JON FREDERICK
8:45 P.M., WEDNESDAY, JUNE 21,
MINNEAPOLIS
WE HAD BEEN ON A STREAK of beautiful weather—mid-seventies, no wind, but still enough clouds to keep it from getting too hot. After the investigation cleared me, Maurice Strock asked me to take Maddy back as a partner. I had no issue with her, since she hadn’t done anything wrong. A stakeout on Kub Kuam Peb, while I was out, had failed to produce any useful information. Maddy was quick to point out that there were no new crimes during my absence.
Maddy and I were soon in her unmarked car headed to Zikri Abbas’s home. She avoided eye contact with me as she drove. Maddy had this terrible habit of setting her phone on the console. At the first turn, it slid to the floor, requiring me to pick it up.
In a soft voice, she offered, “Look, I’m sorry. Somehow, I’d convinced myself you’d been paid to steer the investigation away from Ava Mayer. All of my instincts told me this. But obviously, I was wrong. And now people might be reluctant to work with you, just because of an unfounded allegation.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell Maddy our colleagues weren’t going to have any problems with me. After all, no evidence was found to confirm what she alleged. But they might have an issue with her for reporting one of their own. “Maddy, I have no issue with you or with what you did.”
Maddy digested this. She suddenly swerved the car to the side of the street and violently threw the gear-shift into PARK.
She turned to me, straining at her seatbelt. “Son of a bitch, you did take money, didn’t you?” Maddy’s dark eyes were all but piercing through me.
“What if I had? People get paid to do side jobs all the time. I would never let anything interfere with my BCA work.”
Incredulous, Maddy shouted, “Do you hear yourself ? There’s no way for you to know with certainty that Ava had nothing to do with Alan’s death. Have you stopped to consider she still may be the puppet master in all this—pulling some guy’s strings to punish men? You’re a crooked investigator.” The muscles around her lips twitched with unspoken epithets. “You might be the worst person I’ve ever worked with. Being unfaithful can’t be as bad as being bought off when you’re performing a job based on public trust. Peoples’ lives are at stake, here, Jon! How do you make this is okay in your brain?”
I rubbed my forehead and turned to escape her fiery stare. I focused on the texture of the dashboard. Nothing was okay in my brain right now.
Maddy’s nostrils flared as she fumed on, “It’s always some ass like you who thinks he deserves more than the income he agreed to work for. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and man up. When I go to bed at night, I can feel good about what I’ve done, because I did my job the right way.”
When Maddy realized I wasn’t arguing with her, she pulled away from the curb abruptly. The tires chirped as they bit into the pavement, as if surprised by the sudden movement. Maddy drove on, adding, “At least until I remember I’m alone, and I was robbed of my child, and everybody at work looks at me like I’m something they found stuck to the bottom of their shoes.”
I honestly reflected, “I’m sorry I put you in this position.” I then went on to explain that I had tried talking Marcus Mayer into funding an exploratory DNA study I created, which would eventually identify the killer, but had failed.
Maddy felt some consolation over having gotten through to me and she respected the DNA algorithm. Her demeanor warmed to that of concern. “There isn’t anything wrong with helping Ava, but it can’t be your job—not while you’re investigating for the BCA. The DNA study—that’s brilliant. You’re basically creating a noncriminal data bank that will help link DNA samples to families.” When I didn’t respond, Maddy continued, “Any time with Serena during your break?”
“There were a few nights in Pierz when I had a late night surprise,” I confessed. “I slept sound, and she was gone by morning. She told me the last night that, tomorrow, we go back to how it was before I returned to Pierz.”
Maddy reached over and maternally patted my arm. “Don’t feel bad about it. You take what you can get when you love someone. Believe me, I’ve been there. It’s humiliating, but scraps look good when you’re starving. Try to keep your kind heart. It’s easy to be angry.”
It felt like a good time to let that subject rest. We rode in silence for a bit, as Maddy maneuvered the car through the city.
I mused, “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this case. I think we need to pay less attention to what this killer is handing us, and more attention to what we have. I feel like he implicated Ava by directing her to drive away with her boyfriend’s murdered body in the trunk. There isn’t any way Ava could have responded that didn’t make her look guilty. There were pictures on her computer of her engaging in bondage with Alan. If she hadn’t told her parents, Ava would be incarcerated right now. She was lucky they sought out an investigator. I’m not sure she would have done so independently, even if she was innocent.”
As Maddy pondered this, I continued. “And then he gave us you—invites you to a murder scene, and wears your perfume. And now, he gives us Kuam Peb. It’s too easy. I did some more reading about Culhwch and Olwen and, by the way, it isn’t exactly a quick read. Do you know what Culhwch’s superpower was?”
Maddy smiled, “No, but I have a feeling I’m going to find out.”
“I’m sorry for bombarding you with all of this. I’ve had a lot of time to think.”
