Thief River Falls

28

Lisa parked where she could see the building that housed the region’s weekly newspaper, the Thief River Falls Times. Light snow continued to fall from the gray sky, and as the temperature dropped, it was beginning to stick everywhere. She was glad to have it cover up the Camaro and keep it hidden. Every now and then she ran the wipers to clear a patch on the windshield where she could see. She checked her watch, which she’d already done a dozen times. It was nearly two in the afternoon. She hoped that Tom Doggett was still a creature of habit.

Tom had been the newspaper’s editor for fifteen years. He’d had opportunities to go elsewhere to join an urban daily, but he’d chosen to stay in his hometown. As a journalist, he was tough and good. Dogged Doggett was his nickname, and he’d pissed off most of the movers and shakers in the county on various stories during his time with the paper. That was one reason Lisa trusted him. She didn’t think he’d go running to the sheriff or the county attorney as soon as he saw her.

As long as she’d known Tom, he’d taken a smoke break every workday at exactly two in the afternoon. He smoked two cigarettes on the street, not caring about rain, snow, or cold, and then he was done with his vice for the day.

Nervously, Lisa checked her watch again. It was exactly two now. As if an alarm had gone off, the glass door at the Times swung open, and Tom Doggett emerged into the snow with his pack of Marlboros in his hand. He walked to the street corner with a shuffling gait. He was medium height and a little heavy. He wore a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, wrinkled khakis, and Hush Puppies. He was almost fifty years old, but he wore his wavy dark hair to his shoulders, as if he was still part of a protest movement. Lisa was never sure if he colored his hair or if he really hadn’t grayed yet.

Before the editor could light up his first Marlboro, Lisa fired off a text.

Seconds later, she watched Tom dig into the pocket of his khakis for his phone. When he read the text, his head swiveled curiously. It didn’t take him long, despite the snow, to spot the chassis of the sports car halfway down the cross street. She watched his eyes narrow as he studied the car, wondering who was behind the mystery message. He tapped his hand rhythmically on his thigh as he assessed the situation, but she knew his journalistic curiosity would win out.

Tom strolled across Main Avenue. A sheriff’s SUV passed behind him, and Lisa tensed, but the police car didn’t stop. The editor passed the gas-station-turned-church on the other side of the street and headed straight to the passenger door of the Camaro. He didn’t even knock. He simply opened the door and got in.

“Lisa Power.”

“Hi, Tom.”

“Next time you want to see me, we need some better spy tradecraft. Like a chalk X on the light post alerting me to a secret meeting. I think we need code phrases to recognize each other, too. I’ll say, ‘Water is wet.’ You say, ‘Except on Mars.’ How does that sound?”

She smiled. “Sorry. I know this is a little cloak-and-dagger.”

“A little. Mind if I smoke?”

“Would you care if I did?”

“Hey, you know it’s two o’clock.”

Tom used the button to lower the side window about a foot. He extracted the cream-colored end of a Marlboro from the pack and lit the top, causing the white tip to smolder. He inhaled, closed his eyes, and then aimed the smoke from his mouth at the open window. Lisa didn’t smoke, but she found the sight of the white cigarette strangely hypnotizing.

“So what’s up?” Tom asked her. “Are you feeding me a story? It would be nice to have something a little juicier to work on than the soybean futures.”

“Actually, you already have the story,” Lisa said. “I’d like to find out what you know about it.”

“In return for?”

“My eternal gratitude,” Lisa replied.

“Uh-huh. I can tell you the futures price on that. What’s the story?”

“Fiona Farrell.”

Tom whistled. “Oh, yeah, I know all about that one. But why do you care about Fiona?”

“I’d rather not say right now. When I can tell you more, you’ll be the first to know. How’s that for a quid pro quo?”

“I assume it’s the best I’m going to do. I’m not sure what you want, though. Everything I know about the case has already been printed in the paper.”

“I’m behind on my reading. Sorry.”

Tom gave Lisa a cynical stare from behind his cigarette. “All right. Well, here’s the story. You know what Denis Farrell is like. He kept his daughter under his thumb the way he did when she was still a kid. Fiona was looking for a way out. She decided that the fastest way to get free of Daddy was a guy named Nick Loudon.”

“Buzzed black hair? Broken nose?”

