The Snowman Killer Page 4

  “How?” Conrad demanded. He sat down on the edge of Andrew's desk.

  Andrew gathered the jacket into his hands and examined the material. “Because my wife bought me one just like it for my birthday two weeks ago,” he told Conrad. “Not a bad jacket, but leather isn't my style... And look here,” he added, showing Conrad an inside clothing tag, “see that 'M' written in green marker? Old Man O'Mally always marks his clothes like that. He's a bit paranoid, if you catch my drift.”

  Conrad was gaining a new respect for this small town cop who he’d been sure was incapable of driving in the snow just a few hours ago. “Okay, Andrew, this is between you and me. I took this jacket off a weird-looking snowman someone had built in the front yard of Sarah Garland's cabin. It's likely the person who built the snowman is the same person who broke into her cabin. Now, here is where it gets interesting... Sarah Garland is writing a mystery series. In the series, there’s a killer who leaves the same kind of creepy snowman I found tonight on the front lawns of his intended victims. I'm guessing the leather jacket is an added accessory to the message left for the intended victim.”

  Andrew listened calmly. He slowly folded his arms across his chest and nodded. “Someone wants to kill Sarah?”

  “Seems to be that way. Sarah... Detective Garland may have made an enemy or two back in Los Angeles working as a homicide detective.”

  “But Sarah... she's never bothered a soul,” Andrew said. “Sure, her coffee isn't the greatest in town—heck, you can get better coffee down at the filling station, but that's no reason to want to harm her.”

  “Someone in Snow Falls is out to harm her and it's our job to find out who, Andrew. I'm going to need your help on this case, okay?”

  “Sure, I'll do all that I can,” Andrew promised.

  Conrad studied the leather jacket again. “No one is to know about this case, are we clear? I know you and the other guys are close pals, and that's fine. But right now I need closed mouths.”

  “Sure, I understand,” Andrew agreed. “The guys and me, we do tend to be long-winded at times. But you have to understand, we're a tight family around here, Detective Spencer. Snow Falls isn't just another town; it's a home where people live together, laugh together, cry together... survive together. In Snow Falls, everyone is family. When Sarah arrived, it didn't take any time at all for us to bring her into our group and welcome her as one of our own. That's the way we are in Snow Falls. The guys find out I'm keeping something from them—and they will—they're going to give me an awfully hard time. But I'll do what you asked me to, for Sarah.”

  Conrad reached out and patted Andrew's shoulder. “I'm grateful,” he said. “I can see that I'm putting you in a tight spot. I guess everyone will be glad when I leave and some local guy comes in that fits in better,” he added ruefully.

  Andrew studied Conrad's face. He saw a man who appeared to be very tired and very hurt inside. “I'm awful sorry about your ex-wife. You must have still cared about her if you came all this way to find the person who killed her.”

  Conrad folded his arms together. “She was a feisty Italian who had a sassy mouth and a red-hot temper. Her brother was what people call a 'good fella'... very dangerous man. I was working undercover when I met her. She was something.” Conrad smiled. “I had never met anyone like her. Before I knew it, I was hooked on her and she was hooked on me. I knew better, but... well, I married her. But when she found out I was an undercover cop... the fireworks started.”

  “I bet,” Andrew said.

  Conrad nodded. “My ex-wife threatened to blow my cover, which forced me to turn in all the evidence I had against her brother. The FBI made some arrests and my ex-wife was placed into protective custody because the mob family thought she was involved with the police. By then, it was too late, though... she filed for divorce and let me know that if I ever came near her again she would happily cut my ears off.”

  “Ouch,” Andrew said sympathetically.

  Conrad closed his eyes and saw a beautiful black-haired Italian beauty. “I'm here, Andrew, because I'm responsible for her death. If I hadn't married her... she would still be alive. I owe it to my ex-wife to find out who killed her.”

  Andrew stood up and patted Conrad's shoulder. “You have a friend on your side,” he promised.

  “I know,” Conrad said gratefully. He stood up and walked back toward the small office that had been assigned to him, and then paused. He turned around and looked at Andrew. “There is a killer loose in Snow Falls, Andrew. This person is after Sarah Garland, but he may not stop with her. I need you to understand how deadly this situation is.”

