The Night Is Cold

by Brandon Enns

  After a moment of thought, Jennifer rose and walked to Brian's office. She opened his door, catching him in the middle of a cheeseburger. She supplied him with a judgmental look.

  "Cheat day," he said.

  "Why didn't you deal with Morrow when Baker got out?" The article had jerked loose many frustrations.

  Brian set down his burger and eyeballed Jennifer. She hated it when he gave her the up and down examination, as if he had any ability to read someone.

  "You really need to get laid, Allen."

  "And you need to count your calories."

  Brian leaned back in his chair. He took another bite from his burger before tossing it back to the unfolded wrapper. "We pissed away three months on that case and came up dry. Who was the lead on that again?"

  Jennifer needed one-on-one time with Eli. The donations seemed forced. It was dressed up like a nice cover, planting his local roots just in time to start killing again. After three months of searching, the RCMP had swept it under the rug like it hadn't happened. But in reality, the investigation was over once she was denied the freedom to pursue Baker after three measly weeks. The media was now less active on Derek Reider and Danny Adams, but when they were able to get an interview with RCMP, the information released wasn't anything to speak of. "Considering all options. Still have significant resources in place to find the killer." Bullshit.

  If there were any resources, she wasn't one of them. Also, the family remembers refused to speak with the media outlets.

  "That's because you didn't let me do my job," she replied. "One week was hardly enough, and you know it."

  "Against my better judgment, I caved and gave you three weeks, actually. Seems that was easily forgotten...anything on Baker. You didn't execute and the murders stopped."

  "It wasn't enough time."

  "I need you out on the roads. Go keep people safe out

  there. That's an order."

  Much more of the daily drudgeries and she would pack it in. She could start an Instagram account and take pictures of herself in the gym, get some supplement deals and travel the world, trade her drab suits in for bikinis. Be a source of true inspiration.

  "Why didn't you take the case back when new evidence came forward?"

  "Why do you think?"

  He messed up. Royally. "Kyle Morrow's girlfriend. You wonder why after all these years?"

  "No, I don't."

  Brian kept his head down in paperwork, probably hoping she would just cave and go away.

  "We didn't solve it. It happens. Move on and do your job. You'll be fine."

  "Can I ask you something?"

  He planted his hand in the middle of whatever he was reading.

  "You enjoy your job, Sarge?"

  "Yeah. I do. Despite your consistent efforts to make me miserable."

  She lingered by the door.

  "Anything else?"

  ***

  Jennifer worked in her den at home, looking at her whiteboard, which was mostly bare, save for a few news articles on Eli, along with the victims and Kyle Morrow's court files. She examined a photo of Eli and thought of his robotic stance when he was out in that open field. He could have put a bullet in her right then and there and no one

  would have come running to save her. He wanted to see the life drain from her face, or so she thought.

  Jennifer opened her laptop and brought up the article on Eli's contributions to Autism Services. She searched Eli Baker donations and found another article regarding Cancer Research. He ran a campaign involving teams who shaved their heads to raise money and awareness. On the site, there was a picture of Eli with a group of bald people, the overhead lighting gleaming off of their cue-ball heads. Jennifer searched the locations and hours of operation for both Autism Services and Cancer Research in Saskatoon. At the very least she could follow him and see if any new discoveries would come to light. She closed her laptop and walked over to the couch and crashed down into the cold leather. Hockey Night in Canada was on TV as she looked through her phone.

  Satanism and charitable donations...

  There were two forms of Satanism she had researched. Traditional and modern. The traditional or Theistic was much of what the average person would expect when hearing the term Satanist. A reverse Christian, choosing the side of evil instead of God. Rituals, taboo practices, sacrifices.

  The modern Church of Satan believed in no deity at all. No God, Devil, heaven, hell, just people with the freedom to make the most of their lives. You do you. Create your own world and enjoy; add a splash of lime.

  Why bother with the symbolism in the snow? Whether the symbol had precedence or not, she had to find a connection between the two victims, physical or otherwise.

  She texted Jacey. "Where is my daily text followed by a monkey face emoticon?"

  ***

  Jacey sat on the couch with her mother watching Forrest Gump. It had been her favorite movie since she was a child, and she watched it on Christmas Eve every year. It just so happened to be on cable, and hopefully, it would keep her mother at bay, distracting her from the bottle of wine and infelicitous conversation.

  She spoke when Jacey checked her phone. Jacey had received a text message from Jennifer. "She still stuck at work?" asked her mother.

  "Yeah, always a lot of paperwork." That was only a half-truth. Jennifer was so flaky. Just when she thought Jen was about to break up with her, she would come around again in romantic and loving fashion.

  "I feel like I'm never gonna meet this girl," her mother complained.

  Jacey didn't want to get into it. "Mom."

  "I love lesbians, dear. You know this."

  "Yes, I know. You're a big advocate for the gay community."

  "Been thinking of joining the ranks myself."

  "Oh, God."

  "What? I could be one."

  "Stop."

