Cold Land: A Mystery Thriller

by John Oakes

  ONE

  Welcome to Minnesota

  A knock sounded at the truck’s window, and Jake Adler woke with an offended grunt. He tilted his wide-brimmed hat up and peered slit eyes out at the dawning light.

  “Hey.” A balding, middle-aged man in suspenders stood outside. “You can’t sleep here.”

  Jake gripped the steering wheel of his pickup truck and pulled himself straight, staring out the side of his eye at the man. He sniffed, filling his lungs with air, waking up the cells of his aching, sleepy body. “Well,” he grumbled. “I ain’t sleeping anymore.”

  “What’s that?” the man asked. “You can’t sleep here.” He waved a hand at the exit of the parking lot, out toward the boulevard running in front of the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension.

  Jake rolled his window down, feeling the crisp morning air brush across his stubbly face. “I woulda slept at the Mac Donalds.” He pointed a block away. “But to tell the truth…” He looked to either side. “This neighborhood looks sketchy as hell.”

  The man who woke him held a coffee in one hand, a backpack in the other, and had his jacket drapped over his arm, even though it was freezing cold out. “Show me some ID.”

  “You don’t gotta worry yourself about me,” Jake said. “Besides, looks like you’re late for school as it is.” He nodded down at the backpack.

  The man gave his backpack a glance, then said, “Okay, mister, I need to see you step out of your vehicle.

  “Fine.” Jake opened the door a crack.

  “Wait,” the man said, pupils flitting side-to-side. “Hands on the window.”

  Jake put his hands on the glass, as his eyelids drew down in a look of contempt.

  The anxious man knelt, set his coffee down on the asphalt and opened his bag. “It’s just too early. I’m not put together for my shift yet.” He rustled around the backpack.

  “Looking for something?” Jake asked. “Is it maybe under your Trapper Keeper?”

  The man pulled out a holster, snarling at Jake. He slung it over his shoulders and removed his pistol. “Okay, I’m ready for you to come out.”

  Jake slid down out of the cab. “Are all suspected criminals in Minnesota so patient and well-behaved as I?”

  The man didn’t seem to know what to do. His eyes momentarily went blank as his mouth struggled at unspoken words. “J-j-j-just stand there!” He grew increasingly flustered.

  “You were gonna ask for ID,” Jake said.

  “ID!” the man yipped. “Give it over.”

  Jake pointed. “Wallet’s in the center console. I’m gonna get it out for you.”

  “Just no sudden movements.”

  “Easy now. Keep your finger off that trigger, friend.” Jake reached into the cab without taking his eyes off the distraught man. His fingers found his Smith and Wesson .45 caliber revolver in its own holster, then traipsed over to his wallet. “And I’m bringing it out now.”

  Slowly, he produced his wallet, poised between thumb and forefinger as if it were a dirty rag. “Want me to toss it to you?”

  The man nodded then grasped at thin air as the wallet sailed past his outstretched fingers, flopping open on the asphalt. When he bent to grab it, he left himself exposed to a skull-cracking kick from Jake’s pointed boot. “Buddy, you’re lucky I don’t wanna be in Minnesota any longer than I absolutely have to.” He considered the incompetent man, figuring he had to be some sort of law, despite his fumbling of the basics. “And who are you, anyway? Where I come from, it’s impolite to pull a pistol without first introducing yourself.”

  “I’m Nelson.” He blinked. “Agent Nelson.” Nelson seemed to remember he had a badge and produced it from his pocket, holding it out as if its imbued authority should have knocked Jake to the ground.

  “You don’t do this a whole lot, do you?” Jake asked.

  Agent Nelson studied his driver’s license, giving Jake furtive glances. “Jacob Truman Adler… Texas? That’s a long way from here.”

  “That’s what my odometer says.”

  “Texas?” Nelson looked him over as if seeing him for the first time. He seemed to wilt as he took in Jake’s confident pose and powerful, lean frame.

  “Yeah, hoss, nothing else tipped you off?”

  Nelson backed up a step and scanned the surrounding vehicles, as if hoping someone else in the parking lot might be there to assist him.

