The Ninth District Read online

  The press milled about on the grass, jockeying for final positions with the start of the news conference. The on-scene reporters lined the front across the grass from the tables, standing in the sun. Their camera personnel hung back and to the sides trying to get the angle and clear shot.

  Jack and Ross stood a little further back next to a tree to be close enough to hear, but still be in the shade.

  “Pay attention now, Junior. Here’s your chance to learn how these things are done. One day you’ll be up there for your field office,” Jack said.

  “OK, ladies and gentlemen, we’re ready to start,” the man repeated a third time. He looked out at the crowd, cleared his throat, and started.

  “Good afternoon, I’m Rick Peterson with the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. With me today I have Chief Wolf from the Wayzata Police Department, Hennepin County Sheriff Palmer, and Special Agent Anderson with the FBI. Please hold your questions until after our update is complete.” The four all sat stoically in their chairs while they waited their turn to speak. “Agent Anderson will start things off for us this afternoon.”

  Agent Anderson leaned forward, swiveled the microphone in her direction, and rested her elbows on the table.

  “We’re here on a somber occasion after a murder of a bank employee took place this morning. We wanted to quickly get information out to the public. There is a serial bank robber operating in the Twin Cities metro area and it has now escalated from robbery to violence. We will be releasing photos and video and ask that all citizens call in with any information that they feel may be beneficial. The Minneapolis FBI is working with other local law enforcement represented here to find this criminal as soon as possible.” Agent Anderson held her stare at the group and then slowly returned to her original sitting position.

  The BCA spokesperson took over again and reviewed how they were assisting and explained the roles of the Wayzata Police and the Sheriff’s water patrol unit in the investigation.

  Jack leaned over to Ross and whispered, “What do you think?”

  Ross responded, “She’s definitely in control.”

  “She’s not that cold in person, but she’s got a role to play and a job to do,” Jack said. “They’re wrapping up here. Time for them to get hammered with questions from the press. Let’s go.”

  The sun was at their backs as Ross and Jack headed east on the highway back towards Minneapolis. The car was quiet except for the hum of the tires on the pavement and the fan set on high, blowing the cold air through the vents.

  Jack broke the silence. “I guess you have your work ahead of you. The press was rabid for information. You heard them all start shouting questions as we were leaving. They know the public wants somebody to pay for these robberies and the murder of this mother and her baby. Watch the news tonight and you’ll see a story you may or may not recognize. People are going to go nuts. When stuff like this happens in a place like Wayzata, nobody feels safe.”

  “I guess I better get busy. Weren’t you going to tell me about Patty from the park?”

  “Oh, yeah. You can start with her. I asked her to have her camera guy shoot some footage of everybody around the area this afternoon. She’ll have the tape of that and the conference footage that won’t make the news available for you at the station this afternoon.”

  “Great, but what can you tell me about her?”

  “She caught your fancy, Junior? Well, you could see she looks great. She’s a runner. She’s been around the Cities for a few years, I guess. We’ve run into each other here and there on cases and stories and helped each other out from time to time. I’m not sure of her age, probably too old for you. She’s always flirting, using that exotic beauty, her accent, and non-Minnesotan actions like that ciao and the kiss on the cheek to show she’s different.”

  “Is she seeing anybody?”

  “How would I know?” Jack asked. “I don’t think she has time for a relationship. I think she wants to do a couple of big stories and move up to the next big market, either coast or maybe Chicago. A case like this can make it or break it for a reporter. You go see her this afternoon, get the tape, make some connections, maybe get yourself a kiss on the cheek. But remember, she has different motives for investigating and solving this case than you do. Be careful.”

  Ross laughed. “I can handle her.” He drove on, silently looking ahead for a few minutes.

  Jack looked at Ross. “What are you thinking about?”

  “How many offices have you been in, Jack?”

  “This is my third since Quantico. I wanted to start small, away from the Midwest, something different. Why?”

