The Night Is Cold

by Brandon Enns

  because he needed to. Not just the satisfaction of killing, but there was vengeance of some kind. His targets were siblings. It was personal. There had to have been a reason behind the madness.

  There was another side to him though. His work with countless social programs and charities keeping a humanistic quality about him alive. His generosity began not long after Danny Adams was taken. It must have been what kept him sane during his year off. Jennifer cross-referenced all publicly noted contributions from Eli, and his charitable activity consisted during the year between the bloodied kidnappings. The donations, the fundraising, the little news articles of his projects detailing time spent with the children at Autism Services and patients at the Cancer Center; not one of those dates took place in either winter of the kidnappings. Only spring, summer, fall of 2017.

  Jennifer opened one of her library books and read through some origin history lesson before landing on the methods of Order of the Nine Angels. A traditionalist satanic organization that was recognized as a pantheon of dark gods meant to introduce initiates to the supernatural world. They believed in elitist spirituality, meaning members could surpass their physical, mental, psychical limits in search of spiritual ascension. Rise above the human form.

  She read through old medieval occult practices. Promotion of the “tough path” of social and criminal conditioning to prepare for rebellion against authority.

  Is Eli on this path of destruction? What exactly is he rebelling? Is it political?

  On to Baker's file. There had to be something from his past, before or after his first arrest for assault. As she scanned

  through his older files, she discovered something, or lack thereof. There was no record of his foster homes before 1996. Only after was his various residences listed. Then the assault discrepancy of 2002. But Jennifer knew Eli was too disciplined for an assault, no matter his age.

  Jennifer's second call to Clavet was odd. The secretary was bubbly and chatty this time around. After continuously deterring Sharla from travel talk, she was able to find two Elis that had been in the school dating back to when Pearson was there. Only one fit the time frame of all victims present at the same time (having checked all of the student files as well).

  No Baker. Only a Freedman. Could he have changed his last name? Freedman had graduated though. Baker had dropped out of Marian Graham in Saskatoon.

  Double checking with an Internet search, she was able to locate Eli Freedman. Not her guy.

  Her second inquiry was that of Peter Chance, Brian's MIA suspect that attended one year and, according to him, nobody knew about.

  Sharla informed her that it was a strange one, but he was indeed in the file, the year coinciding with the other victims attending-those being Tanner Person, Kyle Morrow, Bart Reider, Steven Adams.

  What am I missing? What if it's not Baker? What if he's just using the opportunity to mislead me, disrupting me from finding the actual killer? He has every right to hate the RCMP.

  Jennifer scrolled through her cell phone and stopped on the contact, Greg. Just dial you coward. Just dial. To her surprise, she did. Ringtones filled her ear as she ignored her impulse to hang up. It rang through to his voicemail.

  She dialed again. Straight to voicemail. Jennifer walked over to her mini-fridge and grabbed a beer. Then two more.

  ***

  She met Jacey for coffee at the Broadway Roastery. It was Jacey's favorite spot.

  Upon entering, she smelled burned roast. When Jennifer walked in, Jacey forced a smile that quickly faded. She rose from her chair and tried to give Jennifer a kiss on the lips, but she turned and accepted it on the cheek. Jennifer glanced over her shoulder to take in the surrounding audience. She leaned back in her chair and sighed. Jacey slid over a large herbal tea to Jennifer.

  Jacey leaned forward on the table, hands extended halfway, her eyes glistening with a layer of moisture. "I'm really worried about you, Jen."

  "I'm fine. Let's not talk about the case, though."

  "Not talk about how I can't spend time with my girlfriend when she's not even supposed to be working? When some supposed killer shows up at my place at two in the morning, having followed you?"

  "You're protected."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means you have protection. Monitoring you."

  Jacey laughed bitterly. "Were you gonna mention that to me?"

  "You'll be okay. I won't let anything happen to you."

