Chapter twenty - Doc Evans

Killing Time
on the
HigHway
by Allan Evans

A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter one
Friday, day one
Driving like a bat out of hell, the speedometer’s needle hovered
just north of 120 miles per hour. The unmarked cruiser slicing
in and out of the sparse traffic. It was like you might expect:
the more open road you had, the faster you could go. The
Friday afternoon rush hour was usually jammed with people
headed for their lake cabins, however November was well
past cabin season in Minnesota. This was the time of the year
that Minnesotans tried to enjoy the last few nice days, all the
while knowing winter was bearing down on the state like a
runaway truck bringing a brutal five month stretch of cold, ice
and snow. It was the briefest of time when there were still a
handful of days that could be spectacular. It was a time of both
hope and dread.
The shrill siren combined with the roar of the powerful engine
added to the adrenaline rush as State Patrol Investigator Cade
Dawkins shot past several vehicles that were in the right
lane looking like they were parked. When a trooper calls in,
“Officer needs assistance,” speed is absolutely essential.
One of the east metro troopers had pulled over a motorcycle

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
on northbound Highway 52, just south of downtown St. Paul.
Now that biker was pushing around the trooper, a scuffle in the
making. Cade had been just several miles up the road when
the call went out over the radio. Other troopers were en route,
but they were several minutes farther out than Cade. As most
cops know, those few minutes could be the difference between
life and death.
He saw the trooper and the biker across the median as he
crested a hill. There also were several other bikers just
climbing off their bikes behind the Patrol cruiser. Not good.
One antagonist was bad enough. Jamming his brakes, Cade
swerved into the center median and cut diagonally across
the traffic lanes. Cade was facing the wrong direction in the
outside lane when he threw the unit into park and exited the
vehicle.
Pulling out his state issued Glock 23 pistol, he approached the
struggling pair. Cade saw the trooper had out his ASP tactical
baton and was defending himself. The biker had a good
twenty-five pounds on the trooper, but judging by the welts on
his arms, the trooper was holding his own. Cade watched as
the trooper spun out of the biker’s grip, and in the same motion
swung the baton striking the biker in the left shoulder. The
biker looked enraged, like he couldn’t believe this smaller
man was standing up to him.
With one fluid motion, the biker reached for his waist and came
up with a hunting knife. Shit, traffic stops aren’t supposed to go
down like this. Cade had his weapon trained on the biker’s
chest and yelled, “Hold it. Drop the knife. You can’t win this.”
The biker glanced over at Cade and then lunged at the trooper.
The knife was angled up towards the trooper’s abdomen. Cade
squeezed off two rounds into the hurtling biker, both rounds
catching him in the chest. It’s not like in the movies, where a
bullet will send a man flying back off his feet. If a 220 pound
man is lunging at you when you shoot him, he is still going

A l l a n E v a n s
to complete that lunge. The trooper sidestepped to his right,
leaving the biker to hit the ground, just missing the trooper.
Cade’s heart was pounding, his hands felt shaky and he
thought he might lose his lunch. He was bent over, hands on his
knees. Cade glanced up and saw the trooper reaching for his
radio and speaking into the handset, but no sound was really
registering. He felt completely disorientated. It was as if Cade
was in some sort of tunnel, sitting ten feet back from the edge.
He saw the trooper kneeling by the fallen biker, checking for
a pulse on his neck. The trooper appeared to be moving quite
slowly.
The gunshot snapped him out of it. Cade had felt something
whiz by his head, the bullet not missing by much. He dove
toward the cover of his vehicle. The bikers fired another
round, hitting his front quarter panel. Damn, they just gave me
this squad, he thought.
The trooper had rolled over to his unit’s front bumper. The
trooper stole a quick look toward the shooters and held up two
fingers to Cade. He nodded.
Holding the trooper’s eyes, Cade counted off with his fingers.
On three, they both came up, identical Glocks trained on the
bikers. The suspects were out in the open, advancing toward
the squad car and both had pistols up leading their way.
“Drop your weapons,” yelled the trooper.
Despite the warning and the Patrol’s superior position, both
bikers fired.
In a moment it was over. The bikers were down face down in
the gravel of the shoulder. Cade had gotten off three rounds
and the trooper had fired twice. They moved to the bodies,
kicking the pistols away from the fallen figures. Sirens were in
the air, getting closer.
The trooper looked at Cade. “Thanks. You came at the right

time. You’re the new guy, right? Dawkins?”
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
Cade nodded. The trooper’s nameplate read ‘Houston.’ Cade
held out his hand. “Cade Dawkins.”
“Jeff Houston.” Houston shook his head. “You know, some
officers go their entire career without shooting anyone or even
pulling out their sidearm. You just start with us and look what
happens. Shoot out at the O.K. Corral.”
“Tell me about it. I thought I was going to lose my lunch back
there.”
Houston smiled wryly. “That was a hundred year storm. You
won’t see a traffic stop go south like that for another century.
Things like that just don’t happen here in Minnesota.”
They were both nodding when Houston’s radio squawked,
“Officer needs assistance.”

