by Allan Evans
Nodding toward the empty stool, DeVries asked, “Is this seat taken?”
She knew it wasn’t but had asked anyway. Cade pulled the stool out for her.
“Look, I’m sorry about today.” DeVries turned the stool to face Cade. She put a hand on his knee. “It was a shitty thing for me to do. I’d received this tip and needed to get to the lead investigator—you—as soon as possible. No running around, no chasing through Patrol protocols.”
“And your first thought was to lie? To falsify a crime report?”
“I know. I should have done—will do—things differently next time. I feel horrible about today.” Looking into her eyes, Cade believed she was sincere. However, if she was just saying what he wanted to hear, she was a surprisingly good liar. Scarily good.
“About that tip you received,” Cade said. “It obviously came from our department.”
DeVries smiled, her hand still resting on Cade’s knee. He was acutely aware of her hand, to the point of distraction. “A reporter’s source is a privileged thing. You know that.”
“You mean protected.”
She shook her head. “No, I meant privileged. The idea behind the reporter’s privilege is the protection of our confidential sources from disclosure.”
“I wasn’t asking for a name.”
DeVries leaned back in her stool, moving her hand. “Good. He never gave his name, anyway.”
“But it was a cop.” Cade searched her face, not an unpleasant task.
Her lack of answer was confirmation enough.
The glow of the decal was visible, even though her car was a good quarter mile ahead. The killer had followed her from a discrete distance for over a half hour now, ever since she’d left the restaurant in White Bear Lake. He was behind her as she dropped a friend off in nearby Mahtomedi, and then as she went all the way to North St. Paul to drop off another. Being patient was important when you were acquiring someone—when you were stalking someone, if he was being honest with himself. He was smart enough to know his need was building and it would consume him if he didn’t act on it soon. He prided himself on his reason and superior intelligence, but the need threatened to overwhelm all that if he didn’t act on it soon. And his killing cycle was a speeding freight train, gaining momentum as it went along, getting shorter. And shorter.
This wasn’t his first rodeo; he’d been through the cycle before. Prior to his move, there were others. The first was a cocktail waitress at Excalibur, one of downtown Chicago’s busier dance clubs. A redhead who drew no small amount of attention, she was popular with her customers. It hadn’t been easy to find her alone. A true slut, she had a different male escort take her home most every night she worked. He’d watched her flirt shamelessly with several of her male customers before honing in on the one. It wasn’t lost on the killer that her selection process didn’t differ substantially from his own. Over the course of several weeks, he watched her as his need grew, but the opportunity never presented itself—she always left with a man.
Eventually, there came a time when his patience left him and he’d followed the woman’s likely companion to the men’s room just before closing time. Their encounter was swift and brutal, leaving the man with probable ruptured testicles, broken teeth and most certainly no desire for a night of sex with the redhead.
It had been a night to remember. And to savor.
The red Honda signaled, moving into the left turn lane. This wasn’t the exit for her house. She must be making a pit stop at the 24-hour gas station on the corner. He had no choice but to close the distance between them and pulled in directly behind her as the light turned green. By circling around the back of the Fleet Farm gas station, he put himself in position where he could watch her and leave when she did.
The tall blonde looked unsteady on her heels as she exited the car to pump her gas. She was dressed in a short skirt and tall boots, a dark jacket covering up her top half. He’d seen the sales rep enough times to have a good idea what was underneath the coat. And his imagination was vivid enough to fill in what he didn’t know.
She glanced in his direction, and he turned away, hoping she hadn’t recognized him from the times he’d gotten close to her in recent weeks. He was careful but the need also brought out his riskier side—their Nicollet Mall encounter a perfect example. He had his cell phone up to his ear, obscuring his face, pretending to be on a call. It must have worked, as she turned back to the pump. In a minute, she was finished and back on the road, the killer right behind.
