by John Oakes
Jake stood. “He ain’t fresh, but he ain’t stinking to high heaven, either. I’d say a day, no more.”
“One day,” Nelson said. “If I’d come one day earlier…”
“Mighta saved his life by arresting him,” Jake said. “Damn, that’s something to chew on.”
Jake left the room to clear the rest of the house. Upstairs, he found printing paraphernalia laying about, power cords not plugged in, paper and inking materials resting in wrapped stacks or their original packaging. All the makings of the fraudulent money order production were present, Jake thought to himself, but without semblance of real productivity.
He hustled downstairs and checked David Young’s pockets and found some spare change, his keys and a wallet that was empty except for a Cub Foods loyalty card. Jake closed it and the billfold still bulged outward. It’d been stretched out and was clearly unaccustomed to holding so little in cash and cards. “Wuh-oh.” Jake tossed the wallet next to David on the bed. “It’s been cleaned out.”
“What should we do?” Nelson asked.
“Call in the locals and the coroner. Leave everything the way we found it.”
“Right. I guess… I guess Berg will be angry at me.” Nelson moaned under his breath.
“It ain’t your fault he’s been killed.” Jake patted him on the shoulder. “Besides, maybe your fraud investigation just turned into a murder investigation.”
Nelson’s eyes went wider and he moaned louder.
“Let’s get you out of here.”
They got back in the car, and Jake looked over his shoulder. “Congratulations, Dustin, looks like you just won yourself a day off work.”
“What? Hey man, I’ll get in trouble.”
“David Young is inside, murdered,” Nelson said. “Gonna need a full statement.”
“Murdered? What the hell?”
“Don’t worry,” Jake said. “We can make sure you don’t get into trouble at work. I’ve covered for an informant before.”
Dustin jabbed a finger at Nelson. “Just don’t let retard boy talk to my boss. He’ll get me fired for sure.”
Nelson didn’t seem to register the insult, as he was on the phone. “Hello, 9-1-1? I’d like to report a murder.”
Jake pulled a face. “9-1-1? That can’t be how you call in local PD around here.”
“I’m at 722 26th Ave Northeast.”
Jake put a hand in the air, again amazed at Nelson’s amateur approach.
“No, I don’t know the deceased. I’m actually a law enforcement officer visiting the domicile on another matter.”
Just when Jake expected the call to get awkward, Nelson smiled. “Yep. Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. My name is Nils Nelson.”
Jake pouted about as hard as Dustin, until the call was over. Then Nelson hung up. “Great. Looks like that’s all sorted. It’s the Minneapolis PD’s problem now.”
Jake splayed his hands. “That’s not—” He cut himself off.
“Man,” Dustin said. “What a re—”
Jake held up a finger. “Don’t you say it. Don’t you dare say it.”
“What?” Nelson asked.
“Just drive us back to your office,” Jake said with a sigh. “I need a word with that secretary.”
THREE
Home for Broken Toys
On the drive back to the Bureau, Jake closed his eyes at the mounting nausea he felt. He hadn’t slept in over a day, and the few nights before that had allowed little rest. He felt like crashing, but every time he dropped off, something that felt like adrenaline popped him back to consciousness. He was frazzled from his long drive and so much else. Every part of his body felt sick, and he had no earthly idea what he was involved with. He needed five glasses of water and a lie-in — or twice as many beers — to feel level, but it didn’t look like either was going to happen any time soon.
He opened his eyes and let the weak sunlight fill them, imagining it recharging him somehow. Looking out the window he got his first good glimpse toward Downtown. The skyline wasn’t iconic. No single building stood out as noteworthy. But he’d watched enough football in his life to recognize Viking’s Stadium and its environs from aerial shots. So that was something.
And the question again rang in his mind: Could he make the Twin Cities home?