  "I don't exactly understand how the process would work, but I mean I certainly have an idea..."

  "Please stop talking."

  "Well, what? I'm bored. I've seen this movie a thousand times. Grab another bottle of wine, will you?"

  "I can do that. But different topic please."

  Jacey walked into the kitchen to grab another bottle. She

  tried to change topics. "How's Dad?" Why would I open up that can of worms?

  "He won't have sex with me lately. I don't know what his deal is."

  The words haunted her as she made sure not to envision even a hint of it. She shuddered and chugged half a glass of wine.

  Her phone vibrated once more, another text from Jennifer. The sad face emoticon pissed Jacey off. This was a booty call plain as day, and there was no way that she would come over to see her mother. She would drum up some bullshit excuse.

  She took a seat next to her mother with the bottle in hand, gazing at the TV but not really watching it.

  "Jacey, are you okay?"

  "Yeah, Mom. I'm fine."

  "I know it must be difficult...but it's gonna be okay. More than okay."

  She rested her tired head on her mom's shoulder. She let herself rejoin Tom Hanks as he jogged for miles, beard growing throughout the montage. It brought her back to her childhood, and she could almost smell the Christmas cookies coming out of the oven. She could even taste the caramel and pecans of the poppycock, a delicious snack that she only got once a year.

  "You know what, little bug? I know Jennifer is a police officer, but did you ever think that maybe she just isn't as brave as you? I mean in the way that you want her to be brave...some people get really hung up on it, I'm sure. I know I tease about your lesbianism dear; I just like to get a rise out of you. But, she's maybe gotta go her own pace. I know two years seems like a long time, but it isn't. Relationships are

  never really figured out...and if you, you know, then you need to be patient with her, even if that means you putting in a little more work than her. She'll get there, bug."

  "Are you finished?"

  Her mother smiled and sipped
her wine. "Yes, dear. That will be all."

  Jacey snuggled up and her mother wrapped a blanket around her.

  "You should go see her."

  "I dunno."

  "After the movie then."

  "We'll see."

  ***

  Jacey walked through Jennifer's door and was shocked. Dressed in a full, red Mountie uniform, hat and all, stood Jennifer, long beautiful legs that went on forever. She had planned on having a serious conversation about “where they were at,” but that all went out the window. Jacey laughed.

  "Well...what do you think?"

  "Wow." Even though they had been dating for two years, she could feel that she was blushing.

  "Yeah?"

  "Get your ass in that bedroom."

  "I don't think you're in a position to make demands, little lady."

  It was a random Wednesday night, but not one she'd soon forget.

  10

  The man in black sat on the cement floor in Dennis Walowski's shop behind a grain truck. The smell of fresh oil made him think of his brief stint as a mechanic back in the United States. It just didn't take, the same as all the other jobs before he joined the army. But it was the army that showed him his true purpose. He had been introduced, and later, he had found it.

  Combat, marksmanship, tactical, escape and evasion, survival instincts; they were all in his blood. Once he had gotten a taste, there was no ignoring it.

  He heard rustling at the door. Keys. He rose to his feet. The fat man came through the door to start his Sunday at 5:30 a.m. The lights flicked on, and Dennis walked toward his office, reading a magazine, it looked like. This would be easy. In and out.

  He stepped out around some steel piping quietly, raising his gun.

  When he had first begun his wet work business, he had a serious issue with hiding in the shadows, stalking prey that was absent of chance. He had almost left it behind, but something changed.

  His feet glided; they did not step. As he closed in, he could see the side of Walowski's face. He would never even know. Pain free.

  His foot tapped a wrench that had been left on the floor making a clanging noise, the minuscule sound amplified by the cement and steel of the big shop. Dennis turned,

  dropping his magazine. CLAP. The man in black fired a silenced shot through his head. Dennis went down in a heap.

  ***

  Jennifer drove through a traffic light in downtown Saskatoon when her phone rang. It was Brian.

  "We got another one."

  She dropped a handful of Smarties in her lap. "Sigil?"

  "Not this time. Meet me at Walowski Welding on Arthur."

  Before she could get a word in he hung up. Great, thanks.

  ***

  The forensic team moved around the body of Dennis Walowski, Eli Baker's boss and partner, she knew from her research. Brian leaned up against a grain trailer, his forehead tight.

  "This is Eli Baker's boss, is it not?" asked Jennifer.

  There was a reluctance to Brian's confirmation. "It is." His lips tightened like he had a foul taste in his mouth.

  "This shop looks fairly new. Was Walowski located here before?"

  "Before what?"

  To his obvious dissatisfaction, she continued. "New shop after Baker gets out...I'd be inclined to check Walowski's financial records. Shouldn't be a problem now that he's been murdered. See if his books support the upgrade, or if he came into some money from somewhere else. Maybe business was booming, but I'm thinking otherwise."

  Brian held his gaze on Walowski, his jaw likely clenched if it was visible through the fat. "The evidence more than supported the new case. Couldn't get more motive than best friend screwing the girlfriend."

