ramp. A supervisor arrived. There was little talk, though they were all thinking the same thing. Soaked with anger and drenched with frustration, Donnell Redmond leaned into Les Angelbeck so tight the others couldn’t hear. “That’s two of them in less than a month. This kind of thing ain’t supposed to happen here.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“C’mon, Captain, you gonna even suggest this wasn’t the same animal that did this?”
“It’s not our case.”
“Yeah, well, when this sicko gets tired of parking ramps in Minneapolis and starts St. Paul, or Bloomington, or some place like that, it’s gonna be our case. You jive?”
“I jive.” Angelbeck glanced up at the dark bulbs of the ramp lights. “Find out if the storm took these lights out.” He stared down the street at the spooky orange glow of the inflated Metrodome. Lightning broke over it. “Damn indoor baseball. Game would have been canceled tonight.”
A Channel 7 News van pulled slowly up to the roof. A Channel 4 car came right behind. A cop rushed down to stop them.
The collection of policemen was standing in water up to their ankles now. Purple streaks of motor oil circled their pant legs. Curtains of rain blew across the ramp.
“Man, we’re gonna have to call Roto-Rooter in on this one.”
Then the dead girl’s body began to rise, slowly lifting off the concrete floor and floating before them as if on a rolling cloud. Her broken neck flopped backwards and her young face, frozen in fright, disappeared beneath the oily water.
THE STAR
Old Jesse was a black man who pushed a broom. The job paid him little, but the work was all that he knew. The long stone hallways were his home. The boys were his family.
It was said among those boys that Old Jesse had once killed a man. Nobody was sure of the circumstances, only Jesse himself. Rumor had it was a white man he killed in a fight over a black woman-back in the days before civil rights, when murder among blacks didn’t count for much. But killing a white man had cost Jesse twenty-five years.
This was the peaceful part of the night. The boys were in their bunks. He could push his broom for an hour and not talk to a soul. As he worked his way down B-East he saw the boys had forgotten to turn off the television set in the day room. Channel 7 reran the local news at 1:00 A.M. Old Jesse stopped to watch. He needed a break. The fortress was like a brick oven. He turned up the sound, just a hair.
“It’s a horrible feeling … We come to work, and we don’t even know if we’re going to make it home. I just kept driving around the block… What are my options? ... Where do I park?”
The janitor shook his head, sincerely sorry for the woman.
“Police officials,” said a red-haired news lady, “are holding daily briefings for the press, calling the murders two separate investigations, while at the same time acknowledging the similarities. Tonight the Minneapolis chief of police was openly musing for our cameras.”
“This is a head scratcher … what can you tell people? If you say there are no similarities between this homicide
and the other, you can assure people there isn’t a serial killer out there… but that means there are two killers out there. We ‘re trying to find out if this is a copycat or a serial situation, or just a coincidence.”
Terrible. Just terrible. Jesse turned off the TV set and continued down the hallway. The old man stopped in front of an open window and leaned his long-handled broom against the wall. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a dirty red brakeman’s bandanna. It was so quiet he could hear the ripple of the river. He put his face to the bars, hoping for a cool breeze off the water.
The moon high above was like a street lamp that lit up the entire valley, and to the east of this ghostly white moon a star was rising in the sky that shined a little brighter than all the others. This star bothered the old man, because it had an ugly
“Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
“C’mon, Captain, you gonna even suggest this wasn’t the same animal that did this?”
“It’s not our case.”
“Yeah, well, when this sicko gets tired of parking ramps in Minneapolis and starts St. Paul, or Bloomington, or some place like that, it’s gonna be our case. You jive?”
“I jive.” Angelbeck glanced up at the dark bulbs of the ramp lights. “Find out if the storm took these lights out.” He stared down the street at the spooky orange glow of the inflated Metrodome. Lightning broke over it. “Damn indoor baseball. Game would have been canceled tonight.”
A Channel 7 News van pulled slowly up to the roof. A Channel 4 car came right behind. A cop rushed down to stop them.
The collection of policemen was standing in water up to their ankles now. Purple streaks of motor oil circled their pant legs. Curtains of rain blew across the ramp.
“Man, we’re gonna have to call Roto-Rooter in on this one.”
Then the dead girl’s body began to rise, slowly lifting off the concrete floor and floating before them as if on a rolling cloud. Her broken neck flopped backwards and her young face, frozen in fright, disappeared beneath the oily water.
THE STAR
Old Jesse was a black man who pushed a broom. The job paid him little, but the work was all that he knew. The long stone hallways were his home. The boys were his family.
It was said among those boys that Old Jesse had once killed a man. Nobody was sure of the circumstances, only Jesse himself. Rumor had it was a white man he killed in a fight over a black woman-back in the days before civil rights, when murder among blacks didn’t count for much. But killing a white man had cost Jesse twenty-five years.
This was the peaceful part of the night. The boys were in their bunks. He could push his broom for an hour and not talk to a soul. As he worked his way down B-East he saw the boys had forgotten to turn off the television set in the day room. Channel 7 reran the local news at 1:00 A.M. Old Jesse stopped to watch. He needed a break. The fortress was like a brick oven. He turned up the sound, just a hair.
“It’s a horrible feeling … We come to work, and we don’t even know if we’re going to make it home. I just kept driving around the block… What are my options? ... Where do I park?”
The janitor shook his head, sincerely sorry for the woman.
“Police officials,” said a red-haired news lady, “are holding daily briefings for the press, calling the murders two separate investigations, while at the same time acknowledging the similarities. Tonight the Minneapolis chief of police was openly musing for our cameras.”
“This is a head scratcher … what can you tell people? If you say there are no similarities between this homicide
and the other, you can assure people there isn’t a serial killer out there… but that means there are two killers out there. We ‘re trying to find out if this is a copycat or a serial situation, or just a coincidence.”
Terrible. Just terrible. Jesse turned off the TV set and continued down the hallway. The old man stopped in front of an open window and leaned his long-handled broom against the wall. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a dirty red brakeman’s bandanna. It was so quiet he could hear the ripple of the river. He put his face to the bars, hoping for a cool breeze off the water.
The moon high above was like a street lamp that lit up the entire valley, and to the east of this ghostly white moon a star was rising in the sky that shined a little brighter than all the others. This star bothered the old man, because it had an ugly
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