Cold Land: A Mystery Thriller

by John Oakes

  Zach waggled his head, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I know.”

  “Any idea why Russell came here tonight thinking you killed his brother?”

  “I got no idea. I’m as surprised as you.” Zach held his hands out.

  “Why are you here, Zach?” Jake put his hands on his hips. “You got family in town, but you’re living in a motel. What gives? You’re trying not to be seen by somebody.”

  Zach appeared to look for an answer then screwed his fists into his eyes. “I don’t need to explain nothing to you. That guy bashed his way into my room. I didn’t do nothing wrong here.”

  “No.” Jake flipped the small table Russell had thrown back onto its legs and laid the crowbar on it. “I guess you didn’t.”

  Zach looked up at him. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead along with a look of surprise.

  Jake judged Zach for a man who might have had some poor relations with cops in the past. So he set a chair on its legs and sat, softening his approach. “I know it’s not pleasant having cops around, especially when — well let’s just say when you live on the fringes of society. How’s that?”

  Zach met his gaze.

  “I don’t think I’m a guy who’s a threat to you,” Jake said. “I wish you’d be real with me.”

  “I’m always real.”

  “But you’re not being totally truthful with me, Mister Zach. That we both know.”

  Zach lowered his head, seemingly with fatigue, then lifted it back up and thumbed his nose to the side. “Nope. I don’t owe nobody anything.”

  The battered door was unsalvageable. When Russell assaulted Zach’s defenses, the lock had been ripped from the door, along with the chain, and one of the hinges had been torn off the frame. As Jake left Zach’s room, he had to lift the door up from its diagonal position to get out, then tried to find a way to position it out of the way. Since the lower hinge held on, Jake had no choice but to leave it hanging awkwardly across the doorway.

  Jerry had Russell sitting on a bench in the cold outside, so Jake ran to his room to get dressed, then ran back to relieve Jerry so he could do the same.

  “Why’d you come here, Russell?” Jake asked once they were alone.

  Russell hung his head. “You got a smoke?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Can you ask Zach for one? I know he smokes.”

  “You want me to ask the man you just assaulted for a smoke?”

  Russell got up and pushed the door open to the lobby. “Hey Zach. If you didn’t kill David then at least lemme bum a smoke.”

  Jake looped an arm around Russell’s chest, pulling him backward. “Sit down, ya jackass. You smell worse than a hobo on a hot day.” He pushed Russell back onto the bench. “Move again and I’ll cuff you.” He scratched his head, wishing he’d put on his hat.

  Zach turned the corner and held up a pack of smokes, as if asking permission to approach.

  Jake put his hands on his hips. “Well, would you look here. A peace offering.” He pointed down at Russell. “You better find your please and thank yous. And don’t move a muscle.”

  Jake opened the door and waved Zach closer. He accepted the pack, handing one cigarette to Russell and returning it.

  “Can I smoke too?” Zach asked.

  “One at a time.”

  Jake kept the door open only the width of his boot.

  “There’s obviously been some misunderstanding,” Zach said. “I really didn’t do anything to anybody. I don’t think I ever even met your brother.”

  “But that’s the thing exactly.” Russell lit up and handed the lighter back. “You woulda gone to my house, looking for a guy who fit my general look. And you’d have found my brother and thought he was me, and then killed him.”

  “For what?” For Zach Vane’s size and sinister look, he defended himself with a remarkable softness.

  “Russell,” Jake said. “I told you, the person who killed your brother probably knew him. Knew him well.”

  “Why on earth do you think I’d wanna do that?” Zach asked, growing menacing and hard again. “Cause of my family? We don’t kill people, white boy, even if I did know him.”

  “Why? Well, I figured you heard about Marjie and got the wrong idea,” Russell said.

  Zach froze. “Marjie? What did you say?”

  Russell looked up askance. “That Marjie was shacking up with me,” he said, exhaling smoke. “Figured you heard that and went ballistic looking for where I lived.” Russell calmly furled his cigarette, as if realizing Zach truly wasn’t at fault.

