Danger in the Snow

by Wendy Meadows

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Cops and coffee, go figure,” she sighed. “Fine, I'll have a cup of joe.”

  “I'll go get us some coffee,” Sarah said and left the office. She walked out into the main office area, which held three desks behind a wooden rail. The room smelled of coffee and cigar tobacco. “Henry and his cigars,” Sarah said and just then, a sudden thought struck her. She rushed to one of the desks and called her old Los Angeles police precinct. “Maybe Pete is smoking one of his own cigars…”

  Pete, who was at his desk pulling a night shift, heard the phone ring on his messy desk. He shoved a pile of folders to the side, pushed a fat, half-smoked cigar into the far corner of his mouth, and yanked up the receiver in a fury. “You guys in forensics need to—” he began to yell into the phone.

  “I don't work forensics,” Sarah smiled.

  Pete felt a smile touch his tired lips. “Well, if it isn't my long-lost partner. Where have you been, kiddo?”

  “Working on a new book,” Sarah explained. “I tried to call you last week, but you were out on a new case.”

  “Yeah, a bunch of low-lifes are hitting the rich houses in town,” Pete complained. “So far they've made off with over two million dollars’ worth of jewelry and fine art. The mayor is breathing down the department’s neck...he’s a real scumbag.”

  Sarah grinned. Pete never did like politicians. “You'll catch ‘em, Pete.”

  “I'm not so sure, kiddo,” Pete confessed, weary. He leaned forward and chewed on his cigar. “I think we got a few corrupt cops helping out.”

  “Oh no,” Sarah replied in a commiserating voice.

  “Tell me about it,” Pete replied. “It sickens me. Nothing worse than a bad cop.”

  “Are you sure some of your guys have turned?”

  “Yeah, I'm sure. I’ve got everything but a warrant. One of the guys is the mayor’s nephew. Some hot-shot wanting to make detective. If I drag that bag of alley trash into the light, I'll lose my retirement for sure,” Pete explained. “I have to try and track down the rats he's working with and hope they'll squeal like babies when we bring ‘em in. Only problem is, I don't have any clues except for a single fingerprint that's pretty smeared. Not sure forensics will be able to do anything with it. I’ve been waiting on them to call me all night.”

  Sarah felt Pete's pain. “Sounds like you and I are in the same boat, partner,” she told Pete.

  Pete took the cigar out of his mouth. “You in trouble again, kiddo?” he asked in a worried voice.

  “Not me,” Sarah replied, “Amanda. We have a killer in town who is out to get her, and I'm stuck on square one.”

  Pete put the cigar back in his mouth. “Talk to me, kiddo. Maybe your old partner can help out.” Sarah nearly began crying. She loved Pete more than anything. Pete felt the same way about Sarah and for both of them, the phone call was like a lifeline in the middle of a deep, dark, treacherous sea that threatened to drown them.

  “I have a friend in London who might be able to help,” Pete told Sarah after she had told him the details at length. He tossed his cigar into a round metal ashtray and grabbed a half-eaten box of Chinese food. “We can bypass all the red tape.”

  Sarah heard Pete slurping up the remains of his favorite Chinese noodles. A tear slipped down her cheek. How she missed her old partner...and even her old life. As much as she cherished her new life in Snow Falls with Conrad and Amanda, a part of her remained in Los Angeles—a part of her would always remain in Los Angeles. In her mind she saw herself as a younger woman, driving in a shiny new cop car down a sunny street lined with palm trees swaying in a hot afternoon breeze. It was a tempting vision. Little details threatened the edges of that beautiful picture the more she thought about it, though. She saw traffic working its way through and around the city, clogging up the highways. She saw the high canyons choked with overgrown weeds, hiding mysterious homes of rich people who did not like to follow the law, and the beaches that harbored strange and familiar songs at all hours of the night. Despite all that, she saw herself sitting in her favorite diner by the beach with Pete, discussing a case. “The good old days,” she whispered.

  “I heard that,” Pete told Sarah. “Your partner knows you miss your old life. All you have to do is say the word and I can get your job back. The department would lay out the red carpet for you.”