  “Can I have my things back?” Jake asked. “It’s freezing out here.”

  “I should run your information.”

  “With what?”

  “I’ll have to call it in.”

  “Where?”

  “Inside.”

  “Going inside just happens to be the reason I was here asleep in my truck to begin with.” Jake put his hands on his hips and motioned at Nelson. “I was just waiting for y’all to get to the office.”

  “Why?” Nelson clutched the wallet to his chest. “What do you have planned?”

  “Planned?” Jake scoffed. He had only the thinnest of plans, and those were tenuous at best. “Well, I certainly never planned to be held at gunpoint.”

  Nelson waved the gun toward the door of the office building and picked up his things. In so doing, he squeezed his coffee cup too hard, the top popped off, and scalding hot coffee rained all over his hand and backpack.

  “Gah!” Nelson sputtered and whined, before gritting his teeth and picking up the sodden backpack, leaving the coffee cup.

  “Littering?” Jake asked.

  “Come on.”

  The building was made of nondescript, coral-colored brick with long tinted windows banding each of the floors. As they approached the front door, Jake spotted guards inside manning a metal detector.

  “Wait,” Nelson said. “Not that way. Through here.” He punched a code into a side door and waved Jake through it; up the stairs to the third floor, where a matronly redhead in a silky tropical blouse hunched over her desk on the phone taking notes. A beaded chain dangled beneath her glasses as she spoke. “I can sure have Agent Jeffries give you a call when he gets in. Bye now.” She hung up and spotted Nelson, then Jake, then the gun in Nelson’s hand. “What in the world?”

  “Melinda, I need to run this man’s information. He was lurking outside. Not from around here.”

  “But why bring him up here if he’s dangerous? You should have called up.”

  Two sturdy-looking men in cheap suits entered behind them, laughing at some shared joke. They were both fit and handsome, which, being in their forties, was all the more impressive.

  “Nelson,” the dark-haired one barked. “You taking hostages now?”

  “He finally cracked,” the blond said as they passed by. “I thought he’d bring more than a little pea shooter to murder us all.”

  “I’m not murdering anyone!” Nelson’s eye twitched.

  A shorter, rounder man with white hair and a white goatee emerged from a distant elevator, walking briskly with his shoulders back and carrying a briefcase. He seemed headed for an office behind Melinda’s desk, but stopped short as he passed the scene. “Nelson?” he asked in a rising pitch. “What’s spilled all over you?” The older man shuffled closer. “And you’ve got your weapon out?” He looked up at Jake, then to the two other agents for answers.

  “No clue, Chief,” the dark-haired one said. “We’re gonna clear the area.” He patted Nelson on the shoulder and walked off.

  “I need someone to run his license.” Nelson sounded defeated, his voice quieting, his brow growing shiny with sweat.

  “It’s not even nine in the gash dern—” Nelson’s boss cut himself off. “Nelson, put your weapon away. We’ll get this sorted out.”

  “Should I put him in cuffs?” N
elson asked.

  Melinda took Jake’s license and whispered the name aloud. “Oh, Officer Adler. Sir, this is your first appointment of the day.”

  Chief Berg regarded Jake like a six foot tall Rubik’s Cube.

  Jake pulled his hat off and offered to shake his hand. “Jake Adler, sir. I believe we have business.”

  “Ah, yeah. Of course.” He shook, then turned to his secretary. “Uhh, Melinda, be so kind…”

  Melinda stood and helped the despondent Nelson holster his weapon, then led him by the shoulders down the hall.

  “To my office?” Berg turned for his door which he unlocked with a pin code. Jake followed inside, wondering what the three other doors behind Melinda’s desk led to. Berg’s office windows would have looked north and west over Saint Paul and the nearby suburbs, but were almost entirely blocked by another wing of the building, giving Berg only a view of a loading dock and a patch of asphalt. It was an oddly sad view for a man so important.