  “Marjie’s shacking up with you?” Zach seemed to inflate to his full frightening stature until he practically levitated.

  “Oh shit.” Jake slipped his foot out of the doorway and yanked on the handle of the front door, holding it shut as Zach slammed himself into it, roaring and panting.

  “Calm down, Mister Zach,” Jake said. “It ain’t like that. Marjie is just laying low. Your friend Steve Frazzi had Russell look out for her. That’s all.”

  “Come here.” Zach pulled at the door handle from the inside. The force launched Jake forward with it, but he dug his heels in and pulled it closed again.

  Zach yanked it open, and despite putting a boot on the doorframe, Jake could barely hold on. Russell scrambled to help, and with Jake slammed the door closed. “Dammit Russell,” Jake said. “Tell him it’s all platonic! Tell him you and Marjie didn’t do anything funny!”

  Russell looked to Zach then to Jake. The truth couldn’t have been more honestly plastered across his face. Russell didn’t even try to deny it. “Hey man, she took a shine to me. That’s the way it happened. I’ve been in prison!”

  Zach roared again and beat at the glass door with both fists.

  “You couldn’t have lied?” Jake asked. “What kind of felon are you? Help me hold this door.”

  With Russell’s help the door was now immovable. Zach gave up and stalked off to his room.

  “You think he’s coming back with the crowbar?” Russell asked.

  “Let’s hope that’s all,” Jake said, thinking of the acetylene tanks.

  Sure enough, Zach rounded the corner holding his crowbar, huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf as he marched toward them.

  “Oh, hell. Russell, you better get ready to run.”

  “I don’t run so good.”

  “Then start now!”

  Zach raised the crow bar.

  “Stop yourself,” Jerry shouted from behind. “Drop the weapon. I will shoot.”

  Zach’s eyes had gone bloodshot with rage, and he couldn’t control himself. Jake readied for him to smash through the glass door, but Zach managed to at least deflect his ire and planted the claw of his crowbar into the lobby TV, mounted high in the corner. He ripped it down off its mount, tearing it from the wall, and beat at the ground with it, shards of plastic zipping away and cords flailing like whips.

  “That’s enough,” Jerry yelled. “Now on your knees.”

  Zach tore his crowbar free and hurled it to the ground. It skipped across the cut pile carpeting and came to a rest under a table full of brochures on local attractions. Zach fell to his knees and put his hands on his head. He grimaced, eyes clenched shut, just as halogens and flashing red and blue lights flooded in from behind Jake and illuminated the motel lobby.

  FOURTEEN

  The Job

  The Mankato cops took control of the situation and ordered Jake and Russell to place their hands on the hood. Jake had spent most of his career in plain clothes, so he knew the best thing was to patiently give the locals a minute to identify those involved. Until they did, he took comfort in the pleasant warmth of the engine on his bare hands. “Maybe I can stand the Minnesota weather,” Jake said. “I’ve been outside a full fifteen minutes, and I ain’t died.”

  “It’s only November. This is nothing,” Russell said.

  “I know. I’m just saying, maybe it’s all about staying moving. Harnessing the body’s natural heat reser
ves.”

  “Maybe. You should get a better coat though. And I doubt the cowboy hat and boots are gonna work.”

  “Well, that’s a damn shame.”

  Once the two Mankato cops got the lay of the land, they apologized to Jake and put Russell in handcuffs.

  “Texas Rangers, eh?” Officer Gedry asked eagerly. He had a crew cut and a clear complexion that made him look younger than he probably was. “That’s quite an outfit.” As he spoke, he filled out his notes.

  “Yeah.”

  “Long way to Texas. What are you doing all the way up here?”

  “I got family up here that needs me. So, I was doing a ride with The Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, seeing if it might be a good fit for me.”

  A grin pulled at the corner of Gedry’s mouth and he looked over at his associate, a bulky woman of forty-some years. “The Bureau of Criminal Apprehension?” she asked. “I thought they disbanded that outfit.”

  “It still exists,” Jake said. “It’s just… smaller.”

