Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series)

by Dennis Carstens

  “Yeah, I guess. Our third official date, I suppose,” he agreed.

  “Well, I guess that’s enough, isn’t it?” she asked as she grabbed his tie below his chin and gently began to pull him toward the door. “Come with me, mister. I have use for you.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  As the calendar crept closer to the summer solstice, the sun continued to rise higher in the sky and the days became increasingly longer. Jake had some time to kill, another half hour, maybe a little less, before he took up his Wednesday and Thursday night vigil. This would be the third week in a row he would spend these evenings on his unauthorized stakeout, keeping watch on a house that was not even located in his city. So far, his efforts had yielded no results and it was becoming more difficult to convince his superiors that he was on the streets of Minneapolis with the rest of task force. He was supposed to be cruising the streets, checking informants, hoping for a break that would lead to an arrest.

  Maybe that’s why everyone’s interest was heightened by a case like this one. A serial killer and rapist on the loose was different; a break from the monotony and routine. Jake Waschke, for one would like nothing better than a return to the routine of life. If what he did for a living could ever be called routine. At least an arrest would give the media something else to focus their macabre voyeurism on besides the lack of progress.

  Jake pulled his new department issued dark blue Chevy sedan onto 35W at 46th Street and headed south to pick up the Crosstown freeway. He checked the watch on his left wrist and mentally calculated the distance and time to his destination. Satisfied that his timing would have him arrive just as dusk gave way to dark, he settled back in his seat as he headed east on the Crosstown for the drive past Ft. Snelling and the bridge into St. Paul.

  A few minutes later he made the left off West Seventh to take the winding ascent up Snelling Avenue and into the Highland Park neighborhood where his younger brother and family lived their comfortable, quiet upper-middle class life.

  He arrived at Daniel’s street shortly after 9:00 P.M., still light enough to see but it would be totally dark within fifteen minutes. Jake believed that if anything happened it would not be until after dark but he wanted to be on station before that, just in case Daniel left early. He cruised past Daniel’s four bedroom, two story home with the immaculate lawn and shrubbery and to his relief, saw both the van and Lori’s Volvo parked in the driveway in front of the garage. He sped up a bit and made a U-turn at the corner and parked his car three houses down from his brother’s on the same side of the street. He pulled up behind another car and between the car in his front and the neighbor’s trees and bushes blocking the sightlines to the house, he believed he would not be detected by anyone looking out a window.

  Settling in for the wait, he slightly turned up the volume on the car’s police radio and poured a cup of coffee from the thermos he had brought along. Jake hoped with a great deal of ambivalence that something would happen soon. Hopefully, tonight. The members of the task force were still out cruising the streets where he should be too except he believed he was in the right place now. Sipping the hot coffee, allowing his mind to replay the scene on the bluff above the river when he had confronted Daniel. Since then, instead of the memory from the accident fading with the passage of time as might be expected, the image of his brother lying in the rain under the streetlight had become more clear to him. More focused and real.

  Jake had left the scene on the river bluff after confronting Daniel and seeing the familiar man walking down the street. Instead of going home to get some rest, he had hurried straight downtown to police headquarters. During the drive downtown he searched his memory for the name of the man and it finally came to him just as he pulled into a parking space.

  He went straight to the records section to search for a closed case file, hoping no one would notice him and ask any awkward questions. Going into the room with its rows of file cabinets he quickly found the alphabetized drawer he was seeking. Jake pulled the file he was after, looked around to see if any of the other officers in the room were watching him, then carried the folder to a small table in a remote corner of the room.

  Jake sat down at the table and opened the folder to go through its contents, the beginnings of a plan starting to formulate. He read over the basics, the biographical data on the subject to first be sure that this man would fit the profile. Carl Milton Fornich, he read. Age, now,thirty-four. Five feet, ten inches tall, weight one seventy, hair and eye color; light brown and brown.