  “Just give me a minute to get my things in order.” Berg stepped around his desk, laid his briefcase on it and entered a code to pop it open. He took out a tupperware wrapped multiple times around with masking tape to secure it. Then he knelt in the corner, fumbling with the dial of a pad lock and opened a mini fridge, placing the tupperware inside. Second he pulled a cup and a small packet of instant coffee from his briefcase and filled it with hot water from his personal water dispenser with a big ten-gallon jug on top.

  “I’d offer you coffee,” Berg said, “but I only brought the one packet.” He pressed a button on his phone. “Melinda, could you—” He released the button. “Never mind, she’ll be with Nelson.”

  “It’s fine, sir.”

  Berg sat and closed his briefcase, setting it on the floor beside him. He clasped his hands on his organized desk and looked up at Jake. He kept looking at him, so Jake said, “Sir, I believe we spoke on the phone yesterday?”

  Berg looked a little glassy-eyed for a moment, then searched his desk’s surface. “Aha.” He pulled a file from a drawer, and laid it open. Jake bent his head to read the file name, but it was simply marked with the date of the previous day. Berg rifled through it, murmuring, “arson, fraud, wire fraud, tax fraud, mail fraud, mail fraud, mail fraud, arson, Jake Adler. Here we go.”

  “You deal with a lot of mail fraud cases here? And that was just yesterday?”

  “Oh no. These are just my notes. Every time I do an internet search, I make a record of it here. That way I can always have a record of what I’ve searched and the websites I’ve been to.”

  “I… uhh. I thought the computer took care of that for you.”

  “Oh, yes,” Berg said. “Let’s just let computers take care of everything. Nothing could ever go wrong there.”

  Jake bent his head to the side, lips pursed to form a question.

  “Sorry,” Berg said. “Sorry. I should have asked you to sit already. Please.”

  Jake eased himself into the cheap wooden chair with its upholstered back and seat, wondering how many times he’d have to sit there getting an earful from his new boss. Then again, this could be his one and only time in the chair if this meeting didn’t go well.

  “Jake Adler. Detective is it?”

  “Well, sir, it’s complicated. I’m technically a sergeant in the Texas Ranger Division. I do detective work, but I do not have that title.”

  “You’re a Texas Ranger?”

  “Yes sir, I can claim that particular honor.”

  “So what was your job, exactly?”

  “I guess you could call me a floater, sir. Geographically and skill-wise.”

  “A floater.”

  “One who moves about.” Jake spayed his fingers downward and moved his hand in all directions.

  “I see.” Berg set his small, pointed jaw. “Well, actually… Maybe I don’t.”

  “It’s nothing too complicated, I assure you. My job was like most other Rangers. We pick up wanted felons, take down organized crime, take on special investigations, help local entities when a disaster occurs or something hits the fan.”

  “Hmm.”

  “As we discussed on the phone,” Jake said. “I saw an opening for a position here in the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, and I figured that was about the closest thing I’d find to my role in Texas.”

  “The position has only been unfrozen for two weeks.” Berg frowned. “I’ve barely started the review process.”

  “The job was posted over five years ago, right?” Jake asked.

  “Yes, just before the governor put a hiring freeze on all law enforcement personnel. The freeze has been rolling back from different departments, every six months or so.”

  Jake narrowed an eye. “And it just got to this department?”

  “I’ll admit, we’d gotten used to the freeze.”

  “And are there still many offices yet to unfreeze hiring?”

  “Not really. Guess they saved us for last.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Sergeant Adler. I’ll add your application to the others and let you know when I complete the review.”

  “Sir, I…” Jake adjusted in his seat, pinching his thumb and forefinger. “I took it from our phone call that you were looking to fill the position immediately.”

  “Definitely. I’ll organize the applications by chronological order, do an initial read though, then begin selecting qualified candidates. I’ll rank them in descending order and begin reaching out for interviews. Then second round interviews, then the third. Should take no more than six to nine months.”

  Jake’s eyes went wide. “Six to nine months?” he whined.

  “But with your qualifications, you should have a fine chance.”

  “Wait, sir. These applications are over five years old. How many of those people will still be interested?”

  “Who can say? We will leave the posting up for the few days it had left before being frozen. Maybe a few more applicants will trickle in.”