  “It’s what you said about Patty. Looking for that big story, or for us, that big case. What do a lot of brick agents want? Get lucky enough to get the big case and solve it, do a good job with it and move up to the next big office. I like it here so far.”

  “You haven’t done winter yet,” Jack interjected.

  “I said, so far. Anyway, I’ll get to work with some great people, like you, and learn a lot, but this could be one of those cases…for both of us.”

  “Junior, one thing you’ll learn. Just take them as they come and do your job.”

  Ross pulled the car into the parking lot back at their office off Washington Avenue. “Thanks for driving,” Jack said. “I think I’m going to head home and catch the five and six o’clock news from there. See you back here tomorrow about six thirty to head back out to the bank?”

  “You’re going home?”

  “It’s your case, Junior. I have my own. I told Patty you’d swing by and get the tape from the press conference.” Jack winked at Ross. “Get the tape, take a break, work out, get ready for your race.”

  “I think I need to concentrate on this case.”

  “Take some down time. Let the subconscious gnaw on the details while you do something else. I’m taking a few hours off tomorrow afternoon to spend with my kids if it’s OK with you. It’s my birthday.”

  Chapter 6

  Looking out the window of his condo, the man ate his late supper, some real Italian ravioli with a Gorgonzola and walnut salad from a restaurant down the street. The blend of cheeses in the ravioli melted in his mouth. The soft light of a dozen candles placed around the room was the only light as he listened to classical music and watched the muted television while he waited for the local ten o’clock news.

  He often ate by candlelight to eliminate the glare on the windows so he could look out over the city. In the dark, the lights of downtown Minneapolis filled the void with their color. In the distance, the sun had fallen below the horizon and painted the western sky with a reddish glow. Closer, the Wells Fargo tower lit up the dark downtown sky, the lights showing the beauty of fifty stories of sandstone.

  His eyes moved from object to object as they had so many other evenings as he looked over the downtown skyline and up and down the Mississippi River. He saw the Metrodome where the Vikings played football, the old mill buildings converted into condos, the Post Office along the west bank of the river, the blue-green lights atop the buttresses, and the lights on the cables of the Hennepin Avenue Bridge, the shortest suspension bridge on the mighty Mississippi. As always, he saved the best for last, his eyes drawn to the final object like a moth to light. On the other side of the bridge was the Ninth District Federal Reserve of Minneapolis. A modern brick building built in 1997, he knew it better than anything else he could see.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the transition to the news and turned up the volume of the television. The anchor was throwing out the teaser line before the commercial to keep the viewers from flipping to other channels. “A bank robbery and murder in Wayzata, details when we return.”

  The lead story covered the morning bank robbery and murder with a short take from the afternoon press conference. Wayzata, an upscale suburb of Minneapolis on Lake Minnetonka, was reeling from the murder. The story ended with a report on the string of robberies attributed to the same person. The anchor looked into the camera as he delivered his plea, “If you have any information pertaining to any of these bank robberies or to the identity of The Governor, please call the FBI at the number listed on the screen below.”

  At the commercial break, after the news and before the weather, the man swallowed the last mouthful of his favorite Merlot, cleared the dishes from the breakfast bar, and put them in the dishwasher before calling his dog.

  “Vince, come on, let’s go for a walk!” The golden lab trotted in from the other room where he’d been sleeping and headed for the door, the word “walk” his signal for action. Bending down to scratch Vince’s neck, he whispered in the dog’s ear. “There you are. Are you ready to go, my friend? Did you hear the news? They’re calling me The Governor.”

  Vince was a recent acquisition from the Hennepin County Humane Society. A two-year-old golden lab who was mellow, loyal to whoever fed and paid any attention to him, and the perfect cover for somebody who wanted to walk through neighborhoods or along River Road without drawing any attention from local residents. If you had a dog, walked it on a leash, and picked up after it, you were assumed to be a nice guy. The Governor had grown to appreciate the unwarranted affection and the company of somebody to listen to his plans, dreams, and accomplishments without interrupting; and he appreciated that he could live without fear of his companion telling anybody else.