  "Well, that's mighty honorable of you, Jen." Her voice was shrill, grabbing the attention of some of the other customers. Jacey's cheeks reddened. "And I'm not supposed to worry about your safety as you spy on a serial killer while you're off duty? No backup."

  "Keep your voice down Jace...I know you're upset—"

  "I'm beyond upset."

  "I know. I'm sorry. I don't know what you want me to say. I have to do this."

  "No, you don't."

  Jacey reached across the table for Jennifer's hands. Her touch was warm and welcoming, despite her burning rage. Jennifer pulled away.

  Whispering with a vicious snarl, "No one is even looking."

  "I know, it's not that. I just..."

  "What?"

  "I'm worried about this guy. And I think we should stay apart until this is finished."

  "So I'm in danger, aren't I? Like serious danger."

  "I don't think so, but we have to be careful."

  Jacey shook her head in hopeless frustration. "And then what? After he's behind bars."

  "What do you mean?" Jennifer knew what she meant.

  Jacey leaned back from the table, her eyes fading into a fog. Then at once, she cringed, her breath shuddering in pieces, two lonely tears rushing down her cheeks. "Do you still love me?"

  "You know I do," Jennifer whispered.

  "Am I ever going to be with you?"

  "You are with me."

  "No I'm not though, is the thing."

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "I can't be just a section of your life. A portion, isolated from the rest of it all. I can't do that anymore."

  Jennifer gave no reply.

  Jacey continued, "I know you don't want to hear this

  but...everyone else isn't your father."

  Jennifer couldn't look her in the eye. A ball of something nasty rested in her chest.

  "You know what I want. Do you love me enough to want it too?"

  Jennifer searched for the right words, words that she wanted to speak that morning when watching her sleep. She couldn't find them in time, watching the faith drain from Jacey's eyes.

  "Let me know when it's over. Please be safe." She rose from her chair to leave.

  "Jace."

  She squeezed Jennifer's shoulder as she passed by in tears. If Jennifer hadn't lost her then, it was going to happen awfully soon.

  17

  The security detail outside of Steven Adams’s home included one black SUV. Jennifer parked on the other side of the street at a distance. She waited for hours.

  Looking skyward, she noticed the northern lights dancing. They were beautiful, but not as prominent as some she had seen in the past. One time, traveling up north toward Tobin Lake through Carrot River, she had found herself immersed into the vibrant shades of green, blue, and violet, collapsing and retreating upon her simultaneously. The fluidity of colors almost took her off the road that night.

  Once the colorful waves were no longer enough to hold her attention, a Jeep Wrangler pulled up to a house and honked. Steven Adams charged out of the house, jacket half on, and hopped into the Jeep. The security detail didn't follow right away. She looped around and trailed behind, the black SUV peeled around and kept close to her tail. On the way, she cut a block around and got into position back behind the SUV, out of sight.

  Soon, Steven arrived at his destination, as did she.

  From the parking lot, Jennifer watched Steven enter a pub downtown by the name of O'Shea's. She had a visual on the back alley from where she was parked.
Snow began to fall. A small homeless man bundled in stained jackets with his hands tucked under his armpits looked up at the snowfall with fret, the other pedestrians walking by with shopping bags in hand, paying no attention to the man.

  Jennifer wished she had gotten more sleep, her eyelids

  heavy, the center of her forehead dense. To her, it wasn't a matter of who anymore, it was a matter of when. She doubted he would strike now after their two confrontations. Last time he laid low after the two assumed murders of Reider and Adams. Maybe there had been others she didn't even know about. Maybe there were bodies buried out behind his house, frozen in the iced soil, smoke rising from his chimney, shifting across with the path of the wind. Over that field behind his house.

  Her fatigue was holding on tightly, keeping her warm, making her eyes heavy. A KNOCK, KNOCK on her window made her jump. Three times now, she was scared shitless in her car.

