“After what you cost the city last night, call a cab.”
EIGHTEEN
“Thanks, Mac,” said Waschke to the uniformed officer as the squad slowed to a stop in front of Jake’s apartment building in South Minneapolis. “Now get yer ass out there and catch this guy for me, will you?”
“He’s your problem, dickhead,” replied Sergeant Steven McDonough. “I’m just here to eat doughnuts, write a ticket once in a while and wait for my pension.”
“Yeah, I can see that about the doughnuts,” Jake answered, poking his friend in the spare tire encircling his waist.
“Ask me for a ride again sometime, Jake. See what it gets you.”
“It’ll get me a ride.”
“Go on, get out of here. I gotta go protect and serve for a while.”
“That’ll make me sleep better,” Jake said as he wearily pulled himself out of the door of the car. “Thanks again,” he continued as he slammed the door.
He closed and locked the door to his apartment, walked into the living room tossed his raincoat on the only chair in the almost empty room, flipped open his cell and punched in the private number he knew by heart, impatiently waiting for an answering voice. After the fourth ring, he heard a click then a female voice finally respond.
“Daniel Waschke, please,” Jake said to the receptionist at his brother’s office.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the voice replied, “but Mr. Waschke is in a meeting. May I take a message?”
“How long will he be?” Jake asked.
“I’m not sure, sir,” she said. “Probably not much longer. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Yeah, I guess. Tell him to call his brother, and it’s urgent,” Jake said. He gave her the number just to be sure his brother had it, hung up the phone and headed toward the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later, feeling a little better after washing away the grime leftover from the previous night, he stood at the small living room window staring out at the alley that ran behind his building. He was dressed in his terry cloth bathrobe, his hair still wet from the shower, thinking about the difficult phone call he awaited, impatiently wondering why the phone would not ring yet tremendously dreading it at the same time. Hoping for a reprieve from somewhere, anywhere.
He finished his cigarette, smashing it out in the ashtray he had been holding, and went into the bedroom to get dressed. As he was buttoning the jeans that were becoming a little too tight around the middle, the silence was finally broken by the ringing of his cell. He hurried back into the living room, zipping up his pants as he rushed to the small table where he had left the phone.
“Yeah, Waschke,” he answered as he put the phone to his ear.
“Jake,” he heard his brother say. “How are you? Are you all right? I called the hospital as soon as I heard and they told me you’d been in an accident and had a mild concussion.”
“I’m all right. Listen, we have to meet. Today. Right now,” Jake said trying to sound controlled.
“We need to meet? Right away? Why?” Daniel asked, confusion and uncertainty in his voice.
“Why!” Jake roared. “What do you mean, why? You know damn well why.”
“I do? What? Calm down. Why are you yelling? If you want to meet I guess we can but I don’t know what you’re talking about. You want to come here, to my office?”
“What? Huh? No, Danny. Not at your office. Look, one hour. You know where we used to hang out when we were kids? Above the river at the end of Summit? I’ll meet you there, alone, in one hour. Okay?” Jake said, confused with his brother’s attitude.
“I’ll have to check my appointments first ...”
“Bullshit. Cancel them. Be there in one hour, Danny. No excuses.”
“All right Jake. I’ll be there. See you then,” Daniel said as Jake hung up the phone.
Jake crossed the Mississippi over the Lake Street bridge and took the first right at the bridge’s east end to head south on East River Road Parkway. The previous night’s storm had moved on into Wisconsin leaving in its wake a bright, beautiful, warm spring day. The kind of day that invariably uplifted the spirits of all who experienced it. It put a smile on the faces of all Minnesotans, a bounce in their steps and oddly, added ten miles per hour to the freeway traffic. Everyone feeling just a little more alive, a little bit better at having survived another Minnesota winter and the knowledge that summer was finally approaching.
