Cold Land: A Mystery Thriller

by John Oakes

  “Holy heck,” Jake said.

  “So grampa and Willy keep quiet as their company, regiment and division pass by. They hear these German commandos who are out of uniform discussing whether or not to kill them. Their job was to sabotage the supply convoy, not babysit prisoners a couple are arguing. Then word comes from their commander that, sure enough, the americans were to be disposed of. Willie pipes up in perfect German, “We’re Germans like you. God Bless the Fatherland.” You can imagine the surprise on the soldier’s blackened faces.” Jerry let out a hooting laugh. “Long story short, Willie tells them not to kill them because they’re just good German boys who happened to be born in Minnesota. Even tells them they’ll help sabotage the convoy.”

  Jake let out a strange sounding laugh. “That’s something.”

  “So they help blow up a bridge with a whole convoy of supply and horses and men on it. Willie himself sets off one of the charges as a show of good faith.”

  “So did they become like double agents?”

  Jerry twitched his mustache from one side to the other. “The night after that, a whole day and night later, after thinking it over, my grandfather pulled out his knife in the night and slit Willie Horst’s throat and snuck up on the lookout and slit his throat too. Then he took the lookout’s gun and shot every one of those Germans dead.”

  All the air in Jake’s lungs seemed stuck, and he couldn’t speak only blink.

  “Anyway. Grandpa John died while I was in Vietnam, and my grandmother sold that house by the river and moved in with my parents. I’ll always miss that place. Big piece of my childhood.”

  Jake looked at Jerry, noting that his eyes were still wistful and lost in memory. Then alertness returned with only the slightest shift in the brows. “Coon Rapids…” Jerry smirked. “What kind of name is that for a town? This isn’t Georgia. Don’t get me started.” Jerry exited the highway and pulled into the parking lot of a Burger King to check his information. “Should just be a mile or two down this road.”

  They drove through the town out into untended fields and meadows with thick unruly tufts of wild grass and sprawling bushes. The occasional homes along the road were run down, often trailer homes, surrounded by debris and tall weeds.

  Jerry pulled into just such a lot with an aging manufactured home on it that seemed to list gently to one side. The facade of the home looked to the road at a thirty degree angle, and, before it, gravel had been spread indiscriminately to keep the grass and weeds at bay enough to constitute a parking spot. At the edge of the lot sat the most noticeable feature of the property, a long school bus that looked to have hauled kids around not less than thirty years previous. The paint had been stripped off the bus and only replaced in disconnected patches, a quilt-work of indecision on color and poor follow through. Behind the bus, the sound of a circular saw rang out high and whining as if cutting through metal rather than wood.

  Jake didn’t unholster his weapon, but kept his hand inside his jacket on his hip. Jerry was first to step between the bus and the house and peer through.

  “Russell?”

  Another high-pitched whine emitted from the saw.

  Jerry stepped closer, keeping one hand close to his weapon as well. Before Jake could see what lay beyond, Jerry eased his posture and waved once with his shooting hand.

  “Russell Young. Mr. Young!”

  A man in khaki overalls looked up from his work station, wearing eye protection but no ear muffs. His first response was to deliver Jerry a glaring look, which Jerry responded to with a smile and a raised hand.

  The broad-shouldered, square-jawed man stepped away from his table, dusting himself off and removing his gloves.

  “What? Who are you?”

  “Russell Young?”

  “Maybe. What is this?” The man asked in a baritone.

  “I’m Agent Unger. We just need a word.”

  “I didn’t do nothing wrong. I already checked in with my PO and everything.”

  “So you are Russell Young?” Jerry asked in a placating tone.

  “Yeah.”

  Jake had only seen David laying down, but his older brother appeared thicker and taller which matched their photos. Their faces appeared similar, but where David had grown out his dirty blond hair, Russell kept his shorn close to his scalp. Little streaks of hair indicated to Jake that Russell had run clippers over his head on his own and hadn’t done a perfect job. Apart from the appearance of strength, Jake found nothing else about the man noteworthy, neither handsome nor ugly, no one feature that stood out from the rest, just another midwestern hodgepodge of Northern European genes.

  “I need to ask you a few questions, Russell.” Jerry flipped open a notepad. “I know the last thing you wanna do after getting out is talk with us, but it’s very important.”

  “What’s your business, then?”

  “What day did you get out of prison?”

  “Friday.”

  “Take me through that day.”

  “I got out, took the bus to Saint Cloud and bought four of them little breakfast sandwiches with the maple syrup in them. Then I waited there at the restaurant for an old friend. He drove me to check in with my PO and then brought me out here. That’s it.”

  “Have you left here since then?”

  Russell motioned back down the road. “Just to walk into town for necessaries and some canned goods. Stove out here ain’t up to snuff yet.” Russell ran his arm over his reddish, running nose.

  “You under the weather?” Jake asked.

  Russell gave him an unsettling look before his lip twitched and he spoke. “One of the fun parts of prison they don’t tell you about. Just when we all get over one bug, some new crop of inmates brings us another. I Lysol the bejesus out of my bunk and don’t shake hands, but they still get you.”