  Out on the street, Vince sniffed at the air and they headed out on their walk. The wind from the river was warm with the unique smell of the Mississippi, and flowed between the buildings, pushing discarded plastic bags along the ground. “Vince, you know where we’re going, right? I just had to get a closer look tonight.” As they crossed the Hennepin Avenue Bridge and walked beneath the superstructure, the Governor’s pace quic
kened, along with his heart rate. Vince sniffed his way across the bridge, meandering where his nose took him, marking his territory along the way. As they got closer, the Governor stared at the Federal Reserve building, dreaming of the riches it controlled, both inside and moving between banks. It was an impressive, beautiful building. Its greatness more than beautiful architecture, it also represented money and power.

  Arriving on the west bank of the river, they turned to the north, the Governor unable to take his eyes from the building. They didn’t linger long. Even with the dog, the Governor didn’t stop long enough to draw attention to himself. They had to keep moving. Only the homeless men that hung out on the benches along the bike path were invisible, unregistered by the rest of the population as long as they didn’t bother anybody.

  “Come on Vince, let’s go home.” They turned around and headed the other direction to complete their loop.

  They headed south to the Stone Arch Bridge to walk back across the river. The bridge was a relic from the days that trains dominated transport of goods into Minneapolis, now converted to a pedestrian bridge. The Governor was deep in thought with his plans on how to penetrate the fortress. Starting across the bridge, Vince pulled on his leash and whined, breaking the Governor’s trance.

  “Hey, quit pulling.”

  Vince strained at the end of the leash, pulling the Governor to the side of the bridge, and peered through the railing at something down below. Three figures were clamoring along the bank towards the mill ruins. The Governor and Vince watched the trio dressed in dirty coveralls and tall rubber boots as they disappeared into one of the openings in the riverbank. “Where did they go?”

  The Governor completed the loop with his dog and returned to the condo. He gave a couple of Milk Bones to Vince.

  “OK, buddy. Take a break. I’ll be back in a little while.” Vince took the treats over to his dog bed, did the little spin dogs do before they lie down, and finally flopped down to eat his treat. The Governor locked the door and headed down to his car in the parking garage.

  Firing up the Mercedes SUV, the Governor headed out and followed almost the same route he had just walked. He parked along the curb on West River Road, just south of the old mill buildings, got out of his car, and pulled a backpack out of the rear of the car. Flinging it over his shoulders, he headed down the bank towards the Mississippi, following the route he’d seen the trio from the bridge take. At the riverbank, he clamored along the edge and entered an opening that looked like a tunnel entrance. Inside, he flipped on his flashlight, shed the pack, pulled out a pair of dirty coveralls, and struggled to pull them on over his clothes. With assured movements that came from frequent practice, he zipped up the coveralls, grabbed a helmet out of his pack, put it on his head, and turned on his headlamp. Leaving his pack and coat along the wall, he looked into the tunnel and proceeded, following the lighted path from his headlamp and the flashlight in his hand.

  Even though he was an experienced caver, he always had to focus to get himself to enter a cave, especially alone. He knew where he was going; he’d explored the maze of caves and sewers beneath the city many times. The draw was the beauty and quiet below the streets and buildings of Minneapolis. It was a pleasant place to explore. In the summer, it was cool and in the winter, it was warm with a temperature a constant fifty-three degrees Fahrenheit. Alone in a world of flowstone, mineral deposits, stalactites, and other beautiful, natural geological formations, he was a world away from any problems he had on the surface.

  As long as he stuck to the naturally occurring tunnels and stayed away from the sewers, he could have been an explorer in one of any caves around the world. It was the sewers that let you know you were beneath the city. The smell always hit you first. The toilet paper, condoms, cigarette butts, and other junk flowing by in the sewer were additional reminders; that, and the rats.