All, that is, except for Jacob Waschke. The last thing Waschke felt as he swung around the corner to head down the tree lined avenue running parallel to the Father of Waters was springtime elation. He was in his prized, pet car, his one real indulgence, a vintage 1982 cream-colored T-top Corvette. He had bought the car used about ten years before and drove it only when necessary or, on a day like this one, when the weather and his mood both matched. Today, however, was a necessity since last night’s attempt at trick driving down the side streets of Minneapolis had, literally, blown up in his face and cost him his department car.
He pushed down on the accelerator to send the sleek sports car quickly up to fifty for the one mile run to his rendezvous. A meeting he would have given anything to make go away, his life included, were it not so necessary. He had stayed off the freeway and taken surface streets instead, to give himself a little extra time alone to think. To attempt to work out in his mind what he would say and how he could handle the situation in which he now found himself.
Nothing had come to mind, still a bit hazy from the welt on his forehead, to prepare him for this confrontation with the brother he had loved, pushed, prodded, protected and ultimately, come to be so proud of as the governor’s top man.
He parked the car along the cul-de-sac at the place where Summit meets the bluff overlooking the river, walked down the grassy incline to the edge of the cliff and stood on the lip of the limestone ledge. Jake looked out over the river valley, watching the river flow past. After a few minutes, he turned his back to the cliff and walked up the grassy knoll to the park bench placed forty or so feet from his perch.
At almost precisely the time he had told Daniel, he heard a car pull up and park in the circle. A moment later he heard a car door close and footsteps on the asphalt driveway. He remained seated on one end of the long bench, bent at the waist, forearms resting on his thighs while he continued to smoke waiting for the other half of the bench to be occupied.
“So, what’s so urgent?” Daniel still standing as he looked over the parking area. Jake leaned forward as he sat on the opposite end of the bench. Daniel sat down, made a half turn in his seat to face his older brother, crossed his legs, smoothed his tie, draped one arm over the back of the bench and waited for Jake to respond.
Finally, after an almost full-minute’s silence between them, Jake took one last hit on his cigarette, dropped it on the wet dirt at his feet, blew out the smoke and without turning to look at Daniel, said, “Remember when we were kids, how we used to come down here, along the river and the hills? We could spend the whole day down along here. From the Ford dam all the way down to the Franklin bridge. Hell, we knew every rock and tree along here. Just roaming around. I just realized a bit ago how much I miss that.”
“Is that what you wanted? To come down here to reminisce about what we did when we were kids? I have things to do, Jake.”
“And we used to come down here sometimes to escape, too,” Jake continued, ignoring Daniel as if he had not spoken.
“I remember how pissed off Mom would be when she’d find out where we’d been.”
“Yeah, Louise didn’t like us coming down here. Remember the time you fell, down off that big sewer below the bridge on Lake? And you fractured your leg and I had to carry you home. Took almost two hours. “
“Yeah, I do remember that,” said Daniel, warming to the subject. “Mom wanted to kill us both,” he continued, laughing at the memory.
“I was happy to do it, too,” Jake said as he sat up and placed a brotherly hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “I was always there for you
and I’m there for you now, too.”
“I know you were, Jake. I always appreciated everything you did for me.”
“And I was always proud of you, happy to be there for you. Help you and protect you. You know that don’t you?”
“Jake, just, uh, what’s the problem? What do you think is wrong?” Daniel softly asked, looking straight into his brother’s reddening eyes.
Jake sat silently staring at Daniel for thirty or so seconds, Daniel staring back. Finally, Jake said, “What’s wrong? Where were you last night, Danny? Between ten and midnight.”
“Why? What do you mean, where was I? Um, uh, where do you think I was?” he answered as his eyes darted furtively around the cul-de-sac. “I was uh, home, of course.”
“Can Lori verify that?”
“What? Why? I mean, yeah, of course she can.”
“Can Lori verify that you were home last night between ten and midnight?”
“Well, um, no, she can’t. She was out. A bridge game or something.”
“Can anyone else verify it? The kids? Anyone?”