  Jake clicked his mouth in commiseration.

  “Okay, Russell.” Jerry looked over his note pad. “So you came straight here and basically haven’t left but for supplies.”

  “A friend from inside is letting me stay if I fix it up some. I don’t have the papers, but—”

  “Not here to trouble you over your living arrangements,” Jerry said.

  “You fixing up the house?” Jake asked. “How?”

  “I’ll get the basics running, electric, water, but then I’m gonna refit this old bus.” Russell pulled a rag from a back pocket and waved it. “Gonna be like an RV, but cheaper.”

  Jake wanted to look inside the house, but couldn’t think of a pretext that wouldn’t spook Russell.

  “That’s just swell,” Jerry said. “I seen something like that on the Facebook. You plan on doing much traveling?”

  “When I’m allowed and all. Maybe I’ll go someplace warmer in Winter, do odd jobs.”

  “You real handy?” Jake asked.

  “I do okay. People always need stuff fixed. I figure it’s as close as I’ll get to a real job now that I’m a felon.”

  “Don’t say that. There are programs, training, understanding employers.” Jerry clapped him on the arm. “You ain’t the first fella who needed a fresh start.”

  Jake narrowed his eyes, thinking Jerry was being a little too fatherly with Russell, who as far as Jake could tell was still a primo suspect.

  “Think you’d ever take your brother on a trip with you?” Jake asked.

  Russell pointed his unremarkable eyes at Jake, then tilted his head casually. “If he wanted to, sure. But I doubt he’d ever leave the Cities.”

  Jerry gave Jake a significant look, then said, “Russell, I guess the real reason we’re here today is about your brother.”

  Russell’s expression grew dark. “What’d he do?”

  “David was killed last night in his home. Your family home. I know this must be a shock.”

  Russell swallowed, and his knuckles went white around the rag he held. “What?” he breathed. Then louder, “What?”

  “Can we sit you down inside, fella?” Jake waved a hand to the door of the house.


  “This isn’t—this can’t be.” Russell’s gaze searched the ground. “I… I was gonna call him, I just… I just wanted to get settled. Now he’s gone?”

  “Come on, Russ.” Jerry threaded an arm under Russell’s and behind his back. He ferried the two-hundred-plus pounds of human sadness to the house, opened the door and pushed Russell inside.

  Jake took one more look around the exterior in all directions, then removed his hat and stepped through the low door.

  NINE

  The Hideout

  Russell fell onto an old maroon couch with a fabric like corduroy on one side. The rest of the fabric was missing on the right side, and what was left of the filling had blackened streaks and singe points. The edges of the fabric hadn’t frayed, because they’d melted in whatever fire had damaged the couch.

  “Can I make you a cup of tea or coffee?” Jerry offered Russell.

  “I got a beer on the counter.”

  Jerry picked up the forty ounce beer and considered it. “Ah, haven’t heard of this brand before.” He took the top off and looked around for a glass.

  “I don’t think forties require glassware,” Jake muttered.

  Jerry cocked an eyebrow, considering that. “A big beer for a big sadness.” He stepped close and offered it to Russell respectfully with both hands. Russell tipped it back and suds rolled to the raised bottom of the bottle as he guzzled away. He belched to the side and set the forty down on the coffee table, then held his head in his hands. “This can’t be real. Are you sure it was him?”

  “We saw him,” Jake said. “It was him, I’m afraid.”

  Jerry continued to offer condolences and sage words about the process of grief. Any cop who’d spent so many years on the force had informed a number of people their loved ones had died. Jerry seemed especially attuned to the task.

  Jake left him to it and surreptitiously began pulling out drawers and sifting through their sparse contents. He slipped into the bathroom, the gaudy pink bathtub and tile work assaulting his eyes. The cabinet held only an ancient bottle of painkillers. Jake opened it to make sure it was legit, then continued to search high and low, running his fingers around the base of the toilet and the tank, looking for any hint of hidden substances or weapons.

  Jake stood and used his ears rather than his eyes or fingers. He listen to the soft sobs Russell let out every few seconds, his unbelieving curses and Jerry’s occasional condolences.

  Jake turned his head, ears scanning, homing in on something else, a noise that seemed to be coming from another direction. For a moment, Jake considered that it was just sound bouncing off crooked walls. Then he took a step out of the bathroom into the master, and the sound grew fainter but more localized.

  Breathing perhaps, or rustling, maybe the beating of a heart Jake could feel through the soles of his boots. There was no telling what could alert the hunter to his prey, and Jake couldn’t be certain his prey was even human. Sometimes evidence spoke to him the same way, energy, vibrations. But in the dingy room with the forlorn queen bed frame and sagging mattress, with the water stains creeping infinitesimally across the ceiling, with the tattered curtains hanging by an unsecured rod that ran diagonally across the warped window glass, Jake knew he was close to something. He studied the room inch-by-inch, found where his prey lay and considered what to do.

  He couldn’t alert Jerry, as that would alert the momentarily distracted Russell, not to mention the possibly dangerous person hiding from him.