Before he’d even have the opportunity, he needed to find employment, hopefully of the kind he was good at, the kind that let him stretch his wings a bit. He looked over at Nelson and wondered just what kind of law enforcement agency the Bureau was. Were there better options? He’d done his search, though. It appeared to be either the Bureau, or putting on a uniform again with the State Troopers or local PD, which sounded as appealing as working at a bank.
He could apply for some federal gig, but that might have him traveling hither and thither across the land. And not being home enough was what had started his predicament to begin with.
Jake put all his worries out of his mind and thought about the scene of the crime. Normally he’d have done so immediately, but he was out of sorts. As Nelson pulled off the freeway, the collection of facts Jake had perceived coalesced into a gut feeling that David Young’s murder would lead to more clues of criminal activity than his arrest would have. A living criminal might make a deal, but for many reasons still withhold information. That was the beauty of a dead man, Jake thought to himself. Dead men did tell tales if you knew how to listen.
After letting Dustin wash up from work, they plunked him down in a chair with ugly decades old upholstery outside Nelson’s office. Nelson wanted cuff him, but Jake looked in his eyes and knew he’d stay put.
“What’s Berg gonna say?” Jake asked as they walked back toward the administrative area.
“Not sure.”
They passed by the portraits of the former chiefs, and found Melinda at her desk on the phone. “I’ll have to let you go, Tanya… Sure thing… Bye.” She hung up.
“I went to arrest David Young and we found him deceased,” Nelson said. “Most likely murdered.”
Jake squinted an eye. “Definitely murdered.”
“Did Berg hear about it?” Nelson asked. “Is he mad?”
“Oh, he’s up to speed,” Melinda said. “I tell you what.” She stood and spread her arms to herd them around the corner, out of view of Berg’s office. She lowered her voice but spoke sternly. “Next time you find a dead body while discharging your duties, Agent Nelson, you don’t go scurrying away. No you gotta stake your claim to the crime scene.”
Nelson shook his head. “We’ve never done that.”
“You never have,” Melinda said. “But that’s how things used to be done, back when this bureau was one of the Midwest’s elite law enforcement agencies.”
Jake turned and asked Nelson, “How long have you worked here?”
“Three years, maybe.”
“And what about the two guys who passed by you this morning, the fellas poking fun at you?” Jake looked to Melinda when Nelson didn’t answer.
“They’ve been here a couple of years,” she said.
“What about Berg?”
“Chief Berg was installed—when was it—oh just about four years ago.”
“And is that all?” Jake asked.
“There’s a few others,” Melinda said. “Jerry Unger’s one. He’s been here a bit longer.”
“I see.” Jake looked around. “And hiring’s been frozen for a few years.”
Melinda nodded, looking up at him above her glasses.
“Miss Melinda, would you say the human resources have diminished in the last decade or more?”
“Why yes,” Melinda said. “Resources started drying up over ten years ago when certain state and federal agencies expanded to fight terrorism. Or so everyone claimed. People from here in the Bureau started to feel left behind. There was a bit of a frenzy, like that stock market crash.” She looked around at the place as Jake had, but where he only saw emptiness and decrepitude, she saw decades of history and a legacy greatness
.
“Nelson, you mind if I have a word with our new friend?” Melinda asked. “I believe you need to take a statement from Dustin Lopez.”
Nelson eyed them both then walked away with stooped shoulders.
Jake laid his expectant gaze upon Melinda and nodded. He was ready for real talk.
She motioned with a red-nailed finger for him to follow and took him past the elevator, up a service stair and out onto the roof. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from somewhere and offered Jake one.
“Thanks. I don’t feel too hot.” Jake placed a hand to his stomach.
Melinda lit up. “What I’m about to say may sound like some master plan thought up over countless restless nights and boring days. I suppose it was, but not intentionally.”
“Go on. I’m from Texas, ma’am. You don’t need to sugarcoat it.”
“It wasn’t a plan, per se, until you showed up. It didn’t dawn on me what I needed to do until this very morning.” She nodded as she took a puff, acknowledging that she’d get to the point. “I’m going to make this agency strong again.”