“Well, no, I guess not. They’re in bed by nine on school nights. Just uh, what are you getting at here, Jake?” Daniel asked suspiciously. “Am I a suspect of some kind? That woman that was murdered. You think I did it?”
Jake looked his younger brother directly in the eyes and quietly asked, “Why would you ask that? I didn’t say anything about that. What would make you ask me something like that?”
Daniel took a another quick look around the area, leaned toward his older brother and said, “Well, I, uh, don’t know. What else could you be asking about?”
“Are you still in therapy?” Jake asked ignoring his brother’s remark.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Who are you talking to, Danny? Remember me?” Jake said, firmly, calmly and back in control.
“Okay, you’re right. Sorry,” Daniel answered, admonished. “No, I’m not in therapy anymore. I thought you knew that. I haven’t been for a while now.”
“I want you to go back to that shrink. What’s his name? Dr. Lester. Call him today and make an appointment.”
“Why? I don’t need to. I’m fine. I had some issues, sure. But I’m fine.”
“Danny,” Jake continued as he slid across the bench, placed an arm around his shoulders, leaned over and whispered directly into his ear, “I saw you last night. That was me who crashed the car while you were running down the street away from the other cop. I know it was you.”
“Whoa!” Daniel almost yelled. He threw up his hands as if to ward off his older brother, stood up from the bench and took several backward steps away from his accuser. Still holding his hands up, palms out, again looking quickly about, he said, “No way, you couldn’t have seen me. No, no, you ah, must’ve, ah, thought you saw me when you took that shot to the head. But,” he continued, “I swear, it wasn’t me.”
“Danny, Danny, Danny. Calm down. This conversation stays right here. Just between us. You know I’ll protect you. I just want you to get some help. Please. For your sake,” Jake said as he rose from his seat and stepped closer to Daniel.
Daniel dropped his arms, a mistrustful look on his face as the larger man gently took his left arm to lead him back to the bench.
“Jake, wait, wait a minute,” Daniel tried to protest.
“Just sit down and listen to me a minute will you? I just want to talk.”
“Jake, no, look,” Daniel said as he tried to pull his arm from his brother’s grasp, “It wasn’t me, I swear. “
Jake stepped forward right up to the smaller, younger man, the burly intimidating cop taking over, taking control. He grabbed both of Daniel’s arms, pinning them to his sides, put his face so close to his younger brother their noses almost touched, the foul odor of the cigarettes penetrating Daniel’s sudden fear, and said, “Listen to me, goddamnit, remember me? Remember who I am? This is not bullshit. We have to deal with this. I know what I saw. I told my boss I can’t remember, but I saw you lying on the sidewalk, under that light. You looked right at me so don’t tell me it wasn’t you?”
“No, no, no,” Daniel protested as he again pulled away from Jake’s hold and tried to push the bigger man away.
“Keep your voice down,” Jake snarled.
“No, damnit,” Daniel said, lowering his voice. “I’m telling you, it wasn’t me. I’m not your little brother anymore,” he continued. “You can’t push me around and you can’t prove anything. You hit your head and suffered a concussion.
“I’m telling you, I don’t know what you think you saw but it wasn’t me. I was home last night, by myself and I don’t need to prove shit. I’m a lawyer, remember? You need to get that head looked at. I’m out of here,” he continued as he took several more steps backward, turned and walked across the parking area up the short incline in the direction of his car.
Jake stood frozen by his brother’s outburst. So out of character for the relationship the two of them had ever since they were small boys. Stunned by Daniel’s assertiveness, for several seconds all he could do was stand in place, his mouth slightly open, a disbelieving look in his eyes, staring at the sight of his brother’s back as it moved away from him.
His mind snapped back and his feet began to move, tentatively for the first few steps then quickly breaking into a run, an exercise he religiously avoided. He caught up with Daniel just as Daniel began to open the minivan’s door and breathlessly said, “Danny, come on, wait a second. . .”
