(2012) The Key to Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  “Well, like I started to tell this young man,” she slowly began, nodding toward the uniform. Jake looked at the other cop noting the name on the shirt tag as Lund as the woman continued. “I seen ‘em a little bit ago. You know, a white man with a woman goin’ inta the park. Well, I thought it looked, ya’ know, strange. What with them killins and all goin’ on. Well anyway, they was walkin’ kinda strange. So, I figured I’d better call the police.”

  “How do you mean, ma’am,” Jake said, “walking strange?”

  “Well, ya know, he had his arm around her shoulders but, it didn’t look like they was, you know, walkin’ together. More like, he was forcin’ her. Almost pushin’ her along, like. She didn’t seem like she was willin’ to go along, ya know what I mean?”

  “Yes ma’am. I think I do,” Jake said. “Could you see their faces? Could you tell what they looked like?”

  “No, not from where I was. I live over there,” she said, pointing to the house next to where they were standing. “I was on the porch, jus’ gettin’ some air an’ I noticed ‘em goin’ past that light across the street there, in the park by the trail. There’s a walk down there by the lake and I seen ‘em headin’ that way,” she continued, pointing now across the street, into the park to her left. “They was headin’ down by that bunch o’ pine trees over there, last I seen ‘em.”

  “Could you see what color clothes they were wearing?” Jake asked.

  “No. I’m gettin’ a little along and my eyes aren’t that good. Looked like dark clothes. But I could see they was both white when they went by the light.”

  “You got her name and address?” Jake asked Patrolman Lund.

  “Yes, sir. Mildred. . .” the policeman started to respond but was cut off by a sharp, piercing scream. A scream from an obvious female throat that shattered the quiet south Minneapolis neighborhood and sent both men scrambling.

  “Go back inside your house, lock the door and wait for us,” Jake shouted at the now terrified woman as she turned to hurry toward her home. “Get up to the north side of the park. Call for back up. I’ll try to flush ‘em to you. Hurry goddammit,” he said to the startled patrolman as Jake ran back to his car. Just as he reached the door and began to fling it open, the stillness of the night was again shattered by the same ear-splitting scream. Only this one was abruptly cut off after barely two seconds, barely long enough for Jake to locate its origin.

  Jumping into the driver’s seat, Jake jerked the shift lever into reverse and backed up a few feet to clear the squad car. He spun the wheel to his left to head the car into the park and went over the curb barely moving, his sore, very stiff neck a reminder of his last encounter with a concrete curb. Jake eased the car up onto the park grass and as soon as the back wheels cleared the curb, angled the car toward the direction of the scream. He went down a short hill, the car’s headlights reflecting off the surface of the small lake for which the park is named, made a sharp left turn when he reached the asphalt path. As the car straightened from the turn, he caught a glimpse of movement in the wash of its headlights. A shadow flitting between the trunks of a stand of tall fir trees about a hundred feet straight in front of him.

  Following the walkway, he pressed hard on the gas to get to the opposite side of the pines. Passing the edge of the trees, the walkway came a little too close to the lake’s edge for a car and the rear wheels went over the edge and into the soft wet sand along the shoreline. Anxious now, he pressed the accelerator too hard with the predictable result of burying the rear wheels up to the hubs. Muttering curses at himself for his stupidity, Jake quickly reached in the glove compartment for the large silver flashlight, grabbed a hand-held radio and went out the door to give chase on foot.

  Jake ran toward the trees and when he reached them, began walking along the edge of the stand of tall firs slowly moving the light back and forth as he went. He began climbing the hill that would lead him out of the park to the houses on the west side when his eye caught sight of another shadow of movement up the hill to his right. Playing the light over the area where he saw the movement, working the flashlight back and forth, he trotted slowly up the hill toward the spot. As he placed the radio in a pocket of his sport coat, the light’s beam flashed over a dark object wiggling in the grass. Had they not been moving he would not have noticed the man’s legs working to regain their footing on this steep part of the hill. Jerking the light back he was just in time to see the figure reach the hill’s crest and begin sprinting away.

