by Allan Evans
“Is this Reynolds? Reynolds DeVries? I’m a huge fan. I have a story for you.” The man’s voice was deep and somewhat muffled. Not a voice she recognized.
“Can I ask who this is?” Most stories came through the station’s news desk and were assigned by the news director. However, as her profile rose, it wasn’t exactly uncommon for her to receive tips directly.
“Just a cop who believes the story should be told. Before more women are killed.”
“I’m interested,” she replied coolly. On the inside, her mind raced. This could be something. Scanning her desk, there was never a pen when you needed one. Phone to her ear, Reynolds stood, waving her hand, looking for someone, anyone with a pen. “Tell me more.”
“Women have been murdered.” The man paused, letting his words sink in. “One just happened on Wednesday, the other three weeks ago. Both women virtually identical in appearance.”
A production assistant, attracted by her gesturing, stopped and Reynolds’ plucked the pen from behind his ear. “Wait, you’re saying there’s a serial killer here? In the Twin Cities?” The young assistant’s eyes went wide. Reynolds held a finger to her lips. Shhh, this is my story.
“That’s what it looks like.” Frustratingly, the man’s voice wasn’t telling her anything. His short choppy sentences didn’t betray anything about the man. In her line of work, reading people by voice often told her more than the words they spoke. Give her a minute with someone and she’d know what part of the country they were from, their socio-economic status, whether or not they had more of a passive or aggressive personality, how much of a factor their ego was and even which political party they were likely to vote for. And she’d artfully use all of this information to draw out the story behind the story. This man’s voice wasn’t giving her anything.
“Who’s investigating this?”
“The State Patrol.”
“Who should I follow up with there?” Reynolds scribbled down notes. She may be the only one who could read them, but the detail in her notes had saved her before. It was important to not only get down what was said but her questions and impressions as well.
“Remember the State Patrol guy who solved the highway shootings last fall?”
“Cade Dawkins?” Like almost everybody in the Twin Cities, she’d followed the story. When you have the owner of the state’s newest sports franchise orchestrating mass killings during the evening rush hour in an effort to distract the State Patrol so he could steal back his confiscated cash from the Patrol’s evidence vault, well that was big news in any market. And it was Cade Dawkins who had solved the case. As a card-carrying member of the news media, she’d been all over that story. Some of her reports had gone national even as the network picked up the story.
“Yeah, it looks like he has the lead on this one.” And just like that, this just became a much bigger story.
“Hey, I really—” and the caller was gone. Reynolds took a calming breath and held it before gradually letting it out.
Time to move. Grabbing her notes and her jacket, she flipped the pen back to the production assistant, still rooted in place, and ran.
Hands down, the least glamorous part of being an investigator had to be the desk time. In every case there’s time spent being desk-bound following up on evidence, looking up criminal histories, and Googling persons of interest. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was necessary.
Cade requested thirty days of phone tolls from Janek’s cell phone service provider. After downloading all of her calls—both incoming and outgoing—he’d then obtain an administrative subpoena to get the subscribers for each of those calls. Cade hoped to find something unusual, some contact that felt out of place, and maybe determine how she was targeted. If he could figure that out, it just might point to who the killer may be.
“Cade,” it was Hannah, the patrol’s office manager, “There’s a woman asking for you on three. Sounds a little breathless.” She shrugged but didn’t move away.
“Dawkins.” He held Hannah’s eye as he picked up the call.
“I think there’s someone following me.” The woman’s voice was soft-spoken but agitated. “Every time I look back, I see the same guy. When I left Maplewood Mall, he’s there again, so I took the Highway 5 exit because I remembered Patrol headquarters is there. I just pulled into the lot and…he’s stopped. He’s there, just waiting.”
Holy hell. “Lock your doors. Stay down, I’m on my way.” Cade sprinted toward the door. Amanda Curtis, a trooper recognized for her drug interdiction work along the 94 corridor into Wisconsin, was just tossing her gear onto a chair. “Curtis. Follow me. We may have a threat.” They both sprinted for the door.
