Dead Ahead: A Jo Spence Mystery Read online

  "What's your guess?" I had my theories but wasn't about to share them with Johnson's peer.

  "Lazy is my best guess. Also doesn't like paperwork."

  "That isn't so unnatural," I said, and Cat laughed.

  "You have a point."

  As I moved toward the hall, she called after me, "Hey, Jo, I have a proposition for you. Eric and I are getting a membership at Tech Fit. We're going to work out over the lunch hour. You should think about joining us."

  "Isn't Eric a fanatic? Are you sure you want to do that?"

  "He is kind of a freak, but it's starting to rub off on me. I could lose a few pounds."

  "I'll think about it," I said uncertainly, thinking about how different their lives were compared to mine. Both of them were young, and they lived in town. Eric, known for his vanity, was obsessed with his diet and fitness routines. His mode of exercising inside a facility seemed artificial to me. My walking, hiking, snowshoeing, and skiing in the great outdoors gave me all the workouts I thought I needed.

  Making my way into my own office, I brewed a single cup of dark roast, cleared my voice mail messages, and scanned my email. I only had two meetings scheduled for the morning, and the rest of my day was free for handling the inevitable crises that arose in the office. The adult felony unit supervisor was on vacation, so I expected a number of additional reports to review and sign as well as case consults to fit in around the meetings.

  Taking a break from the computer screen, I settled back into my chair and sipped my coffee. Alana (a.k.a. Alli), one of the juvenile intensive PO's, popped her head into my office door.

  "Got a minute?"

  I pointed to one of the chairs. "What's up?"

  "You're going to get a call from Brian Jones's dad."

  I nodded, allowing her to go on.

  "I gave him your number, in fact. I'm sorry, but the guy's a jerk. He threatened me last night. Of course, he was subtle enough that I can't press charges, but I got his drift."

  I nodded again, waiting for the full story to come out. She hesitated, and that made me curious. "What's the rest of the story? This isn't the first irate parent you've dealt with."

  She put her head down a bit. "I kind of lost it with him."

  "Tell me the whole story. Start at the beginning." I tried to picture her losing it with a parent and couldn't. Though she was still young, Alli took inordinate pride in her professional image. She'd been a state trooper before transferring to the Probation Office because she wanted to be on the prevention side of things. After only two short years as a PO, she had a definite air of confidence and competence about her. I tried not to smile, thinking about how even the most professional among us are still human.

  "Okay, we screened Brian for pre-trial release from Juvenile Detention yesterday. He was charged with felony theft. I met him and his mother up at JD, and everything looked good. He's young. This is his first charge. Mom was supportive, so I released him. He's really a likeable kid. Big for twelve, but likeable, you know?"

  I nodded and sipped my coffee.

  "So I stopped by the house yesterday at the end of my shift to make sure he'd made the transition home okay. That's where it got interesting. The dad was home. Curtis Jones. He didn't want to let me in the house, so I explained to him that if we couldn't have access to the house, Brian would go back to JD. He went on a rant about freedom in his own home, so I tried to explain it to him again. Then he started griping about law enforcement and abuse of power, and I went off on him about how good parents should support their kids, especially when they're in trouble. I reacted to the comment about law enforcement." She looked genuinely remorseful.

  "Did you swear at him?"

  "No."

  "Disrespect him?"

  "Not really."

  "Then don't worry about it. I'm glad you referred him to me. It's my job to back you up. What about Brian? Did he go back up to JD?"

  "No. The mom came to the door, and she brought Brian outside where I could talk to him. When I left, I made it clear they needed to grant us access to the house or Brian would have to go back up to JD. I pointed my finger at him."

  "Don't sweat it. Sometimes the families get to me, too. Just take it in stride and make a commitment not to let him get under your skin. He's probably just scared."

  "He's not scared. He's angry, and he's paranoid. He scared me. You should have seen the look in his eyes when I pointed at him; he wanted a piece of me."