  Jake began to give chase, huffing and puffing his way up the hill knowing there was no way he would catch his quarry even if he wanted to. He slowed to a walk where his flashlight had caught his quick glimpse of the man, the hill at this point rising almost straight up the final fifteen feet to the top. As he was about to begin the ascent, he felt his left foot kick a solid object on the ground. Instead of continuing his futile pursuit, he stopped and pointed the light down at the spot where he had kicked the object. Playing the light over the thick grass, just as he was about to give up and finish his climb, the light flashed off a bright metal object lying a few feet to his left.

  He stepped over to the spot encircled by the beam, squatted in the grass and softly said, “Well, well, what have we here?”

  Waschke removed a handkerchief from the hip pocket of his slacks, held it by one corner and unfolded it with a flick of his wrist. Carefully, he used the handkerchief to pick up the shiny object and held it up in the light. He turned the serrated seven inch knife over in his fingers as one or two drops of fresh blood dripped from the blade onto the grassy hill. Taking a quick look around to be sure he was unobserved, Jake quickly wrapped the handkerchief around the long blade which left part of the white plastic handle exposed and carefully placed the knife in the inside pocket of his coat.

  Rising from his squat, he started back down the hill toward the stand of pine trees. As he walked, he removed the radio from his pocket, turned it on, pressed the transmit button and said, “This is Waschke. I think I saw him heading to the east side of the park to Twelfth Avenue. Anybody copy? Over.”

  “This is Lund, Lieutenant. I read you and I’ll be on Twelfth in a minute. Over.”

  “Did you call for back-up? Over,” Waschke said into the radio as he reached the edge of the trees.

  “Roger that, Lieutenant. They’ll be here any second.”

  “Here’s one now. You continue searching east of the park. I’ll send help to you. My car’s stuck in the lake. Over,” Jake said as he passed through the trees toward the headlights coming at him from the same hill he had driven down. Waving the squad car to a stop, Jake went to the driver and instructed her to go back on the street to the east side of the park to help Lund in the search. Before finishing his misdirected instruction, two more cars, both with their lights flashing, came careening over the crest of the short hill. He waved them both to a stop as the first car began to circle around to go back up the hill to the street.

  A short while later, after instructing other arriving cops to search the streets and the park; Jake heard one of the police officers searching the park grounds yell, “Over here. Lieutenant! Hey. Over here,” the man continued to yell in an agitated, excited voice. Jake hurried toward the sound of the voice and the flashlight beaming back and forth, as did the other eight officers searching the park. He was the second one to arrive at the source of the yelling and, as he hurried up to the man, he heard him say, “There, Lieutenant. Right over there. Behind those bushes,” pointing his light at a small bush on the edge of the pines.

  “Okay. Take it easy. I’ll take a look,” Jake said. He turned to the other officer, the first to arrive and said to her, “Keep everyone back. We don’t need a bunch of people stomping around in there.”

  “Sure thing, Lieutenant,” she said.

  “It’s just awful. I think I’m gonna be sick,” said the one that discovered the

  body.

  “Take it easy, son. You’ll be all right,” Jake replied as he gingerly
began following his flashlight to the other side of the bush.

  A half hour later, after his car had been pushed from the edge of the water, he stood in the street leaning on the door watching Roger Holby walk out of the park toward him. Jake casually puffing on a cigarette, waiting for his boss.

  “He slipped us again,” Holby said as he stepped up to Jake, disappointment obvious in his voice. “We picked up a couple of guys but they don’t sound right.”

  “Yeah, I heard,” Waschke said.

  “You sure he went out that way,” Holby said, pointing east down the street.

  “No Roger, I told you, I’m not sure,” Jake replied obviously irritated. “I went up the far edge of those trees,” he continued as he pointed, “and I thought I might’ve seen some movement through the trees on the other side. It was pretty dark where I was standing. I’m not sure at all. I didn’t see him go out the other way so, I figured that was our best shot. Okay? He could’ve gone anywhere but I didn’t see him.”