“That’s him. Fiona met Nick at a bar in Bemidji during a summer festival a couple of years ago. He’s a good-looking guy if you like that type, but nobody thought it was a good match. Least of all Denis. But you know how it goes. Girl gets emotional abuse from her father, then turns around and finds a man who makes it even worse. That was Nick Loudon.”

“But they got married?”

Tom nodded. “Yup. Last winter.”

“Then what?”

“The good times didn’t last long. Nick was a mean SOB when he was drunk, which was most of the time. He and Fiona started having fights. Bad ones. Neighbors kept calling the cops; cops kept pulling Nick in. Denis wanted Fiona to kick him out, but she wouldn’t do that. So the next time Nick got arrested, Denis made sure he cooled his heels in jail for a couple of days. He thought that might wise him up.”

“I’m guessing it didn’t,” Lisa murmured.

“Oh, no. Nick got out, came home, and put Fiona in the emergency room.”

Lisa shook her head and swore under her breath. As a nurse, she’d seen that same movie play out over and over at the hospital. What was worse was seeing how many of the women went back to their abusers, because they had nowhere else to go. She pictured Fiona’s sweet face in her head from the photographs on her mantel, and she had no trouble imagining how that face had looked after Nick was done with her. She was angry on Fiona’s behalf, and for the first time in her life, she actually felt a little sorry for Denis Farrell.

“This time Nick got two months in jail,” Tom went on. “Denis wanted Nick behind bars for a lot longer than that, but you know what the courts are like in these situations. Plus, I think the judge didn’t want to look like he was handing out a stiffer sentence because Denis was personally involved. Anyway, Nick went away to do his time, and Denis made sure Fiona got a restraining order and a divorce. When Nick got out in the middle of September, Denis had a sheriff’s car parked outside Fiona’s home day and night in case Nick decided to go after his ex-wife again. Except nothing happened. Nick left town. He got in his car, and according to the credit card receipts, he drove all the way to Florida. Delray. The family was pretty relieved to have him gone, you know? We all figured that was that.”

Lisa closed her eyes. “That wasn’t that, was it?”

“No,” Tom replied. He flicked his first cigarette out the car window. “That was definitely not that.”

“What happened?”

“Ten days ago, Nick drove back to Thief River Falls. He parked a couple of blocks from Fiona’s place. Denis still had a cop outside — better safe than sorry — but Nick waited until the guy left the car to take a leak and swung a pipe into the cop’s skull. Knocked him out cold. Then he went after Fiona. She never even had time to call 911. He kicked in the back door, grabbed a butcher knife, and went after her. Neighbors heard screaming and called the cops, but by the time they got there, Nick was gone, and Fiona was dead in the bedroom. Seventy-plus stab wounds. I mean, he just went after her in a frenzy. Worst crime around here in decades. Maybe ever.”

Lisa could see the blood on the carpet. The screams reverberated in her head. She could picture Fiona on her back, could see Nick over her with his arm flying up and down, blood spraying everywhere. It was as if she’d been there to witness the whole thing. She felt sick again.

“They’re sure it was Nick who did it?” she said.

“Oh, yeah. Prints everywhere. On the knife. On the pipe where the cop was hit. Neighbors saw him running away, too.”

“What happened to him?” Lisa asked. “Where did he go?”

Tom shrugged. “That’s the million-dollar question. Your guess is as good as mine. The cops would love to find him, but he’s in the wind. They’ve been on the hunt for Nick ever since the murder.”

“He’s missing?”

“Yeah. He was on foot, too. The cops were all over his car, so he just ran. The sheriff put a squeeze around the whole town. I thought they would have nabbed him by now, but it’s been ten days, and there’s no sign of him. It’s hard to believe he could still be hiding in Thief River Falls, so I figure he managed to get through the dragnet and steal a car. He’s probably down in Florida again.”

Lisa stared at the windshield, but it was almost completely covered in a light layer of snow. “I don’t think so,” she murmured.

“No? You think he’s still around?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You got any particular reason to believe that?” he asked.

Lisa didn’t answer, and Tom lit a fresh cigarette. Number two. The smoke stopped going out the window and settled over the Camaro’s interior like a cloud.

“Well, you could be right,” Tom went on, when he realized she wasn’t going to say anything more. “Maybe Nick is still holed up somewhere around here. He can’t hide forever, though. And I’ll tell you one thing. Nick better hope that the cops catch him before Denis Farrell does. This was his daughter. Believe me, Denis is out for blood.”