Cold Land: A Mystery Thriller

by John Oakes

  “Sure you aren’t just hungry?” Jerry asked. “It’s getting late.”

  Jake sniffed. “As a matter of observation, I am famished.”

  “Even the greatest detectives have to eat. Well Sherlock Holmes maybe not, but he was doing a lot of cocaine.”

  “Break out the stash, Jerry.”

  Jerry didn’t break out a stash of cocaine, but he did take Jake to a fast casual restaurant called Tulliver’s. To Jake’s eye it was some blend of a classic burger joint mixed with a Long John Silver’s.

  “They got a walleye sandwich here that’s to die for.” Jerry took off his jacket and folded it beside him in the booth.

  “Walleye sandwich? You joking?”

  “What? Fancy folks eat raw fish all the time. What’s wrong with fried walleye on a bun?”

  “I don’t follow your argument. Besides, fish sandwich just feels wrong to say. Like ketchup doughnut.”

  Jerry ordered his walleye sandwich anyway, and Jake went with an approximation of his normal burger order. “I’ll take the Tulliver’s Classic with extra onion and pickles, no mayo.”

  Despite the hour — the place was full — their orders made it to the table in under ten minutes. Jake returned from the bathroom and sat across from Jerry who was eagerly taking his first bite of his walleye sandwich.

  Jake removed his hat and bowed his head. “Dear Lord, we thank you for this food…” He looked up and found Jerry frozen, mouth agape and looking guilty. A smile spread across Jake’s face and warmed him with mirth.

  Jerry lowered his sandwich and held up a finger. “Okay… You got me good, there.”

  They both laughed and tucked into their supper. Jake’s japing put him in the mood to talk and think, and his burger fed his soul, every calorie seeming to find its way right to his inner wellbeing. He began asking Jerry questions about what they’d encountered since early that day and Jerry answered around bites of food.

  “As far as that Russell Young,” Jerry said. “I didn’t sense anything out of the norm. Seemed properly shaken by his brother’s death. Not like he knew anything about it.”

  “What about him and the scantily clad girl I found?”

  “The girl you did a professional wrestling move on?” Jerry wiped his mouth. “Well, she was in her skivvies, wasn’t she.”

  “We know she likes older men,” Jake said out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Russell said her cousin Steve put him up to protecting her. If he was that protective to begin with, why would he leave her in some stabbin’ cabin with a newly paroled prisoner?”

  Jake doubled over, coughing on the burger which he’d almost aspirated. “Did you just say stabbin’ cabin?” he wheezed around his food.

  Jerry reddened.

  “Such colorful language, Jerry. You surprise me.”

  “I’m not some fuddy duddy.”

  “But you look a little embarrassed.”

  “Only because you’re making such a scene. Good Lord.” Jerry let out a low chuckle and sipped his soda.

  Jake sat straight, still laughing, trying to get control of himself. “Sorry. I think I ain’t slept properly in about three days. I’m a bit slap-happy.” Jake drank some water and coughed again. He wiped his eyes. “Ahh, wow. But yes, you make a fine point. Seems Steve Frazzi has quite a lot of faith in his friend Russell.”

  “Whether Russell is worthy of such trust is another matter.” Jerry motioned with a french fry. “At least he denied they were cavorting. Marjie may have been taking a nap is all.”

  “I didn’t see where Russell would have slept except for that burned out couch.”

  “We can put a pin in the great mystery of the stabbin’ cabin for now,” Jerry said. “Unless it’s pertinent to the case, it’s really none of our beeswax.”

  They ate quickly — Jake was impressed with how fast Jerry in his sixties could put down a meal — and set out for Steve Frazzi’s trailer on the outskirts of Mankato.

  It was a small trailer park, with only a couple dozen lots, but the lots were well spaced, many on the shore of a small lake. As Jerry pulled into the winding lane that threaded through the park, the wind picked up and piled dead leaves against the bases of the mobile homes. The place was run down even as far as trailer parks went, but Frazzi’s trailer stood out like the only home the tornado didn’t hit, looking wider, cleaner and newer than the rest. It sat at the end of the lane and was set back from it further than the other trailers were, framed from behind by a menacing tangle of naked elm and basswood branches.