  So far, thought Jake, just fine. Pleaded guilty five years ago to one count of second degree criminal sexual conduct. Disappointed, he noticed there was no mention in the file of any use of a weapon during the assault to which he had pled. The investigator’s notes in the file indicated Fornich was suspected of at least three or four other rapes, all occurring in public places.

  From the records in the file Fornich’s criminal history showed two prior misdemeanor assault convictions, one at age twenty-two for beating up a girlfriend, the other a simple bar fight. The history of violence against the girlfriend brought a brief flicker of a smile, but still no weapons used in either case. A weapon would be nice. A knife would be icing on the cake. The file contained a small manila envelope and Jake emptied the contents onto the table. A half dozen photos of Fornich, obviously taken after his arrest, fell out of the envelope. Jake picked them up and looked them over noting that time and prison had not appreciably changed the short haired, plain looking man. He picked up the file’s inventory sheet and ran his finger down the column until he came to the line marking the photographs. To his mild surprise, the sheet recorded five photographs, not the six he held in his hand. Looking over the pictures he selected the one that best resembled the Carl Fornich he had just seen on the street, then placed the other photos on top of the folder. Jake sat back in the chair, raised his arms above his head as if stretching, and moved his head back and forth to check the others in the room. Satisfied that no one was watching, he quickly slipped the picture he wanted into his shirt pocket, straightened out the folder and replaced it in the file cabinet before leaving the room.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  While he waited in the car on Daniel’s street, Jake set the half-empty styrofoam cup on the dashboard, rolled the window down and lit his twenty-fifth cigarette of the day. As he reached for the white cup, he noticed a car’s taillights come on in Daniel’s driveway, visible through the blooming bushes that ran along the neighbor’s property line. Jake started the engine as the minivan backed out onto the street and began moving away from him. Waiting until the van reached the next corner, without turning on his lights, he slowly pulled away from the curb to follow. Expecting the van to turn north to travel the short distance to Ford Parkway, the closest main avenue in the area, he was surprised to see the van go straight through the intersection at the corner.

  As he passed Daniel’s house, he noticed the lights of the Volvo in the driveway come on, momentarily startling him and making him wonder which vehicle Daniel was in. Instinctively, he quickly pulled the car to the curb of the now dark street, parked and watched in his mirror. A few moments later he saw the Volvo back onto the street and head in the same direction as the van. Slumped down and watching as the car went past, Jake saw the clear silhouette of a woman’s head and recognized it as his sister-in-law, Lori, driving the car. Waiting until he saw its left turn rear blinker come on at the corner to turn toward Ford Parkway, he quickly pulled away to follow, hoping he had not lost the van.

  Jake slowed at the corner to go through the intersection, hoping he could still catch the van, and glanced to his left. Seeing the lights of the Volvo almost two blocks away, he started through the intersection in time to see the minivan pull out of a side street the next block over and speed off in the direction of Lori. He jerked the wheel hard to his left, turned on the lights and pressed down on the accelerator to close the gap between himself and Daniel. As he approached the light at Ford Parkway, he saw the Volvo t
urn left toward Minneapolis and the van follow it as the amber light came on the corner’s semaphore. Again, he punched down on the gas and entered the intersection a second after the light turned red, tires squealing, making the turn onto the Parkway, muttering to himself about his conspicuous driving.

  All three cars, Lori, in the lead, went west on Ford. As they did, Jake noticed Daniel do something he thought odd. Instead of closing the distance between himself and his wife, it seemed as if he intentionally allowed several cars to get in between them. They continued this way for another half mile when, abruptly, Lori pulled the Volvo to the curb, stopped the car, quickly exited the vehicle and waved the van over.

