Untitled (a work in fiction)

Chapter 1


Every year consumers make a vow to start their Holiday shopping earlier only to find themselves in the thick of temperamental retail clerks, few parking spaces and even fewer selections and sizes to choose from. For the second consecutive year in a row Joann Frasier and her daughter Samantha were avoiding the last minute headache. Samantha would come home from college on the weekends to visit her parents and take advantage of the coin free laundry and eat a decent meal as college students do and on Sunday her mother and her would go shopping while her Dad would stay home and relax watching football. This Sunday was hardly any different except for the fact that they were also in the company of one of Joann's co-workers. The three women began their blustery morning at a little European Cafe with some latte's and bagels while conversing about Samantha's classes and some "frat jock" that had asked her out twice but was not appealing to her in the least. After paying the check they all left and got into Joann's Lexus RX as a light snow began to fall. They pulled out of the parking lot and headed south for a few miles and took the cross-town exit and within 10 minutes they had found a front spot on the second level-parking ramp of the Mall. It was just a little after ten and the only people to be found at this hour would be the "mall walkers". The women figured they had a good two hours before the mall would start filling up and by then they'd have made their necessary purchases. The three of them made their way from store to store; Joann picking out a gray cashmere winter coat for her husband at Nordstrom's Rack and Samantha and Joann's friend taking advantage of the bra and panty sale at Victoria's Secret. After about an hour the three of them agreed to meet back at the second level rotunda in about an hour and a half. Samantha went off by herself in an effort to find something for one of her girlfriends at school and see if she could find anything for her mother and her Aunt while Joann and her friend headed off in the opposite direction. The three women met up a while later having satisfied their shopping needs and headed out to the parking garage just as the mall was beginning to fill with the usual weekend crowd. After loading the car, without catching a glimpse at what the other had purchased, they headed out of the parking garage. The snow was starting to fall at a heavier pace now and a good inch or so had already covered the ground. As they made their way home they were waiting to make a right hand turn on a red light when two city plows came through the intersection side by side in an effort to clear a little more of the shoulder while laying down some salt. The two plows proceeded onward as the light turned green and Joann took up the rear of the two plows following at a safe distance. At first everything appeared to be ordinary until Joann's friend commented that the sand the plows had been laying looked a little different. "I don't think it's sand" Samantha said "I thought I heard they were going to start using some new salt mixture that's supposed to be a lot cheaper than the salt they were using." "Well don't you think it looks weird, almost like a reddish color?" "Yeah, I guess now that you mention it, it does look weird; sort of a reddish rust color."

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Even having lived in the upper United States his whole life, Joseph Kreider could never get used to the snow and cold. It really wasn't even the cold that was tough to get used to, it was the snow. For, what seemed like, five ungodly months at a time he'd be out there, just as he was this morning, shoveling Rachel's car out of the three foot drifts in the driveway. That, he often told himself, was something he would never get used to. They'd bought the house together shortly after getting married and he'd tried to make his case to her how he wanted the place in Lowry Hill simply because it had a two car garage, he knew damn well back then what a bitch it was going to be to get up and shovel and scrape off the car every morning. Even still, he liked the house they had now, a large Victorian style on the parkway and close to the lakes. The woodwork itself was enough to sell you on it and Joe remembered how it had been tough going early on trying to keep up the payments on a cop's salary. That was back before he'd even been Lieutenant. Rachel was right back then, as she often was now, and he had to give her credit for that. After all he had made Lieutenant that year and the equity on the house in the years ahead had made it all worthwhile. Still he couldn't help but wish he had that two-car garage once the snow started to fly. He would often think how it would not only benefit himself but Gus would be better off as well. Gus was Joe and Rachel's seventy two year old neighbor, had been for twenty years, and every winter he'd be knee deep in the white stuff plowing Joe and Rachel's driveway. The first winter in the house Joe had seen a hooded figure out there plowing on Christmas Eve and was stunned to see a guy as old as Gus. "Merry Christmas neighbor," he'd said in a nonchalant sort of way as if they'd known each other for years.

Then came the great Halloween blizzard of '92 and Joe had beaten him to it and was out there shoveling the first of the thirty-one inches when Gus had trotted over hollering. "What the hell Joe? It's all I can do to get outta the damn house. When ya been married half as long as I been you'll understand. Besides they've got me on some top rate meds, I could plow half the damn county and my back'd be as loose as a goose. Just bought a new Toro CCR3650 actually takes half the time." Joe was able to strike a deal with the stubborn old man that was as a good a deal as he'd get. Joe would scrape and shovel Rachel's car and take care of the front sidewalk leading up to the house but leave the rest for Gus. Gus was quick to add too that he didn't want Joe carving an extra wide path from the front door of the house to the driver's side car door.

"Morning neighbor, take a cup a coffee?"

"Morning." Joe replied, accepting the steaming mug. "Damn that's a good cup. We never have it this good down at headquarters."

"That'll keep ya out on the beat. Never get a damn thing done if they were serving up Starbuck's in there. You'd all be circled around yammering on about that pathetic game yesterday."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. Speaking of the game, I'm down forty bucks."

"That's a damn foolish bet; you'll go broke putting that hard earned cash down on the Vikes to win. Hell I didn't even bet on `em back when they had Tarkenton." Gus reached down and grabbed a pinch of snow and dropped it in his mug.

"You think I'd learn my lesson but it happens every year. They win against the toughest of teams and then they come home for a game against the Bills and crap all over themselves and at home no less. Shit, the forty bucks I can handle losing, it's the way they always lose that eats me up and those guys down at the station never let ya live it down."

"They always bet against the Vikes?"