  Jake stepped out of the cruiser, collar pulled high, hat pulled low. It was getting very dark with almost no moon to speak of, and the wind whipped hard, causing Jake to squint and breathe with strain. It all prevented him from taking in any more details about the park or Frazzi’s trailer, save for the moaning sound the naked trees made as they swayed and bent under the force of the wind.

  He stalked up the front steps and knocked on the door. When no answer came, Jake turned to the car and held his hands out in annoyance. Jerry had the headlights on still, illuminating the trailer, but blinding Jake as he looked back. Jake heard sharp words. Then the lights went out and the car turned off. As Jake’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he picked out a dark figure standing near the driver’s door.

  Jerry stepped out, hands reaching high.

  Jake leaped down the steps and had his revolver out and leveled at a target over Jerry’s left shoulder, all in half a second.

  “Jake, no.” Jerry motioned for him to lower his weapon. “Listen. We’re police. It would be a mistake to harm us. We only came to talk.”

  “So help me God,” Jake yelled, pistol still pointed. “I will blow a chunk of your body off if you don’t back down. I can’t tell which part ‘cuz it’s dark, but tempt me and you’ll be first to find out.”

  “We’re police,” Jerry said. “Who did you think we were? Are you in danger?”

  “Shit. Shit!” the assailant said in increasing volume, sounding desperate.

  “If you’ve made a mistake,” Jerry said, “we’ll accept an apology.”

  “Shit, umm—”

  Some caterwauling emanated from behind Jake near the house. Growing nearer it coalesced into a ululating war cry. He spun just in time to see the attacker holding a frying pan high in the air. “Alalalala!”

  Jake collapsed into a ball as fast as an armadillo and rolled over his shoulder to protect his head. The heavy skillet hammered into the crease between his ass and his upper hamstring, but he kept his attention on the attacker. She lost her balance swinging the heavy weapon and tumbled into the gravel and dead leaves. Still holding his pistol, Jake scrambled forward and pounced on his attacker, grabbing her by the collar and swinging a leg over her waist, practically sitting on her. He pressed the cold barrel of his pistol into her cheek. “Don’t move, now.”

  She went still, her voluminous dark curls resting on the ground like a blanket of rich earth.

  Jake hauled her up to her feet and turned her around. “Whoever you are, put your weapon down and step into the light,” he commanded.

  During the scuffle, Jake hadn’t seen Jerry take up position near the hood, putting the car between him and the other assailant. He had his weapon out now, but kept it low with his finger off the trigger.

  “This was probably a misunderstanding,” Jerry said again. “Come out now, or else it’s gonna have to be something more.”

  A man stepped from the shadows with a shotgun held by the stock, away from his body. He leaned it against the cruiser and kept his hands high. “Who are you?”

  “We’re police,” Jerry said, standing.

  “I know all the police around here. I don’t know you.”

  “We’re with the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension.” Jerry stepped around the cruiser. “If you’re in danger, we’re here to help.”

  “Don’t trust him, Stevo,” the woman said.

  “Shush.” Jake pushed her closer to the man. “Are you Steve Frazzi?” />
  The dark man looked from Jake to the woman he held, then dipped his chin in response.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?” Jerry asked. “That’s all we came here to do, son.”

  “Don’t let them in, Stevo,” the woman said breathlessly. “They cannot be trusted.”

  “Is this your wife?” Jerry asked.

  The man waved a hand. “She is my cousin once removed. Diana, calm down.”

  “They’re not coming in my trailer without a warrant.” Diana spat on the ground.

  “Gentlemen, perhaps we can put the guns away. Diana, go back inside. Apologize to the man you tried to hit.”

  Jake massaged at the growing pain in his rear. “Tried?”

  “I don’t know you. Stay out!” Diana waggled her chin and index finger simultaneously at Jake, then stalked to the door.

  Steve held his palms up and took a deep breath. “Sorry. Sorry.” He took another breath, clearly thinking. “There is a diner just down the road. We can talk there?”