  Sarah glanced at Conrad's closed office door. “A part of me wishes I could, Pete,” she confessed, “but another part of me knows...I belong here, now.”

  Pete shook his head. “I tried to leave but couldn't. Someday you'll come back home, kiddo. Wait and see. In the meantime, let's focus on your case.”

  “Okay,” Sarah replied, grateful to leave her other thoughts behind.

  “I'll call my friend in London and get him moving,” Pete explained. “I'll have him dig up all that he can on this Bertha lady. He's a retired detective who sits around all the time complaining he has nothing to do but sip tea and read the papers at his local pub. I'm sure he'll be glad to get his hands dirty.”

  “You're the best, Pete.”

  “Not until I solve my own case,” Pete groaned. “This is a tough case to crack, kiddo. I'm having to wear kid gloves to avoid losing my pension while pounding the streets for answers. Guess I should have retired when I had the chance.”

  “You'll never retire, Pete.”

  “No, guess I won't,” Pete admitted and gobbled down the last bite of his cold noodles. “Heard you're getting some snow again.”

  “Storm is pretty bad,” Sarah explained.

  “I've been watching the weather,” Pete said. “It's nice and warm here,” he continued and then stopped.

  “Pete?”

  “What?” Pete asked.

  “Your voice went sad. Why?” Sarah asked.

  “I went to our diner yesterday, kiddo. Oh, it's still the same, except for a few minor changes,” Pete sighed. “I sat in our usual booth...” Pete felt his heart break. “I must be going soft because I started missing you, kiddo.”

  Sarah felt her own heart ache a little. “You're going to make me start crying.”

  “Then come home,” Pete pleaded. “I have some good years left. We can be partners again.” Pete grabbed his cigar. “Alaska has been nothing but trouble from day one. I mean, for crying out loud, you stubborn mule, you almost died from a deadly virus. You’ve taken down at least a half dozen killers up there. By now I would have been making tracks back to Los Angeles.”

  “I can't run from my problems, Pete.”

  “Problems will find you no matter where you go,” Pete barked. He grabbed a box of matches and lit his cigar. “Conrad can get on with the department and you two can be happy here. You can even bring Amanda with you. I like her a lot, she’s a doll.”

  Sarah heard voices. “Pete, I have to go. I'll call you back tomorrow,” she whispered.

  Pete plopped down behind his desk. “Hit and run, huh, kiddo?”

  “You know better.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know better,” Pete sighed. “Call me tomorrow morning. I'll work the night through for you.”

  “I...love you, Pete,” Sarah said in a quick voice and hung up the phone just as Andrew appeared with Brent.

  “Everything okay, Sarah?” Andrew asked.

  “Just making a call,” Sarah said and waved at a tall, thin man wearing a black coat.

  Brent Johnson waved back at Sarah. “Good to have you on board again,” he said in a voice that came out sounding a bit like Bugs Bunny. Why? Sarah didn't know. All she knew was that Brent was a good man, married to a good woman, and he cared about the people of Snow Falls.

  “For a while, anyway,” Sarah replied. “Coffee?” she asked.

  “Just made a fresh pot before you arrived,” Brent said and pointed down a short hallway. “You know where the coffee station is. Just make sure to leave some for me.” Brent looked at Andrew. “I'll go make my first round.”

  Andrew handed Brent a powerful rifle. “Shoot first,” he ordered in a serious
voice.

  Brent took the rifle, studied it, and then looked at Sarah. “A cop who hates violence,” he said, “my wife sure married a winner.”

  “Melinda married a good man,” Sarah told Brent. “A man who loves violence is a coward.”

  “Let's hope I'm not a coward,” Brent said and slapped a black ski cap down onto his head. “I'll be heading toward the coffee station in a bit.”

  “I'll save you some,” Sarah promised. Brent nodded and bravely walked out into the storm.

  “Who were you calling?” Andrew asked. He sat down on the wooden banister and folded his arms. “And why did you make your call out here in the public area instead of inside Conrad's office?” Andrew studied Sarah. “What are you up to?”

  Before Sarah could defend herself, the telephone sitting on the desk beside her rang. “I'll answer it,” she said and grabbed the phone. “Snow Falls Police Station.”

