Castle Danger--Woman on Ice

by Anthony Neil Smith

  Before either of them could get a handle on what exactly was happening, though, the lead EMT rushed over to tell us the victim still had a chance. A small chance but still a chance. But they had to leave now. They had to get him into surgery immediately.

  Haupt and Engebretsen took a look, Joel swarmed by EMTs doing CPR and trying to stop the bleeding, shouting that they needed to go, now, now, NOW!

  The lead EMT didn’t wait for a response. He turned on his heel and shouted to get the patient out of there, STAT.

  The lights of the squads lit up the surrounding warehouses, the parking lots, the rocky shore of the Mississippi. I leaned in to Haupt and said, “Please, don’t let them take me. If you get me out of here, I’ll tell you everything you want to know! I promise! Please! I didn’t want to shoot him. He was in on it. All this time, he was in on it.”

  Before long, I was warming up in an interrogation room under their protection, even though I was facing murder or attempted murder charges, which would get the Duluth cops off our trail … at least until the cops realized they had no body.

  But you’ve already heard me go on about that. Let’s cut to the chase.

  While I was at the cop shop, Joel and the Viral troupe returned the “ambulance” to the lot in White Bear Lake where they’d borrowed it from a friend of a friend (a patron with plenty of contacts), then they headed back to the theater to change and prepare for the next move.

  And what was the next move?

  For me, it was convincing Haupt and Engebretsen that our play-acting was all for a good cause — keeping the people behind Hannah’s death off our backs while Joel and the Viral folks copied the info on the flash drives onto, like, ten flash drives, some hard drives, all of it just insurance. Protection against the rich and powerful, and motivation for Andrew Marquette to keep his word to Hannah after all. They needed to spread it all over the Twin Cities, put it in as many trusted hands as possible.

  The time had come for us to fight back. The way to do that, thanks to Titus, was to confront one of several influential men in Minnesota politics who also just so happened to be members of the Club … and who just so happened to have been in Duluth when Hannah went into the water the first time.

  It took a tearful phone call to dear ol’ Dad back in Hermantown, Titus begging Raske to give up some names. They all listened carefully, Raske’s shouts through the tiny speaker audible all around the room. Titus knew about the party that had gotten out of hand at the Club. He knew it had moved to Downtown Duluth in the wee hours, when only a few were still awake and functioning, and then onto the ice … until it was only …

  “I won’t let them ruin us!”

  “They’ll ruin us anyway! If it comes down to them or us, do you actually believe we’ll be safe? That they won’t just shrug off a scandal?”

  “No, I won’t do it.”

  “Then don’t. Let me do it. Let Manny do it. You know who it was. You know who knows.”

  Nothing. Not a sound.

  “Dad?”

  “I do this … you’re dead to me. You get nothing from me ever again. My money, my name, none of it. Is she worth that much to you?”

  Titus opened his mouth, but no words fell out. He turned to the others in the room. Paula, arms crossed, cheeks flamed, whispered, “You’ll still have all of us, though.”

  He nodded. Then, to his Dad, “Give me the name.”

  If this worked, Joel and I would have immunity to spill our guts without screwing over our newfound friends. Hannah’s killer would go to jail, along with anyone who helped him keep it hidden. We would end up saving one of the most popular candidates for governor in years from embarrassment, one who looked certain to capture the hearts and minds and — most importantly — the votes of a decisive majority, and get this: he was set to do it as that rarest of political beasts, a progressive Republican. But we knew he was itching to back away from the cliff, led by instinct to retreat to a much more comfortable conservative savannah. But not if we could help it.

  On the other hand, if this didn’t work, we would end up in jail. Or worse. Andrew Marquette would go on to govern any way he goddamned pleased. And Hannah’s killer would retire, entirely free, to one of the Carolinas — I forget which one, but who cares? Fuck that guy.

