Snow Blind (18 page)

‘We need to place Weinbeck in Dundas County.’

‘That would help. Finding Doyle’s car up there with Weinbeck’s prints all over it, something like that.’

Gino started fishing for popcorn again. ‘Dundas is looking. At least I hope they are. That new sheriff’s got less experience in the field than my two-year-old. I don’t know what her idea of a dragnet is, but it probably involves setting out a plate of cookies with a net over it.’

Magozzi winced. ‘Ouch.’

‘Come on, Leo, the woman doesn’t have a clue and you know it. She’s probably at home right now watching reruns of
NYPD Blue
trying to figure out what the hell she’s supposed to do next.’

McLaren looked at Magozzi for confirmation. ‘Is it really that bad?’

Magozzi sighed. ‘She’s brand new, right off the dispatch desk. No field experience. But I don’t know. She might do okay.’

‘Might do okay?’ Gino rolled his eyes. ‘Tell me this man isn’t a total sucker for a pretty face.’

Magozzi glared at him. ‘I didn’t see any pretty face. I saw a sheriff.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Gino grunted. ‘Anyway, you ask me, I’m having a hard time connecting the snowman up in Dundas to the two we had in the park, which means we got two cases, and we just wasted a whole damn day on the wrong one. You know, the minute things started to look good for Kurt Weinbeck murdering Doyle, I got this really cool dream scenario that we’d find him up there with Doyle’s blood all over him and Deaton’s and Myerson’s sidearms in his pockets, but I gotta tell you, it just doesn’t fit. The snowmen didn’t match, the weapons didn’t match, and the truth is, yellow-bellied wife beaters don’t go around offing cops. I’m betting Weinbeck saw the thing in the park on TV
and decided to make it look like our killer did it by sticking Doyle into a snowman of his own.’

‘I’m with you.’ Magozzi was leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest, eyes closed. He didn’t open them when he talked. ‘Two cases. Weinbeck killed Doyle, and Dundas is the lucky winner of that one; somebody else killed Deaton and Myerson, and we better get our asses in gear on that one, or Sheriff Iris Rikker is going to solve her case before we solve ours.’ He opened one eye at Gino. ‘Who would be the yokels, then?’

‘Don’t give me that crap.
We
solved her case.
We
told her who did it. All she has to do is catch the guy.’

McLaren talked down to the doodle he was creating on a well-used paper napkin. ‘Or … maybe your dream scenario wasn’t such a bad call, Gino. Maybe Kurt Weinbeck is a little more than your average yellow-bellied wife beater.’

Magozzi opened both eyes and looked at him. ‘You got something?’

McLaren looked uncomfortable. ‘Hell, I don’t know. I don’t like Weinbeck for killing two cops, either, but stuff keeps cropping up.’ He kept scribbling on the napkin and Gino leaned forward to see what he was writing. Turned out it was an alligator in a dentist’s chair, having a tooth pulled. Christ. Sometimes he thought McLaren was a hell
of a lot scarier than most of the guys they yanked off the street. He flopped back and gave his bruised stomach a rest while McLaren kept talking.

‘So this afternoon I get a call from Narc about a drug dealer about to go down to the deep cells for three counts of attempted murder. Trial’s next week, and Prosecution’s got four star witnesses that should get them a slam-dunk. Two of them are the dirtbags he tried to kill along with the guy who’s still in a coma. They cut a deal on the drug charges in exchange for testifying against the big guy. You want to take a stab at who the other two witnesses were?’

Gino threw up his hands. Getting information out of an Irishman was never easy. ‘Christ, I don’t know, Mr Mustard and Miss Scarlett.’

McLaren was grinning. ‘I’ll give you a hint. Two guys in blue outfits, first on the scene, caught the dealer reloading for a killing shot, a-a-nd … they liked to ski.’

‘Deaton and Myerson?’

‘Bingo. You win the canned ham. Now guess the street name of the sleazebucket going to trial.’

Gino glared at him. ‘How about you guess how long it’ll take me to strangle you if you don’t spit out whatever the hell you’re trying to tell us.’

McLaren didn’t look a bit worried. ‘They call him the Snowman.’

Gino and Magozzi just stared at him for a minute while they thought it through. It always made Johnny uncomfortable when they did that, and they did it a lot when they were working a case hard, and somebody said something that shot their minds off in a different direction.