  “You must be Sarah Garland,” a voice spoke into the phone, deadly serious.

  Sarah froze. “Get Conrad on the phone,” she whispered to Andrew. Andrew stared at Sarah and then raced off. “Yes, this is Sarah Garland,” she spoke into the phone. “Who is calling, please?”

  “Do you care who I am?”

  Sarah closed her eyes. The voice speaking to her sounded surprisingly young...mid-twenties. She decided to drop the act and go straight for the important question: “What do you have against Amanda?” she asked.

  “Everything,” the man told Sarah in a voice that sent a chill down her spine.

  Sarah braced herself. “Did you kill Bertha?” she asked, hoping to gather as much data as possible before the killer ended the phone call.

  “That's a stupid question,” the man answered. The sounds of a blazing fire crackled in the background when he paused. “Don't play dumb with me. If you're honest with me, I'll be honest with you.”

  “Fair enough,” Sarah replied. “I guess I need to ask why you killed Bertha?”

  “In time,” the man said, “you'll get all the answers you need. But for now, I only want to introduce myself.”

  “Why?” Sarah asked, fearing this was only the start of a terrible game – the kind only a sick killer would desire to play.

  “I want Amanda to sweat some,” the man said in a simple voice. “I want her to know that I'm around and that I'm in charge. I want her to know that I'm not afraid of her or afraid of anyone in this miserable little town. I want her to know the truth.”

  “What has Amanda ever done to you?” Sarah demanded in an angry voice.

  “It wasn't what she did to me,” the man answered, “it was what she did to my mother.”

  “Your mother is Bertha?”

  “In time you'll discover the truth. Cops are good at peeking into closed closets. You cops believe you have the right to violate a person's privacy while protecting your own,” the man hissed.

  Sarah heard bitterness in the man's voice. “We do what we have to in order to catch the bad guys.”

  “Sure you do,” the man said in a sickeningly sweet voice.

  Sarah’s mind swirled with questions and she finally latched onto the one she deemed most important. “Why do you want to kill Amanda? Why play this game first?” The question sounded redundant, but Sarah had framed the wording in a way that would allow the killer room to broaden his answer—or so she hoped.

  “Amanda deserves to be punished for her crime,” the man answered. “The more time we take, the more others will learn of her crime, too. I want her to sweat it out first...suffer through the hours of waiting. And she will, too.”

  “Amanda is being protected,” Sarah informed the man.

  The man chuckled to himself. “Nothing a high-powered rifle can't handle,” he said. “I could have killed myself a cop tonight. I left him alive as a warning to the other cops in this one-horse town: back off or die. Spread the message.”

  Sarah bit down on her lip. The killer was using the storm to his advantage. There was nothing she could do except try to lure him out into the open, which wasn't going to be easy. “Cowards hide,” she said, deciding to toss an insult into the mix in order to test the temper of her foe.

  “Snipers are clever,” the man replied in a voice that scared Sarah. “I've killed my share of men, cop. One minute a man is alive...and the next minute he's eating dirt. It's a beautiful thing when you get a clean kill.”

  “So you're a trained sniper?” Sarah asked.

  “I was,” the man answered. “Now I'm...independent...for now, at least.” The man’s mood changed and grew bitter again. “Spread the word, cop, that I mean business. If anyone stands in my way, they die. All I want is Amanda. Once I make her sweat some, I'll carry out a clean kill and move on.”

  “In your dreams, you pathetic rat,” Sarah snapped. “The only one who is going to be running scared is you.”

  “Is that a challenge?” the man asked. “Do you want to cross my path and become a target, cop?”

  “You're my target,” Sarah threatened. “You became my target the minute you threatened my friend.”

  “You're making a very stupid decision.”

  “We'll see,” Sarah replied. “You're not the only one trained to kill.”

  “A lousy street detective can't outsmart a trained field sniper. You're fighting a losing battle.”

  “We'll see,” Sarah said in a stern voice.

  “I guess we will.”

  Sarah closed her eyes. “Cowards hide. I won't hide from you. Will you hide from me?”

  “You'll never see me, cop. All you'll see is death.”

  “Big words from a coward. Why don't you show me your face?”