Daniel turned to face him, his lips pressed firmly together, his eyes narrowed, his body stiffened and said, “No. You wait a second. I’m fine, Jake. I’ve been fine for many years now. I don’t need therapy and I don’t care what you think you saw.” He paused as Jake caught his breath, softened his tone and added,
“Look, you took a good shot to the head. You have a concussion for chrissake. When that happens the mind can do some funny things. When you’re ready to admit your mistake, give me a call. I still love you. You’re my brother and I always will, but you’ve got to get a grip. You’re obviously stressed out over this thing. Give me a call when you’ve settled down.” He got into the van, closed the door and started the engine. Jake could only stand and watch as the van made the circle to head east on Summit.
As it drove off, Jake quietly said to himself, “I know what I saw, little brother.”
NINETEEN
Jake sat impatiently waiting for the westbound light on Lake Street at Forty Second to turn green. He was drumming the fingers of his left hand on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead at the grinning face of a personal injury lawyer staring back at him from the billboard on the rear-end of a bus he sat behind. “Asshole,” he said to himself. “Behind every ambulance you’ll find one of our mobile units,” he chuckled thinking that should be the guy’s advertising slogan.
His eyes shifted slightly to his left as he noticed a man crossing the intersection almost in front of the bus. The man had short brown hair and was wearing a green army fatigue jacket and faded blue jeans. He walked quickly toward the opposite corner, his hands thrust into his pockets which Jake found odd on such a warm day.
The man’s head moved back and forth in quick jerky motions apparently surveying his immediate surroundings. Just a couple steps from the front of the bus his head turned toward Jake, giving him an excellent view of the man’s face through the windshield. For a moment, the two of them stared directly at each other. Instead of turning his head to continue the surveillance of his surroundings, the man continued to look straight at Jake as he made the final two steps to put the bus between them. A look that lasted less than two seconds but caused Jake to refocus his attention.
The light turned green and the bus pulled away but Jake remained motionless, wanting another look at the pedestrian. As the bus moved out of his line of sight, he saw the man again, now crossing Forty Second heading in the same direction as Jake. He remained stopped, staring at the man’s back for another two o
r three seconds until the car behind him impatiently beeped, causing his foot to reflexively move from the brake to the accelerator. The Vette’s powerful engine quietly rumbled as he slowly moved forward to pass through the intersection.
He pulled alongside the man, almost to the opposite corner, and turned his head to get a last look at the face his memory told him he knew but could not identify. As he pulled alongside the man, he slowed the car, not much faster than the walking figure and the man, once again, looked directly at Jake, no more than ten feet away. They stayed this way for another one or two seconds and just as the walker reached the curb, he turned to look straight ahead and continue down the sidewalk.
Jake pushed down on the gas and the sleek car sped off down the street while he tried to shake the cobwebs from his memory to determine the man’s name. “I know him from somewhere,” Jake said quietly to himself. “A dirtbag, that’s for sure. But who and from when and where?”
Jake continued west on Lake, intending to get on 35W for the trip home, still trying to put a name to the face. As he passed Minnehaha, the light in his head came on as the name came suddenly to him. His thoughts racing now and suddenly the throbbing in his head gone, he flipped the turn signal on to move to his right, punched down on the gas sending the car surging forward, cut in front of a car to his right and made the sharp right turn on Hiawatha, his tires loudly squealing as he went through the turn. The thought of going home replaced by a new sense of urgency to get downtown, back to his office and a certain closed case file.
TWENTY
Marc sat in the hallway on one of the padded benches, his legs crossed resting his back against the wall by the doors of courtroom 1250. He was waiting for his divorce client to arrive so they could do the brief, formal hearing to finalize the case. He was a few minutes earlier than he would normally be for a court appearance like this one and his client was probably unfamiliar with downtown Minneapolis so, he assumed, she was trying to find parking and would be along shortly. He had done, literally, hundreds of these types of hearings over the years and only needed about one minute to brief his client to prepare her for it.
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 10