Highway 36 ran from Interstate 35W in the west to downtown Stillwater in the east. Some sections of the highway had more traffic than others, but fortunately, there were several deserted sections surrounded by corn or soybean fields—depending on the year’s crop rotation. The killer knew the woman was headed for Somerset, which meant she was going to take the lift bridge across the St. Croix River. The bridge, located in downtown Stillwater, would still have too much activity around, even at 2 a.m. And it was imperative he took her before she crossed into Wisconsin. That left the dark stretch of highway when Highway 36 took a left turn and paralleled the river a mile south of downtown.
They were in a section with stoplights every few blocks. Too many stoplights, too many streetlights—which made it difficult to stay back far enough. The red Honda was a block ahead, his reflective decal leading the way. She approached the Greeley intersection as his own stoplight went from yellow to red. Tempted to blow right through, a pair of approaching headlights reawakened his cautious side. He slowed, and stopped, wanting to be discreet. Frustrated, he tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel, the beat existing in his mind alone.
A glance to his left brought home his brilliance. A State Patrol car was not five feet away. He could feel the trooper’s eyes on him. This could be a disaster if… But the light turned green and the trooper raced off, leaving a welcome gap between them. The woman was blocks ahead now, going through the Osgood intersection, the last stoplight before the deserted section began. The killer goosed the gas pedal.
As meticulous as he was, all the planning in the world couldn’t predict the effects of a chance encounter. Up ahead, the trooper activated his vehicle’s emergency equipment, the lights painting a pattern across the killer’s windshield. The good news was he wasn’t the trooper’s target. The bad news was, the trooper had pulled over the red Honda.
When the flashers lit up the interior of her car, Stephanie Harding knew she was in trouble. It was always the “let’s have one more drink” that got you into hot water.
Seeing Paige and Alex again was perfect. Traveling so frequently for her new job meant she didn’t have many opportunities to hang with her old friends. Stephanie had been worried they’d drifted apart and would have little to talk about. Like most of her worries, reality was a lot different. They’d fallen into old patterns right away, laughing and getting along perfectly.
At the bar, they’d received no small amount of male attention and Stephanie soaked it up. Several of the guys had potential, but she wasn’t looking to date right now. The demands of her career were just too much.
She signaled and pulled onto the shoulder. Stephanie turned on the dome light and placed her hands on the steering wheel as her father told her to do if she was ever pulled over. He said it would help make the officer more comfortable about his safety and convey a sense of personal control on her part. As a sales rep who traveled extensively, a DUI could be a disaster. A real frickin’ disaster.
The State Patrol officer was at her window in a flash, rapping his knuckles on the glass. Stephanie lowered the window with a sense of dread. The trooper leaned down, studying her face. “Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked. His expression hard, all business.
“I’m sorry, I guess I don’t,” she replied.
He studied her for another beat or so. “Have you been drinking?”
Damn. How are you supposed to answer a question like that? Do you tell a cop that yes, in fact, I had a few martinis and thought
it was a perfectly good idea to climb in behind the wheel? Or do you lie and say no? That I was just driving home at 1:30 in the morning because our church bingo night ran a little long. In the end, knowing a lie would be discovered, Stephanie went with her sales training. If you’d prefer not to answer a difficult question, ask a question of your own.
“Why do you ask?”
The trooper looked at her, no expression to betray his thoughts. Stephanie needed to pee.
“You were weaving a bit around the Greeley Street intersection. I need your license and proof of insurance.” Stephanie handed them over. “It’ll be a few minutes,” he said before leaving her to wait. A thousand thoughts ran through her head: I’ve got a clean driving record. I cannot get a DUI. Tony will fire me if I lose my license. Should I cry when he gets back? I really have to pee.
It was, in fact, three minutes before the trooper returned. He leaned down by her open window. “Please step out of your vehicle. I’d like to administer a field sobriety test.”
Damn.