  Andrew suddenly felt a cold chill grab him—colder than the air outside. “Detective,” he said, “maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea if we brought Sarah into town, for her own protection.”

  Conrad shook his head no. “Sarah Garland isn't going to run scared,” he replied and walked away.

  Outside, the icy winds screamed as a light snow began to fall. Far away, tucked into a small rental cabin, a pair of hands held up a photo of Sarah Garland wearing her police uniform. “Oh, the weather outside is frightful…” the voice began to sing, and then laughed.

  Chapter Seven

  Sarah stifled a yawn and rubbed her eyes as she brought the coffee pot to life. The pot slowly gurgled and wafted the smell of delicious coffee into the warm kitchen air. “Hurry up,” Sarah pleaded with the coffee pot. She walked to the kitchen table with her gun in hand. After only managing to capture four hours of sleep, she felt horrible. “Hurry up, coffee, please.”

  “Morning,” Amanda said, stumbling into the kitchen with her hair in a mess. Spotting the coffee pot, she smiled and then yawned. “You're already dressed,” she observed in a not-so-surprised voice.

  Sarah looked down at her gun sitting on the table. “I'm up,” she replied and slowly began straightening a few wrinkles out of the gray flannel shirt she was wearing with her tired hands. The shirt was warm and protective against the cold, even though it was bland and not very stylish. Sarah wasn't interested in style, though—she was interested in tracking down a dangerous criminal. “You’d better get dressed, too,” she told Amanda, shaking her head at the pink bunny slippers Amanda was wearing.

  Amanda looked down at the pink pajamas she was wearing and then focused on her bunny slippers. “What do you say, love,” she asked the bunny slippers, “should we get dressed or lounge around in this cabin all day? What's that?... Oh, okay, we'll get dressed.”

  Sarah smiled. Amanda's silliness always seemed to cheer her up. “It's snowing outside. I was thinking that we could drive into town in my Subaru and leave your truck here.”

  “Ah, the old ‘leave the second vehicle at home’ to make it appear that, well, someone is home,” Amanda said, pretending to speak in a brilliant voice.

  “Wouldn't hurt,” Sarah protested. “The truth is, whoever built that snowman and broke into my writing room might be watching the cabin right now. Who knows?”

  Amanda walked to the kitchen table and sat down across from Sarah. “And why are we driving into town, love?” she asked curiously.

  “I noticed the snowman’s leather jacket was missing. I called the police station and was able to get a contact number for Detective Spencer,” Sarah explained. “I called him.”

  “He took the jacket?”

  “Yes.” Sarah looked at the coffee pot. “He wants to meet at the coffee shop in about two hours. Poor guy has insomnia like I do. He had only been asleep for two hours when I woke him up. I hope he was able to catch a few more winks.”

  “Who says cops are morning people?” Amanda teased Sarah.

  “Not me... I would give anything to get a regular eight hours of sleep,” Sarah sighed. She had just stood up when a hard thump struck the back door. Falling into police mode, Sarah grabbed her gun and dropped down to one knee, aiming at the back door. Amanda scrambled down onto the floor and crawled behind Sarah for protection. A second thump struck the back door. “Sounds like ro
cks,” Sarah whispered.

  “If you say so,” Amanda said in a scared voice.

  Sarah waited and listened. Silence fell. No more 'thumps' arrived. “Wait here,” she told Amanda and duck-walked to the back door. Drawing in a deep breath, she reached up, unlocked the door handle, and cautiously eased the back door open just far enough to see outside. Vicious winds and heavy snow greeted her. Her eyes darted over the backyard, searching for boot tracks. “There,” Sarah said, spotting a set of boot tracks leading into the woods. Looking down, she saw two rocks surrounded by crumpled snow that appeared to have formed snowballs around them.

  “Well?” Amanda asked from a safe distance.

  Sarah closed the back door, locked it, and duck-walked back to Amanda. “Rocks inside snowballs,” she explained, “and boot prints leading into the woods.”

  “What do we do?” Amanda asked, grabbing Sarah's arm.

  “Photos,” Sarah said quickly and stood up. She ran to the kitchen counter, put her gun down and grabbed her purse. “Cell phone...”