  He walked to the end of the cave, the circles of light from his headlamp and flashlight leading the way, and peered down into the hole he needed to squeeze through. After a couple of deep breaths, he bent over and entered head first, arms over his head, wiggling and pulling his body through the tight opening. He bent his body around the bend, squirmed, and turned, repeating the process until he wiggled his way through. Now, he was ready to belly-crawl through the tunnel. His headlamp lit the path ahead, but he couldn’t see more than ten or twelve feet because of the bends in the tunnel. He dragged himself along with his elbows and pushed with his feet and his knees. The tunnel wasn’t tall enough to allow him to crawl. He hated this part — the feeling that the ground was pushing in on him with him having nothing other than experience to gauge the distance he had traveled or how much farther he had to go.

  With about thirty feet to go, he heard the muffled noise from up ahead. He shuffled and squirmed further, thankful for the noise and for remembering to put on the knee and elbow pads. With ten feet to go, he could see the light and he was able to hear the voices. His helmet bumped and scraped on the top of the tunnel, reminding him he was still in its grip. With five feet to go, he could hear the laughter, see the light, and smell the sweet, distinctive aroma of marijuana drifting up into the tunnel. Finally, he had reached the exit into the larger chamber of another cave. He stuck his head out and looked down. Twelve feet below were the three men he and Vince had seen earlier climbing along the riverbank. They sat on the floor of the cave passing a joint between them.

  “Hey,” he shouted. “What are you guys doing?”

  One jumped and swung his flashlight up and shined it into his eyes. “Christ, you scared the shit out of me.”

  The others pointed their lights up. “Hi boss,” they yelled in unison.

  Chapter 7

  The Governor rolled onto his back and reached up to grab the handles affixed above the hole in the wall. He smoothly pulled himself up and pushed his hips out of the hole until he stood on the lip of the horizontal shaft. He found the ladder rungs below him with his feet and started down. At the bottom, he shook out his arms and legs, brushed off his knees and elbows, removed his gloves, and walked over to the trio.

  “Give me that,” he said, grabbing the stub of a joint from the mouth of the one who’d jumped earlier when he’d yelled down at them. He pinched what remained of the joint between his finger and thumb, put it to his lips, sucked in a lungful of the sweet smoke, and held it in. He dropped the soggy tip of the joint on the ground and rubbed it into the floor with the toe of his boot. He closed his eyes and fought the urge to exhale, feeling the calmness return. Finally, he exhaled, the smoke swirling in the beams from the headlamps of the crew. “God, I hate that crawl.”

  “You said it, boss, we call it the Mother Earth birth canal. That bitch pushes us out of that hole and we enter this world head first.” The three laughed.

  The Governor looked at them. “OK, guys, what have I said about leaving the caves?” His head swung back and forth, the beam from his headlamp slashing across their faces as they sat looking up at him. “I think I’ve made it perfectly clear that you need to be careful. I saw you guys walking along the riverbank.” He looked each one of them in the eye. “I don’t want this operation put at risk. We’ve got too much riding on this.”

  They all hung their heads, their headlamps pointing at their toes, afraid to challenge their leader. The older of the two brothers finally looked up and spoke.

  “We just needed a break, boss. You know how this underground shit can get to you after a while. We just decided we were due a little fresh air and a look at the stars.”

  “Plus, we think we’ve made some real progress. It was a little celebration,” the younger brother added.

  The Governor looked the three over. They did seem genuinely excited. “Well, lead the way. Let’s see what you three have accomplished.”

  The Governor followed the three through the tunnels, the shafts of light from their headlamps and flashlights cutting through the darkness ahead of them. Leading the way was Dave, the tunnel rat. The Governor had run into him a couple of years ago on a journey into the tunnels and sewers on Nicollet Island, across the Mississippi from the Federal Reserve. Dave was experienced underground, beginning his expeditions into the sewers and tunnels of St. Paul when he was in high school. He expanded his reach into Minneapolis for new adventures and knew his way around the tunnels and sewers on both sides of the river. He showed the Governor the tunnels and routes he knew and they discovered new ones together. The Governor recruited him into the group with promises of a new adventure with great rewards at the end.