Cold Land: A Mystery Thriller

by John Oakes

  “Nelson, I’d like you to apologize to Sergeant Adler. You accosted a fellow law enforcement officer who was just closing his eyes in the parking lot.”

  Nelson didn’t appear too eager to fork over any apologies. With his rounded shoulders, hung head and pouting cheeks, he seemed more hurt by the interaction than Jake felt.

  “Nils Nelson, I can cut off your vending machine privileges,” Melinda said.

  “You can’t stop me from buying things from the vending machine,” Nelson protested, showing large perfectly white teeth. Before, Jake had figured Nelson for middle-aged. Nelson’s hair was thinning and poorly cut, and he was twenty pounds too heavy in ill-fitting clothes, but up close and without threat of a gun, Jake figured he was only early thirties, same as him.

  “I can stop putting the treats in there for you to buy,” Melinda said. “Who do you think fills the darn thing?” She leaned in. “Who do you think knows you like Nutter Butters?”

  Nelson straightened like a prairie dog at Melinda’s stinging threat.

  “Now apologize for your poor judgment,” she said.

  Nelson took two quick breaths and squared his shoulders to Jake, though he didn’t look him in the eye. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  “And…” Melinda chided.

  “And I’m sorry that I pulled my weapon on you.”

  “There. That’s better.” Melinda looked at Jake expectantly.

  “Oh, uhh,” Jake shifted his weight. “Yeah.” He nodded. “Just a mix up there, Agent Nelson. Sorry if I wasn’t in the best mood, either. Tired as hell from the drive and pretty worried my meeting with Berg might not go my way.”

  Nelson softened, and the twitches in his face grew gentler.

  “And sorry I made fun of your backpack.”

  “I know it’s stupid.”

  “No,” Jake said. “It’s perfectly fine.”

  Melinda gave Jake an encouraging look.

  “Just ‘cause school kids use it doesn’t mean a grown man can’t. I bet, lots of times, people with briefcases only wish they could just sling those suckers on their backs.”

  Nelson looked up and smiled before averting his gaze again.

  “Wonderful,” Melinda said. “I’m so glad that’s settled, because you two are going out together today.”

  Jake tilted his head. “Beg pardon?”

  TWO

  Small Time Crooks

  Melinda ignored Jake. “Nelson has a fraud case he’s been tinkering with for far too long. I’d say it’s time to stop courting the lady and seal the deal.”

  Nelson appeared to grow smaller with every word she spoke, like a turtle retreating into its shell.

  “A fraud case?”

  “Fake money orders,” Melinda said. “The things they can print out these days. Did you know they can print in three dimensions now?” Melinda gave a gravelly chuckle. “Imagine what they can do on just two dimensions.”

  “Ma’am, I’m afraid I’ll be needing to continue on the job hunt,” Jake said.

  “Oh, nonsense,” Melinda said, waving a hand. “You came so far, and you’re here, it’d be a shame not to liaise with a peer agency.”

  Jake scratched his head, holding his tongue. It felt like a bit of a stretch to compare this rinky-dink operation to one of the finest state investigation and criminal apprehension apparatuses in the country.

  “Prepare your things, Nelson, and tell Sergeant Adler here what’s been going on.”

  Melinda trundled out the doorway, closing the door firmly behind her.

  “How long you been working on this case?” Jake asked.

  “Eleven…”

  “What’s that? Eleven days?”

  Nelson mumbled again.

  “Eleven weeks?” Jake asked. “Well, how big is this operation?”

  “From what I can tell, it could involve upwards of four people.”

  “Four.” Jake’s head bent to one side, and his mouth hung open. “Four people. Eleven weeks… So this is just a side project, or…?”

  Nelson shook his head and looked up. “It’s been my main task.”

  “What have you been waiting for?”

  “I dunno. I put in for resources — a tactical team and what have you — but my requests keep getting misplaced or mis-delivered.”

  “What about your fellow agents? They don’t seem terribly busy.”