Dimples appeared with Maddy’s grin, “I missed working with you—always flooded with information. Okay, I just need to ask, what is Culhwch’s superpower?”
I told her triumphantly, “The ability to continue to work when everyone else is sleeping
“Well, good ol’ Cully might have met his match with you.” Maddy’s expression became serious. “My frustration lies in the last cypher. What was he falsely accused of ?”
After some silence while we both mulled this over, I added, “I can’t let go of Zeke denying his car was in the area of Alan Volt’s murder.”
“I don’t know, Jon.” As Zeke’s home came into view, Maddy pondered, “What if Ava gave me a ride home from the bar that night? She could have noticed my perfume and set me up.”
I shook my head. “Jada Anderson gave you the ride home that night. She found you passed out in the parking garage.”
Maddy’s face was impassive as she worked through this information. She didn’t speak until she was parked in Zeke’s driveway next to his grey Impala. She turned off the ignition, but didn’t move to get out of the car. The only light on in the house was a dim lamp in the living room. Maddy turned to me carefully, “Jada knows a lot about investigations—you were with her for four years. Ava is still my leading suspect, but consider this—maybe Jada was already stalking Ava in the bar that night. You have blind faith in Jada. I doubt you’d even notice if she was manipulating you.”
I respected Jada, but didn’t completely dismiss Maddy’s concern. I opened the car door, then looked back at Maddy. “Jada left the bar shortly after you, to make sure you were okay. She’s an amazing person. You need to thank her …” I wasn’t sure why the comment bothered me so.
I gathered my composure and circled back to Maddy, who had just exited the car. I told her, “While our killer may know computers, he’s just another psychopath who rationalizes assaulting a completely vulnerable woman. The rapist wasn’t Ava, and it damn sure wasn’t Jada. I don’t see any pent-up anger in Kub Kuam Peb, so that brings us to Zeke—the only suspect we have right now who wasn’t handed to us by the killer.”
I scratched an itch behind my ear. Maybe I was hoping to instigate a neural connection in my brain that would set in motion a series of answers.
I asked, “Is this killing about intimacy?”
Maddy considered quietly, “This has been my belief since the beginning. Killing is the only intimacy this killer has in her or his life. This is why we’re getting letters and messages on bodies.”
“This killer has spoken to us directly,” I postulated. “I’m not using a metaphor. I mean actually spoke to us. This killer is too attention-starved to just be watching.”
Maddy stared straight ahead, deep in thought. “I agree. Let’s run through everyone we’ve talked intimately with about the murders. We know it’s not Layla Boyd. She had a solid alibi at the time of Asher’s death. She was on camera at work. The Hartman sisters—Leah and Yesonia—are a long shot, unless that gun was never stolen.”
I interrupted, “Here’s another thought. We know the killer is college educated and he’s made the trip from Minneapolis to St. Cloud on I-94. This corridor connects the two largest colleges in the state, the University of Minnesota Twin Cities campus and St. Cloud State University. Is it too much of a stretch to consider that the killer attended one of these campuses and works in the other city? Where did Zeke graduate from?”
Maddy grinned sardonically, “The University of Minnesota—in Duluth. So he drove I-35 rather than I-94. But we have Kub Kuam Peb at the University of Minnesota Twin Cities Campus.” She said, “Okay, let’s run with this thread. Where did Jada go to college?”
I answered, “The University of Minnesota, Twin Cities Campus.”
“And didn’t she do some free-lance writing for the St. Cloud Times?”
I conceded, “Yes, she did.”
Maddy continued, “And how about Ava?”
“Augsburg.”
Maddy frowned until I told her, “Her dorm sat right on the edge of University of Minnesota campus. She lived closer to Ted Mann Concert Hall than I do.”
She urged me on, “And how about El Epicene?”
“St. Cloud State University.”
Maddy murmured, “Mmmm, interesting. Okay and let’s see who else is associated with this case—Jack Kavanaugh?”
“St. Cloud State University.”
Maddy teased, “How about Opie, that red-headed, Clear Lake cop?”
“Dale went to Central Lakes College, and then Minnesota State University in Mankato.”
“Sean Reynolds?”
“Vermillion Community College in Ely.”
Maddy laughed, “Are you kidding me? He headed to great white north?”
“Sean loves the boundary waters. Then Hamline.”
Maddy considered, “And you went to SCSU too!”
“Yes. Maddy, that leaves you.”
She kept me waiting a moment before sharing, “I went to a college that flows off people’s tongues with pride. When you ask someone about a state college, they always offer an explanation like, ‘It was affordable.’”
“Did I say that?”
Maddy shared with deep pride, “The University of St. Thomas.”
“They say you can always tell a Tommie, but you can’t tell ’em much.”
With a light condescending tone, she whispered, “It’s tell them.”
Kiddingly, I added, “We forgot about Maurice Strock,” our elderly supervisor. “Where did he go to school?”
