Badlands (28 page)

“Couple of damn cops,” LaDonna said over her shoulder.

“A couple of damn cops who are freezing to death on this porch,” Cassie said with sarcasm. “Will you please let us in?”

“What do you want?”

“We need to talk to Willie.”

“I told you—he's not here.”

Cassie paused, trying not to get angry. She said, “I smell weed coming from in there. That's probable cause for my partner and me to enter. Now we can force our way in and start tossing the place and make some arrests, or you can invite us in and I'll pretend I don't smell what I smell. Your choice.”

“That's bullshit,” LaDonna said.

She was right, Cassie knew. Simply smelling marijuana wasn't just cause to enter a residence. But Cassie had no intention of arresting anyone for possession. She wanted answers.

Cassie turned to Davis. “Ian, go get that battering ram from the Yukon.”

Davis tried not to grin. He said, “Tear gas, too?”

“Sure.”

The door opened and LaDonna, a tall black woman wearing a tight fleece bodysuit and oversized pink slippers, stepped aside. “You don't have to be so damned harsh,” she said to Cassie.

*   *   *

LADONNA MARTIN
and Annie Bjorg, a pale blond woman with lank mousy hair, sat side by side on a couch in the dark front room. Cassie leaned back against a huge cable wooden spool that served as a kind of table, and Davis stood next to the roaring woodstove. The house did reek of stale marijuana smoke. Cassie had to push aside a baking dish of hash brownies on the spool top so she didn't sit on it.

After introducing herself and Davis and showing the two women her badge, Cassie said, “How long has Willie been gone?”

“Don't know,” LaDonna said. “When I got up an hour ago he wasn't here. That's all I know.” She looked to Annie Bjorn.

“I just got up,” Bjorn said, yawning.

“You missed all the fun while you were sleeping,” Davis said. “A train derailed at the hub and could have blown up the whole town.”

“That'd be a damn blessing in disguise,” LaDonna said with a deep laugh. Cassie smiled.

Cassie noticed that Bjorn was staring at Davis. She said, “Hey—I know you. You're a
cop
?”

“Afraid so,” Davis said.

“Well, that kind of sucks,” Bjorn said.

Davis said, “Sorry.”

Bjorn turned to LaDonna. “I've seen him hang out at the clubs. He didn't seem like no cop.”

LaDonna took a long look at Davis, and said, “Yes, he does. He's got that cop look of trying just a little too hard to be one of the people, you know? Like he's wearing a Halloween costume. I can tell.”

Davis flushed.

“Anyway,” Cassie said, “when was the last time you saw Willie?”

“Last night,” LaDonna said.

“Was he alone?”

LaDonna and Bjorn exchanged looks. Then LaDonna said, “There were a couple of other guys here. There's always people around here coming and going. I don't pay that much attention to them.”

“When you say a couple, do you mean two?”

“Uh, three.”

“Did you know them?”

“I don't know anybody around here. I'm a working girl from Atlanta. I come here, do my work, and get out. I maintain my distance from these locals, you know?”

“What about you?” Cassie asked Bjorn.

“I didn't know them,” Bjorn said quickly. “Well, one guy, but I don't even know his real name. I've heard him called Winkie on account of the really thick glasses he wears.”

Cassie looked over to Davis. Davis nodded. He knew him.

“So Winkie was here,” Cassie said. “Who else?”

“A couple of, you know, Hispanics,” Bjorn said. “Real scary-looking dudes.”

“I don't know,” Cassie said. “What were the names of the Hispanics?”

Neither woman had heard their names, they said.

“What did they look like?”

“Mean,” LaDonna said. “They looked small and mean. They were the types you just avoid if you see them across the bar. You know, shaved heads, big ears, dead eyes.”

Cassie and Davis exchanged looks again.

“Did they have tattoos?” Davis asked.

“Not that I saw,” LaDonna said. “But I didn't look that close and I sure as hell didn't see either one with his shirt off.”

“Could they be Salvadoran?” Davis asked.

