.” When I didn’t respond, he continued, “I don’t know why we make such a big deal of the state championship. They’re going to be better people if they lose, anyway.”

  I interjected, “Maybe that’s why they only let one team win.”

  Clay shot six nails into the frame and then roughly countered his own rant, “Although, it didn’t seem to taint that Zahurones girl when she won Dairy Queen. She’s still as gracious and kind hearted as people get.”

  “Dairy Princess. Dairy Queen is ice cream. Mary was Princess Kay of the Milky Way.”

  Clay looked over at me and grinned, “Do you have to be lactating to win that?”

  “No, but that would be ‘of the milky way,’ too.” I looked up at him sharply, “Lactating is a new word for you, and you used it correctly. You’re dating someone with a baby!”

  Clay swiped across his forehead with the back of his hand, pushing his longish, sun-streaked hair out of his eyes. “A couple weeks ago, I went out to eat with this woman. Suddenly her shirt started getting wet by the nipples. I was thinking this woman has some sort of superpower—this could be a wild night! Instead, she was embarrassed and went home.”

  I commented, “Well it is a bit of a superpower.”

  Clay shot a couple more nails. “What does it taste like?”

  I looked up, “Are you seriously asking me what Serena’s breast milk tastes like? Isn’t that a bit of a bad boundary?”

  Clay shrugged, “I’m assuming she doesn’t have her own special flavor. You had a baby. You must have tasted it.”

  “And that’s a conversation we are not having.” I focused on the gluing again, closing the subject.

  Clay shot four more nails and said, “Hell, we didn’t win a state tournament and look at us.”

  I laughed, “And what prizes we are. I’m suspended from work. My relationship tanked, and you can’t make a relationship last for more than a month.”

  He smiled and sighed, “But we’ve dated some beautiful women.”

  “Most women are beautiful. It’s a matter of not having exclusion criteria.”

  Clay curiously tilted his head to the side, playing along. “And what would that look like?”

  “Like not wanting children. Not being spiritual.”

  Clay whistled and shook his head, then shot a couple more nails. “You’re a disturbed man.” After a beat, he said, “Maddy Moore’s been asking about you. I like Maddy. How old is she?”

  “Forty-five. What did she want to know?”

  Clay was still now, watching to see how I’d react. “If you’re doing okay.”

  “And you said?”

  “I’m a busy man. I don’t have time to babysit you. I told her you seem to be doing fine.” He checked the load of nails in his gun and added, “As far as obsessive nut jobs go.”

  Clay had a history of pursuing women I knew. He was really a crappy friend, for the most part. Still, we had a friendship that was forged slowly over time and was difficult to break. While I’d neve
r set a friend up to date him, I knew he would help me, with no questions asked, any time.

  I stared hard at him until he looked up at me and told him, frankly, “Maddy’s a good person, with a son, and she’s my work partner. I’d prefer you didn’t mess with her anymore.”

  Clay smirked, “She’s the one who looked me up—to gather information about you. Don’t worry, I’m the big winner in this house payoff. I’m not saying a damn word to anybody. But I am going to miss ordering you around and insulting you now that you’re headed back to your real job.”

  11:30 P.M., TUESDAY, JUNE 20,

  PIERZ

  AFTER I WAS DONE PLAYING with Nora for the night, I spent my last night in my new home. I had put a bed in the basement. I think everyone needs to have comfortable shoes and a good bed—when you’re not in one, you’re in the other. I was drifting in and out of a light sleep when I heard the deadbolt unlocking upstairs. I waited to hear where the subsequent footsteps led. Soft footfalls padded down the basement steps and approached my bed. In the darkness, I watched the silhouette of a shapely and petite young woman remove her blouse and sway her hips as she slid out of her form-fitting jeans. I opened up the bed sheet. Serena crawled into bed with me. I pulled her close as she spooned against me. I pushed aside her long dark curls and kissed the back of her neck. She turned into me and we passionately kissed, as I melted into the warmth of her body …

  Being the obsessive character I was, it’d been difficult to avoid addressing the rumor that Serena was dating someone else. I didn’t want her to think I was having people report to me, and I felt our relationship was so fragile that initiating an argument would smash it to smithereens. I’d been focusing on “mindfulness” or, in other words, carefully observing thoughts and feelings without judging, and I couldn’t complain about the results.

  Serena had developed a routine of stopping by, nightly. On nights we didn’t make love, I poured Eucerin skin-calming lotion into a glass and put it in the microwave for a few seconds and then massaged her feet, legs, and back with nice warm lotion. It was one of the few brands that didn’t become too sticky when you rubbed muscles smooth. Serena was often tired, as she was working as well as caring for Nora, so she just relaxed and enjoyed it. I rubbed the tightness out of the muscles in her back and her backside. She had been assaulted face down. I had researched counter conditioning, which involves replacing anxiety-provoking contact with pleasant and desired touch, so I was prepared when this opportunity arose. I didn’t bother to tell her I had planned this out. I wanted her to simply be at peace with it. She still hadn’t resumed conversations with me during daylight, but I just needed to be patient.

  20

  JON FREDERICK

  8:45 P.M., WEDNESDAY, JUNE 21,

  MINNEAPOLIS

  WE HAD BEEN ON A STREAK of beautiful weather—mid-seventies, no wind, but still enough clouds to keep it from getting too hot. After the investigation cleared me, Maurice Strock asked me to take Maddy back as a partner. I had no issue with her, since she hadn’t done anything wrong. A stakeout on Kub Kuam Peb, while I was out, had failed to produce any useful information. Maddy was quick to point out that there were no new crimes during my absence.

  Maddy and I were soon in her unmarked car headed to Zikri Abbas’s home. She avoided eye contact with me as she drove. Maddy had this terrible habit of setting her phone on the console. At the first turn, it slid to the floor, requiring me to pick it up.