  I checked my voice mail messages and found nothing from Curtis Jones. Feeling hopeful that this would all blow over, I made a mental note to ask Lou, one of Alli's partners, about it later. He was scheduled for the afternoon shift in the intensive unit.

  My two meetings took up the remainder of the morning, and I was glad to get out and walk with Jeannie down to the lift bridge at lunchtime. She commented about the client with the prison tattoo being someone's future son-in-law. After I returned from lunch, Cat popped into my office.

  "We checked out the gym. It's awesome. Here's some info." She handed me a wad of flyers and papers. "It only costs $12 a month if you go eight times a month. Our insurance pays the rest."

  "What? Am I getting fat?"

  Cat laughed at me. "Just old. It'll be fun. Get your mind off of work for a while. It's a great stress reliever." Cat bounced as she talked. "Jon is totally stoked about me working out." She raised her eyebrows. "I'm sure Zoey would be impressed."

  I felt my cheeks grow hot. "I'll think about it." Working out in a gym didn't sound that fun or exciting to me, but I loved that Cat wanted to include me in her plans.

  The red light on my phone indicated voice mail, so I retrieved my messages. An angry male voice spoke to me in a controlled shout.

  "This is Curtis Jones. Don't look me up in your system. I'm sure I'm in there. I know all about you people. You have no right to be in my house. I'm not on probation. He is — my son, Brian Jones. You can talk to him at the office. My number is 390-4598. I expect a call back."

  I archived the call, brewed a cup of coffee, and dialed his number.

  "Hello." The voice still registered just under a shout.

  "This is Jo Spence, Probation Supervisor, returning your call."

  "Okay. You need to know that you have no right to come into my house."

  "Technically that's true. We can't enter without your permission, but we need your cooperation in order to supervise your son."

  "You don't have it. You can meet him at your office. He's the one on probation, not me," he repeated.

  "He isn't on probation yet. He's on pre-trial release. He hasn't entered a plea."

  "There you go; using the court system to confuse the situation and violate citizens' rights. You have no right to come into my home."

  I felt the hair rise up on my neck, and I resisted the urge to bang the phone down on my desk. "If we can't have free access to your house, you'll be responsible for sending your son back into detention. We'll have to schedule a detention review hearing. You can make your case to the judge."

  He started to interrupt me, but I continued in an even tone. "I'll make a personal appearance at that hearing and tell the judge that you are refusing to grant us access to your house and that we can't adequately supervise Brian under those terms. In order for your son to remain out, we need to come in, search his room, and make sure that any weapons have been removed."

  The man dialed up his volume. "I have a right to bear arms. You can't take my weapons. I know what happened in Waco. I know about the conspiracy. You're all murderers, and you're going to pay for it. You better watch your back." I pictured him spitting into his phone as he nearly screamed his hateful words.

  "So, a hearing it is?" The phone slammed down in response.

  As soon as I hung up the phone, I walked over to the intensive unit office where Alli and Lou were going through shift change.

  "Hey, Jo, what's up?" Lou said without standing. I sat down across from him wearily.

  "I just got off the phone wi
th Curtis Jones. Guy's a little off."

  Alli said, "I just briefed Lou on that. How'd it go?"

  Lou is one of my most senior PO's. He loves fieldwork enough to stand the late night and weekend shifts.

  "We need to set up a detention review hearing for tomorrow. I want to be there. This guy is hiding something. I don't think he's just crazy." I had their attention. "Don't try to go into that house alone. Get police backup, or better yet, let's wait until after the hearing to pick Brian up. I don't want you getting hurt. Jones reacted when I told him we needed all the guns in the house removed."

  "Okay, Jo, but why do you need to go to the hearing?" Lou asked. "We can handle it."

  "Oh, I have no doubt you can handle it. I made this guy a promise I'd be there myself."

  "He got to you?" Alli seemed surprised.

  "No, but he scares me. This guy is dangerous." I didn't want to admit to them how much he had unsettled me.