  “Yeah, I heard a thing or two,” Gedry said. “It used to be a hot unit, but now it’s just… well…” He looked up from his notes and gave Jake a fawning and slightly unsettling once over. “But you, a Texas Ranger, you oughta be looking for a job with the Highway Patrol Command or maybe the Federal Marshall’s office. That’s my plan anyhow.” Gedry leaned in, gaze floating toward Jerry still inside. “The BCA is kind of a joke, you know.”

  Jake nodded. “I’ll take that under advisement.” As they put Russell in the cruiser, he asked, “What’s gonna happen to him?”

  “We’re booking him tonight on destruction of property and drunk and disorderly. Guessing he’ll make the breathalyzer sing. Have to see if the prosecutor wants to push breaking and entering or assault. Gotta see what his PO wants to recommend, too.”

  “Damn, Russell.” He watched the unfortunate grieving fellow hang his head in the back of the cruiser. “Go easy on him,” Jake pleaded. “His brother was just murdered. He’s salvageable.”

  Gedry gave a non-committal nod and went inside to fetch Zach. When the second cruiser arrived, he and his partner led Zach outside. Zach pleaded with Jake, as he passed by in cuffs. “You saw Marjie? Where is she? Where’s he keeping her?”

  Jake shook his head and looked away.

  “Welp.” Jerry startled Jake, who hadn’t seen him sidle up close. “Any chance we’re getting sleep before we have to meet Steve Frazzi?”

  “I’m a little worked up to be honest,” Jake said.

  Jerry grunted. “I need a diet soda, then. You might fire up that coffee maker in the lobby if it isn’t broken.”

  They sipped their drinks and helped the motel owner clean up.

  “Ma’am,” Jake said. “You should get some sleep. We can clean.”

  “Why you no sleep?” She waved a hand down the hallway, with a broom in the other. “You go sleep. I clean,” she insisted.

  “We have to stay up,” Jake said. “We might as well—”

  “No stay up!” the owner said vociferously, but seemingly out of concern. “You go bed. You sleep. You buy room, you sleep.”

  Jake laughed and gave up trying to explain. Once they got the lobby picked up, Jake showed Jerry around Zach’s room. “He had these acetylene tanks lying on their side under the bed, like he was trying to keep them out of sight. Has a torch for them too.”

  “Hmm.” Jerry sipped his soda.

  “Something about that Zach fella was off.” Jake scratched his hatless head. “Something about this whole investigation is off.”

  “Maybe we’ll find out how to make sense of it in an hour or so when we meet Steve.”

  “Can’t believe Russell Young just put himself right back in prison,” Jake said. “He seemed like an okay sort, even if his old lady neighbor thought he was a creep.”

  Jake refilled his coffee cup and got in the car. The temperature reading was thirty-one degrees Fahrenheit.

  “Is that cold for this time of year, by any chance?” Jake asked hopefully.

  “I’d say it’s a little warmer than average, but not unseasonable. Why do you ask?”

  “I dunno. Guess I might be sticking around.”

  “You don’t say. With the Bureau?”

  “Melinda might pull some strings, especially if we can do something big like solving David Young’s murder.”

  “Melinda is resourceful.” Jerry touched the side of his nose with a knowing look.

  “Are you saying she can get us cocaine?”

  “No. Heavens to—no! Just saying I know how much she does for the Bureau.”

  Jake was already laughing.

  “Don’t put me on like that. It’s not fair at this hour.” Jerry’s mustache twitched. “So, what do you suppose was going on with Zach Vane?”

  “I think he was here for a specific reason, but it wasn’t something he wanted known.”

  “Acetylene tanks and a crowbar?” Jerry clucked with his tongue. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

  They arrived in the empty diner lot far ahead of the meeting time for mere lack of anything better to do. Jerry dozed while Jake kept an eye on the road, feeling warmed by the remains of his motel coffee, but vexed by the numerous thoughts that sprang up to dot his mind with worry.

  Headlights emerged down the road, and Jake’s eyes adjusted to the brightness. He waited breathless at their approach, waiting for the vehicle to slow, but the old truck carried right along past them. Before Jake could curse under his breath, a second set of lights shined in the distance. This time another old pickup approached, then eased into the parking lot of the diner. The driver flashed the high beams, and they got out.