Outside, a white van with a massive 5 emblazoned on the side was parked in the second row of spaces across from the entrance. A tall blonde woman stood next to a cameraman. The camera followed Cade as he burst out of the Patrol’s front door. Shit. This would explain why the woman knew enough to ask for me by name, Cade shook his head. Should have known better. He put his hand on Curtis’ shoulder. “Mandy, never mind. I’ve got this.”
Holding up his hand, Cade stomped across the lot, glaring at the cameraman. “Shut it down,” he barked. “I am not going on camera.” After a moment’s hesitation, the man lowered the camera. Cade turned on the woman, jabbing his finger at her. “You’ve crossed the line. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw your ass into the county lockup.” He stepped right into her space, locking eyes with the woman.
The reporter, a 5 news logo on the chest of her royal blue jacket, took a step back. “Look, I’m following up on a tip that several women,” she said, as she glanced down at her notebook, “a Holly Janek and Jennifer Allard, both listed as one-car accidents, were actually murdered.” She looked at Cade, searching his face for a reaction.
Cade held his emotions in check, not wanting to betray anything while his mind raced. How would this reporter have gotten her information—and so quickly at that? One obvious answer came to mind. A leak in the department. It wasn’t as uncommon as most people thought. Police saw a lot, both good and bad. They witnessed a lot of injustice and didn’t always agree with the way the legal system handled things. And like most people who knew a secret, they liked to talk. Of course, members of the media exploited this, cultivating their sources, stroking egos, giving out small perks, and playing on it’s-for-the-greater-good sensibilities. When you got right down to it, having this information out was inconvenient, but not a disaster. The real disaster will come, however, when Capt. Rejene found out.
The reporter looked at him with eyes that would best be described as determined. “If a killer is stalking women in the Twin Cities, we need to get the word out. If we can prevent another killing…” She was trying to play the greater-good card, but Cade was not going to let her off that easily.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Reynolds DeVries, Five news.” She looked surprised that he didn’t know who she was.
“So, Reynolds, you’re here to save the women of the Twin Cities. There are no headlines for you?”
Cade could see the wheels turning behind her pleasant smile. She was not going to roll over and give up—at least not without a shift of tactics. Shaking her head, DeVries stepped into his space. “Of course, the Twin Cities’ women are important. With a brave officer like you,” she said, touching his arm, “the innocent women will feel better knowing you’re looking out for them.”
Cade glanced down. Yep, she was definitely in his space. Her breast caressed his arm. She was using her presence—and a remarkably feminine presence at that—to draw him in. The thing was, he knew what she was doing, but he wasn’t going to stop her. DeVries continued. “People know who you are, and they like you. If you’re involved with a story this big, this could be national news.”
Cade nodded, not willing to say something about himself that would show up on the evening news.
“Here’s what I have,” DeVries said. “Both women were athl
etic and roughly the same height and weight. Both had long blonde hair.” She glanced at her notes. “And both were found dead on dark, deserted highways here in the east metro.”
“Look, a couple of ground rules before we go further. I won’t be on camera. I will confirm—as a law enforcement source only—that we are investigating a connection between Janek’s and Allard’s one-car fatalities. There are several similarities making us question the single car accident explanation. That’s it. We don’t have a smoking gun and we don’t have any suspects.”
“So, if you had to give me your worst-case suspicion…” DeVries left the sentence hang and held his gaze.
“I’d suspect we may have a killer who has something for knockout blondes.”
It was the six o’clock news that ruined Capt. Rejene’s day. Not that it made life any better for the people around her. Shit rolled downhill.
“Dammit.” Rejene stood by her open office door, her fists clenched at her sides. “Who’s talking to the media?” her loud question ringing throughout the expansive room. A sea of blank faces stared back at her, no one willing to risk their life stepping in front of this particular buzzsaw.