  “We’ll seal off the whole goddamn park tonight and get the lab guys out here at first light. We’ll go over this place with a fine tooth comb.”

  Jake dropped the cigarette on the ground, crushed it underfoot and said, “Well, I’m bushed. I’ll be in first thing in the morning. I’ll talk to you then.”

  “All right, Jake. See ya’ then,” Holby said. Then added, “Jesus Christ, Jake. This has gotta stop. We gotta get this guy.”

  Jake paused before he got into the car and, standing with the open car door between himself and the Deputy Chief, wearily sighed and said, “Yeah, Roger. I know. We’ll get him eventually but we need something. A witness would be good. Too bad the old lady didn’t get a better look. Who knows, maybe somebody saw him running down the street.”

  “I know,” said Holby. “I’m gonna pull everyone in and do a house-to-house, see if anyone might’ve seen him. Maybe see if we can get something in the media. You know, put out the word for anyone who might’ve seen somebody runnin’ or acting suspicious.”

  “Great. Every nut in town will call. You better get more detectives on this. But, ya’ never know. It might get us something. I’ll see ya’ in the morning,” Waschke said as he got in the car, shut the door and started the engine.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  He quickly drove out of the area in the general direction of his home. After he had gone about two miles, not wanting to use his cell phone, he found an all night gas station with a pay phone in the lot. He pulled into the lot and over to the phone to place his call. He listened to it ring almost twenty times and, just as he was about to hang up, he heard a familiar voice answer.

  “Do you recognize my voice?” Jake asked.

  “Yeah, dude. What time is it, anyway,” the man said.

  “A little after midnight,” Jake replied. “Where were you?”

  “I was in bed, man. Sleeping.”

  “I need to see you. Tonight, now” Waschke growled. “Get yer ass outta bed and meet me at Tooey’s in twenty minutes.”

  “Now? You gotta be shittin’ me, dude,” came the irritated response.

  “Twenty minutes,” Jake said and hung up the phone.

  Twenty three minutes later, as Jake was finished a small glass of beer, he saw a scruffy looking man come through the front door of the quiet neighborhood tavern two blocks from the informant’s home. The small man looked around the dimly lit bar and, after spotting Jake in the corner booth, made his way past the mostly empty tables and took the seat opposite Jake.

  “You didn’t have to get all dressed up,” Jake said, sarcastically referring to the dirty flannel shirt and ripped up blue jeans. “Ya could’ve at least run a comb through that mop,” he added looking at the man’s disheveled curly brown hair.

  “I was sleepin’, dude. Ya know?”

  Just then, a waitress appeared at the booth and said, “Can I get you guys anything?”

  “Yeah,” Jake replied. “Another couple glasses of Miller.”

  The bored middle-aged woman turned to get their drinks and, when she was out of hearing range, Jake turned to his companion and said, “Listen, Marty. You wanna square things with me, once and for all?”

  “I don’t mind helpin’ you out, Jake. You know that. Besides, you’ve always been fair with me. I got no complaints.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Jake said, nodding somberly. “But this time, we’re gonna have to clean you up cause you’re gonna have to testify.”

  “Hold it,” the man whispered as he leaned over the table, an anxious look in his eyes as they darted back and forth. “That wasn’t the deal, dude, remember? No testifying. You promised.”

  Jake started to respond then checked himself as the waitress approached with their drinks. Jake gave her a ten for the six dollar charge which brought a friendly smile when he told her to keep the change. He turned his attention back to Marty Hobbs and said, “I promised nothin’ you little cockroach. You’ll do as I say or I’ll have your ass. You got it? Now, relax. It’s no big deal to testify. You’re a bright guy. You can handle it. I’ll help you through it, no problem.”

  “I dunno, Jake,” Marty said shaking his curly head. “What am I testifying to, anyway? I don’t even know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about.”

  Waschke pulled out of his shirt pocket the picture he had pilfered from the closed case file and slid it across the table to his co-conspirator. Marty picked it up, held it up in the poor light and said, “Yeah. So, who is it?”