  It was the same homeless man in need of change. She rolled down her window and the cold air rushed in. She needed the frigidness to keep her alert. His clothing was dirty, but his face was clean shaved.

  "I'm sorry," he said. There was sorrow in his eyes. It said that he wasn't supposed to be there. He was smart, but life had defeated him. "Could you spare some change?"

  "Yeah, hang on."

  Jennifer put her head down, looking for a couple bucks from her center console.

  ***

  Steven Adams sauntered away from the bar and over to the washroom. It was lined up outside the door so he turned around and walked back toward the exit, running his hand through his flowing black hair as he strutted by, making eye contact with a couple of girls. Steven dawdled out onto the sidewalk and found a garbage bin to shield himself while he took a leak. As his urine hit the pavement, a man spoke from

  the other side of the garbage, surprising him, some piss hitting his shoes.

  "I love the snow," said the man.

  He moved his head forward to get a look at who was there but could only see his profile.

  "Scared me." He heard his own voice slur, his head light from only three pints. Guinness always seemed to pack more of a punch.

  "My apologies."

  Steven finished up and turned back to Eli, brushing his lovely mane again, ensuring it'd be in the right position for the ladies inside.

  The strange man continued. Steven didn't like the scholarly style in which he spoke, like he was reciting something he'd written earlier.

  "Were you aware that snow is not actually white?" What the hell? The man continued, "The complex structure of snow crystals results in countless tiny surfaces from which visible light is efficiently reflected. What little sunlight is absorbed by snow is absorbed uniformly over the wavelengths of visible light, thus giving snow its white appearance...perception, I suppose. People choose what they want to see."

  The man walked around to face him with a smile, while Steven's dick remained in hand. He shuffled and turned away to finish up against the trash bin.

  The man was strange looking, his goatee and buzzed head gave him the appearance of a white supremacist. He looked familiar too.

  "Have we met before?"

  "I don't believe so. Maybe in another life."

  "Yeah, maybe." Steven forced out a chuckle, which was

  matched by the man. It was unnatural, plastic.

  "Did you know that Eskimos have a hundred words for snow? Isn't that remarkable? The Eskimo–Aleut languages have about the same number of distinct word roots referring to snow as English does, but the structure of these languages tends to allow more variety as to how those roots can be modified in forming a single word."

  "That's really interesting man. You're a fact of the day kinda guy, eh?"

  "I'm aware of many facts, most days." Another freaky smile crept along his face, crooked.

  Steven was speechless, about to say good-bye as he turned away.

  "It's always nice meeting new people. Let me buy you a beer."

  "Thanks, I better get back to my group though."

  "It's rude to turn down a drink, you know."

  Is this guy serious? "Thanks, but no thanks."

  Steven turned away.

  He heard his own skull crack. Steven collapsed to the pavement, his cheekbone smashing into the ground with significant force. Everything had gone black and he was uncertain if he was still conscious until a series of strikes to his back landed, letting him know that he was indeed still awake. Each blow to his backside delivered an insurmountable amount of pain to his whole body. When the flurry of blows finally stopped, Steven was awake but blind, everything blurry and cluttered with black spots. His inner voice was screaming for him to rise to his feet, but his feet would not move.

  18

  The homeless man was polite and well spoken, making a consistent effort to maintain small talk while Jennifer searched for change. He left with a ten dollar bill.

  Her phone rang.

  She recognized the number. "Hello?" It was the secretary from Clavet school calling after hours. "Hi, Officer Allen? Yes, this is Sharla calling again, sorry to bother you...listen, I don't want to get in any trouble—"

  "Why would you be in trouble?"

  Sharla sighed into the phone. "I don't know what this about, and I'm not supposed to say anything but I—I dunno."

  "Sharla, are you being threatened by someone?"

  "I wouldn't say threatened."

  "You can tell me what is going on. I won't share it with anyone."

  "I need to meet you in person. I need to see that you're legitimate."

  "Okay, yes, I can come meet you tomorrow. Can I come early, say seven?"