  Amanda watched Sarah dig out a cell phone from her purse, grab her gun, and run to the back door. “What are you doing?”

  “I need photos of the boot prints before the wind takes them,” Sarah explained. With her gun at the ready, she snatched open the front door and dashed outside.

  “Oh dear,” Amanda said, terrified. Scrambling to her feet, she looked around, saw a broom, grabbed it and then hurried out into the snow to protect her friend. “I'll protect you!” she yelled at Sarah over the screaming wind, holding the broom in her hands like a baseball bat.

  “You'll freeze, get back inside,” Sarah ordered. When she arrived at the set of first boot prints, she looked behind her at Amanda. Amanda, still in her bunny slippers, pushed through the snow toward her. “So stubborn,” Sarah said over the wind. “Here, hold my gun... the safety is off, so if you see anyone, aim and fire.”

  Amanda hesitantly took Sarah's gun as the snow and wind began tearing into her frail body and feet. “Hurry,” she begged Sarah.

  Sarah nodded and began taking photos of the boot prints. After taking ten photos, she looked up at Amanda. “Okay, that should do it,” she said and took her gun back. “Let's get inside.”

  Amanda gratefully turned and hurried back toward the kitchen. Once inside, she waited for Sarah and then slammed the kitchen door shut and locked it. “You are a crazy woman,” she told Sarah, breathing hard.

  “And you are a very brave friend,” Sarah replied, and hugged her friend. “I'll never forget what you just did for me.”

  Amanda blushed a little and looked at the broom she was holding. “I'm not sure what I would have done if the intruder would have attacked us.”

  Sarah patted Amanda on her shoulder. “You would have knocked that person silly,” she said. “Listen, hurry and get dressed okay? We have to drive into town.”

  “But, the snowballs... someone is out there,” Amanda said, confused.

  “Whoever is out there is trying to scare us into staying inside. We're going to do the opposite,” Sarah answered in a calm voice. “Listen, June Bug, the weather outside is working for us and against us. The weather is also working for and against whoever is outside. And whoever is outside isn't going to be staying out there very long unless he or she wants hypothermia.”

  “This doesn't make any sense to me,” Amanda confessed. “Why would someone brave this cold only to throw snowballs at your back door?”

  “In my book,” Sarah explained, putting her gun into the purse sitting next to the coffee pot, “the killer teased his victims. Sometimes he would throw snowballs at the victim's home as a way of letting them know he was watching them.”

  “Lovely,” Amanda said in a horrified voice. “I'll... go get dressed now.”

  Sarah watched Amanda walk out of the kitchen and then hurried to the small pantry, yanked open the pantry door, studied the wooden shelves, and grabbed a green thermos. Then she ran back to the coffee pot, filled the thermos with coffee, closed it, set it down on the kitchen counter, and rushed to the back door. Easing the door open, she studied the crushed snowballs again and then focused on the snowy backyard. The winds were quickly erasing the boot tracks. “Whoever you are...” she whispered in a shaky voice, “I'm not going to let you win.”

  Sarah closed the back door and glanced toward her purse. The sudden urge to grab her purse and make a run for it flushed through her veins. In all of her years working as a homicide detective, she had never had a killer stalk her. Sarah felt weak, helpless, wounded and trapped. The feeling was overwhelming and suffocating. “No,” she scolded herself, “I will not run scared. I'm a cop... was a cop... still am a cop... by instinct...”

  Sarah walked to the kitchen counter, snatched up her purse and the green thermos and walked into the living room. She set them down on the coffee table, calmly retrieved her coat from the coat rack and put it on, and then dug out a pair of warm brown gloves from the right coat pocket. “Stay at the ready,” Sarah whispered to herself and slid the gloves onto her hands.

  “I'm ready, in record time,” Amanda announced, nearly running into the living room.

  Sarah nodded and bent down. “Okay,” she responded, checking the gun sitting in her ankle holster.

  Amanda quickly tossed on her warm pink ski cap and then zipped up her thick coat. “Maybe you should take that gun out of your purse?” she asked. Not wasting any time, she pulled a set of pink gloves from her coat pocket and put them on.