"Well there are a couple guys from Jersey and they're die hard Bills fans. Fact one of `em has this Scott Norwood Jersey he wears; only instead of it saying Norwood on the back it says "Wide Right".

"Well at least the guy's got a sense of humor. That is pretty hilarious. Probably wouldn't be far off to get a Brien jersey and put Wide Left on it. Say, we still on for the game tonight?"

"Yeah we're still on. Rachel's got plans with her sister so it'll just be us guys. You remember my old partner Scott right?"

"Taller guy with the salt and pepper hair?"

"Yeah that's the one. He's coming over too, said he'd be bringing the beer."

"Free beer and a big screen TV, it's like I died and went to heaven. I'll see ya around seven then."

"Yeah sounds like a plan. I should be home around five if you want to hop over and get in a couple games of cribbage."

"I'll do that and hey, I'll have the driveway done by the time you get back."

"Don't knock yourself out. You said yourself there's more on the way."

"Well it's just more or less blowin' around now; hopefully this isn't the calm before the storm. I'll catch ya later."

Gus trotted off and Joe had finished scraping off the car, opened the driver's side door and inside turned the ignition. The Grand Wagoneer started right up.

Chapter 2

By the time Joe had hit the downtown zone he'd gotten that all too familiar gut feeling that something wasn't right. He spotted four cruisers headed east towards Third Avenue; flying across Hennepin with their lights running. Joe rounded the corner and hit a patch of black ice narrowly missing a Jaguar parked on the corner and gunned the Trailblazer down Third Avenue. As he pulled in front of the courthouse and threw the SUV into park he noticed a mob of reporters and a WCCO van parked out front. He grabbed his coat and reached for his mug of coffee, spilling it onto the driver's side floor mat. "Ah hell." He punched the auto lock and nudged the door closed with his knee catching the tail of his coat in the process. "Son of a bitch. What a Monday this is turning out to be."

"It's about to get a lot worse too Chief." Joe turned just as he had gotten his coat free from the clutches of the car door to find one of the rookies standing at his side.

"What the hell's going on Andy?" They resumed the conversation on the way up the courthouse steps more or less forcing themselves through the crowd of reporters gathered there.

"I figured you'd be able to tell me. We just got the call to get our ass down here pronto, let a group of taggers off in the process but not before we threw their cans in the trunk." Before Andy had even finished telling Joe about the taggers a bouquet of microphones were thrust into Joe's face.

"Have you identified the victim? Will you be bringing charges against MNDOT?"

Reporters were shouting questions faster than Joe's feet could carry him as he looked over at Andy; the two of them just looked at one another neither one with a clue as to what this was all about. Once inside Joe was sided by a tall well built man in his mid to late-thirties with a square jaw line and an FBI badge.

"Chief Kreider?" The man extended a hand to Joe as Joe shook it, trying to match strength and nodded. Joe turned to where Andy and a few of the other rookies were huddled.

"Andy, I want you guys to clear those reporters off the goddamn steps. Tell them if they want a story for the 5:00 they're gonna need to give us some time to get all the facts. No one coming or going talks to `em before we give the press conference and as of yet we don't know when that'll be. Got it?"

"Yes Sir"

Joe's attention again settled on the Fed as they headed down the hallway to Joe's office.

"Someone want to tell me what the hell's going on? And I want the whole deal, you sell me short and it's going to turn me into a first class S.O.B. Now I don't like having to go to that extent but I also don't sit too kindly to Feds coming in here and putting me and my guys under the microscope."

"My apologies for that predicament. And with all due respect, I have no intention of selling you short, contrary to any heat you may have received in the past. I know you guys don't take to kindly to Federal intervention but I'm here at the request of my superior and I will be quick to point out, off the record mind you, that we really do need as much help as possible on the State level than you may be given credit for."

Joe rarely allowed himself to feel guilty and this was not one of those moments but rather than show a brief sign of vulnerability he waved it off.

"I know my men and I know this precinct and what I can tell you is you'll get out of it what you give us. These guys are fully capable; some of the best men we've had in quite a long time; educated young guys, not just the typical kid who's happy to run a red with
sirens blaring and walkin' the streets feelin' high and mighty with a 9mm glock at his hip."

"We're going to need some guys like that on this thing Chief Krieder."

"If we're going to partner up on this deal you're going to have to call me Joe."

"I appreciate that Joe and I'm Mike" he produced a card from inside his breast pocket and handed it to Joe. It read Michael Monroe Special Agent FBI.

"We should get down to business. What we've amassed so far is that two bodies were discovered this morning at MNDOT's section eight site, half buried beneath a mound of road salt. We're still waiting on the Coroner's reports but it's pretty cut and dry; both shot in the chest with your typical nine-millimeter. Another two bodies, or what was left of them anyway, came up in the bed of a city plow but not before he salted half the county. We got a call this morning from a woman confirming that she was behind that plow yesterday during the early afternoon hours."

Joe's stomach quickly began to knot up. He was hoping there was an answer to the question he was about to ask.

"You land a suspect or come up with a motive yet?"

"Well that's where you come in Joe." That was not what Joe had wanted to here and he wondered if anyone else in the room had notice him struggling to swallow.

"This morning a couple of our guys came up with a similar case that you worked on
about six years back. We're thinking there might be a connection. Anything you can give us on that is going to be a big help."

"Not as big of a help as the guy I worked on that case with. He moved out west shortly after. The case got pretty personal for him, haven't spoken to him in about 5 years."

"You'd better give him a call."

"I had a feeling you were going to say that." Joe flipped through the Rolodex and came to the name. He punched the speakerphone button and dialed the number and on the third ring the party answered. It was a familiar male voice and Joe picked up the phone's receiver, taking it off the speakerphone function.