Stephanie walked back behind her car, bathed in the light of the trooper’s spotlight. The officer followed her closely. At such a close range, she was confident the trooper couldn’t miss the way her skirt fit. Stephanie wasn’t above using all her assets to her advantage.
“I’m going to give you several tests which will allow me to gauge your impairment.” The trooper said, pulling out a pen. “Just hold your head still and follow my pen with your eyes.”
The trooper swung his pen from one side to the other and then back the other way. So far, so good. Stephanie gave him a quick smile.
The trooper led her to the shoulder and gestured to the white line. “Now, I’d like you to take nine steps, heel-to-toe, along this straight line. After taking the nine steps, turn on one foot and return in the same manner in the opposite direction.”
Nodding, Stephanie stepped out with her right foot. Since she’d been walking for twenty-three years, this should be relatively easy. After all, practice makes perfect. When she made her turn with her left foot, she almost lost it but recovered quickly. It was the high heels that messed up her turn, the very heels that attracted her to the boots in the first place. Sometimes, it’s tough to be a slave to fashion.
When she was done, Stephanie stepped into the trooper’s bubble of personal space. She had a knack for reading people, and when they accepted her presence—they didn’t step back in other words—she knew she had them. “What’s next?” she asked pleasantly.
“Last test. I’ll need you to balance on one leg while you count by thousands. Lift your foot six inches off the ground. I’ll tell you when you’re done.”
Stephanie smiled. “Really? You should try balancing on these heels.”
“Just do your best,” the trooper replied.
“I always do.” Stephanie lifted her left foot. “One thousand one, one thousand two.”
After roughly 30 seconds, the trooper held up his hand. “Okay, that’s fine. I don’t see obvious signs of impairment, so I’m letting you off with a warning.” He looked into Stephanie’s eyes. Here comes the lecture.
“It’s not the fear of getting a DUI that should concern you next time you’re out having a drink. Alcohol greatly impairs reaction time, and being behind the wheel puts you in the most unforgiving of situations. It could be the deer that jumps out in front of you or the minivan pulling into your lane. Or the stoplight you didn’t notice. You do not want to diminish your reaction time. Plain and simple: it could kill you.”
He handed Stephanie back her license and insurance card. “Thank you,” she said, relief coursing through her.
The trooper nodded. “I’ve seen too many fatalities to take this kind of thing lightly. Please be careful.” He turned and headed for his vehicle.
Back in her car, Stephanie glanced in her mirror and pulled out. The trooper right behind her. It made her nervous. What if he changed his mind and pulled her over again? She tightened her grip on the wheel, not wanting to give any indication of unsteadiness. Her speedometer read 54 miles per hour. He was still back there.
The Beach Road exit came up and the trooper took the turn. Relief again filled her. Stephanie followed the curve as Highway 36 turned north, the St. Croix River on her right. In a few minutes, she would cross the river into Wisconsin and be home in ten minutes. What a night.
The killer was devastated when he saw the trooper’s emergency equipment activated and the red Honda pulled over. He signaled a right turn at the Osgood light and pulled into the gas station parking lot at the corner. Shutting off his lights, he kept the engine running in case he needed to make a hasty retreat.
The trooper was out of the squad and at the woman’s car in a moment. The Honda’s interior was lit and he could see her blonde hair. She handed him something—her I.D. most likely—and the trooper returned to his squad. He could see the trooper’s face from the glow of the dashboard laptop as he entered her information. Was this a traffic stop or a DUI stop? The killer hoped for the former, but when the trooper returned and had the woman exit her car, he knew it was the latter. The killer checked his mirror in the event the trooper requested a backup.
This wasn’t the first time a meticulously planned killing had gone horribly wrong. The Hilton Towers on Michigan Avenue was a favorite place of his. Inside was an Irish pub, Kitty O’Shea’s, where the waitresses wore frilly green dresses and had a playful attitude and everyone sang Irish tunes. He’d gravitated to a redhead named Annie. Her long curls and warm smile set her apart from the other waitresses working there. As was his custom, the killer followed her home and set out to learn her routine.