  Chapter 3

  I HOPPED ON MY BIKE at the end of the day and noticed an occupied car at the back of the lot. The windows were darkened, but I could make out the outline of someone sitting behind the steering wheel. I sensed him watching me. My mind flashed on Curtis Jones for a moment. No, it was probably just someone waiting to pick up a spouse. I finished securing my helmet and took the alley toward Second Avenue West.

  Duluth is a little like San Francisco when it comes to steep streets, with her mile-wide hillside facing a big body of water. As I turned to go down the hill, I noticed the car begin to come into my field of vision in the left side mirror. I couldn't quite make out the face, but I could see someone with short blond hair wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. I abandoned my usual route, which takes me on a coaster-ride thrill route down some of Duluth's most vertical streets and instead took nearly level Second Street heading east. I made my way all the way to 21st Avenue before turning down the hill toward London Road, where a strip of gas stations, restaurants, and other commercial establishments had sprung up adjacent to the shoreline. The car, a dark older model Camry, followed three car lengths behind me.

  When I got to the Holiday gas station, I pulled in to see if the car followed. It kept going straight. I filled my tank and proceeded home along scenic Highway 61, once I was sure I was free of my escort.

  The temperature struggled up to 55 degrees, and the air felt crisp on my face. My helmet has a face shield, but I could feel the wind blowing in off the lake, and I could see white caps. Along the shore by Brighton Beach, the waves crashed into large dark rocks, sending plumes of spray well over six feet high. The big lake was in a playful mood.

  As I pulled into my driveway, my dogs Java and Cocoa went crazy inside the fence. I smiled at their happy, high-spirited welcome. I knew they were looking forward to our evening walk even more than I was. As Zoey wasn't yet home, I ran inside and changed into my hiking boots. I opened the gate to our fenced-in yard, and the pups ran straight for the trail.

  I consciously took two deep breaths, inhaling the fresh smell of wet earth and the hint of green budding trees, and then set off at a fast pace. The light rain that had fallen overnight had left the trails wet, but there was little standing water. As I hiked, I thought about the car that had followed me from work, and the veiled threat from Jones. Then I shook the thoughts off.

  Zoey's car was in the garage when I finished my walk, so I quickly toweled off the dogs, left my wet boots in the entryway, and opened the inside door. Zoey called out from the bedroom.

  "Hey, hon."

  "Hi."

  "I'll be out in a sec. I'm getting out of my work clothes."

  Zoey came out of the bedroom in a pair of jeans and a black sweater.

  "You can't wear that sweater and expect to keep it on for long," I said as she came toward me.

  "That is precisely why I wear it." She gave me a flirtatious smile. Her mouth was smiling, but her eyes held a wistful expression. "You'll have to control yourself, though. We have a dinner invitation from Donna and Kathy."

  "Right now?"

  "As soon as we can get there — they're making lasagna." Zoey walked up to me and pulled me into an embrace. "Get out of those wet pants, and we'll head out."

  "I thought you liked me in wet pants?"

  Zoey smacked me on the butt and said, "Get."

  During the entire three-mile drive to Kathy and Donna's, I was distracted by Zoey in that black sweater. She has a tall, lean, but slightly curvaceous figure, and she knows how to dress to highlight her assets.

  Sometimes I wonder what she sees in me. I'm totally unaware of my physical presence, and I'm sure it shows. In my younger days, I got hit on a lot, but it wasn't my wardrobe that caught anyone's attention, and I know my physical attractiveness doesn't begin to compare to Zoey's. I looked down at my khaki pants that were identical to the ones I'd shed after the dog walk and vowed to work harder at looking better. For sure, I'd indulge Zoey in her quest for riding gear.

  A herd of deer that had been feeding at Kathy and Donna's bird feeder scattered as we pulled up to the house. The charming single-story home sat built into a hill overlooking Lake Superior and bordering the Little Knife River. In winter, we would likely have snowshoed or skied there under moonlight or wearing headlamps. Spring brought ample daylight but difficult navigation where we cross the river. So we drove.