A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter two
You never know when your time is going to be up.
State Patrol officer Tom Fletcher often thought about this as he
drove the Minnesota roads. He’d seen accidents, both horrific
and deadly. Been punched by an irate businessman, angry at
Fletcher’s nerve for pulling him over while the businessman
was hurrying to get to his appointment. He had actually once
been hit by a drunk driver’s Pontiac during a traffic stop.
Fletcher’s survival skills have been honed by the years on the
job. Anticipating the problems before they reared back and
bit him, had kept him alive. So far.
The semi trailer truck was cruising westbound on Highway 94,
coming in from Wisconsin. Fletcher saw it as he was passing
the rest stop entrance. The blue Peterbilt was pulling a plain
white trailer, traveling ten less than the posted 65 miles per
hour. Unusual. As Fletcher passed the cab, he glanced up at
the driver. The driver quickly looked away, the truck’s speed
slowing a bit more. Highway Patrol troopers made many
drivers nervous, but not usually the professional over-the-road

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
drivers. Fletcher slowed and pulled in behind the semi.
There was a taillight out …
Fletcher activated his vehicle’s emergency equipment,
toggling on both the front lightbar as well as the rear-facing
strobes. He didn’t want to become a target for the Friday
commuters coming home from Hudson. When the cruiser’s
emergency equipment is activated, most people don’t realize
that a dashboard camera is turned on to record the traffic stop.
Having a record of the stop is a good idea, people do some
strange things when they are pulled over. Fletcher once had
a man exit his vehicle and proceed to fake a heart attack. It’s
funny how quickly someone can recover when you tell them
you are calling an ambulance—and a tow truck to take their
Mercedes to the impound lot.
“SP-387,” Fletcher calls out to dispatch, giving his unit
number, “10-38 at mile marker 12, westbound 94.” 10-38
was a suspicious traffic stop—a ten-code that Fletcher would
normally never use—calling for a 10-38 meant that some extra
attention would be focused his way, possibly another unit
joining him if one was nearby. Something here was raising a
warning flag in him.
As the daylight continued to dwindle away, Fletcher exited
the squad and walked along the side of the semi truck with
his flashlight, feeling the drafting of the passing vehicles
tugging at him. Semi trucks have been used to move drugs
in substantial quantities in the metro area before. Fletcher
had been involved in a recent joint DEA/State Patrol bust of
a marijuana-laden semi truck with a street value of over $1.3
million. There was something just not right about this driver’s
actions that reminded Fletcher of that bust.
When Fletcher swung up on the truck’s running board, the
driver was talking excitedly on a cell phone. He tapped on the
window, startling the driver. The man was dark complected,

1 0 A l l a n E v a n s
possibly Latino. He had a scarf over his longish hair, a face
that had seen many tough miles. He was sweating. Sweating?
It wasn’t hot out—not in November, certainly not in Minnesota.
The driver was off the phone and rolling down his window.
“Here’s my paperwork,” he said, handing over his license,
medical card, log book and bill of lading. “These circuit
boards need to be over to 3M within the next half hour or I
lose my window. Just give my ticket.” Fletcher stepped down
turning toward his squad... and paused.
This didn’t feel right. There weren’t the usual questions, no
‘what’s the problem officer?’ His instincts—he never liked
calling it his intuition—were screaming at him to slow down,
dig a bit deeper. 3M could wait. He turned back to the cab.
Shit, the driver had a pistol in his hand. Fletcher’s hand went
for his own gun, pausing to hit the little red button on his belt.
This sent out an emergency signal to dispatch and opened the
microphone on his radio. “Gun,” he said calmly, though later,
the incident tape would bear witness to him shouting, “Gun!”
Funny how the mind works under high stress.
Fletcher’s Glock was up and pointing at the driver in a
heartbeat. He had practiced that in his kitchen many times
after his wife had gone up to bed. It had seemed like a good
idea, kinda fun actually. However, there wasn’t anything fun
about this real-life situation.
The driver just froze, like he was expecting something. Just
on cue, a black Tahoe screeched to a stop blocking the traffic
lane. DEA? Three dark figures climbed out carrying automatic
weapons. A second Tahoe, pulled up behind the first, more
men, more automatic weapons. They didn’t say a word. No,
not DEA. Fletcher glanced back at the driver. His pistol had
come up, pointing at Fletcher’s head, tensing for the kill shot.
Fletcher squeezed off a pair of rounds into the driver’s chest
and sprinted for the front of the cab.
“I need back up now!” Fletcher yelled for dispatch through

