by Anne Frasier
At her car, he tossed his carry-on and briefcase in the back seat. “How do you stand this cold? It’s insane. How does anybody live here? Why does anybody live here?”
“I don’t usually mind it, but this winter’s been a challenge. First time to Minneapolis?”
“No, but first time for these temperatures.”
Inside the car, Jude turned the ignition key as they both fastened seat belts.
“Is that accurate?” He pointed to the dashboard digital readout.
Ten degrees. Balmy. “Yep.” She guided the car down the narrow ramp to the row of pay booths. “They say the Twin Cities would be as big as New York City or LA if not for the winters. Because summers are nice. Almost perfect. But they don’t last long.”
“So you cram a lot of living into a few months?”
She gave the word living consideration. He wasn’t the most astute detective if he thought someone who’d been through what she’d been through was doing any living. But maybe he was a glass-half-full kind of guy. Or better, maybe he’d never heard of her before today. Doubtful.
“Most people try to embrace winter here,” she said. “It’s about the only way to do it. And the ones who don’t, eventually leave. Many expats end up in California.” She stopped at the pay booth, swiped her credit card, and then they were heading away from the airport. “We can sometimes be colder than Antarctica.”
“Not sure I’d brag about that.” He sniffed. “Do I smell mothballs?”
“Probably.”
He lowered his window. Frigid air filled the vehicle, and he quickly hit the up button.
“You get used to it after a while.” She didn’t even notice it anymore. “It isn’t my vehicle of choice. I had to park my motorcycle for the winter. This car was stored in a garage for years, and the owner used mothballs to keep the mice away. So they wouldn’t eat the seats,” she added, in case he didn’t understand the purpose.
She took Highway 62 to I-35 north.
It was midafternoon, and Uriah had reserved a private room in a restaurant near Headquarters. A nice gesture. Savoy could probably use a meal, and Jude hadn’t eaten since wolfing down a bowl of instant oatmeal that morning. And anything was preferable to the bright lights of one of their meeting rooms.
Like many businesses in the Twin Cities, the restaurant was a throwback, mimicking the past or preserving it. The lounge was dark and not very busy. It had a back room with bookcases and real books and a gas fireplace they had to themselves. A tin ceiling and hardwood floors. Like some gentleman’s private smoking room. No wonder Uriah liked it. It kind of reminded Jude of his apartment, especially the old books.
They perused red menus with gold tassels. She was uncomfortable but tried not to show it. She decided that she actually would have preferred the bright lights of a meeting room because this had the feel of something you might do with a friend or even a date.
Savoy ordered a gin and tonic, not a manly or trendy drink but one typically employed to get the job done. Jude made do with hot tea. They both ordered sandwiches. After the food arrived, they discussed the case.
“As soon as I saw the police sketch on Reddit, I knew it was Billy Nelson,” Savoy said. “So I had the prints faxed to your office. We’ve also got mitochondrial DNA on file. But when you’ve been looking for so long, you just know when you finally have it. I was sure it would be a match.”
“The question is, how did Nelson wind up in Minneapolis?” Jude poured ketchup on one corner of her plate and picked up a thick fry. “The fact that we have two boys about the same age who look very much alike . . . One of my theories is sex trafficking.”
He didn’t seem particularly interested in that theory. “The similarity could just be a coincidence.”
“True. And it doesn’t explain how he ended up in the lake twenty years after he went missing. And we still don’t have an ID on the other boy. Did he die around the same time? Twenty years ago?”
“Billy Nelson should have been an FBI major case,” Savoy said. “But back then, info wasn’t shared, not even with the public, like it is now. Everybody was afraid of putting too much information out there. But now, with social media, it’s leaked before the first press conference.”