She laughed, “Stonehenge.”
I suggested, “I think we can dismiss Maurice.”
“Agreed.”
As silly as the exercise seemed, it made it increasingly clear that we were dealing with a small number of people who had inside information on this case. Maybe the answer was closer than it seemed. I became serious and Maddy now listened intently. “Zeke’s somehow connected to this. The killer’s been throwing darts and we’ve been chasing them rather than creating our own leads.”
Maddy wordlessly walked by me toward Zeke’s door, and with a nod, said, “Then let’s do this.”
Zeke answered the door in a worn black, Foo Fighters t-shirt and dingy blue sweatpants. He squinted at us warily, waiting for us to state our business.
There was no point in small talk, so I firmly stated, “Zeke, I need to know what you were doing on the night Alan Volt was killed.”
Zeke was nervous. “I don’t have to answer any of your questions.” His eyes began darting wildly about.
Maddy interjected with a hand up, “Look, Zeke, we’ve known each other for years. Let’s just get this cleared up.”
Zeke stared hard at Maddy, as he realized he didn’t have much choice in the matter. He turned and led us into the entry-way and closed the door behind us. He crossed his pudgy arms, blocking any further entry into his home and said defensively. “I was home. Alone.”
I said, “No alibi?”
“Why are you harassing me? Maybe I should talk to HR. People change jobs all the time. You’ve been giving me crap about my work on this case, when I’ve generated our best leads. Neither of you is doing any better than me, so get off my ass.”
Maddy asked, “You’re switching jobs?”
Zeke’s face tightened, but he didn’t respond.
I was losing patience. “I don’t give a crap about you leaving the BCA. I may leave, myself, when this is done. Do you realize it took over an hour to get ahold of you on the night of the murder?”
Appalled, Zeke opened his mouth to yell, but nothing came out. He looked away and looked back at me again, arguing, “You didn’t need me immediately.”
I pressed, “Give me an alibi for the murder.”
Resigned, Zeke waived us unceremoniously into the living room. We found ourselves standing in front of a large-screened television, paused with the cartoon image of a woman displaying ample cleavage, wearing a red and gold Wonder Woman type of outfit. She had long blades for fingernails and a gold tiara with a green emerald on her forehead.
Maddy laughed and said, “Wow, is she on her way to the Abu Dhabi beach or does she work for the Justice League?”
Zeke was defensive as he explained, “I’m trying to become a professional SMITE player.”
I thought out loud, “Smite means to strike with force.”
Annoyed, Zeke said, “It’s a video game. SMITE stands for Suspected Malicious Insider Threat Elimination. It’s one of the most popular MOBA’s.”
Maddy looked confused, so I shared, “Multi online battle arenas.”
Zeke rolled his eyes and explained, “Look, I have to play six hours a day to hone my skills. You have to be in the top point-one percent to go pro, and I’m just outside of the cut right now. You can win $150,000 for one of these championships. I’m close to having sponsors. SMITE consumes all my free time, so I don’t always stop and answer the phone.”
I told Maddy, “While I’m not familiar with SMITE, I’ve heard the MOBA League of Legends is paying $500,000 for a championship.”
Maddy was equally impressed and incredulous. “That’s crazy.”
Zeke was becoming more energized. “You know who Marcus Samuelsson is, right?”
I nodded, “Yes, top chef. Born in Ethiopia and was adopted by a Scandinavian family. Does charity work in New York City.”
Zeke continued, dropping onto a worn leather recliner, the end table beside it covered with various game controllers and empty energy drink cans. “Marcus talks about there being ten chefs in the world who are a step above even your best chefs. It’s the same in the computer industry. There are guys who are that good. This killer is out of the league of any of our state computer experts. We’re not going to catch him through computer work. I’m sorry—I’ll keep trying, but that’s the reality of it.”
Maddy and I remained standing. Maddy said, “If you were playing SMITE, you should be logged on during the murder. There should be some record of games, right?”
Zeke nodded, “Certainly. It’s not like anybody could just fill in for me. There’s nobody else in the state who plays at my level.”
“You knew what Fafnir referred to, on Asher Perry’s body, and you didn’t say a damn thing.” I asked, “Why didn’t you tell us Fafnir was a SMITE character?”
Zeke looked away, “First you claim my car was there. If I would have told you that,” he hesitated, “I don’t know—someone’s setting me up. As a Muslim, I’m an easy target, so I decided to keep my mouth shut.”
“Your car was in Alan Volt’s neighborhood the night he was killed.”
Zeke offered, “Maybe you read the plate wrong.”
Maddy pointed out, “We have it on video. It’s your car, Zeke.”
Zeke argued, “Well, you’re wrong. My gaming history will prove I was right here.”
I tried to imagine any other possible explanation. I considered, “Do you keep an extra set of keys on your car?”
He nodded, “Yeah, under the driver’s side wheel well. And I always leave it outside …”