Bjorn shrugged and LaDonna said, “Mexican, Salvadoran, whatever. They just had a bad vibe.”

“And Willie left with this Winkie and them?” Cassie asked.

Both women shrugged.

Davis said, “So the four of them left in another car. That's why Willie's Range Rover is still here.” He asked the women, “What were they driving?”

“Don't know,” LaDonna said. Annie shook her head as well.

“Do you know when Willie will be back?” Cassie asked.

“No,” LaDonna said, “and I really don't care. I've got a shift tonight and I don't plan on coming back for the rest of my life. It's too damned cold here for me. I'm getting on that train tomorrow morning, for damn sure. I don't care if these johns up here have money. I'm freezing my ass off.”

Bjorn didn't say anything. Obviously, she was staying around, Cassie thought.

LaDonna said to Cassie, “Seriously, lady, how can you stand it? You look like a nice woman. How can you stand this place?”

“I haven't figured out how to answer that yet,” Cassie said.

“It's like thirty below zero out there. I didn't even know that it was possible. Your spit freezes in your mouth if you go outside. That's just crazy.”

Cassie said to Davis, “Please give these two ladies your card. I don't have mine yet. And, ladies, please give us a call when Willie Dietrich comes back. We just want to talk with him.”

*   *   *

“THEY'RE NEVER
going to call,” Davis said to Cassie once they were back in the SUV headed toward Grimstad.

“Of course not,” Cassie agreed.

“But at least he'll know we're looking for him. That may force a move on his part, who knows?”

“So who is this Winkie guy?”

Davis shook his head. “He's a small-time user. Meth for sure, maybe heroin, too. I've run into him a couple of times. It's very distracting to talk to him because his eyes are all magnified by his glasses—he looks like some kind of bug. Maybe he does some sales for Willie, but I can't see him as a player any higher up than street level. Who knows why he was there last night?

“What I'm wondering is where the four of them went,” Davis said. “Willie isn't a day person. I'm wondering if the two Salvadorans took him away, or what. Maybe we'll start finding pieces of Willie Dietrich all over Grimstad tomorrow. What do you think?”

Cassie was distracted and didn't respond. After a few miles, she said, “Think about it. Who would be outside in this weather at six in the morning? I mean, I know there are guys doing shift work out in the country any time of day, but who would be out and about at six?”

“I'm lost,” Davis said. “I thought we were talking about Willie.”

“A paperboy, that's who,” Cassie said. “Maybe he saw the rollover. Maybe he rode down there where the crash took place. Maybe,” she said, looking over at Davis, “he found the drugs.”

“That's a leap,” Davis said.

“It is. But whoever got it found it
before
the wrecker and all the emergency people got there. There were two officers on the scene the whole time between the crash and when the wrecker arrived. I think if anybody found the drugs they would have seen it—even if Tollefsen was dirty. He wouldn't dare tip his hand at that point. And I keep thinking about that single tire track I found. It was from a bike. It wasn't wide enough to be from a motorcycle.”

Davis shook his head. “I'm not connecting the dots.”

“Let's say the boy found the drugs and took them,” she said. “Who knows what he did with them or who he might have told about it. The bad guys know the drugs are missing—obviously—but not where they went. They assume the bikers took them because the bikers are their only organized competition. So they send up a couple of thugs to take the bikers out of the picture and locate the drugs. Even though this place is booming, it's still a small town underneath and it doesn't take the MS-13 guys long to narrow down who might have their drugs.”

“I think they all thought they'd have the drugs back by now. But for whatever reason, they don't.”

“So if we find Willie,” Davis said, “we might find the Salvadorans if that's what they are. And maybe we even find the stash.”

“Maybe,” Cassie said.

“Why maybe?”

“Because if they had the stash I think we'd know it.
You'd
know it. No, I think they're still looking for it but they're closing in. They think they're close enough to getting it back that Willie told his distribution chain to get ready by tomorrow.”

She said, “Maybe if we find the paperboy he'll lead us to the drugs.”