Sandwich abandoned, Savoy ordered another drink. When it came and the waiter left, he said, “I’m not going to lie and put on a macho act. This case has haunted me. I started out as a beat cop, moved up to detective, and this was one of my first disturbing crimes. I always worried that I didn’t do enough in those first few days. And even today, I’m still trying to get legislation passed that would require DNA collection in the first twenty hours of a child’s or even an adult’s disappearance. Wouldn’t have to be tested—that’s expensive—but just collected and stored. There’s no protocol anywhere in the country for missing persons DNA collection.”
“Typically it falls on mitochondrial DNA,” Jude said. “Which isn’t ideal.”
“Yep.” He swallowed half the drink and shook the glass until the ice rattled.
Once they were done eating and their plates were gone, he opened a leather briefcase and pulled out a stack of files. “I made copies of everything before I retired. I’ll often go over things, looking for any clue I might have missed. I conduct fresh interviews, dig a little deeper, but many of the people are dead, and the ones who were alive back then . . . Well, you know memory changes over time. It’s unreliable days later, and now we’re talking about twenty years. Nelson’s mother and father are both dead. I think stress played a role in that because they died fairly young. He has a sister who’s still alive. We’ve been in touch over the years, and I’ll give her a call tonight. I’m glad she’ll finally have some closure. She might want to come and maybe even take the body back to California.”
He ordered another drink, and Jude now questioned the wisdom in coming to a restaurant where they served liquor. They talked a little more. She picked up the bill and left a generous tip. “What time does your flight leave tomorrow?” She wondered how the boy was doing. Had someone from CPS gone to the hospital to take a DNA sample from Nanette Perkins, hopefully before she was released?
“Early.” He finished his drink, slammed the glass down, and said, “I’d like to see Billy.” He nodded to himself, maybe only just realizing the true reason for his visit when they could have easily Skyped. “I have to see him.”
“For your own closure.”
He didn’t look surprised by her words. Impressed, yes. “I heard you were good at figuring people out. In fact, I was a little worried about meeting you because of that. You’re right,” he said. “It broke me, at least for a while. It ruined my marriage, and it almost destroyed my relationship with my daughters. Those have been repaired, and I have two grandkids. And I’m thinking about getting a dog.”
“I have a cat.”
“Pets are good.”
“That’s what Detective Ashby keeps telling me.” She pulled out her phone and called the medical examiner’s office to let them know they were coming.
CHAPTER 24
Jude pulled into the back lot of the Hennepin County Medical Examiner’s Office. The sun was just right, the building darkened by the shadow of the US Bank Stadium. People said it was creepy; Jude thought it was cool. Didn’t matter. Ground would be broken soon on a new facility in the suburb of Minnetonka, fifteen miles away. Jude heard it would have woods and walking trails, which would be a nice respite from the solemn and serious work taking place inside. Employees in the facility liked their jobs, and most people who conducted autopsies had gone into the field because they enjoyed solving puzzles, but some cases were especially tough and few could go untouched by the innocent victims. Being able to step outside into nature might be mentally beneficial. But even though it was past time to move to a new location, Jude was fond of the old place. It was a part of the city’s history; plus, it was close to the police department.
They headed for the concrete building, Savoy walking fast, maybe because of the
cold, maybe because he was anxious to finally see the child he’d spent so much time searching for. Jude had to lengthen her stride. Normally she was the one people tried to keep up with. Inside, she explained their mission to the woman at the front desk.
“We’re expecting you.” The receptionist clicked some keys, checked her monitor, then Savoy’s ID, and said, “I’ll buzz you in.” Security was important. They’d had a few instances of gang members showing up, trying to retrieve dead enemies or friends. “The body is in room three, drawer four.”
Jude blinked and opened her eyes wide. “He’s no longer in the big cooler?”
“Nope. Moved just a couple of hours ago.”
Which meant the autopsy could be performed. She’d contact Uriah, and he could get in touch with Ingrid.
“Do you need an escort?” the receptionist asked.
“I know the way.”