  Joel, Paula, Titus, and the rest chucked their costumes into a burn barrel behind the theater, finished up with the copies and split up as soon as Titus was done with his phone call. The first three took the party van while the actors walked off, biked off, danced off to their lofts or their friends’ couches or their favorite bars, until it was just the road, the van, a highway northeast to Chisago Lake, forty miles out of town, where their target lived. A tax lawyer who worked for the State Treasury now and was thinking about running for a Senate seat. The man was loaded, Titus said, mostly because he’d been the recipient of creative banking thanks to helping a lot of rich men stay rich.

  After a few miles of preoccupied silence, except for the burbling radio that Joel couldn’t even make out from his spot on the back bench, Titus cleared his throat, shifted in the driver’s seat, and reached deep into his repertoire of conversational gambits: “Do you like horror movies?”

  The others groaned. Lots of Here we go and Jesus, please.

  Joel shook his head. “You kidding me? I lived through one.”

  And just like that, he had a captive audience for a barrage of war stories, a couple of which even happened to him. Sort of.

  With me, it was a different story. I was only hooking one of the two detectives with my story. Engebretsen sat close to me, same side of the table. Our elbows propped up on it, literally on top of our open files, Joel’s and mine, which they’d dug up as soon as we got to the station, since I’d told them who I really was in the car.

  “Then who’s Hannah?”

  “Hannah’s dead.”

  Haupt turned his head. “Did you shoot her, too?”

  “Nobody shot Hannah. Someone dropped her into Lake Superior.”

  “Drowned?”

  “I don’t know. We caught her once, got her on top of the ice, but she ended up falling in again.” I left out the part about my former partner Gerard. The less said about him, the better.

  Haupt shook his head. Engebretsen let out an airy whistle.

  We had nothing else to say until we got to the station, where I teased them — remember, when we first met — until they got word about our ‘magic trick’.

  I wasn’t ready to lay it all out for them. I needed something on paper. Something solid. Notarized. A fingerprint of blood, if that’s what it took. And then, the news that the ambulance had straight up disappeared, Joel’s ‘body’ along with it. Haupt, believe you me, that guy was red-faced, red-eared, standing in the doorway not sure whether to kick the door down or bolt straight through it. Every third breath of his sounded like a horse.

  Then I said, “I know where he is.”

  “Okay,” Engebretsen said, but quietly. “And where is that?”

  “Deal first. Then I’ll spill.”

  Haupt laughed, and it was the first time in all of this I thought I might get smacked in the face. I mean, I did get my fair share of smacks, and punches and kicks and more at the Club, but I hadn’t thought I would. But thinking about it later, I wondered if Haupt was really angry at me or rather at the overall situation. Haupt might have been a homophobe (or transaphobe or beingpoliteaphobe), but he was a law and order cop first, and in his eyes I was probably still one of the good ones.

  Not that he would ever tell me that.

  Instead what he said was, “Let me put him in cuffs. That’ll wipe the smirk off his—”

  And so on.

  But me and Engebretsen, we were tight. He shook his head. “You killed a man and hid his body—”

  I shook my head. “He’s not dead.”

  “Almost dead?”

  “Very much not, in fact. Healthier than me, at least physically.”

  They shared some more grunts and shrugs,
winces and throat-clearings. More pantomime now than telepathy.

  Sick of all the nonsense, I broke their connection. “There are cops looking for us. But they’re not like you guys. They’re from back home, and they shouldn’t be here.” I thought about my mom, my sister, and Robin, but I couldn’t tell them. Not yet. Once the hometown boys got wind that I’d been picked up, maybe they’d give up the chase. I was useless to them now. But if my guys here got to Mom’s condo and let the Duluth cops smooth all this over, I’d be in the back of a squad, destined to either rot in their jail or at the bottom of Superior, like Hannah. “This is big. So we had to do something to make them back off, and to get your attention. Joel’s fine, though. And if you guys can help me out, I’ll tell you the whole story. You can sell the rights for a sweet movie deal.”

  I hoped they bought it. We were talking sixty-forty odds. No, who was I kidding? Ninety-ten that they’d call Duluth and, I dunno, beat me with a sack of oranges or a phone book like in the olden days. The horror of it all, right? Knowing that everything I told them was true, including a fake murder that was meant to help lead them to a real one, all the while knowing it sounded like daytime soap opera bullshit.

