Cold Land: A Mystery Thriller

by John Oakes

  “Hey man, you come here and tell me my brother died? Fine. But don’t sit here and harass me and my friends.”

  “Harass you?” Jake shot to his feet and sauntered toward the big man. “Russell, buddy, your brother just got himself stabbed, and we’ve got little clue as to why. Now, come to find you got yourself a little refugee stashed away. Hiding from someone dangerous.” Jake over-annunciated his words and widened his eyes to drive his simple point home.

  Russell swallowed and worked his tongue like a thirsty man. “You’re saying they killed my brother?” He pointed at Marjie.

  “We don’t know anything like that at the moment,” Jerry said.

  “Would your brother have met these people who could give her problems?” Jake motioned to Marjie.

  Russell picked up his big beer and walked toward a window. He took a big swig, then shook his head. “I honestly can’t think how.”

  “It’s possible,” Marjie said sheepishly from the couch.

  Jake let her contradictory words hang in the air, wondering to what extent they’d surprise Russell.

  “How long were you in the clink?” Jerry asked him. “Eighteen months or so?”

  “When did you meet Marjie’s people?” Jake asked.

  “I dunno, lemme think.” Russell balled his fist up in frustration.

  “It was at a Halloween party, a few years ago,” Marjie said. “We came up to see friends in the Cities.”

  “That’s when I met you? I remember you were dressed like Rambo and I thought that was cool. Then I guess I met Steve the year before.” Russell looked to Jerry and Jake. “Steve’s good people. He was one of the only friends who came to see me in prison.”

  “Looks like he had an ulterior motive,” Jake said. “Did he put you up to this?”

  “That’s a little cynical,” Jerry said.

  “Steve only asked about this the week before I got out, and he’d been coming the whole time and never asked for nothing.”

  “What’s the nature of your relationship?” Jake asked. “What’s Steve’s last name?”

  “I shouldn’t say,” Russell said.

  Jake stepped closer, keeping a fist inside his hat. “Amigo, you forget that we’re trying to solve your brother’s murder.”

  “Well, Steve didn’t kill nobody.”

  “How about you just let us conduct our investigation? Maybe Steve has info we can use to identify the killer. Don’t make this harder for us, Russ. These things tend to evaporate if you don’t nail ‘em down quick.”

  “Steve Frazzi,” Marjie said. “He’s my cousin. I can give you his number.” She held up her phone with one hand, puffing away quickly with the other. “Russell’s right. Steve can be a little self-righteous, but he’s a good guy.”

  Russell stepped back to Marjie and took a knee beside her. “Do you think your brother could have done this?” he asked in a whisper.

  The pointed question occasioned a brow-lifted glance between the two cops.

  Marjie’s face darkened and her head threatened to pull back into her chest cavity like a turtle.

  “All right, folks. Time to draw us the family tree.” Jake clapped his hands. “Sooner we get a read on the situation, the sooner we’ll leave you to your hiding.”

  TEN

  A Man in Mankato

  Jerry drove with a little more intention as they passed Minneapolis’ western suburbs, heading south. He stopped in a place called Shakopee only to gas up. When he went inside the gas station to get a soda, Jake got Melinda on the phone to give her the run down.

  “The brother’s name is Kenny Crowe, AKA Ken, AKA Kennick. Got the feeling he is dangerous. Probably has a record. Seems to drift around the southern part of the state.”

  “Got it,” Melinda said.

  “And they mentioned a cousin who they call a good guy. Steve Frazzi. Two Zs like in pizza. Then the one I’m most curious about: Zack Vane. He seems to be an on-and-off boyfriend or friend of the family. They weren’t very forthcoming, but this is the guy I think she’s hiding from.”

  “Then let’s find the son of a bitch.”

  “I like the way you think, Miss Melinda.”

  “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can get someone to run these names for me.”

  “We’re heading down to Mankato to talk to this Steve Frazzi.”

  “What do you want me to do with your twins?”

  Jake pulled the phone from his mouth and cursed. Then asked, “How long can we keep them there?”