  Jerry holstered his weapon under his arm. Jake shoved his back near his hip. “Ah, hell. Lead the way.”

  In the light of the diner, Jake got a better look at Steve Frazzi, about five-foot-eight with narrow shoulders, a slight build and long, straight, black hair. He wore an insulated denim jacket lightly studded with beads and semi-precious stones like topaz and turquoise, and had a darker skin tone than Jake and a slightly hooked nose like a bird, giving him a regal quality. A shadow of dark facial hair had sprouted since he’d shaved earlier that day.

  Jerry ordered coffees for the table and a soda for himself. The coffees came with a bowl of little creamer cups and a sugar shaker. Steve used the sugar liberally but with no cream.

  “Steve, can I call you Steve? My name is Jerry Unger. I’m with the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. This is Jake Adler. He’s an associate up from Texas graciously sharing his expertise with us.”

  “Long way,” Steve said to Jake, stirring his sugar into his coffee.

  “Tell me about it.”

  Steve looked back to Jerry with relaxed facial features that Jake associated with truly confident men and women. “So are you here to arrest me?”

  “Are you a criminal?” Jerry asked in an equally relaxed manner.

  Steve laughed low in his throat. “That’s sort of hard to answer.”

  “Uh-oh. Usually the non-criminal types give you a simple ‘no.’”

  “Let’s just say the way I grew up never gave me a chance at purity. But I don’t think I am a bad man, if that suits for an answer.”

  “Did you grow up on the Res?” Jerry asked

  “Part Chippewa, part Eastern Dakota. I was born in Iowa but moved around a bunch.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-seven next week.”

  “Why were you armed and ready for trouble?” Jerry asked.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “It have anything to do with Marjie?” Jake asked.

  Steve had picked up his coffee to blow on it, but froze, peering over the rim of his mug at them. He finished taking his sip. “Marjie…” He bunched his mouth. “Not sure I know a Marjie.”

  “Marjie Crowe?” Jake asked. “She says she knows you. Said you’re her cousin and you hid her out in the boondocks in a rickety old house.”

  Steve licked his lips. “Where is she?”

  “She’s fine,” Jerry said. “We left her just as we found her. With Russell.”

  Steve looked over his shoulder, then spoke lower. “How the hell did you find her? I took great pains.”

  “We weren’t looking for her, just Russell.” Jake took a sip of his coffee. “Russell’s brother was murdered last night. Russell only got released three days ago. Seemed like we had to check it out.”

  “Wait. David? David Young?” Steve’s face paled half a shade.

  “Murdered,” Jerry said.

  “How?”

  “All we can say,” Jake said, “is it was probably someone David knew to some extent.”

  Steve blinked repeatedly, gaze lost on the sugar shaker. “God. That poor dweeb.”

  “Dweeb?” Jerry asked.

  “Yeah, he was a total nerd.” Eyes still fixed on the sugar shaker, Steve furled a hand. “Like in the classic sense. He could be annoying, but he was a nice enough guy. Who’d want to kill him?”

  A silence strung out between the three of them, until Steve looked up and saw the same question, the same mystery reflected in their stares.

  “We think that our problem and your problem might intersect somehow,” Jerry said. “This isn’t my first dance. I know how it is with family and small Minnesota towns. People talk faster than the wind blows. Of course you’re concerned about blowback.” Jerry splayed his fingertips on the table. “We understand and we’ll be sensitive to that. But you have a responsibility to be honest with us.”

  Steve hung his head. “Goddam it. Murder?” He looked up, then just as quickly hung his head again. “We don’t need this.” Steve shook his head over his coffee. When he looked up again, there was something forlorn in his eyes, but something eager. Jake had seen it before—the lifting of the secrets, the unburdening of the heart.

  “You guys from Minneapolis?” Steve asked.

  “Saint Paul,” Jerry said.

  “It’s late. How long do you have?”

  Jerry’s mustache kicked up to one side in a surprised smirk. “Well, friend, we have all the time we need.”

  “You need to stay the night.” Steve pressed a finger down into the table. “Here in Mankato.”