“Five News just broke the story that blonde women are being stalked on our highways.” Rejene stepped out into the hallway and paced around the desks. She picked up steam as she moved through the room. “The weasels couldn’t just come out and say it. No, they asked if the recent deaths of nearly identical women could be the work of a crazed stalker targeting Twin Cities’ women. Bastards. Then, they asked if our highways are actually safe for our women to drive on.” She stopped in front of the admin area, folding her arms, glaring at anyone who would dare look in her direction.
“Do you know whose job it is to keep people safe on our highways?” Rejene rolled on, not waiting for an answer. “Every man and woman of the Minnesota State Patrol. That’s why we’re here. That’s why we get up in the morning and that’s why we can sleep at night. Because we’re out there 24 hours a day, helping accident victims, stopping unsafe drivers, looking for drugs and criminal activity before they can ruin people’s lives. And I’m the one responsible for the Patrol’s performance. If the roads aren’t safe, it’s my ass on the line.”
Cade looked across the desk at Rob and shook his head. This was not a shitstorm to step into. Rejene stopped directly in front of their shared desk. “No one talks to the media without clearing it through me first. Understand? I like my ass just the way it is.” She stormed back to her office, slamming the door. Rob caught Cade’s eye, wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, while Cade slid his forehead down against his desk. Not a good day.
Stillwater, the oldest city in the state, was recognized as the birthplace of Minnesota. A sleepy but picturesque town on the banks of the St. Croix River, Stillwater was known as much for its prison as the scores of antique shops, used bookstores and one-of-a-kind restaurants which drew in visitors from around the state and nearby Western Wisconsin. Cade had moved to Stillwater last fall after finding his dream home, a 100-year-old craftsman on the north hill in Stillwater. His first foray into buying real estate had been a good one, leading to a romantic relationship with his realtor. Unfortunately, as it often happens in life, the two drifted apart under the strains of their respective careers. It was a cold month since he’d last spoken with her.
Cade ate alone at a trendy eatery on the main drag in downtown Stillwater. The secret to having dinner out alone, Cade discovered, was to sit at the bar. No one thought you were a friendless loser when you were at the bar watching a game on one of the many flat panel televisions. You were simply an enthusiastic sports fan who valued the game over friends or family.
Cade dug into his pasta dish, enjoying the Italian food. A glass of wine and a basket of warm bread bookending his plate. An English soccer game, Liverpool versus Manchester City was on the big screen directly across from him. A longtime recreational soccer player, Cade enjoyed watching English Premier League soccer, especially his favorite team, Liverpool. Life didn’t get any better, he thought as he watched another near miss by Liverpool’s Brazilian star. However, a glance at the empty stool beside him had Cade reassessing—sometimes having one’s options open was a lonely experience.
Being a cop meant you never sat with your back to the door. Call it a control issue, but pretty much every cop Cade ever met needed to face the front door. It’s all about being able to assess the threat level of everyone who enters. It’s just how a cop’s brain was wired. So, when the door opened, he spotted her right away.
Cade hadn’t expected to run into her so soon. Three women pushed through the front entrance, the two brunettes in front, laughing as they approached the hostess stand. The third was hard to miss. It was Reynolds DeVries. Dressed in a bright spring coat, she wore tight gray jeans and black heels. Her long blonde hair had more curl to it than it had earlier in the day. Her friends were striking, but all eyes were on DeVries as she walked across the room. Trying to be subtle, Cade turned away, but still kept his eye on DeVries as she and her friends got a table.
DeVries sat so she wasn’t directly facing Cade, which was probably a good thing. After the tension of their earlier adversarial confrontation, Cade wasn’t convinced he’d be able to rein in his anger a second time. He shook his head thinking about her ploy to get him out to talk. The woman had a lot of balls. He turned back to the game, disheartened to see Liverpool had been scored on twice already by City. It was funny how quickly one’s day could go from good to the toilet.