  “As long as we want, within reason. I could have Nelson pop out for food and a movie. Those boys look like a Pixar film would keep ‘em docile like a pair of toddlers.”

  “Once again, Miss Melinda, I trust your judgment.”

  “Well, I picked you out of the ether, didn’t I? Keep proving me right. I’ll take care of things here. How’s working with Jerry?”

  “He’s a soft touch, but a good guy.”

  Melinda hummed in reply.

  “And he’s a little on the morose side.”

  “That so? How do you mean?”

  Jake heard whistling, Jerry approaching the car from the rear. “Let’s just say, I get why he ended up at the Bureau.”

  Jerry sat down and started the car. “We good?”

  Jake nodded. “Jerry’s back. We got it from here, ma’am.”

  “Roger, roger.” Melinda hung up.

  “Got those names in to Melinda.” Jake pocketed his phone. “We’re good to head south.”

  “Away we go.” Jerry started the cruiser up and sipped at his soda as they pulled away.

  Dusk fell as they entered Mankato, and the weather app on Jake’s phone marked the temperature at thirty degrees Fahrenheit. He buttoned his coat all the way up and pushed his hat lower on his head as he stepped out of the vehicle in the parking lot of a one-story motel. A chill breeze blew past, cutting Jake’s exposed face with pain. He blew out his lungs like a man who’d just taken a plunge in icy water.

  No way it could be a full thirty degrees, he told himself. Surely he’d felt that a few times in his life before. Thirty degrees couldn’t possibly feel that cold. The app hadn’t changed its tune, but further down the page “Feels Like” read seventeen degrees. Jake bit on a lip and slammed his eyes shut. “And it’s supposed to get how cold in the winter?” he asked.

  “Well, we’ll get a few cold snaps down to minus thirty give or take. But don’t worry. For the most part it’ll be between zero and fifteen.”

  “What about the Feels Like?”

  “Oh, you mean the wind chill?” Jerry rubbed his nose. “Oh, it’s best not to even think about that.”

  “Sweet Lord,” Jake muttered.

  “But they’re real good about plowing the roads here. So the snow doesn’t bother you much.”

  “Outstanding,” Jake said, focused only on the prospect of months on end of below freezing weather.

  “Figure we should get inside if you’re that cold.” Jerry jerked his head toward the seedy motel’s front doors.

  They trudged inside and an underaged girl with short dark hair and a colorful print blouse greeted them at the narrow desk, framed on either side by thick walls.

  “Reservation?” She barely eyed them before reaching for the computer mouse.

  “No, miss. Is your mother or father here?”

  She gave a slight roll of her eyes and slid off her stool toward the back. Seconds later a young woman with a shining smile said hello.

  “Sorry to bother you ladies,” Jerry said. “We’re law enforcement, and we are looking for someone who’s staying here. A Steve Frazzi. Two Zs.”

  The two women looked at the computer screen. The mother seemed confused by something and the daughter corrected her in their native tongue, Jake had no clue what. Maybe something South Asian. He wasn’t much for linguistics. He’d grown up in Texas and worked in law enforcement and still had trouble ordering his eggs the way he liked them in Spanish.

  “No Steve Frazzi,” the youn
g-looking mother said.

  “You sure he was the one Marjie said was staying here?” Jake asked.

  Jerry looked at his list. “Could you check for any other names? How about Crowe? With an E at the end.”

  Another shake of the head.

  “Vane?” Jerry asked, squinting at his own handwriting. “Zack Vane?”

  “Vane?” the daughter asked with a hint of recollection. “Yeah mama—” She continued speaking in their tongue.

  “Ah, yes,” the mother said. “Zachary Vane. Room One-Twelve. You are police?”

  Jerry showed her a badge. Jake undid his buttons and pulled his jacket behind his revolver. He gave her a nod and a wink. People didn’t always know what to make of a credential shoved in their face, but a gleaming revolver often did the trick.

  The motel owner smiled big and said something in her language that made her daughter blush, groan and drag her mother away from the desk.