  "Yes, that would work."

  "Sharla, I'm working on something dangerous right now. I'd rather not leave the city, or others may go missing."

  "Oh...that's what you're investigating?"

  "Yes."

  "I don't want to say over the phone."

  "Is there anything you can give me? I'll still come in the

  morning."

  Sharla paused.

  "It seems as though there was another Eli that I had missed because he wasn't in the official class records. He was here just before we had switched everything over to the computers. I did a quick search through the cabinets and found that he only went to school for about a week, which might be why he didn't carry over to our computer files. Last name is Colwell."

  "I see." Jennifer had a strong feeling it was Baker. "Sharla, who is pressuring you?"

  "Everyone."

  "Has someone else from the RCMP been in contact with you recently? Brian Peters?"

  "Come see me. I'll be at the school. Use the west door, it'll be unlocked."

  "Sharla. I can help you."

  "It's about Peter Chance. I'll see you in the morning."

  "Shar—" she hung up.

  Colwell. Jennifer searched the name on her phone, unable to find a thing. Why was Brian suddenly forthcoming about the investigation?

  Jennifer heard movement around the garbage bin, most likely a cook taking out the trash. Jennifer wasn't about to leave it unchecked, grabbing her personal, non-police issued gun out of the glove box. Glock clutched at her side, she marched toward the garbage bin slowly, ready for anything. The snow impaired her visibility up ahead as she strained her eyes trying to see if there was anybody out back.

  ***

  Eli dragged Steven Adams down the back alley. The final strike to his backside had made a blissful cracking sound.

  As he approached his LeSabre, he could hear someone in the alley. He popped the trunk and tossed Steven in aggressively with no regard for his already mangled body. After getting Steven's feet tucked in, he slammed the trunk shut and looked back out into the night, down the frosted alleyway. Through the thick snowfall, he could see someone approaching.

  ***

  After Jennifer had checked around the garbage and found nothing, she was heading back to her car when she heard the sound of a door slamming shut. Stopping dead i
n her tracks, she turned to find the brake lights of that same old Buick LeSabre, pulling out into the back alley, the narrow rectangular blocks of light shining through. She had studied them before.

  Jennifer bolted for her car.

  She had to keep her distance driving down the highway, hoping that she had not been seen by Eli. Foot on the gas, her mind played out all kinds of shootout scenarios, all of which ended with her taking a bullet. Caught up in the exhilarating rush, she almost forgot to call Brian. She'd need backup. And if he didn't believe her, she'd have to take care of it herself.

  Her finger trembled as she tried to dial Brian. Straight to voicemail. "Sarge, I did some more digging. Eli Baker went by Eli Colwell. He tried school in Clavet for a brief stint with all the other victims but had to have been homeschooled. He was relocated to Saskatoon for some reason. Then the name change to Baker. All this Satan shit, it's not devil worship, and I don't think it's political either. It's about him satisfying his desires. Indulgence is what he believes in. He's—"

  She reached the limit and called back again. Straight to

  voicemail as expected.

  "Answer your phone, Sarge! He's been fighting his urges to kill his whole life. Until he had a reason. Something happened. Something involving these victims and Eli. It was the older siblings. That's why he chose the younger ones first, to punish the others. Baker is going to murder Steven Adams. That is going to happen. Listen, I don't know who this Peter Chance is. Something tells me only you do. I don't know what you're hiding, or what your intentions are, but I don't care about any of that. All I care about is saving Adams and taking down Baker. Call me back."

  ***

  Eli dragged Steven through the snow, blood dripping, leaving a trail as the plastic was not wrapped around him properly. He hated being rushed. Steven was limp, passed out from the blow to the head. The elevator doors closed, leaving Eli with Steven's body dangling over him, plastic and blood strewn about. Some of the blood had gotten into Eli's mouth, and he sucked on the top of his tongue, savoring the coppery flavor.