It turned out Annie had a part-time job at a gallery on Water Street. While not exactly an art connoisseur, a little internet research prepared him for his gallery visit—or so he’d thought. Dressed in a conservative suit with an open collar, he ventured inside the Illumination Arts gallery a half hour before closing, knowing she’d be there. Annie wore a gray business suit with matching skirt and heels. She’d looked stunning.
At first, their interaction had been delightful as she’d shown him around, asking about his likes and dislikes, and what kind of art stirred his soul. The trouble began when he attempted to describe his feelings toward the gallery’s art. He simply didn’t have any. Sure, he could appreciate an artist’s technique, but nothing “spoke to him.” And it never would. He wasn’t wired that way. The killer recognized the change in Annie’s demeanor as she sensed the aberration in him. He’d seen it before.
Annie left him to peruse the gallery while she finished her closing paperwork. She was only gone for a minute or two, but it was enough to raise the killer’s suspicions. He made an excuse and left just after Annie returned. She did not seem sorry to see him go.
He waited near her car, in the shadow of the dumpster. When he showed himself to her, there would be no going back. Normal people with normal motivations do not hide in the shadows. He would have to take her.
Moments later, he heard her heels on the pavement as she came around the corner and approached her vehicle. The killer stepped out of the shadows—only to be caught in the glare of headlights. Another vehicle entered the lot and came hurtling in his direction. The killer had no choice but to flee. He cut between a cluster of vehicles as he ran toward the other entrance on the south side. The pickup truck raced through the lot, clearly chasing him down. He had a handgun holstered in the small of his back but thought better of it. Despite decades of television cop shows to the contrary, a handgun wouldn’t be terribly effective against a speeding half-ton pickup truck.
He’d slid across the hood of a taxi out on Water Street and sprinted up the sidewalk, cutting down an alley and crossing to a side street. Forcing himself to slow to a walking pace, the killer needed to blend in. At this point, a man running in a suit would attract more attention than he desired. His car was around the corner from the gallery and he couldn’t risk returning to it, so he simply kept walking.
C
lose to midnight, roughly three-and-a-half hours after he’d arrived at the gallery, the taxi dropped him off at his car, with no sign of the pickup truck or Annie. He’d never seen Annie again after that night. After all, there are always more women for the taking.
The killer watched as the trooper took Stephanie through the field sobriety tests. He was convinced this wasn’t going to happen tonight. Sometimes circumstances just happened and there’s nothing you can do. But he didn’t leave, instead wanting to watch as long as he could. She looked unsteady as she did the walk-the-line routine, and so he was absolutely astounded when she was allowed to return to her vehicle, apparently free to leave.
The woman signaled and pulled onto Highway 36, the trooper several car lengths behind. After a moment’s hesitation, the killer pulled out and followed.
A surge of power went through him when the trooper took the exit, leaving Stephanie on her own. The woman was headed for the deserted stretch of highway overlooking the river. This was going to be his night after all. He floored the gas pedal and the hunt was on.
Stephanie couldn’t believe her luck when the State Patrol trooper let her go. Most of the stories she’d heard of people stopped for suspicion of DUI, the result was the polar opposite. It almost always started with a night in jail and ended with a year of expensive insurance and multiple court appearances. Of course, most people didn’t look like Stephanie. She learned early on that boys—and men—were attracted to her and she learned to use that. Working in pharmaceutical sales had been the right choice. For Stephanie, she had little trouble getting in front of the busy doctors putting her way ahead of her competitors who were often left sitting in waiting rooms for hours. If you were given a gift, there was nothing wrong with using it.
The bright lights came up fast behind her. Was it the trooper again? The sudden impact caught Stephanie by surprise as she wrestled with the wheel as the Honda spun out of control. Stephanie fought the wheel realizing she was in serious trouble. Her scream echoed in the car as it left the highway.