  “They wouldn’t be any help. More harm I’m sure.”

  Jake picked up a file and looked it over. “You’ve got a name here.”

  “Just for one man. David Young. I think his girlfriend is helping. Sarah Paulsen. And maybe two brothers, friends of his.”

  “What are they doing? Ripping off the banks?”

  “No, their forgeries aren’t that good. The banks reported them to us. The forged money orders, that is.”

  “How do the banks get them?”

  “These forgers use them to scam people, I think. They sign them over, then trade them like cash.”

  “How many people have been scammed?” Jake asked.

  “I’m not sure. Almost no one talks to me. I’m not very good at getting people to talk. Even the victims.”

  That seemed believable enough.

  “How many have come forward to the police on their own?”

  “Just one,” Nelson said. “A woman who sold a bunch of baby stuff to Sarah Paulsen.”

  “Got an address?”

  “Last known address for Paulsen was in Mankato from three years ago. Young has an address on file in Northeast, but it looks like the family domicile, not his necessarily.”

  “Northeast?”

  “Oh, it’s a neighborhood across the river from downtown Minneapolis.”

  “You got enough evidence to put these folks away?”

  “Maybe Sarah Paulsen. To nail the other conspirators, I’d need more people willing to cooperate with us.”

  Jake ran a hand down one side of his face and slapped some life into himself. “So, Young and his crew mostly scam other criminals. People who don’t like cops. Smart.” Jake leaned over Nelson’s shoulder and picked through a file. “This Dustin Lopez. He told you about Young and the brothers?”

  “He was one who put me on them, yes. One of the only people to be honest with me.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s a mechanic. Works straight most of the time.”

  “But not all the time.”

  “He’s got priors, trying to stay clean. I think that’s the only reason he cooperated.”

  Jake pulled Nelson out of his office and down to the parking lot where he retrieved his holstered .45 from the center console of this truck and strapped it to his hip with his belt.

  “You’re bringing a gun?” Nelson asked, tucking his files under an arm.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. But I’m in jurisdiction.”

  “Good for you.” Jake finished buckling his belt. “And I’m an American citizen exercising my right to bear arms.”

  “I think you need a permit.”

  “You’ll have to vouch for me. Now get in your car and take me to this Dustin character.”

  Dustin Lopez seemed unfazed seeing a Crown Victoria pull up in front of the open bay he was working in. He shaded his eyes to get a better view of the car, then blanched in alarm. When Nelson stepped out, he looked around at his other coworkers — they all seemed occupied — then stalked out to meet him. Jake stepped out of the car to listen and hung an arm over the open passenger door.

  Dustin, a fit young man in baggy clothes and a shaved head, approached Nelson, neck craned, with beady, intense eyes and a patchy beard. “You can’t be here. My boss will see.”

  “No one here knows me,” Nelson said. “Would ya just calm yourself?”

  Jake closed his door and stepped around the hood, drawing Dustin’s attention. “We’re just a couple of fellas asking about getting some work done on this here car,” he said in a reassuring tone.

  Dustin breathe
d in and out, then whispered at Nelson, “Whatchu want?”

  “I need more information on the men who scammed you with those money orders.”

  “Forget it. I’m not getting all up in that again.”

  Jake popped the hood of Nelson’s civilian Crown Vic and turned his back to the garage. “You know,” he said in a low tone, “we’re not after you. But if you don’t tell us what we need to know, it’s gonna go bad for you. Plain and simple.”

  Dustin shifted from side to side. “You’re not from Minnesota.”

  “Nope.”

  “Helps us out, Dustin,” Nelson pleaded. “These guys are small time. It’s not gonna blow back. Plus, I need this.”

  “If they’re small time, how come he’s here? What is he, a Fed?”

  Nelson eyed Jake, then said, “No—yeah. Yeah, actually. Big trouble coming this way now. Better just help me out and stay on his good side.”

  “I ain’t gonna testify.”