  Haupt, snarling, really getting his teeth into his disgust of me. And of Joel for helping me, for pulling a fast one and shooting at cops, and for fucking that up, too. “Could’ve fucking killed us. Jesus, could’ve fucking killed you.”

  Engebretsen glanced at the files, papers spread all across the top of open manila folders. “Could’ve killed a BCA agent, too. Almost did, in fact.”

  I shook my head. “He didn’t know that.”

  “The BCA says you tried to break into a crime scene.”

  “The door was open. Very hard to break into an open door. And even if it had been closed, Paula had the key. I thought conspiracy theorists were a little more detail-oriented.”

  Engebretsen sighed. Flipped a page. “Both of you fired. So you should be in custody, not demanding any deals, let alone staging some Wild West shootout or whatever the fuck that stunt was.”

  Haupt, right over my shoulder this time. “I wish we had a charge for impersonating idiots. Except you two are the real thing, aren’t you?”

  “Jesus, back off, alright?”

  His partner grimaced and nodded, sending Haupt back to the door.

  “Listen, why would I do any of this if it wasn’t serious? Why do you think we’re going to such great lengths?”

  They looked at each other. Brain waves. I could almost see them. Joel and I would never have that, thanks to the invisible tin-foil hat on his head. But these two, their detective craft honed over years of practice, were right there on the ball.

  “Attention?”

  “Covering up shit you did?”

  “Trying for an insanity plea?”

  “Terrible life choices?”

  “Enough, I get it, fuck.” I lowered my face into my hands, rubbed my eyes until they were red-hot sore. The throbbing wouldn’t go away. I’d been awake too long. Too much adrenaline dumped into my frazzled body, time and time again, fatigue now hammering me harder than my interrogators. I just wanted a safe place to get warm and sleep. I wanted to call Joel and let him know we were in the clear.

  But we weren’t. Not yet. First I had to sell this.

  “What if I told you the former Chief of Police in Duluth killed his transsexual lover, who was also the brother of our next governor?”

  They both stared at me. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe.

  Then Haupt nodded. “And you’ve got proof?”

  I held up my nearly numb hands. “I don’t even have a badge anymore. But it all fits. It all works. It’s the only fucking thing that makes sense.”

  Engebretsen cleared his throat. Coughed. When he spoke, it was gravel. “That’s where we come in?”

  “Yes. I’ll get you all the other proof, and our witness—”

  “You’ve got a witness?”

  “No, not an eyewitness, but someone who knew all about Hannah and the Chief. Seriously.”

  “And you want protection?”

  “I sure as hell don’t want the dirty cops to get us first.”

  Haupt let out a breath. Braced himself against the top of the doorframe. “I mean, yeah, this was a missing persons case … but, Jesus.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Some more cop voodoo, the slightest of tics and nods.

  “What we expected was, maybe, that this missing woman had something to do with Hans Marquette, something to do with Paula Livingston and that theater troupe of hers. But … Jesus, those were her actors tonight? The paramedics?”

  He laughed. Then Haupt laughed, kind of. More than I had ever expected to hear from him.

  “Well, now we know. All the cards, Manny. All of them are right there.” Engebretsen stabbed the table with a thick index finger. “Right here.”

  “Yes they are.” I leaned back, crossed my arms. “So can I change the rules now?”

  The mood in the room was like a slow leak in a balloon. Haupt let out a long sigh through his teeth. He leaned his head against the doorframe and closed his eyes. Engebretsen flipped a pen in his fingers while staring at my coffee cup.

  “Write something up that says Joel and I can get a free pass for some of our shenanigans. In exchange, we’ll help you break up a real conspiracy. Chief Neudecker has a whole bunch of people on his side, even if they don’t know exactly why.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He was a straight, married man who belonged to a Club for transgendered women, and he fell in love with Hans Marquette, who was transitioning to Hannah. I think that’s what his people think they’re protecting, not the part about him killing her.”