  “We can hear all you have to say,” Jerry said. ‘You let us worry about the drive home.”

  “No it’s not that.” Steve leaned forward. “You gotta be here.”

  Jake saw something feral and afraid in Steve’s eyes.

  “You gotta see it with your own eyes,” Steve said.

  The older gentleman who’d brought their coffees stepped up with a coffee pot, ready to refill their mugs. “And can I get you gentlemen anything started in the kitchen? It’s pork chop night.”

  TWELVE

  Meat and Potatoes

  The Loon Pond Diner served a pork chop with applesauce, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans with slivered almonds all for $7.99 on special. Jake had eaten only an hour before, but like a starved man he couldn’t resist the opportunity for more wholesome calories. Something about his long, sleep-deprived trip north, combined with jumping straight into a new case, in a brand new environment, had a disorienting effect. Since rest wasn’t an option yet, food was a crutch he could lean on.

  “I’ll be honest,” Jake said, scooping potatoes and gravy onto his next bite of chop. “I’ve never understood the applesauce thing, but this is a damn fine pork chop.”

  “It’s sage.” Steve sliced through his meat and took a bite, nodding at the flavor. “That’s the secret. Sage.”

  “You a cook?” Jerry asked.

  “Maybe some day if I keep learning,” Steve said. “No. Rex, the old fella, one night he was drinking gin and tonics behind the counter, and, well, he got loose and told me all the secrets to his kitchen.”

  “Speaking of closely held secrets,” Jake said, “you gonna spill the beans on why your cousin tried to break my ass in half with that cast iron skillet?”

  “Why is everyone we meet someone else’s cousin?” Jerry asked. “At some point, someone either has to be a brother or sister or just a friend.”

  “We’re all cousins. Truly. Marjie has a brother, though. He’s been a bit of a problem.”

  “How so?”

  “The last few years he’s been getting involved with some shady stuff. Shadier than normal. There’s a reason our family members move around a lot. We tend to wear out our welcome. But here in Mankato, I got a good thing. So does Diana. I’ve got friends outside the family, now. I’ve got, like networking connections, like a real businessman.”

  “And your cousin—what’s his name?—he’s been
upsetting things?”

  “His name is Kenny Crowe. He used to come and go once or twice a year. But it’s been one stay after another and just getting longer.” Steve wiped his mouth with a napkin, then clutched it tight in a fist and leaned forward. “I think he’s developed some relationships of his own that are keeping him here. Relationships that we don’t approve of, the kind leading him down the path to trouble.”

  “What kind?” Jerry asked.

  “The kind of trouble that could make your current meddling seem silly in comparison.”

  “That’s something.”

  “If people in our family color outside the lines, we do so with family or at least with their tacit consent. That way nothing ever gets out of hand. But Kenny’s working with some bad dudes.”

  “Is Zach Vane working with him?” Jake asked.

  “You know Zach?”

  “Marjie…”

  “Oh, right. Well, I actually don’t know. Haven’t heard from Zach.”

  “But he’s who you’re keeping Marjie from? They were dating.” Jake set down his utensils and sipped his coffee.

  “Marjie just needed to get out of Mankato entirely.”

  “Zach wasn’t abusing her, was he?”

  “No.” Steve made dismissive shake of his head. “Zach isn’t like that. He’s just not husband material, and now he’s getting closer with Kenny.”

  “He’s actually here in town over at a seedy motel,” Jake said.

  “He is?” Steve’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose that makes sense.”

  “Looks like we may need to find our own seedy motel,” Jerry said. “Tell us a little more about why we need to stay the night.”

  “I just need you to see what I’m seeing. Tell me I’m crazy when I’m done.”

  Jake leaned back and patted his stomach. “Not like I got a place to stay in Saint Paul anyhow.”

  “Well, I’ll call my wife and Melinda while I’m at it,” Jerry said.

  “Meet me here at a quarter ’til four in the morning,” Steve said, standing from the table. “Just pull off the road. I’ll be waiting.”

  He left.

  Jerry picked up the check. “Well, I can think of one motel to stay at.”