The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [62]
I reached in, and pulled out a .40 caliber Glock semiautomatic handgun. I dropped the magazine, jacked the chambered round out into the snow, and put the gun in my gun belt.
“Found a Glock,” I said to John.
“Cool…”
“Got any more?” I asked, patting his sides. No answer, but no weapons, either. Not as far as I could tell.
“He’s probably got a knife,” I said to John, “but I can’t find it with him kneeling down.” Just a hunch.
I reached under his chin, and unstrapped his helmet, and pulled it off his head. Keeping it securely in my right hand, I leaned on his shoulders and pushed myself back to my feet.
“Walk on your knees to the car.”
He spoke for the first time. “What?” He sounded exasperated and angry.
“It’s either that or be dragged,” I said, evenly. “We have rope in the trunk. It’s not that far, and the snow’s soft. You can do it.”
He did, too. I stood on his right, and John stood about twenty-five feet away, at the open rear door of the squad car. He covered him every inch of the way.
When he got to the car, I said, “Just kneel right against the open door there, don’t get in. You’ll get enough warm air from the door.”
No leverage in the snow. Besides, he was likely a lot warmer than we were. I sat his helmet on the roof of the car, and handed the Glock to John. “For the trunk, I think. And you’d better get us some backup,” I said. “Good thing we called in the pursuit.”
“I’m just glad you were along. God, I’d hate to explain this all by myself.”
The flashing red strobe lights that were left were disorienting, to say the least. In the white environment, things seemed to leap toward and away from you with each pulse.
“Check your temp gauges, make sure the engine isn’t overheating…” Snow up under the hood could block the radiator, loosen belts, throw belts, you name it. “If it’s okay, keep it running.” In this area of the county, the hilltops were a good hundred feet above the roadway, and pretty close, to boot. Radio communications with our 10 watt walkie-talkies would be chancy, at best. I wanted the 100 watt radio in the car available, if I could.
“Yes, Father …” came from the car. Oops. Let up, Carl. He’s able to do all of that.
I got busy thinking. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that the subject in custody was related to or involved with the two murders. None. I was as certain of that as I was of the fact that there was absolutely no real evidence to back me up.
Over my walkie-talkie, I could hear John’s side of the conversation with the office. He mentioned that we needed assistance. That it wasn’t an emergency, but that we had a suspect in custody. He promised to keep in touch until help arrived.
He joined me in watching our prisoner. Time to get some information.
“Who are you?”
Silence.
“You got a name?”
Nothing.
“Well, let me put it this way,” I said. “Any ID you got is going to be mine as soon as we get that suit off you.” In the ensuing silence, I recited his Miranda rights. No reaction. Nothing. “Right.” The radio was blaring in the background. “I’ll get the radio,” I said. I trudged up to the front, and reached in for the mike.
“This is Three, go ahead.”
“Three, One is ten-seventy-six. So is Seven. 388 is coming from Wheaton, ETA ten.”
“Ten-four, Comm.”
“Ten-fifty-one is also ten-seventy-six.” That meant that a wrecker was also coming. Well, we needed one, no doubt about that. Unfortunately, that also meant a civilian at the scene, as well.
“Which fifty-one, Comm?”
“Eddie’s Body Shop.”
If it had to be anybody, I was glad it was Eddie. He was pretty good at keeping his mouth shut.
What we needed was a cover story. Something that most people could be told, something that would explain a chase of a snowmobile, and a subject in custody. We were going to need it in a hurry, too. I could see the faint flashing red lights way back down the valley. Probably Seven. Deputy Gary Oberbrech. Fairly new, and a good officer. He