  “Tell you what.” Jake edged close so the brim of his hat almost touched Dustin’s shorn hairline. “If you put us on David Young, in the place where he keeps his naughty arts and crafts, that’ll be all we need. So think where that might be. You don’t want me to come back a second time. I won’t be visiting just to chat.”

  Dustin bunched his mouth and stuck his fists in the bib of his overalls. “I’ll have to come with you. I don’t know the street or the number.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “Man, I just barely started my shift.”

  Jake opened the rear door. Dustin cursed and got in.

  As they drove, the car filled with the smell of grease and gas fumes emanating from Dustin’s hands and work attire. The brume of a freshly lit cigarette added to the scents, turning both heads in the front seat.

  “You can’t smoke in my car,” Nelson practically shrieked.

  Dustin rolled the back window down and blew smoke outside. “I’m nervous.”

  “How did you get to meet David Young?” Jake figured conversation would keep Dustin occupied.

  “We met in high school, but didn’t know each other. He was way older. Like he got held back, I think.” He puffed and shrugged. “My friend just introduced me to him the other week when he heard I was trying to sell one of my bikes.

  “Your motorbike?”

  “No. A nice bicycle,” Dustin said, eyes narrowing to menacing slits. “Then he duped my dumb ass into taking money orders.”

  “You didn’t want to do anything about it yourself?” Jake asked.

  “You calling me a coward?”

  “No. You seem angry. I’d wager you were hoping to tune someone up at the time.”

  “Maybe I was. Maybe I got people smarter than me that keep me in check.”

  “You had good reason not to take care of things yourself?”

  “Listen, I figured I’d tell this guy about David,” he pointed at Nelson. “So that maybe he’d get what was coming to him. Leave it at that.”

  “Who protects David Young?” Jake asked.

  Dustin looked out the window and only paid attention to his cigarette, keeping silent except to direct Nelson.

  “Where exactly are you leading us?” Jake asked.

  “Best place I can think of, all right? Shit.”

  “We’re really close to the old address I have for him.” Nelson glanced over at Jake.

  “We’re in Northeast, then?” Jake peered around at the boxy, older homes, built like they were designed for the inhabitants to simply not freeze to death in winter without much else for flair.

  “It’s this street up here.” Dustin flicked his butt out the window. “I’m gonna stay in the car where no one can see me, you feel?”

  “Not leaving you in my car,” Nelson said. “You’ll hot wire it.”

  Dustin laughed, lightening his complexion and wrinkling up his face in mirth. “This shit heap wouldn’t be worth the gas to get it to the chop house.” Dustin shut up then said, “You know, back when I did stuff like that. Not anymore.”

  “We all know about your extracurricular activities,” Jake said. “So don’t act so hurt when I ask about it.”

  “What agency you work for, then, Cowboy Bill?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “You like, CIA, or something secretive?”

  “You’ve never heard of it. Let’s put it that way.”

  “So, you’re not gonna hassle me? Promise?”

  “Not if Nelson here gets a big score.”

  “Why are you helping this retard?” Dustin asked. “Some sort of big brother program for cops?”

  “Hey,” Nelson said. “You watch your mouth.”

  “Stop,” Dustin said.

  “Don’t tell me wha—”

  Jake elbowed Nelson in the arm. “He’s saying this is the place.”

  Nelson stomped on the brakes, sending all three of them lurching forward. Dustin’s face bounced off the back of Nelson’s headrest.

  “That’s what you get for calling me a retard!” Nelson said.

  “Who let the retard drive?” Dustin rubbed his cheek.

  Nelson reached back and clawed at Dustin’s face. Dustin in turn kicked over the head rest and threw wild punches in the confined space. Jake intervened, swatting at flying arms and legs.

  “Gentlemen!” Jake yelled. He grabbed each one by the throat and pushed them apart, pinning them against the windows. The sudden silence was pleasing to Jake until he heard gurgling. He released both men and they coughed, clutching their necks.