  Jake pulled into the lot of a Burger King on the corner and slipped into a space that afforded him an unobstructed view of his brother and sister-in-law. They were directly in front of him, across the side street, parked under a bright overhanging streetlight. He was unable to hear their conversation but it was quite obvious, from her gestures and the look on her face, that Lori was very agitated about something. Jake watched as Daniel left the van and stood passively in the street while Lori, with animated motions and gestures, clearly ripped into him. After more than a minute of this byplay, Lori turned on her heel to head back to the car as Daniel reached for her arm. As he grabbed her, the evening breeze picked up and blew her long brown hair around her face. With one quick motion, she jerked her left arm free of Daniel’s grip and brushed the hair from her face so that Jake could clearly see her angrily mouth the words, “Don’t follow me.” She quickly went to the Volvo’s door, Daniel on her heels all the way, got in and slammed the door in his face as he stood helplessly in the street. She backed up the car and sped around him as she raced off down the street to continue her journey, leaving her bewildered husband to sullenly plod back to the van.

  So as not to be noticed, Jake had turned off his headlights but kept the engine idling while he watched the almost comic scene on the street. He saw Daniel get back in the van and waited another three minutes while Daniel sat still at the curb. Finally seeing the van’s brake lights come on, knowing Daniel was getting ready to drive off, Jake pulled out of his parking space to continue following west on Ford Parkway. They continued this way across the bridge over the Mississippi into Minneapolis. Alarmed now, knowing for sure that Daniel was not reversing course to go home, Jake pressed down on the gas to close the gap between them.

  After crossing the bridge, they continued west on Minnehaha Parkway, past the golf course and through the park, to Hiawatha. Daniel stopped for the red light at Hiawatha then made the right turn to head north toward the heart of the city. Jake, who had almost been forced to come up right behind Daniel at the light, rolled through the corner so Daniel would not get too far ahead.

  Daniel moved into the left lane and Jake stayed in the right as Daniel moved up alongside a commercial truck. They stayed like this for several blocks, Daniel to the left of the truck, Jake a couple of car lengths behind it, as they cruised down Hiawatha. As they approached 35th Street, a pick-up truck suddenly appeared to Jake’s left as the light at 35th turned from green to amber. All at once, the pick-up’s driver turned on its right turn signal as the brake lights for the truck came on. The pick-up swerved into the space between Jake and the truck and realizing too late that the truck was stopping, slammed on his brakes. Jake in the split second that these events took place, jammed down on the brake pedal, tightened his grip on the steering wheel, bracing for the impact as Daniel, oblivious to it all, rolled right through the intersection and continued down the street.

  The screaming tires of both Jake’s sedan and the pick-up shattered the quiet street as the side of the pick-up began to fill Jake’s windshield. It kept coming on, closer and closer but also, slower and slower until Jake hit him with a slight thud that lightly shook the car and only managed to push it over a foot or two toward the curb. He came to a complete stop still tightly gripping the wheel, loudly exhaled and slowly allowed his eyes to move about surveying the scene. Realizing the damage was minimal, he shifted into reverse, turned in his seat and saw headlights blazing through the rear windshield, trapping him. He shoved the shift lever into park, unbuckled the seatbelt, jumped from the car and ran around the back of the pick-up in time to see a car, about a block away, change lanes to move behind Daniel.

  “Sonofabitch,” Jake bellowed as he slammed his palm down on top of the truck’s tailgate. He stood in the street alongside the pick-up, fists clenched, the knuckles on his hips and stared down the wide avenue.

  “Oh shit, man,” he heard the pick-up’s driver say as the door thumped closed. “I didn’t think the truck would stop, dude. I thought it would go through and I could make the turn.”

  “Are you all right?” Jake calmly asked the young man with the baggy shorts and baseball cap turned backwards.

  “Yeah, dude. I’m okay. How about you?”

  “I’m all right. Let’s look at the damage,” Jake answered as he turned to go back to his car. Jake walked past the dent in the pick-up’s passenger door, bent down to look at the police car’s front end and ran his hand over the car’s bumper.

  “Look what you did to my door, dude.” he heard the teenager say as he rose from his inspection.

  “What I did? You cut in front of me, kid,” Jake said as he reached in his coat pocket to retrieve his wallet.

  “What do you mean, man. I signaled and everything,” the young man began to protest as Jake opened the wallet and stuck the police badge in his face. “Shit. Not good, huh dude?” the young man said as the truck pulled away with a roar that enveloped them in a cloud of smelly diesel fumes.