  “Where were you tonight, around 10:30?” Jake asked, ignoring the question.

  “Home. I got home about 9:00. Why? Who is this guy?”

  “Relax. We’ll get to it. Were you alone?”

  “Yeah, I was. I watched a little TV, did a little smoke and went to bed around 11:30. I got a job. Gotta be at work at 7:00.”

  “Not tomorrow. Call in sick. You’re stayin’ home,” Jake said pulling two fifty dollar bills from his wallet and handing them across the table.

  “Okay. But, to do what?”

  “Tomorrow morning, at 9:20, precisely, I want you to call the number on the back of that picture and ask for me, personally. Tell whoever answers that you wanna talk to the cop you’ve seen on TV. The one lookin’ for the serial killer. Don’t ask for me by name. You got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it. Then what?”

  “I’ll take the call but, just in case there’s some reason I can’t, you tell whoever you’re talkin’ to you might’ve seen someone we want last night. That means tonight. We had another killing tonight at Powderhom. I know who it is and I need your help. I need a witness to stop this guy.”

  “No shit,” Hobbs said, his eyes wide with amazement. “How do you know, dude?”

  “That’s not important. That guy in the picture, that’s him and I need you to identify him. You’re gonna say you were walkin’ down the east side of Chicago, going south, when you saw this guy come tearin’ ass around the corner of Thirty Fourth and Chicago. You got a good look at him and you can identify him.”

  “Why am I callin’?” Marty asked, becoming serious, now.

  “Good question. Because you heard on the news about the killing at Powderhorn and you saw this guy a little after 10:30 just a couple blocks from the park. You’ll look through mug books, I’ll help you, and maybe talk to a sketch artist. Probably not ‘cause you’re gonna pick this guy out of the second book. Understand?”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  “You gotta make it look good though. Okay? Take your time. Be cool about it. You spot him in the second book and I’ll do everything else. Okay?”

  “What was I doin’ on Chicago and Thirty Fourth at 10:30 tonight? That’s three miles from my place. What if somebody asks?”

  “I don’t know,” Jake said, annoyed. “Think of something. You went for a walk. Were out lookin’ for a hooker. It doesn’t matter. No one will ask. You’ll be dealin’ with me, remember?”

  “This is gonna be big shit, Jake. Hell man, you’ll make captain for sure.�
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  “I just wanna get this guy off the street,” Waschke grunted. “I’ll worry about making captain later. Keep the picture for now but be careful with it. It’s the only one I have and I’ll want it back. Don’t worry about testifying. For now, just help me get a warrant. All right?”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Jake stood at his kitchen sink, lukewarm water slowly trickling from the faucet. He wore long, rubber cleaning gloves as he carefully examined the knife, turning it over under the magnifying glass he intently peered through. After rinsing the blood from the knife’s blade he was looking for the traces he knew he had left where the blade came out of the handle. Invisible to the naked eye, the magnifying glass revealed minute traces from the bloody naked corpse found in the park. Just enough for the police lab to link this knife, and whoever possessed it, with victim number seven. And, he thought, if he was real lucky, there might be other traces of blood from one or more of the other victims as well. Probably too much to hope for, but he would find out soon enough.

  The next morning Waschke strolled briskly through the empty squad room of the stalker task force just before 8:00 a.m. He headed straight for the glass paneled office at the back of the room, his office, to check for reports of the previous night’s events. There was no one else in the room yet and he wondered where everyone was then realized they had been late at the park. As he turned the knob to go into his office, he heard the exterior door open. He turned to see who it was and heard Gary Barnes, a sergeant and his senior detective, call out to him.

  “What do you have, Gary?” Jake asked.”

  “I got the dope on the girl. You wanna hear it?”

  “Christ, Barnes. You look like shit,” Jake observed as Barnes walked up to him.

  “I been up all night. What do you expect?”

  “Is there any coffee made?” Jake asked when he saw Carol Johnson come around the corner leading from the break room.