  “Okay now.” Jake plucked at his shirt collar. “Now that we got that out of our system. We need to go check on this David Young fella. Someone tell me what he looks like.”

  “He’s thirty nine. Long blond hair, blue eyes. Medium build,” Nelson wheezed. He refilled his lungs with a bewildered expression on his face.

  Jake turned on Dustin, who regarded him in a similar way, eyes showing some mix of awe and fright. “Yeah. That’s about right. He had long hair, but he cut it short. And he’s usually carrying a big ass knife. Knives are his thing.”

  “Nelson, you able to leave Dustin in the car?”

  “Heck no. He’ll do something to it.”

  Dustin held up a hand, still hunkered down on the seat. “I can’t be seen helping cops out here. I won’t do anything in here. I swear.”

  “Come on, then.” Jake got out and walked Nelson across the street.

  He motioned for Nelson to knock on the front door, while he went around back, holding his hat low to keep out of view. He took the rear steps carefully so as not to make a sound, then peered through a rear window by a dining table. No lights were visible, and the house was silent but for Nelson’s knocking on the front door and ringing the bell. Just as Jake took in enough of a view to judge the house empty, a dark figure jolted up inches from Jake’s face on the other side of the window.

  Jake’s instincts sent him backward and twisting to reach for his pistol. The contortion and surprise dropped him to one knee. Before he could draw his weapon, he recognized the figure of a dog. The medium sized black dog was standing on the built in dining bench looking at Jake. He barked, as if politely asking who Jake was. His hoary mouth left spit globs on the window like a fat paintbrush. He jumped down then circled back to look out at Jake again.

  “Hey there, buddy.” Jake stood and came closer. “Open the door for me.”

  The dog jumped off the bench toward the door, doing his best to follow the instruction. Jake laughed. “Thanks anyway, boy.”

  Jake’s eye caught on something colorful on the window. He peered closer thinking it was a trick of the light, but it wasn’t. Along with the dog’s saliva on the window, there was a good streak of crimson mixed in.

  “Blood?” Jake tapped on the window. “Here, fella. Come give us a kiss.” The dog hopped up again, and now Jake saw stiff rust colored hair clumps and red-stained teeth. “I’m coming in, boy. Don’t be scared.”

  Jake pulled his weapon, planted a boot above the loc
k and filled the doorway in the same kicking step. “Hello! Police!” he yelled without thinking. He regretted his mistake, but figured it sent the clearest message. “I’m coming in. Is everyone okay?”

  The dog barked up at him in response.

  “Fine, boy, show me.”

  The dog trotted from the kitchen into the hallway, past the stairs to the second floor, then into a rear bedroom. The room would have been plenty remarkable even without the dead body slumped on a corner of the bed. Jake could barely guess what color the walls were for all the hutches, wood cabinets and wall-mounted displays of sharp edged weapons.

  Jake took the obligatory pulse, even if he knew a dead man when he saw one, then traipsed about, opening slim drawers, sliding out wide trays and peering into glass cases, making admiring clicks and whistles at the variety of blade and hilt types.

  “Ahh!” someone yelled.

  Jake jumped in his skin to find Nelson in the doorway slapping a hand over his mouth.

  “Sweet Moses!” Nelson shrieked.

  Jake straightened and calmed himself. “Oh. Yeah. David Young is dead.”

  “How?”

  “I could be wrong, but that big ass knife in his chest is probably how.”

  “No, I mean how could this happen?”

  Jake put his hands on his hips, taking a turn about the room. He stopped where one shallow drawer had been pulled out before he’d ever entered. “These chests of drawers are something else.” Jake couched and traced a finger along the smooth edges and the soft fabric the knives were arranged upon, noting one space where a knife appeared to be missing. “They look hand-made. Nothing fancy, but the kind of thing you’d put time into if you really loved knives.”

  “My case.” Nelson put his hands in his head. “My case! The day we finally come for him, and he’s… He’s — How long has he been dead?”