  Jake chuckled, then turned to Jerry, hand on his weapon. “One-Twelve.”

  They walked down the cramped hallway on overly soft carpet; it gave like turf the morning after a good rain.

  Jerry knocked on the door, and soon footsteps could be heard by the creaking of the subfloor. Jerry stood in plain sight of the peep hole, not how Jake had been taught to call on potentially dangerous people.

  “Who is it?” the gruff voice inside asked.

  “My name’s Jerry Unger.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I was hoping to introduce myself in person. Can we chat?”

  No response came from beyond the door. Then a deadbolt turned, and the door opened. “What is it?” the man asked somberly, as if trying to avoid calling attention.

  “I don’t mean to alarm you, sir, but I’m a law enforcement officer. You’re not in any trouble. We were just hoping to talk to you. You are Zachary Vane?”

  Vane eyed Jake.

  “This is my colleague. Jake Adler,” Jerry said. “If you don’t want to let us in, we could always chat here in the hallway.”

  Jake squinted at Jerry. The old fella had picked up on Vane’s nervousness at being seen just as Jake had.

  “No. One second. One second, all right?”

  The door shut and a few seconds later Vane allowed them in. Vane sat on a corner of the queen bed with its floral duvet, one leg tucked under the other. He wore a branded grey sweater and grey sweats with matching red piping up the sleeves and legs. The pant hems rode a little high on his ankle and the cuffs a little high on his wrists, as if he’d grown a size larger since buying them or taken them from a smaller man. He was indeed a large man, taller and thicker than Jake, but the undersized clothes gave him the appearance of even greater size. Below his cuffs, dark hair stood out on his wrists matching what peeked out from his chest. His face was clean shaven as was his head, but his swarthiness threatened to burst forth again, covering his head and face within a few hours.

  Jerry took a seat at the table by the window. He looked down at its surface. “Oh, doing the Times Crossword, eh?”

  Vane grunted.

  “Looks like this week was a tough one.”

  “I’m new to it,” Vane said.

  “Didn’t get a chance to do today’s crossword, myself,” Jerry said. “Let’s see here. Nine Across. Five letters. Not glossy. Hmm.”

  “Matte.”

  “Pardon?” Jerry looked up at Jake.

  “Matte.” Jake rubbed on hand over the other, and spelled it. “M-a-t-t-e.”

  “Ahh, well. There you go.” Jerry put the paper down. “I won’t waste your time, Mr. Vane. We’re looking into a couple matters that might concern you. Have you been traveling?”

  “Me? I travel for work.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I sell Bibles.” Vane laid a dead eyed stare on Jerry that was either dumb or contemptuous, Jake wasn’t sure which.

  Jerry smiled. “Which version?”

  “Just the usual.” Vane’s face was a blank mask. His thick lips stayed pressed together when he finished speaking.

  “And where does your sales route take you?” Jerry asked.

  “All over.”

  “Which states?”

  He frowned. “Eh… Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, Dakotas. I go where I’m sent.” He looked from Jerry up to Jake, and something menacing framed his face.

  Jake’s natural inclination was to fire back when toyed with. “You kill David Young?”

  Vane’s expression betrayed no shock. One eyebrow lifted and he shook his head. “No.”

  “Where were you last night?” Jerry asked.

  “Hard to say.” Vane drew a hand down over his mouth. “Must have been out selling Bibles or was back here resting.”

  Zachary Vane had apparently had his share of conversations with police before. Jake looked over at Jerry and saw something harder in his jawline. The old fella might be a bit of a soft touch, but he knew what he was dealing with. Jake watched to see how he’d handle Vane.

  Jerry pulled out a notepad and leafed through it. “Do you know a Marjie Crowe?”

  Little twitches of recognition, of alarm. Jake saw it plainly in the man’s face.

  “Yeah, I know her.”

  “Any chance you’ve seen her recently?” Jerry asked. “She seems to have been missing a few days.”

  “Missing?” Vane’s eyes clouded and for the first time he seemed on unsteady ground.

  “How old are you, Mr. Vane?” Jake asked.