  Haupt glanced at his partner. “Maybe that’s where we’re getting some interference.” Eyes back on me. “We’re pretty sure the missing person’s report came from someone associated with the Marquette campaign. It was a couple months ago. We thought we’d run out of leads until, what, last week?”

  “When Joel and I got fired. When Paula came back to the Cities.”

  Engebretsen buckled a little, a silent belch caught in his throat. He turned his head as far as it would go, which wasn’t that far, and let out another deep sigh. “I can’t sell that. Neudecker, that asshole, I can believe it, but I can’t sell it. Can you?”

  Haupt looked pained. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “Yes! Yes!” I latched on. “Not yet, but if you know where to look, right? If I can get you on the phone with Joel, he can get the evidence to you. Stash us some place safe. We’ll cooperate however we can. Just, you know, cut us some slack. Offer us a deal.”

  Engebretsen pushed himself out of the chair, hands on his back, and stretched. “We’ve got to chase a couple tails before we can do jackshit.”

  “I don’t think we have much time. If they know you brought me in, they know about the shooting. That’ll only hold them off for so long.”

  “Ten minutes. We’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  They left without another word. Closed the door. I heard the key in the lock, bolting me in.

  Ten minutes. What did ten minutes feel like without a clock, without much warmth, without anyone to talk to? I realized I was shivering, and it made me shiver more. Wrapped my arms tight, then tighter until my ribs hurt. Knees together, feet apart. I mean, this was going okay, right? We’d made a good play, hadn’t we? It was a crazy idea, but Paula had helped it along, made sure it was convincing. I’d simply wanted my golden boy detectives to pick me up, but then Paula had said you never know who’s listening. Surely this would be better.

  Stupid. Ridiculous. But, again, convincing.

  When I heard the key in the lock, I blinked myself back to reality, back to the chill of the room and the buzz of the fluorescents.

  Of course it hadn’t been ten minutes. It had been twenty-five.

  The two guys who walked in this time — not my sturdy defenders — were younger, one with a beer gu
t but boa constrictor arms, tight v-neck t-shirt and jeans, shield on a chain around his neck. The other was a stereotypical toadie in a khaki-and-sport coat combo, knit tie with a loose knot. I glimpsed Haupt and Engebretsen standing right outside the door, letting these two take over.

  “Up.” The v-neck motioned, like I was a trained pet.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Start thinking so. You’re coming with us.”

  “I don’t think so. I really don’t think so.”

  The guy in the suit checked his phone, watched the screen while talking. “Nothing to worry about. Someone wants to talk with you. That’s all.”

  I remembered the camera in the corner, nodded to it. “Can you at least smile for a picture first?”

  The v-neck was getting too close. “Just get up and let’s go.”

  I clamped my fingers under the rim of the chair. First thought: I got sold out. Those fucking cops. I shouted out the door, “The fuck, guys? The fuck is this?”

  Second thought: I knew this guy in the v-neck. Sure did. Soon as I got a better look at the shield, a BCA shield. Last time I’d seen him, he was pointing a gun at me on the beach in the dark.

  “Thorn.”

  He smiled. “Wondered when you would remember me.”

  The suit cleared his throat, casting nervous glances at everyone but me. “Gentlemen, if we can move along.”

  Clenched my fingers tighter. I looped my ankles behind the front chair legs. “No. Hey, Flat top! Get in here and explain our deal, okay? Remember that deal?”

  Haupt stepped into the room, arms crossed tight, like trying to avoid touching anything or anyone in the room. “Sorry, kid …” Closed his eyes. “Can’t you just tell him?”

  Thorn leaned over, took hold of the back of my wig, and yanked it right off. “You’re on a need-to-know basis, kid, but why not? Sure, go ahead.”

  He threw the wig on my lap and leaned in even closer, his eyes hovering inches from my face. Was he right? Had I fucked up? Had Engebretsen and Haupt been lying to me? If I resisted, did that give Thorn an excuse to get physical with me?