Gino finally looked away, scrubbing at his blond brush cut, hoping to coax some more brain cells to life. ‘Okay. So this Snowman character is up for trial, and suddenly two of the witnesses against him end up dead.’

‘Packed in snowmen,’ Johnny reminded him, as if he could forget such a thing. ‘And the other two bailed on the testifying deal about ten seconds after the Chief went public with Deaton’s and Myerson’s names today. Said even if the cops didn’t get the Snowman’s message, they sure as hell did, and the way they figured, getting fitted for a prison jumpsuit was a hell of a lot better than getting fitted for a coffin.’

Magozzi was trying hard not to swallow the bait right off the bat, just in case there might be a hook inside. ‘Okay, so I’m guessing you’ve either got the Snowman locked in a holding cell somewhere, or else there’s a wrinkle.’

Johnny nodded. ‘A little one. The guy’s in Stillwater serving five on the drug charges while he waits for the attempted murder trial.’

‘Kind of a big wrinkle.’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time a doer called for a hit from prison.’

‘Risky stuff. Somebody always talks, and those guys go down like bowling pins. Unless they’ve got some kind of a family network working the outside. How big is this guy?’

‘Not that big. Kind of new on the Minneapolis scene when they nailed him, but he’s Russian, and a lot of them think
The Godfather
was a documentary, and that putting out a hit in America is cake. So I was checking with Stillwater just before you came in, asking about the Snowman’s prison buddies, visitors, like that. Turns out he had the same cellmate for the past two years, your friend and mine, Kurt Weinbeck.’

Gino didn’t like the coincidence, but he didn’t like the leaps McLaren was taking, either. ‘Your threads are getting down to gossamer, McLaren.’

‘You gotta think outside the box. Sure, Weinbeck might not be your first choice to hit a couple cops, but the trial’s coming right up and maybe the Snowman’s desperate. So he offers his buddy the amateur some fast dough to take care of two of his witnesses and send a warning to the other two. Weinbeck takes care of the Snowman’s business, then forces Doyle to drive him up to Dundas so he can take care of his own. I know it’s all paper-thin,
but we got too many threads here. I think we got to take a look at it. Only thing I can’t figure out is why Julie Albright is still alive. He had plenty of time to get to her after taking care of Doyle.’

Gino and Magozzi looked at one another. ‘The storm might have stopped him, or maybe Bitterroot,’ Magozzi said. ‘He wasn’t counting on the security.’

‘What security?’

Gino got up out of his chair. ‘You tell him. I’m going to call Dundas and give them a few pointers.’

‘
What?’

‘She doesn’t know what she’s doing, Leo, and you know it. And we’re going to just sit here while one case for sure and maybe two hang on whether or not she can figure it out?’

‘You can’t do that, Gino.’

‘I’ll be tactful.’

‘You for sure can’t do that. Sit down. I’ll call.’

‘Fine by me. Tell her to slap Weinbeck’s photo on every cow.’

Magozzi walked over to his desk and picked up the phone.

‘… and to get every unit she’s got on the road looking for Doyle’s car, and not to touch the damn thing if they find it …’

Sheriff Iris Rikker was tired. Magozzi could tell, because it only took her one word to say hello.

‘Hi, Sheriff. Leo Magozzi here. Listen, a couple things came to light today on the investigation into the two snowmen in Theodore Wirth Park that we thought you should know. We’re still at the coincidence stage, nothing solid, but there’s a real slim possibility Kurt Weinbeck might be involved.’

‘I see.’

Wow. All he got for that was two more words. Gino wasn’t going to believe this. ‘So a couple of points: First, Weinbeck may be a lot more dangerous than we thought, to anyone, not just his ex-wife.’

‘He’s probably killed at least once, Detective; he’s most certainly on the run, and he’s armed. We already thought he was pretty dangerous.’

Magozzi closed his eyes. Either he was duller than he thought, or she was sharper than Gino thought. ‘I know that. Just an extra take-care for your men.’

‘Thank you.’

‘The other thing is, we really want to talk to this guy about our snowmen, so if you get a handle on him, we’d appreciate a heads-up.’

‘Of course.’

Magozzi hunched over the phone and frowned. Now came the hard part. How the hell did you tactfully ask if she was doing all the things that any cop was supposed to do? ‘Uh … any luck finding Doyle’s car?’

A low chuckle came over the wires, and
Magozzi’s frown deepened into a scowl. What was so funny about that?