  In a soft voice, she offered, “Look, I’m sorry. Somehow, I’d convinced myself you’d been paid to steer the investigation away from Ava Mayer. All of my instincts told me this. But obviously, I was wrong. And now people might be reluctant to work with you, just because of an unfounded allegation.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell Maddy our colleagues weren’t going to have any problems with me. After all, no evidence was found to confirm what she alleged. But they might have an issue with her for reporting one of their own. “Maddy, I have no issue with you or with what you did.”

  Maddy digested this. She suddenly swerved the car to the side of the street and violently threw the gear-shift into PARK.

  She turned to me, straining at her seatbelt. “Son of a bitch, you did take money, didn’t you?” Maddy’s dark eyes were all but piercing through me.

  “What if I had? People get paid to do side jobs all the time. I would never let anything interfere with my BCA work.”

  Incredulous, Maddy shouted, “Do you hear yourself ? There’s no way for you to know with certainty that Ava had nothing to do with Alan’s death. Have you stopped to consider she still may be the puppet master in all this—pulling some guy’s strings to punish men? You’re a crooked investigator.” The muscles around her lips twitched with unspoken epithets. “You might be the worst person I’ve ever worked with. Being unfaithful can’t be as bad as being bought off when you’re performing a job based on public trust. Peoples’ lives are at stake, here, Jon! How do you make this is okay in your brain?”

  I rubbed my forehead and turned to escape her fiery stare. I focused on the texture of the dashboard. Nothing was okay in my brain right now.

  Maddy’s nostrils flared as she fumed on, “It’s always some ass like you who thinks he deserves more than the income he agreed to work for. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and man up. When I go to bed at night, I can feel good about what I’ve done, because I did my job the right way.”

  When Maddy realized I wasn’t arguing with her, she pulled away from the curb abruptly. The tires chirped as they bit into the pavement, as if surprised by the sudden movement. Maddy drove on, adding, “At least until I remember I’m alone, and I was robbed of my child, and everybody at work looks at me like I’m something they found stuck to the bottom of their shoes.”

  I honestly reflected, “I’m sorry I put you in this position.” I then went on to explain that I had tried talking Marcus Mayer into funding an exploratory DNA study I created, which would eventually identify the killer, but had failed.

  Maddy felt some consolation over having gotten through to me and she respected the DNA algorithm. Her demeanor warmed to that of concern. “There isn’t anything wrong with helping Ava, but it can’t be your job—not while you’re investigating for the BCA. The DNA study—that’s brilliant. You’re basically creating a noncriminal data bank that will help link DNA samples to families.” When I didn’t respond, Maddy continued, “Any time with Serena during your break?”

  “There were a few nights in Pierz when I had a late night surprise,” I confessed. “I slept sound, and she was gone by morning. She told me the last night that, tomorrow, we go back to how it was before I returned to Pierz.”

  Maddy reached over and maternally patted my arm. “Don’t feel bad about it. You take what you can get when you love someone. Believe me, I’ve been there. It’s humiliating, but scraps look good when you’re starving. Try to keep your kind heart. It’s easy to be angry.”

  It felt like a good time to let that subject rest. We rode in silence for a bit, as Maddy maneuvered the car through the city.

  I mused, “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this case. I think we need to pay less attention to what this killer is handing us, and more attention to what we have. I feel like he implicated Ava by directing her to drive away with her boyfriend’s murdered body in the trunk. There isn’t any way Ava could have responded that didn’t make her look guilty. There were pictures on her computer of her engaging in bondage with Alan. If she hadn’t told her parents, Ava would be incarcerated right now. She was lucky they sought out an investigator. I’m not sure she would have done so independently, even if she was innocent.”

  As Maddy pondered this, I continued. “And then he gave us you—invites you to a murder scene, and wears your perfume. And now, he gives us Kuam Peb. It’s too easy. I did some more reading about Culhwch and Olwen and, by the way, it isn’t exactly a quick read. Do you know what Culhwch’s superpower was?”

  Maddy smiled, “No, but I have
a feeling I’m going to find out.”

  “I’m sorry for bombarding you with all of this. I’ve had a lot of time to think.”

  Dimples appeared with Maddy’s grin, “I missed working with you—always flooded with information. Okay, I just need to ask, what is Culhwch’s superpower?”

  I told her triumphantly, “The ability to continue to work when everyone else is sleeping

  “Well, good ol’ Cully might have met his match with you.” Maddy’s expression became serious. “My frustration lies in the last cypher. What was he falsely accused of ?”

  After some silence while we both mulled this over, I added, “I can’t let go of Zeke denying his car was in the area of Alan Volt’s murder.”

  “I don’t know, Jon.” As Zeke’s home came into view, Maddy pondered, “What if Ava gave me a ride home from the bar that night? She could have noticed my perfume and set me up.”

  I shook my head. “Jada Anderson gave you the ride home that night. She found you passed out in the parking garage.”

  Maddy’s face was impassive as she worked through this information. She didn’t speak until she was parked in Zeke’s driveway next to his grey Impala. She turned off the ignition, but didn’t move to get out of the car. The only light on in the house was a dim lamp in the living room. Maddy turned to me carefully, “Jada knows a lot about investigations—you were with her for four years. Ava is still my leading suspect, but consider this—maybe Jada was already stalking Ava in the bar that night. You have blind faith in Jada. I doubt you’d even notice if she was manipulating you.”

  I respected Jada, but didn’t completely dismiss Maddy’s concern. I opened the car door, then looked back at Maddy. “Jada left the bar shortly after you, to make sure you were okay. She’s an amazing person. You need to thank her …” I wasn’t sure why the comment bothered me so.