“You gunning to be chief?”
Melinda huffed a laugh. “Not ever. No, I’ll stay right where I am. Because the little that this bureau runs, it does so through my desk.”
Jake inclined his head.
“I don’t have much faith in our little hiring pool. Anyone who knows anything knows to steer clear of the Bureau. Anyone sent here is forced to be here, to get them out of the way.”
“I get why Nelson’s here. What about those other two flashy fellas. Look like they belong on Wall Street.”
“Voss and Hind are problems of a different sort. They can’t seem to keep their hands off other peoples’ wives, and sometimes their husbands.”
“I see. So this place has become a home for broken toys.”
Melinda’s gaze hardened at that, and Jake thought he might have offended her.
“Now you see,” she said. “You see why some part of me has been scheming all this time. You see why I want to know you better.”
“With all due respect, ma’am, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here. But this may not be the place for me.”
Melinda didn’t answer. She set an unsettling stare on him as she dragged at her cigarette.
“Listen, no offense. I don’t need prestige or some swanky budget for terrorism or what not. You saw my resume. I’m a glorified floater and I’m okay with it. I just need to solve some real crimes. Catch some real bad guys. I don’t know if bogus money orders are my kind of spicy.”
“Why are you here, then? An accomplished Ranger in Minnesota?”
“It’s a long story.”
“That story finished with an awful quick drive up here.” Melinda motioned down at the parking lot where his truck sat. “Why don’t you take this old gal for a spin?” Melinda dropped her cigarette and stomped it out. “That way you can show me what’s brought you to Minnesota.”
When they got in the truck, Jake turned to Melinda. “Where’s Roseville?”
Melinda directed him north and a little west.
“Got an awful lot of cemeteries in this part of town,” Jake said, as they drove through north Saint Paul. “It’s almost spooky.”
“You don’t have cemeteries in Texas?”
“I suppose we do. But this just seems like too many dead people. How long have people been living in Minnesota?”
“Same as Texas probably, not counting the Native Americans.”
“Well, that’s something.”
Jake pulled out his phone once they left the city limits and directed himself toward the little beacon on the map. He pulled into a parking area about a dozen spaces long next to a ten acre park with a hockey rink, soccer fields, baseball diamond, and a big playground not far from where they sat. It was still morning, and the only people at the park were a couple of moms helping their kids go down the slides and swing.
Jake licked his lips and bit down on one, hand resting limply on the wheel. “I met Jenny Packer at a church singles barbecue I got dragged to by a female friend. We hit it off and shacked up which probably wasn’t the idea behind the church barbecue. That being as it may, it was a good thing, a really good thing. We had a boy, two boys. And I thought I had it all, what with a job I was proud of and a family.”
“But you were a floater?”
“They had me down in Brownsville one week and El Paso in the next. Two months in Wichita Falls, and I just couldn’t get back to Austin every weekend.”
“Ah-ha.”
“Jenny didn’t have enough friends in Texas. Being a young mom didn’t help that. There’s just no time for socializing with all the naps and feedings and diaper changes. I get that. I kept telling her it’d get better. But I think she got that depression mothers can get.”
“Post-partum.”
“I offered to get her anything she needed, anything short of quitting my job.”
“And she left? Why come here?”
“She’s from here. She’d been talking about all the people she missed here. But I just thought it was a matter of time before she’d make friends in Texas. She was so friendly. Soon as the boys got out of the infant phase, I thought. Mommy groups maybe or soccer moms. I dunno.”
“How long ago?”
“A couple weeks. Her parents flew down and rented a truck. Took the kids and all her stuff and furniture except what you see under the tarp in the back.” Jake jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “She didn’t even tell me. I was in Dallas on a manhunt for a week before I realized.”
“I’m so sorry, Sergeant Adler.”
“Just call me Jake, ma’am.”