“I still don't get it,” Davis said. “I know you've seen this kid a couple of times, which is weird, and you had that tire track cast made. But don't you think maybe you're going at this with blinders on? If a paperboy took their drugs, why aren't they after him? You'd think he'd be easy to find. And if Cam Tollefsen was dirty like we think he was, why didn't he go after the kid? He must have seen him at the site of the rollover, right?”

Cassie said, “I think a kid like him is invisible.”

*   *   *

THEY TALKED
about Cassie's theory as they got closer to town. Cassie liked Davis, and he reminded her a little of her old mentor Cody when it came to discussing a case. He, like Cody, enjoyed building scenarios, making suppositions, and knocking down threads. He was good, too. He punched enough holes in her theories that she was starting to doubt them herself.

The big hole he punched was: If MS-13 thought they were close to getting their drugs on the street, why did they wait two days to go after a mentally challenged paperboy?

Cassie had no answer.

“I hate to even suggest this,” Davis said to her, “but maybe the mom in you sees a twelve-year-old kid out riding his bike in thirty below weather and you want to, you know,
save
him. You can't get him out of your mind. So as we move forward on this case, you keep building it around that kid. Is that possible?”

Cassie said, “What a patronizing thing to say to me.”

Davis clammed up.

“What I hate the most about it is you might have a point,” she said.

Davis sighed in relief.

Cassie said, “I don't know what to think anymore about this. All we can do is good police work and hope things start to fall into place. Let's start with the newspaper office and Kyle. Someone there should know about Kyle's route and if he might have been around the rollover site that day. If we find him and he wasn't, well, then we can eliminate that possibility and we can proceed from there.”

Davis agreed. He said, “With Tollefsen out of the picture, should we expand the inquiry now? Get more guys involved with looking for Kyle and Willie Dietrich and those Salvadorans?”

Cassie said, “Not quite yet. I'm not sure why I say that, but it doesn't feel right to me to do that yet.”

“You're the boss,” Davis said. But it was clear he disagreed.

*   *   *

CASSIE HEARD
a dispatch on the radio as they entered Grimstad that caught her attention. She leaned forward and turned the radio up.

The dispatcher was requesting an officer drive-by at a house on Third Street. Someone had called 911 from the home but didn't make a report. The 911 operator said she thought she had heard sounds of distress inside.

There was no response. Cassie thought it strange until she realized all the other department personnel were still at the rail hub.

The operator read out the exact address as well as the name of the renter.

Cassie snatched the mic from the dashboard and said, “We're close and we'll respond.”

“What unit is this?” the dispatcher asked.

“What unit are we?” Cassie asked Davis.

“BCS, zero-zero-four.” Davis grinned.

Cassie repeated it.

“What are we doing?” Davis asked her.

“Didn't you hear the name? The house is rented by someone named Rachel Westergaard.
Westergaard
.”

“Like Kyle Westergaard.”

“Damn right—my paperboy again.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

DAVIS DROVE
up into the driveway of the Westergaard home on Third Street behind a minivan with dealer plates. Cassie recognized the small house in a block of small houses from her tour with Sheriff Kirkbride. The outside of the 1960s-style single family home needed a coat of white paint and there were broken shingles on the roof. It was a tired-looking house, she thought.

“Front or back?” Davis asked.

“I'll take the back. If no one answers in front, give me a count of ten after you knock before you go in.”

“We're going in?” Davis asked, raising his eyebrows.

“The dispatcher said someone was injured. I'm
sure
we'll hear something or see a good reason,” she said, opening her door. Then she added, “Even if we don't.”

He smiled. “Is this the way they do it in Montana?”

“It's the way I do it,” she said.

The cold was stunning. It felt like a cup of acid had been thrown on her exposed skin. As she skirted around the side of the house toward the back she wondered if she'd ever get used to it. She could feel icy tendrils crawling down her collar and up her pant legs.

There was an old washing machine on the side of the house with a heavy chain and lock around it. The snow around the appliance was packed down by footprints. She paused for a moment when she recognized a distinctive bicycle tire track, but there was no bike.