  Jake planted his face into his hat, then set it down on his knee. “Sir, I was hoping that with my qualifications and, well, my presence here, that you might like to circumvent all that and simply put me to work.”

  “I’m sorry. That just isn’t how things work in Minnesota. We’re not much for loosey-goosey.”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in.”

  Melinda stepped in, still stoop-shouldered, holding a set of papers. “An application came through for that new job posting. Do you want it now, or shall I put it with the others?”

  “Don’t want to unfairly set it in my mind before the others,” Berg said. “Best chuck it in the pile.”

  “Oh, but Chief, would it change your mind if I told you it was Sergeant Adler’s application?”

  Berg looked at Jake, a bit of a grin forming on his face. “Gosh, it’s tempting.” He put a fist on the table. “But no, must keep to the process.”

  Melinda blinked.

  “Thank you,” Berg said.

  Melinda closed the door and Berg said, “And thanks to you too.” He stood from his desk and shook Jake’s hand. “I look forward to speaking with you in a few weeks if you become a finalist.”

  “Right.” Jake nodded, feeling his stomach fall, and his eyes grow hot in desperation and disappointment. He left the office, hearing the lock click loudly behind him. Hat clutched to his chest, he took short steps to the side door Nelson had pushed him through earlier.

  “Oh, hun,” Melinda said. “It didn’t go well?”

  Jake looked up from the cut pile carpeting to where Melinda sat at her small desk with her outdated phone, binders and three hole punch. He blinked, trying to find words.

  She removed her glasses, and they hung about her neck by the thin beaded chain.

  “I drove up here through the night,” Jake said. “Seventeen hours.”

  “Now that’s a long drive, isn’t it.”

  “I coulda sworn he said the position was open. I didn’t t
hink it was a sure thing, but neither did I think it a shot in the dark.”

  “What were you hoping for, hun?”

  “Work.” Jake let his arms fall to his sides. “A job like what I do in Texas. I don’t want to wear a uniform and write speeding tickets, but maybe that’s just what I’ll have to do.”

  Melinda spun in her chair a few degrees. “You seem pretty dead set on finding work up here, I’d say.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I saw your application.”

  Jake had gone to staring off at the cut pile again. “Pardon?”

  “Your file.” Melinda stood. “Very impressive, even if it wasn’t too detailed.”

  “That’s very kind of you to say.” Jake looked at Berg through his office window. “I need him to feel that way.”

  “Normally,” Melinda said, softening her voice. “Yeah.”

  Jake felt his face cool and a tingle crawl up his back. He could have sworn he felt a draft blowing through the rather empty office space. “Ma’am, I don’t fully—”

  Melinda held up a hand, then beckoned him to follow. They walked out of the first area, through a space so empty it was hard to grasp its use, into a wood-paneled hallway hung with the portraits of former chiefs of the bureau, stately men with Teutonic names and strong mustaches. To Berg’s credit, he looked the part, but everything else about the man seemed empty compared to the proud and steadfast men in the hallway. Other smaller frames had pictures dating back through the decades, showing huge drug busts, crooked politicians in handcuffs and men in sharp suits with Tommy guns from the days of prohibition.

  “My word.” Jake had slowed to baby steps.

  He caught Melinda staring at him a few feet ahead, but her look was not impatient or angry. She inhaled through her nostrils, and the wrinkles on her lips stood out. Jake saw sadness in her eyes and maybe a little of the steadfastness of the men in the pictures. “Come on.” Melinda led him through another empty space, but in the better light, Jake noticed the marks on the old carpet, impressions of cubicle footings, file cabinets, and heavy desks, even the little pin pricks from the plastic mats under office chairs.

  The two men who’d passed through earlier now carried on their conversation in a windowed office, loud enough to be heard through the closed door. Melinda passed them by, turned a corner and knocked on the open door of an office whose sole window looked out on the parking lot. A chair creaked as it turned, and Nelson’s face appeared. He had his jacket off, and his shirtsleeve was soaked where he’d tried to get the coffee stain out. Melinda pulled Jake in by the arm and closed Nelson’s door behind him.