  “Maybe I will...in time,” the man answered and then hesitated. “Will you look at the time…the hour is late. It's time for sleep. I'll be up early. You better rest, cop, because I'm going to make the daylight hours very rough for everyone.” And with those words, the man ended the call.

  “Conrad!” Sarah yelled.

  Conrad came running out of his office. “Couldn't trace the call,” he said and kicked the wooden banister. “Who is this guy?”

  Sarah saw Amanda creep out of Conrad's office. “We're in serious trouble,” she whispered.

  Sarah walked over to Amanda and wrapped an arm around her. “We're going to catch this guy, June Bug,” she promised.

  “How?” Amanda asked as tears began falling from her eyes. “This storm has us blind.”

  Andrew walked over to Conrad. “Michael could have been killed tonight. My guys aren't trained for this, Conrad.”

  “Call Brent in,” Conrad ordered Andrew.

  Andrew nodded and radioed Brent, but all they heard were crackles over the radio. With a worried look, Andrew ran to the front door and called out into the storm. “Brent, get inside...Brent? Brent!” Andrew yelled. When Brent didn't answer, Andrew stepped out into the storm without any concern for his own safety. A couple of tense minutes later, Conrad breathed a sigh of relief when he returned with a snow-covered Brent, his teeth chattering.

  “I'll get the poor guy a cup of coffee,” Amanda said and rushed off toward the coffee station.

  Brent kicked snow off his boots and began wiping snow off his coat. “I can't see a thing out there,” he complained. “The winds are too strong and cut through you like a razor.”

  “No more patrols,” Andrew explained. He pointed at Conrad. “Tell him, Conrad.”

  “Tell me what?” Brent asked.

  “Seems like we have a sniper in town,” Conrad told Brent. “From this point forward, everyone stays indoors.”

  “A sniper?” Brent asked. “I...better go call the wife.”

  “Use my phone,” Andrew told Brent and nodded toward his office.

  Sarah watched Brent run off on worried legs. “It's like reliving the same nightmare,” she said in an angry voice.

  Conrad folded his arms. “I know what you mean, honey,” he said and focused on Andrew. “Any suggestions?”

  “Stay indoors,” An
drew said and ran his hands through his red hair. “And wait...wait until the storm stops and the state police can roll into town.”

  “I don't think the killer will allow that,” Sarah pointed out. “He's going to let Amanda sweat it out tonight but tomorrow...tomorrow he's going to turn up the heat.” Sarah rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Amanda is in trouble for something she did to his mother...but I got the feeling Bertha isn't his mother,” she said. “Think, Sarah...think,” she whispered to herself.

  “Maybe Bertha was his...grandmother?” Andrew suggested.

  “Why would he kill his own grandmother?” Conrad asked.

  Andrew shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? Just a suggestion.”

  “Not a bad suggestion,” Conrad told Andrew.

  Sarah stopped rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Conrad, I wasn't going to tell you because I know you've asked me to leave Pete out of our troubles...but I called Pete a little while ago.”

  “Sarah, why did you bother that poor guy?” Conrad moaned.

  “Because he's my old partner,” Sarah answered, “and I trust him...and need him.”

  Conrad stared at his wife and saw desperation in her eyes. He backed down out of love. “What did you ask Pete to do?”

  “Check out another angle on Bertha,” Sarah explained. “It turns out Pete has a retired friend living somewhere in England...a retired detective.”

  “Sure beats waiting to clear all the red tape,” Andrew said to Conrad. “We can use all the outside help we can get.”

  “I guess we can,” Conrad agreed. “If anyone can help us it's Pete.”

  “Yeah,” Andrew said. “I only met the guy a handful of times, but he gave me the impression that he really knows his stuff.”

  “Pete is the absolute best,” Sarah promised. She spotted Amanda returning with a cup of coffee. “Brent went into Andrew's office, honey.” Amanda turned left. “Poor thing. She's terrified.”

  Conrad felt anger boil up behind his eyes. “Sarah, I don't like being bullied,” he said and pointed at the phone. “Get Pete back on the phone and tell him his friend needs to put this at the front of the line. We need answers before morning arrives.”