Fighting the urge and losing, Cade found himself drawn back to DeVries as he swung the barstool around. Her smile was radiant as she interacted with her friends. But it was her laugh that captivated him. It was so bright and full of sunshine. Could anyone with a sparkling laugh like that be a complete monster? Finding his earlier anger fading, Cade turned back to his dinner with a newfound appetite. Liverpool’s Firmino received the ball with his back to goal and flicked the ball up and over City’s defender, who was doing his best to smother him. Firmino spun around the much larger man and received his own pass, flicking it with his left foot into the path of a sprinting Salah who calmly tucked the ball into the corner of City’s goal.
Cade’s wine glass was nearly knocked right off the bar by his celebratory fist pump. Yeah. Take that, you overpaid City prima donnas. Now we’ve got a game.
Fork in hand, the urge to eat forgotten, Cade hung on every pass as the last ten minutes of the game played out. Manchester City’s Argentine star had the ball and sent a blistering shot at Liverpool’s goal. Playing the game of his life, Liverpool’s goalkeeper dove at full stretch, plucking the ball from the air just before it crossed the goal line. The Brazilian keeper rolled to his feet and sprinted to the edge of his box, unleashing the ball with an overhand throw. It found the feet of Trent Alexander-Arnold who took off hell-bent for the opposite goal. The counter attack was on.
Alexander-Arnold sent the ball into midfield, finding the foot of Liverpool’s captain, Jordan Henderson, while Alexander-Arnold continued his forward sprint. Calmly sidestepping a threatening player, Henderson launched a diagonal return ball right into Alexander-Arnold’s path. Finding open space, Alexander-Arnold pushed the ball far out in front of him as the City defenders realized they were in trouble and sprinted back. Alexander-Arnold’s next touch sent the ball across the mouth of the goal. With a diving header, winger Sadio Mané redirected the ball past City’s sprawling goalkeeper. Goal. Tied up at 2-2 with only a few minutes left to play.
Cade set down his fork. No way he could eat at a time like this. The mass of blue in front of Manchester City’s goal meant every last one of their players had come back to defend. The red of Liverpool’s uniforms filled the screen, too, as they pushed their advantage, rolling with the change of momentum, every player pushed into their opponent’s half of the field. Liverpool rapidly passed the ball from one side of the field to the other, looking much like a baseball team moving the ball around the diamond. When the ball got to t
he foot of Firmino, Cade stopped breathing and stood up.
Firmino cut to his left, switched the ball to his other foot, and cut back to his right. Two of City’s players were left on the ground behind him, victims of his quick change of direction. Two more touches and Firmino was at the endline just feet from the goal. Rolling the ball with his right foot, he dipped his left shoulder, convincing the three City players around him he would be launching a ball across the goal. At the last second, he hung onto the ball and moved it across his body, putting a City defender between him and the goal. His unexpected shot wasn’t seen by the blocked goalkeeper and the ball found the far corner of the net. The whistle blew, the game was over, and Cade stood with his arms in the air celebrating. Take that Manchester City.
Caught up in the moment, it took a few seconds before Cade realized someone was standing beside him. He lowered his arms as he took in her bemused smile. “Good game?” Reynolds DeVries asked.
“It was okay,” Cade offered, trying to remain to cool.
She gave him that radiant smile of hers, not buying his coolness for a second. “Yeah, I could see you were having trouble staying awake. I would expect most people find soccer a bit boring. It’s not like it’s a real sport or anything.” She held Cade’s gaze.
Twice today this woman has gotten to him. Cade took a deep breath. Some people were simply born with the innate ability to push other people’s buttons. Fighting to keep his anger down, Cade took another deep breath.
DeVries smiled, “Relax, I’m just messing with you. I was a former soccer player myself. Played D1 at UNC.”
“Really? UNC?” DeVries nodded. Cade’s estimation of DeVries had just taken a 180. In Division 1 women’s soccer, North Carolina was the program. She just might be a better soccer player than he was.