  “Thirty six. Why?”

  “Marjie was a young girl.” Jake examined his fingernails. “Just curious why she’d date someone so much older.”

  “Who said we dated?”

  “It’s not much of a secret.”

  “I’m not a psychologist,” Vane said. “Some girls like older men. Big fucking deal.”

  “You usually like to date young girls?”

  “Fuck you, man.”

  Jake shrugged.

  “Marjie is old for her age,” Vane huffed. “You know what I mean. More mature. Who are you to judge me?” Vane stood and let his bulky fists drop to his waist.

  “No need for posturing or insults,” Jerry said.

  “He’s right,” Jake said. “Calm your ass down.”

  “So where’s Marjie?” Jerry asked, when Vane wouldn’t break his heated gaze away from Jake.

  Vane’s fists relaxed and he showed his palms. “I haven’t heard from her. I tried texting, calling. She hasn’t responded since I seen her last week.”

  “Where did you see her?” Jerry asked.

  “Here in Mankato. At her cousin’s house.”

  “Which cousin?”

  “Tasha. She’s an old friend of mine.”

  “Anything suspicious about Marjie’s behavior?” Jerry asked. “Anything you remember might help us find her.”

  Vane shook his head. “You think she could be dead or something?”

  “I have no idea. Has she ever traveled alone before or ran away?”

  “I think so, here and there. It’s not uncommon.” Vane licked his lips. “So what’s this talk of a murder?”

  “Did you know David Young? Or his brother Russell?”

  “Russell Young, yeah. So Russell’s dead?”

  “No, his younger brother,” Jake said.

  “Oh. How?”

  “We shouldn’t share details of an open case,” Jerry said.

  “Knife.” Jake tapped his own chest. “Right into his heart.”

  “I didn’t know David.” Vane shook his head. “That’s too bad.”

  “You plan to be traveling again soon?” Jerry asked.

  “I have no firm plans.”

  “Well, then you be sure to call me at this number when you figure things out.” Jerry handed Vane his card.

  “Bureau of Criminal Apprehension?” Vane asked.

  “That’s the general idea.” Jerry stood and pocketed his wallet where he kept his business cards. “And call if you remember anything strange about Marjie,
or if anyone you know has any info.”

  “Okay,” Vane said tentatively.

  Jerry opened the door for Jake who tipped his hat at Vane and looked into his eyes again. When he’d seen what he could, he nodded and left.

  ELEVEN

  His Cousin's Keeper

  “What did you make of our friend?” Jerry asked, as they stepped into the cold air again.

  Jake pulled his collar up to his earlobes. “Big. Shifty. He’s definitely a criminal of some shade.”

  “What else?”

  “He cares about Marjie. I mean, she hates him for some reason, but he’s genuinely worried for her safety. He’s a hairy sumbitch too, not that it matters. And I guess we both noticed that he wasn’t fixing to be seen in that hallway.”

  “No, he wasn’t. Got the feeling Mankato is home to much of his extended family. But he isn’t keen to be there.”

  “Almost seemed like he’s laying low.”

  “Why hide in your home town?” Jerry asked.

  “Good question,” Jake said, squeezing his arms to his chest. “What now?”

  “We got this Steve Frazzi to talk to. Marjie and Russell made it seem like he might be more helpful.”

  Jake got in the passenger seat feeling hopeless. He felt hopeless that David Young’s killer would reveal themselves, hopeless at the prospect of spending any amount of time in Minnesota, hopeless that, even if he accomplished both things, his marriage still might not survive.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “I’m having a hard time finding words.”

  “You not feeling so hot?”

  “No, Mister Jerry, I’m not.”

  “Something physical or emotional?”

  “Dare I say emotional?”

  “Well, what’s got you upset?”

  “The whole reason I’m up here is to make things work with my wife. For my kids.”

  “That’s a pretty noble reason. Why be upset?”

  “I just am losing heart. This case has us running all over with little for clues.”

  “Something will turn up. Still got people to talk to.”

  “Yeah.”