  "There's a link between Baker and those voodoo

  murders...you think you might be letting the past cloud your judgment?"

  "We have a body lying here in front of us, and there is no blood scribblings. Why would he kill his boss? He came back to work while sitting on twenty million. Safe to say their relationship was decent."

  "I stopped by Autism Services this morning. They said Baker was very involved with their program. It wasn't just about him donating the money; he enjoyed spending time with the kids."

  His mind looked to be elsewhere, perhaps in the past.

  She continued, "I also stopped at the Cancer Center. Apparently, he runs a fundraiser. He has a team of people that donates their hair. He's raised quite a bit of money too."

  "He's a charitable man."

  Why was he defending him? It wasn't the first time. Not like an egotistical cop to defend a man he put behind bars, even if the courts ruled him back out onto the streets. "Apparently, he usually comes with the group to make their donations. But sometimes he comes in alone."

  "So?"

  "The trips alone are interesting."

  "Not really, Allen. Can I get your focus here?"

  "Maybe he has some connections to someone there. Someone from before he went away. Maybe a love interest."

  "Maybe Baker is grateful he's out in the world again, and by the grace of God, he gets satisfaction from giving money away to help cure cancer and provide books for handicapped kids. Do me a favor and give your head a shake."

  "Maybe Dennis here had something to do with Baker getting out, and someone involved with Dwight Pearson

  didn't like that. And maybe you are too ignorantly blind to see that."

  "Press a little more," Brian said coldly.

  The aura of intensity between them was strong enough that the forensic team and perimeter officers in the shop stopped in the middle of their tasks. It was quiet.

  Bold was her only chance with this man. "I'm gonna question Baker."

  "No, you're not."

  "Why not?"

  He was fuming.

  "Sarge, something big is going on here."

  Looking down at the syrupy brains of Dennis Walowski, his face shifted, letting go. "We question him together. Tomorrow. And you are gonna stop watching Criminal Minds."

  Finally, traction. She would question Baker, and she felt strongly that would bring something new to the playing field, but it wasn't going to be enough. If she was at all convinced after their meeting, she would need access to Baker's original files.

  ***

  On the way to drop off a check at the Cancer Center, Eli drove by a school. There was a pick-up game of soccer during recess, so he pulled over to watch. He had always envied the kids who were skilled at sports. He figured he could have been a functional athlete but even if he had been, it wouldn't have worked out.

  The kids were playing hard and loose, some pushing others into the snowbanks, but it was all in good fun. After ten minutes of entertainment, Eli noticed that next to the school

  there were two kids that had another small boy cornered. Their grins were wide as they pushed at the much smaller boy. The third time they knocked him to the ground, he stayed down, and they stole his backpack, ripping it from his fingers. When the boy tried to pull it back, the other bully punched him in the face. After gaining control of his backpack, they each kicked the little boy in the stomach while he was on the ground. They proceeded to dump all of his books and binders into the snow when they were unable to find anything of value. Disappointed with his lack of findings, the one bully kicked the boy in the stomach once again for safe measure.

  Eli hadn't realized at first, but his foot was pressed up against the gas on his parked car, redlining his RPMs, making a loud hum, ice chunks shooting out behind. All of the kids were now looking over at him in his car.

  Fantasy took over. He envisioned holding the bully's parents captive in his basement, a full arsenal of toys to choose from. The kids would be strapped down, eyes pinned open. A simple scalpel would suffice, making articulated slits around the parents' knees and elbows first. He'd peel back their skin, exposing the gooey flesh and bone. He'd focus on fingernails next, pulling them one by one. The children could scream as loud as they wanted; he would tolerate it.
Maybe Patsy would help drown them out.

  Eli put his car in drive.

  ***

  The drive back from Prince Albert was a peaceful one. He had never been so mesmerized by the flat plains. The open space made him feel like he could accomplish anything. Patsy Cline's “Sweet Dreams” blared on the speakers as Eli's glassed-over eyes gazed out on the open road. The cigarette in

  his mouth burned down, leaving a long cherry.

  Cutting through the soothing textures of Patsy's voice was a woman's scream, followed by a thud in the trunk of his LeSabre. Eli was hoping she would remain unconscious throughout the trip as they still had at least thirty minutes left until they arrived home. He felt bad for the treacherous conditions that she was being put through, but it was out of his control. It wasn't like he could just let her sit up front with him. If only it were that simple.

  The screaming was increasing in volume the closer they got to home. He was surprised by the set of lungs that she had as he didn't think one was capable of such high-pitched screams for that long. She was an excellent singer, he bet. Maybe if he could get her warm and calm inside his place she would sing for him. Eli flirted with the idea of letting her join him by his fireplace for tea. He'd like to hear what genre of music she could sing.

  Eli hoped the smell wasn't too musty back there. He had just cleaned it out, so it should have been fine.

  Finally, they pulled into the drive and the screams had already settled, but she was scratching at the trunk like a deranged mental patient. Her nails must have been sore and chipped, but that was her own fault for being hysterical.