“I’m confused, Jake. Did she tell you to come or did she tell you to stay?”
“Neither. Just did what she did for herself.”
“Do you blame her?”
“Some. No.”
“How did you find her here at this park? Do you want to get out and say hello to them?”
“Sorry. Those aren’t my kids. This park is close to her parents’ house, though. When I came up to meet her parents for the first time, we walked around this park in the cold, just this time of year. She told me how she looked forward to going back to Texas to avoid winter. I guess I wanted to see this place again to remind myself of when she and I wanted the same things, the warm all year round, the people, the music and culture.”
“She might appreciate knowing you’re making the effort.”
Jake jutted out his scruffy jaw and gave it a slight waggle. “No, ma’am. Not until I have a place here for myself.” He looked over at her, feeling wetness gather in his eyes. “I gotta know I can make this home. I gotta know I have a job that fits me.”
Melinda sighed and crossed her arms over her abdomen. “The winters are notorious for good reason. But you saw for yourself — all those cemeteries — how many people have happily called it home until their last day.”
“Maybe. Cold or no, I can’t wake up knowing exactly what’s going to happen that day. Know what I’m saying? I’ll go crazy. I’m afraid there’s very few jobs like that, especially ones I’m qualified for.”
Melinda nodded. “Time to head back.”
They drove back to the Bureau, and when Jake went to get out, Melinda stopped him. For a moment, his extremities went cold for fear she was telling him to leave.
“Mister Adler… Jake, I think you’re just the man I need.”
“You mean the Bureau needs?”
Melinda tilted her head from side-to-side and made a noncommittal sound in her throat.
“Is there a job, or isn’t there?”
Melinda let her glasses rest on her chest. “Can you survive for a couple weeks? Got savings?”
“Well, yeah, I suppose.”
“Then, you let me take care of getting you a temporary credential.”
“Okay…” Jake shook his head, confused.
“Jake, the Bureau hasn’t solved a murder in some time,” she explained, “nor has
it apprehended a murder suspect in some time.” She extended a finger at him. “You do what you do best, and so will I. Make sure you start getting a paycheck.”
“How’s solving a murder gonna—”
Melinda held a hand up. “Shush. You’re a drowning man, and I’m handing you a lifeline. Albeit from a rickety little dinghy. But you got better options? Now are you gonna take my offer, or no?”
Jake stuck his tongue in his cheek. “I only got a week’s vacation to sort this out.”
Melinda pulled another cigarette out from some unseen pocket and stuck it in her mouth. “So you better work fast.” She got out and lit her cigarette, then slammed the door shut and walked toward the building.
Jake stared at his hands on the wheel, thinking.
His family was in the Twin Cities. He didn’t know if he wanted to live in the Twin Cities. He was a Texan born and bred. And the cold…
Melinda stopped and looked back at him, puffing away.
No matter the setting, there was a body with a big old knife in it, and a story behind how it got there. A perpetrator or multiple perpetrators were on the loose, thinking they might get away.
Jake laughed to himself. If he were a hawk, his talons would have flared. If a wolf, he’d have bared his teeth. If a Tiger, he’d have glowed his yellow eyes in the dark. But Jake just laughed again and put a hand on his .45. “Come on, then.”
FOUR
The Man for the Job
Jake swaggered up to Melinda and stuck a thumb in the air.
“First, I need one of y’all with a badge by my side, until I’ve got one. Two—” He extended his index finger. “—I need access to your criminal data base and someone to show me how to work it. Three, I need access to state license plate, bank card and telecom tracking.” He extended his bare ring finger. “Guess I need a space to work. God forbid I should need to do any paperwork.” Pinky finger out, he said, “And a computer. Don’t need anything fancy, ‘cause I won’t know how to work it anyhow.”
Melinda’s expression never budged. She removed her cigarette, exhaled smoke and unapologetically said, “No.”
Jake blinked. “Pardon?”