  Jake spotted Steve in the cab and hopped in the back, letting Jerry take the sole passenger seat. He regretted the selfless act as soon as Steve drove off, cringing at the cold air whipping around him. He leaned back against the cab, pressed his hat down and pulled his coat as far up his ears and cheeks as he could. “Oh, sweet shivering Christ,” he said through chattering teeth.

  Fortunately, Steve had picked the diner for their rendezvous not only because it was out of the way, but because it was close to their destination. Jake looked around when the truck stopped, wondering what was so interesting about a weedy field surrounded by utility poles and dirt roads. Steve hopped out carrying a pair of binoculars and stepped into the field. Jake slipped over the side of the truck, feeling stiff. He ran in place to get his blood moving, testing his earlier theory about physical motion being the great antidote to cold weather.

  Steve motioned across the field. “Come on. We’re gonna cut through here.”

  Jake gave up running in place, feeling a little warmed, but still wincing at the freezing air and the clouds of frosty breath emanating form his mouth.

  “Are we trespassing?” Jerry asked.

  “You’re cops aren’t you?” Steve asked.

  “That’s precisely the reason we can’t trespass.”

  “Don’t you have cop reasons?” Steve asked. “Whatever. Pretend you never asked. Come on.”

  The three of them trudged over uneven ground and through knee-high vegetation, with no obvious purpose. Jake’s frustration made him want to pepper Steve with questions, but he shut his mouth, as Steve was clearly devoted to showing rather than telling. So, instead, Jake cleared his vision and gave his surroundings a proper examination.

  Low buildings surrounded them on two sides, and unincorporated land stood to the west and south, with a few far-off homes barely visible. But to the east and north, over the tops of the two buildings, Jake spotted taller structures with innumerable pipes and towers—some sort of industrial area. Only three hundred yards away a major highway ran north and south. Vehicles were sparse, but travelled at high speed. Careening semi-trucks showed it was a commercial thoroughfare.

  Steve edged between the two buildings where their corners nearly met and passed between more structures until he crouched behind a dumpster. Jerry and Jake knelt behind him, leaning out to get a
view. Across a road and another clearing, sat a large structure with almost no discernible shape in the dark of night, its silhouette barely visible in the glow of tall light posts. Most of these lights served to illuminate a large parking lot which was sparsely populated with vehicles. On the opposite end of the structure, Jake could just make out the front of an eighteen wheeler cargo truck. The plainness of the architecture and the lack of light seemed to diminish the structure, but comparing it to the size of the cars in the lot and the cargo trucks in the back, Jake figured it to be at least fifty feet high and fifteen hundred feet long on the side facing them.

  “What the hell is that?” Jake asked. “It’s huge.”

  “It’s the regional distribution center for all the CheapValue stores in the Upper Midwest,” Steve said. “From Bismarck to Milwaukee, from Duluth to Omaha.”

  “You don’t say.” Jerry ran a hand over his mouth, eyes alert, taking in the scene.

  “I thought you were taking us someplace shady,” Jake said.

  “Well, something shady is going on. I’m sure of it.” Steve brought the binoculars to his eyes and spoke as he scanned the building. “Before I explain, you gotta understand, my cousin Kenny hasn’t ever had a job in his life, nothing official. So when he took a job here at the ripe old age of thirty three, I didn’t know what to make of it.”

  “This why he’s been staying around longer?” Jake asked.

  “It’s certainly been keeping him in place since he started. I expected him to get fired within a week, but here he is, four months later. And this place has pretty high worker attrition. You know, roll over?”

  “Yeah, we get it,” Jake said.

  “It’s tough work,” Steve said, “but it pays sixteen bucks an hour starting.”

  “Not bad,” Jerry said.

  “If he’s never had steady work before, maybe he’s enjoying it,” Jake said.

  “You don’t get it.” Steve lowered the binoculars and gave Jake a weary glance. “He’s always found ways to make money without having to work. You understand what I’m saying?”