‘I would have called you if we’d found Mr Doyle’s car, Detective Magozzi. We’ve called in all the shifts, and we’re covering the roads mile by mile, but we’ve got a lot of them, and it’s going to take some time. We also ran copies of Kurt Weinbeck’s mug shot and put them up on every vertical surface in the county – the local city p.d.’s are helping with that – plus we have four units doing continuous-circle patrols on the road around Bitterroot, and officers calling personally on all the adjacent landowners. Does that answer your question?’

‘I just asked if you found the car.’

‘That’s what you asked out loud. It isn’t why you called.’

He could hear the smile in her voice, and for some reason it pissed him off. It also made him feel like a jerk.

20

When Magozzi got home at nine o’clock, he found lasagna warming in the oven and some kind of elaborate salad in the refrigerator. He searched the house without pulling his gun, foolishly imagining that Grace would be hiding somewhere, hopefully dressed in her black flannel pajamas.

She answered her cell on the first ring. ‘Magozzi. It’s about time you got home.’

‘Where are you? You left me supper. I figured that meant you expected me to sleep with you.’

Grace never laughed out loud, but he could hear the smile in her voice. ‘We’ve been trying to reach you all day, finally called the office. McLaren told me you were on the road, and that you had another snowman. I figured you could use a bright spot in your day.’

‘This is the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me. Also very out of character.’

‘It’s just leftovers. We had it here for supper. Listen, Magozzi …’

‘Next thing I know, you’ll be waiting at the door holding a martini dressed in plastic wrap.’

‘Magozzi, listen. This is important. We may have something on the snowmen in the park.’

He set down his plate and got serious. ‘I’m listening.’

‘We pulled a thread from a chat room off the Web that said “Minneapolis snowmen, kill him while there’s still time. Put him in a snowman.” The thread was posted at least three hours before you found the bodies.’

‘Jesus.’ Magozzi pulled up a chair and sank into it. ‘Our killer might be at the end of that thread. Did you trace it?’

‘We can’t hack into it. The security is like nothing we’ve ever come across. We’ve been trying all day, and we’ll keep trying. We’re pulling an all-nighter over at Harley’s, and I’ve got to get back to it, but keep your cell on all night, all day tomorrow. I’ll call as soon as we have something.’

Magozzi had time for one bite of lasagna before Gino called.

‘I got a bedtime story for you, Leo,’ he said without preamble. ‘I just talked to McLaren. Pittsburgh’s got a body in a snowman just like ours.’

Magozzi finished chewing and swallowed. The lasagna was amazing, but it went down hard. ‘Damnit. What are they thinking?’

‘They’re guessing copycat. This was just a
courtesy call because of all the news coverage on our boys.’

Magozzi told him about what the Monkeewrench crew had found on the Internet.

‘Goddamnit, Leo, I knew this was going to happen when the media climbed all over it. We’re going to have bodies in snowmen all over the country. Close your peepers, tomorrow’s going to be a nightmare.’

After he hung up with Magozzi, Gino leaned against the back of the sofa and let the silence of the sleeping house wrap itself around him like a protective cloak. The Christmas tree had been down for over a week, but Angela was still finding clusters of needles with the vacuum, and the fragrance of pine lingered.

Gino smiled when he heard the telltale creak of a stair riser, followed by the soft padding of his daughter’s feet as she crept downstairs. It was a ritual she’d started a couple years ago, just after the Accident, a.k.a. baby brother, had been born. Whenever long hours, a particularly troubling case, or just plain insomnia kept him up after the rest of the house finally went silent, Helen would sneak downstairs to steal time alone with him. In Gino’s book, that was just about as close to winning an
Oscar for parenting as you could get – if your fifteen-year-old daughter still thought spending quality time with her old dad was worthwhile, then you’d probably done something right.

She appeared at the bottom of the stairs, bundled up in her warm winter robe, and gave him a rosy-cheeked, two-dimple smile. ‘Hi, Daddy.’ She plopped down on the sofa next to him and pecked him on the cheek.

‘Hi, sweet pea. I didn’t think I’d see you tonight. When I got home, your mother said you were already sound asleep, snoring like a lumberjack.’

She gave him a playful slug on the arm. ‘I don’t snore. So, did you find the killer yet?’

Helen had never been one to waste time with transitional conversation, but her bluntness always took Gino by surprise. Of course, it shouldn’t have – she’d inherited her looks from her mother, fortunately, but her personality came from him, for better or for worse. ‘Not yet.’