  My best friend Kathy had built their entire house with the help of friends. One would expect an architect to construct a mansion, but Kathy preferred to design and build green. The modest home had large south-facing windows, a two-foot overhang on the north and south sides to shade the sun in summer, and a simple interior design with built-in cabinets and ample woodwork. She'd installed solar panels along the roof on the south side to heat their water supply.

  Kathy's partner, Donna, worked with Zoey on research projects at the U, and they had become close friends. It was Donna who had first introduced me to Zoey.

  When Kathy came out to greet us, she was wearing her signature duck-tape-patched overalls. She had obviously showered and cleaned up after her workday in the shop, but her clothing didn't reveal a speck of vanity. I felt our kinship and looked forward to a comfortable evening.

  As we sat down to a dinner of vegetarian lasagna, garlic bread, and salad, we caught up on our days. Donna had dealt mostly with colds at the U Health Clinic. Kathy had been constructing prototype eco-friendly cabinets to be installed in the kitchens she was designing for a builder. Zoey's students were progressing well in her classes. I hesitated, not wanting to tell my friends about the threatening parent I had encountered during my day, so I tried to stay quiet and hoped no one would notice. My plan didn't work.

  "What about you, Jo? You're so quiet over there," Kathy said.

  The whole group turned to me. "I had a boring day. The usual things. You know — reviewing reports, signing warrants, doing case consultation. Mostly boring."

  "What about the part that wasn't mostly?" Zoey squeezed my hand on the table. The look she gave me told me that she knew I was trying to hide something. I knew better than to keep up the charade.

  "Well, I did receive a call from an irate parent."

  "What happened?" Zoey asked.

  "The parent wouldn't let us into his house to supervise his kid. The mom has been cooperative, but the dad is a nut case. He got a little scary when I told him he would have to remove his guns so we could supervise his son. He went on a rant about Waco and government conspiracies. He thinks all government workers are plotting against him. He should know that in government, it's a miracle if two departments even communicate."

  No one smiled. Instead, eyebrows shot up all around the room.

  "What else?" Zoey pushed. She knows me so well sometimes that it's eerie. I couldn't get away with anything around her.

  "I'm not sure, but I think someone followed me partway home. It's probably just my imagination. You know, getting spooked by the guy."

  "What else did he say?" Zoey kept digging.

  "He said we need
ed to be held accountable for the Waco conspiracy. Something like that."

  "So, he threatened you!" Zoey visibly stiffened.

  "Jo, you have to think about getting another job," Kathy piped up.

  "I love my job." This conversation was predictably going downhill fast.

  "And it's going to get you killed. Maybe both of you." Kathy looked at Zoey. Kathy knew she had no leverage talking to me about this, but she just might find some if I thought Zoey could get hurt. "You should work with me. I'll teach you to run a CAD program. Or better yet, you could take up carpentry. You could specialize in building green kitchens or bathrooms. It would be great fun."

  I actually smiled at that. There were times when I fantasized about producing a measurable, tangible product rather than persisting at my chosen profession. For some reason, I had made it my mission to guide youth away from re-offending, and now I was trying to help drug addicts get clean. When dealing with human weaknesses, the outcome is never certain, and some situations can prove to be dangerous. My friends had been pressuring me for the past two years about quitting. And in the short time we'd been together, Zoey and I had already survived two near-deadly brushes with criminals.

  "That's an interesting offer, my friend, and I'll give it some thought. Let's see how this thing goes. We're setting up a hearing tomorrow so this guy can have his day in court. I'm planning to give him his say without placing myself too prominently in the middle."

  Chapter 4

  WHEN WE GOT HOME that night, Zoey wanted to know if I was seriously thinking about changing jobs. I told her, "Not really," but the building idea was interesting to me. Kathy and I had built my house, and the project had been a labor of love. The satisfaction of standing back and admiring something I had produced was gratifying. The house turned out great, too. A post-and-beam-framed, single-story ranch home with a basement, its large windows overlooked a wooded ten-acre lot. It boasted a deck on the south side and a screened porch on the north. I thought it couldn't possibly be improved. That is, until Zoey moved in.