  “Look, kid. There’s no damage to my car. I’m too busy for this shit. Get this thing out of my way and we’ll call it even. Okay, dude?” Jake added sarcastically.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Back in the police sedan, Jake continued up Hiawatha toward downtown, several times considering using the flashing light to clear the minimal traffic. With the three to four minute lead Daniel gained while Jake dealt with the minor accident, he knew it was futile, with or without the lights. Three times he ran through red lights hoping to close the gap and spot the maroon minivan. Twice his heart jumped and his breathing stopped when he spotted small vans like Daniel’s only to discover, when they passed under a streetlight, they were a different color.

  He did the fifteen minute run downtown in under ten, knowing with each block he passed, and red light he ran, his chances of finding his younger brother became less and less. He found himself trying to think like Daniel. Where would he go? What would he do? Would Lori’s curbside outburst trigger the monster that Jake believed lurked somewhere deep in Daniel’s dark side. A dark side that Jake, from his years as a cop, knew lurked within everyone waiting for someone or something to unlock the door and let the demons loose.

  Trying to suppress those thoughts and think like a cop and not a brother, he continued his search for the van. Try to find Daniel and protect him, save him and any potential victim from Daniel’s demon. This was the chance he had waited for parked on the street by Daniel’s house. The chance he hoped for but prayed would not happen.

  He entered the fringe of downtown Minneapolis on the east end by the site where the new stadium was being built, and saw another van exactly like Daniel’s. This time though, his reaction was calm and controlled. After watching the van for a few moments, he quickly realized it was not the right one. Jake spent the next half hour cruising the almost empty streets of downtown, once waving at Denise Anderson when he saw her waiting for the light at a cross street. He made the short loop down Hennepin and around the bars in the neighborhood of the Target Center. All pretty quiet on this midweek evening. Jake then decided to try Uptown, hoping maybe Daniel went back to his hunting ground off Lake Street. He went quickly down Eighth, weaving through the traffic, and decided he would head for Chicago Avenue, take that south to Lake Street then go west on Lake back toward the last murder scene.

  He made th
e right onto Chicago and as he sped down the street passing under an overhanging light, glanced at his watch, noting that it was almost 10:30. A few blocks before the intersection at Lake, he heard the call numbers for his car and then the dispatcher crackle his name over the speaker as he reached for the microphone.

  “This is Waschke,” he heard himself say into the small mike in his hand. “Go ahead dispatch.”

  “Lieutenant, we have a report from a woman in the eleven hundred block of Thirty Fifth street of a suspicious looking man with a woman entering Powderhorn Park. What is your present location, over?” the female dispatcher explained in her concise monotone.

  “I’m northbound on Chicago almost to Lake Street. I can be there in two minutes. What’s the status, over?”

  “We’ve dispatched a blue and white to the scene who should be there by the time you arrive. Over.”

  “Tell him I’m on my way,” Jake said as he turned on the the cars flashers in the grill and the dashboard and pressed down on the accelerator.

  “Shall we notify the other members of the task force, over?” the voice asked. Thinking faster than he drove, Jake pressed the send button on the mike and replied, “Negative. Hold off on that. Probably just a couple of kids sneaking into the park to fool around. Let me check on it. Over and out.” The last thing he wanted, if it was Daniel, was that park crawling with cops. One cop in one squad he could handle. He had to be first on the scene to keep control of things, if at all possible.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Making the left onto Thirty-Fifth a little too fast caused his tires to squeal and his rear end to slide in the street on the sand leftover from the winter. Red light still flashing, speeding down Thirty-Fifth until he saw the squad car, facing in his direction, parked on the wrong side of the street. He came to a stop a few feet in front of the blue and white and put the transmission in park and shut off his flashing lights. Jake left the engine idling, got out of the car and approached the uniformed policeman, illuminated by the lights of the two cars, speaking to a salt and pepper haired elderly woman.