  Jake turned back into the bathroom and began to pull the door shut behind him. Just before it closed, he burst back trough it and leaped high in the air, arms and legs outstretched like a flying squirrel. He landed atop the rickety bed with enough impact to shatter already cracked bed posts and smash the box spring through the remaining slats. After the clatter, Jake felt the reassuring lump of something large writhing underneath him. Muffled shouts sounded from below as boots clomped from the living room.

  “What the hell?” Russell yelled.

  “Got a live one,” Jake called to Jerry.

  Jerry rushed forward and put a hand under the bed. Jake slid off and together they threw it to one side, revealing a dark-haired girl wearing only a loose flannel and her underpants, kicking and punching at the air above her. Russell rushed to her side, taking a knee and she batted at his arms until opening her eyes.

  “It’s me,” Russell said.

  “What the fuck!” she screamed. “Almost killed me.”

  Jake thumbed his nose. “Just a little belly flop.”

  The scantily clad girl didn’t appear to be armed, so the situation simmered quickly. Russell gave them dirty looks as he led her to the bathroom, but Jake for his part shot a defiant look right back.

  “What did the damn fool expect?” Jake asked Jerry under his breath.

  “Did you have to break their bed?”

  Jake looked over, surprised at having to defend himself to Jerry. “There coulda been a guy with an AK-47 under there. I’m suppose to just stick my face down there and say, ‘Hey, do you have the time’?”

  Jake rummaged around before pulling a female cut pair of jeans out of a bin. From one of the pockets he pulled a cheap burner phone.

  “Well, I suppose not.” Jerry said. “But you didn’t have to break the bed.”

  Jake stalked out and looked through the second bedroom for contraband before taking a seat on an old bench along the living room wall that looked like it had once been part of a church pew. He took his hat off, crossed one leg over the other and set it on his knee, then turned the phone on and scrolled through the listed calls made and received. There were nothing but sent calls to numbers with a 507 area code and one to a 612. Jake recognized 612; that was the area code for Minneapolis. His wife had kept her same phone number from home all her years in Texas.

  “Where’s the five-O-seven area code, Agent Unger?”

  “Oh…” Jerry stepped out into the living room and put his hands on his hips. “That’s pretty much all of Southern Minnesota below the Cities.”

  “Lot of ground,” Jake remarked to himself.

  When the young woman was ready to emerge, she did so wearing the same overlarge flannel but with the jeans Jerry had handed her though the door. She appeared sheepish, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears, which stuck out a little in a cute way. She was thin, without much for curves, but had glowing, olive skin and pleasant facial features. Despite wearing no makeup, by choice or by lack, and recently having a bed collapse on top of her, she was quite pretty.

  “Hey.” Jake sat forward on the bench and handed her the phone. “This is yours?”

  She accepted it, daring only to come within arms reach, then sat on the couch with the burned out spot. Russell stayed standing above her with his arms crossed. Jake looked them both over and judged their ages to be at least ten, maybe fifteen years apart.

  “Okay folks, we got quite a story here.” Jake motioned between them. “I’d love to hear it from the beginning. Now, we can take you both in and pry the story from you one backwards step at a time, or we can have us an honest little moment and be done.”

  “We don’t want to go back to the cities,” Russell said. “No one can know.”

  “Who can’t?” Jerry asked. “Your PO?”

  “No,” Russell said, swinging an arm, then holding it back against his chest. “Others.”

  “What’s your name, dear?” Jerry asked.

  She looked at Russell. He seemed perplexed but defeated by their presence. He made a small wave of his hand toward Jake.

  “My name is Marjorie. Marjie is what people call me though. Marjie Crowe.”

  “Where are you from?” Jerry asked.

  “I was born in Wisconsin, but grew up around Mankato some, Luverne, Sleighton, Madelia.”

  “Why’d you move around so much?”

  Marjie hugged her chest as if cold, but the air inside was a nice temperature even for Jake. “We went wherever our parents went. Mostly with ou
r mom.”

  “What did she do?” Jerry asked.

  Marjie’s face pinched up, and she shook her head. “Just odd jobs. Cleaning. Sewing.”

  Jake leaned forward again. “Marjie, I thought whoever was under that bed was dangerous, but you don’t seem so. Why did you hide from us?”

  “Why trouble with being seen?” She looked at them with green eyes that darkened at the edges with an anger Jake couldn’t quite understand.

  “Why trouble with hiding?” Jerry said. “No law against Russell here having a girlfriend.”

  Russell bit his lower lip, and Marjie looked around until she found a pack of cigarettes between the couch cushions. Russell provided her with a lighter.

  “So,” Jake asked, “who were you hiding from?”

  When no one rushed to answer him, Jake waved his hat. “Couldn’t be that anyone took issue with this little May-September romance?”

  “It’s not like that,” Russell said. “She’s the cousin of a friend. She needed a place to escape to. Where better than a place she has no connection to and…” Russell pointed to his chest with both thumbs. “…And with someone like me there to keep an eye?”

  Jake held up his hands, framing the scene to either side. “Okay, chief. Let’s take you at your word. Still, it seems pertinent for us to know who you’re running from,” he said. “Doubly so if you’re seriously afraid of them.”