Down a familiar hall of blinding lights and white polished floors and walls lined with photos of magazine articles and retired staff, past the large walk-in unit where the boys had initially been taken to thaw. The steady drip of the melting ice was something that would probably be forever embedded in Jude’s brain.
In the morgue, the lights automatically reacted to their presence, room 3 slowly coming to life. A wall of twelve stainless-steel drawers, three high. The refrigeration fans were a roar of white noise—loud, but not loud enough. Jude released the latch, stainless steel meeting stainless steel, the sound traveling into the drawer and throughout the cavernous space of the room, creating two echoes, one sharp and one deep. Along with the drawer sliding open came the thick odor of putrid flesh. She and Savoy recoiled, then waited a moment for the smell to disperse.
Jude checked the toe tag to make sure they had the right body. No longer John Doe, but Billy Stewart Nelson. Savoy made no move to assist; he seemed in something close to shock as Jude eased the tray halfway out. Even though the body was light, it took some effort. New coolers were on order too.
Savoy was breathing hard. Despite the stench, she caught a faint whiff of the telltale evergreen scent from the gin he’d put away. She waited for him to engage—he was the only one who could know when he was ready. Savoy finally drew down the sheet, slowly, as if the child could feel it, past the shoulders until the entire face was revealed, along with half the belly.
In some cases, bodies didn’t look a lot different dead than they would have looked in life. This child looked very dead. Now that he was thawed and no longer under ice, it was easy to see that the tips of his ears were black. His fingers were black too, eyes sunken, lips blue, reminding her a little of the photos of people who’d frozen to death in places like Mount Everest.
Sometimes bodies spoke to her, emoting what they’d gone through in those last moments of life. It could be anything from fear to surprise. It was slight; it was in the muscles, a hint of expression that she picked up on. This poor child was too far gone to emote anything.
“Oh my God.” Savoy put a fist to his mouth. “I didn’t know he’d look so bad. But he’s been dead twenty years. I think maybe the ice had me expecting something else.” He pointed. “Is that freezer burn?”
“I think so.”
“I hoped this might tie up loose ends, mental loose ends, but I don’t know. I think it might cause more nightmares.”
“I’m sorry. Do you want to leave?” She moved to cover the body, and Savoy put out a hand, stopping her.
“Wait.” A full minute passed before he sucked in a long and shaky breath.
“I think we should go.” She reached for the sheet again.
“Don’t.”
Instead of covering the child, she stepped to the corner of the room to give the detective a semblance of privacy. Maybe he wanted to say a prayer, if he did that kind of thing.
He leaned closer, then he held his hand near the child’s face, his fingers hovering very near but not touching, the detective in him knowing better than that. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Oh, he was a very damaged man.
“I’m sorry I didn’t find you. I’m sorry your parents are dead now. I’m sorry this happened to you.”
The hum of the units seemed to overpower the room, like an oddly ill-suited soundtrack. Just this unfeeling and insensitive roar. People didn’t often think about how crimes impacted detectives. And that was right and understandable. The spotlight wasn’t supposed to be on them, but this was twenty years later. Savoy’s wrenching response was similar to that of a parent. And when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, when she thought she could finally step forward and put the child away, Savoy let out a wail and staggered back, leaned against the wall, and sobbed, one hand pressed to his face. He eventually dropped to silence, shoulders shaking. But once he pulled himself together, he didn’t seem self-conscious of his outburst. No apology. No awkwardness.
Jude finally covered the body and closed the drawer. Without looking at each other, they left. Outside, they pulled in deep breaths, trying to clear their lungs of the smell of rotten flesh. It was a minute before she noticed the sun was dropping fast, the way it did in deep winter. That time of day when the world became muted and seemed to merge with its surroundings. Along with the dimming light, the temperature was plummeting.
“Sunset always makes me feel a good kind of melancholy.” She didn’t know why she said that. Maybe hoping it would give him a little comfort without offering any real words of sympathy. They might both be detectives, but she didn’t know him, didn’t know what he might or might not want from another human.