  “I have my backup. I want the stalker to think we're running scared. If I go charging toward my Subaru with a gun in my hand, the stalker...” Sarah paused.

  “What?” Amanda asked in alarm.

  “I said... ‘stalker’... my goodness,” Sarah whispered in a shaky voice. Turning from Amanda, she looked at the cold fireplace. “The Snowman Killer from Frostworth... he stalked, tormented... tortured... and then attacked...”

  Amanda wasn't sure what to say or do. Now she was both terrified and confused. “Hey,” she said, “Los Angeles, snap out of it, girl. We're making a run for town, remember?”

  “Huh?” Sarah asked in a dazed voice as her mind recreated the image of the hideous snowman wearing the leather jacket. In her mind’s eye, the snowman grinned at Sarah and began chewing on a peppermint candy cane. “The weather outside is frightening... but the fire inside is deadly, Sarah... oh so deadly…”

  “Hey, Sarah!” Amanda yelled. She ran over to her friend and, with scared hands, began shaking her. “Snap out of it... snap out of it!”

  “Huh?” Sarah repeated, still confused. Slowly, she looked into Amanda's worried eyes. “He attacks when the snow falls...”

  “Who?” Amanda begged.

  “The Snowman Killer from Frostworth,” Sarah whispered.

  Unable to take the suspense any longer, Amanda pulled back her right hand and slapped Sarah across the face with her glove. “Snap out of it!”

  Shocked that her friend had slapped her, Sarah brought a hand to her face. “You... hit me...”

  “Yes, I did,” Amanda confessed. She hugged Sarah as tight as she could. “I know you're scared... I'm so scared I could turn into a block of ice... but we have to get into town.”

  Being slapped across the face had brought Sarah's mind back into focus. “I'm okay... thanks,” she told Amanda, hugging her friend back. “You have one mean wallop, though.”

  “Thank me later. Right now, let's get into town,” Amanda begged.

  Sarah nodded. “Okay, we have to look like we're running scared. I'm not sure where the stalker... I mean... where our enemy is hiding outside, so we'll have no time to dilly-dally. Once I open the front door, run and don't stop running until you reach my Subaru.”

  “You can count on it,” Amanda promised.

  Sarah pointed at the coffee table. “Grab the thermos and my purse. I might need my hands free.”

  Amanda watched Sarah snatch the Subaru keys from the candy dish. She quickly grabbed the thermos and Sa
rah's purse. “I'm ready,” she said in a nervous voice.

  Without hesitating, Sarah unlocked the front door. “Here we go,” she said and yanked the front door open. “Go!”

  Chapter Eight

  Amanda drew in a deep breath and raced past Sarah. Sarah hurried outside, slammed the front door, locked it, and ran toward her Subaru. Unable to help herself, she looked toward the snowman. The snowman appeared naked and angry. She could almost hear it hissing at her, glaring with narrow, vicious eyes. “I will not be afraid of you,” Sarah whispered as she ran through the knee-deep snow toward her car.

  Meanwhile, Amanda made it to the car, looked over her shoulder at Sarah, saw her friend looking at the creepy snowman, and yelled: “Hurry!”

  Sarah made her way around to the driver's door and pulled it open. Crawling into the driver's seat, she prayed the Subaru's all-wheel-drive would be powerful enough to drive on roads that had not been plowed yet. “Buckle up,” she told Amanda.

  Amanda slammed the passenger's door shut and buckled up. “Oh, the windshield is covered in snow. The windshield wipers won’t be able to clear that much snow.”

  Sarah brought the Subaru to life. “Sit tight,” she told Amanda and jumped back out into the snow. Using her hands, she began knocking snow off the windshield. As she worked to clear the snow, a snowball zoomed past her head and smacked into the windshield. Sarah became as still as a frozen chunk of ice. Even though she knew a human hand had thrown the snowball, the fear eating her alive was insisting that the hideous snowman had come to life and thrown the snowball at her. Before she could force her body to move, a second snowball struck, this time hitting her in the back. Out of instinct or perhaps sheer panic, Sarah broke through her paralysis, bent down, snatched the gun out of the ankle holster, turned, and unloaded a full clip in the direction of the snowman. When the clip was empty, she ran to the driver's door and jumped into the seat.