“You don’t happen to have a cigarette, do you? I quit six months ago, but times like these . . .”
“No, sorry.”
Back in the car, Savoy gave her the name of his hotel as he fixated on the digital readout on the dash. It was zero now. He pointed wordlessly.
“Since you’ll be here overnight, you might be able to experience what ten below zero feels like,” Jude said. “Something to tell your grandkids.”
“I think I could have lived without that.”
She pulled up to the entry of the downtown hotel. Doormen, revolving door, gold luggage cart. Pretty fancy for a retired detective’s income.
“I’ve always wondered why they cover the body with sheets,” he said. “Not everybody does it. I like when I see a sheet and not just a naked body lying there on the cold metal.”
She made a sound of agreement because she had no answer for him.
“Call me anytime.” He unfastened his seat belt. “If you have any questions, anything to tell me—I’ll be around.” He opened his briefcase, pulled out the folders he’d produced earlier at the restaurant, and handed them to her. “I’m done. I’ve gotten what bit of closure I could. These might or might not be of any help to you. This chapter of my life is finally over. It will haunt me until I die or until I forget why I’m living, but at least I’m done looking for a child with blond hair and blue eyes.”
She took the folders. “I think the sheets are to make us feel better.”
He ducked out of the car, bent at the waist, and put his hand on the roof. “A sign of respect.” He closed the door firmly and walked away, soon to return to California and sunshine.
CHAPTER 25
Someone rapped on Nan’s hospital door, and a man in a heavy coat, insulated hat with side flaps down, and dark glasses stepped inside. It took a few moments for Nan to recognize him. When she did, she let out a gasp and her heart began to slam.
Her visitor pulled off the glasses that were part of his disguise and took in her broken leg, now resting on a pillow, and shook his head at her like he couldn’t believe the mess she’d gotten herself into.
What was he doing here?
She’d always been afraid of him. Lyle had feared him too, even though he’d never admitted it, but Nan could tell. After Lyle’s death, he’d started coming around, and she’d let him stay in her life too long. Maybe he’d reminded her of Lyle and the good days. He could be so charming, but it
was a psychopathic charm. Even before he was gone, she’d started keeping a loaded handgun and a knife next to her bed.
He closed the door.
“You can leave that open.”
He shook his head and smiled.
Her plan to let him lead the conversation was abandoned. “I never mentioned your name,” she said. “And I never will. You know that.”
He moved closer, grabbed the remote, and turned the TV up a few notches, probably to mask their conversation if anybody happened by. “Why do you exist?” he asked. “Why are you even alive? Can you tell me that?”
That made her mad. Scared mad. “I almost died in that car wreck. You could ask how I’m doing.”
“You screwed up again.”
She would never outrun the past. “Those kids. They were Lyle’s fault.” She hated to say it, but the truth was the truth. Although she was the one who’d told him to get the heaters. And she hadn’t specified which heaters. So . . .
“Blame it on a dead guy who can’t defend himself. And whose fault are the bodies in the lake? Not mine. And who dumped that boy on the detective’s doorstep? Not Lyle. And not me. I could have found somebody to dispose of him easily,” he said. “Nobody would have known, and nobody would have missed him.”
He still smelled the same. Like expensive cologne and alcohol. He loved his alcohol. She didn’t remember a time when he didn’t have a fancy flask with him. He couldn’t even get out of bed in the morning without drinking. “Just to get going.”
He poked at Nan’s face with a hard finger. It seemed like he wanted to drill it into her brain. “What was in that head of yours?”
Somehow, even with all the drinking, he was still good-looking.
Nan had a line she wouldn’t cross, and she was still capable of caring for a few people. She had no problem selling kidnapped boys, but she did have a problem killing them. She wasn’t sure about him.
“I gotta have a drink of water.” Nan reached for the button that operated the TV so she could call the nurse. Her visitor’s hand closed over hers.