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 1
the live microphone handset as he ran. “Six or seven perps,
armed with automatic weapons, one man down.” Fletcher
dove around the front corner of the semi, using the truck as a
shield.
The dispatch center, located in Roseville, was a huge operation.
It was also an extremely efficient operation. The dispatcher
immediately began to coordinate a massive response. “SP-
387 needs assistance. Shots fired. Location is approximately
westbound Highway 94 at Manning.” Almost immediately,
troopers started calling in.
“SP-377, northbound Wakota Bridge.”
“SP-343, eastbound 694 at Highway 5.”
“SP-399, eastbound 94 at 61.”
Troopers giving their unit numbers and where they were
coming from. That way, the other troopers could get a sense of
how far away assistance was, and it always helped the troopers
to know if there was someone coming their way at high speed.
It didn’t look good to have two squads running into each other.
Especially if lives were in the balance.
The dispatcher also notified the local police, Woodbury in this
case. As she was doing this, she heard the sound of automatic
weapon fire. Fletcher’s voice sounding ragged, “I’m under fire
out here. I need assistance.”
The dispatcher: “SP-387, be advised, assistance is en route.”
Thinking about it, she notified the Washington County Sheriff’s
Department as well. The more assistance she could get for Tom
Fletcher, the better. It sounded like he could use all he could
get.
Fletcher crouched and looked under the truck. Seeing legs at
the front of the driver’s side, he took a quick shot and rolled
to the end. He must have hit the gunmen—he was falling and

1 2 A l l a n E v a n s
Fletcher put another round into him. Hopefully this would buy
him some time.
The first unit to arrive was a Woodbury officer, followed in quick
succession by three State Troopers. The troopers crossed the
grass median at speed, bottoming out and bouncing up into the
westbound lanes. The Woodbury officer angled his unit across
the lanes, blocking them to keep traffic out of the equation.
One of the gunman started hosing the lead Patrol vehicle with
his gun, a MP9 set on full auto. The Swiss manufactured MP9
held a 30 round magazine and fired a frightening 15 rounds
per second. Taking heavy fire, the unit swerved sideways,
offering the empty passenger side to the shooter. The trooper
rolled out and took refuge behind the car. The other two units
stopped well behind the ruined Patrol cruiser. Both troopers
grabbed their shotguns and M-16s from their vehicles and
troopers met up at the back of the vehicles.
“We gotta get Fletcher out of there. Start laying down fire to
keep them hunkered down.”
“Let’s do it.”
The troopers ran bent over, loaded down with their weapons to
the lead vehicle. The SP-343 trooper was there with his pistol.
“Damn it. I can’t get to my M16.” The trooper had a wild look
in his eyes.
“Just hang on, this’ll be over in a minute. Let’s go on three …”
The unit was still taking some fire, though at the moment, it
was mostly sporadic, not a concentrated barrage. The Patrol
unit was going to need a new paint job.
The gunmen had spread out, some were behind the first Tahoe,
two more were crouching behind the second Tahoe, and
several more were at the rear of the semi trailer. A helicopter
joined the scene and was circling overhead. On “three,” the

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 3
troopers started firing. The Woodbury officer was crouched
by his front bumper using his M16, also adding to the chaos.
It was crazy, it was deafening, it was far more spectacular than
even Hollywood would portray it. Dueling bursts of assault
weapon fire, pistols, shotgun, yelling, the roar of the chopper
blades all intermingling into a symphony of death.
And then, it was over.
A haze of gunsmoke blew across the deserted traffic lanes.
The troopers moved across the westbound lanes, weapons up,
looking every bit the posse from the Wild West. As it turned
out, there was no need for the guns. There was a lot of blood,
however not much in the way of survivors. The gunmen’s
bodies were strewn around the vehicles.
They found Trooper Tom Fletcher face down in the ditch. He
was alive, but just barely. He’d taken rounds in the shoulder
and neck. There were three more in his vest. By this time,
half of the Twin Cities law enforcement and paramedics were
either on their way or just arriving at the scene, the evening air
was alive with the sound of approaching sirens. There were a
lot of bodies that needed attention.
It was going to be a long evening.
_________________________________________________________
Cade Dawkins arrived just as the last of the smoke was blowing
across Manning Avenue, a quarter mile west of the killing
scene. There were more emergency vehicles in one location
than he’d ever seen. They continued to arrive: State Patrol,
Woodbury, Oakdale, Bayport, Washington County sheriff,
both ambulance and EMT vehicles, Woodbury fire and many
unmarked vehicles. These were most likely the feds: ATF, DEA
and FBI. The first of the television trucks was just arriving.
There would be many more.

1 A l l a n E v a n s
Dawkins was an investigator with the Minnesota State Patrol,
one of two full time plain-clothes investigators working out of
the east metro division. The thirty-one year old had already
spent nine years in law enforcement and was a recent transplant
to the State Patrol, having been with the BCA previously. Since
this was the reverse of most planned Patrol career paths, there
was much speculation about Dawkin’s ‘fall from grace.’ He
didn’t really care.
Cade stood just a bit over six feet, was solidly built from years
of soccer and had blondish brown hair that always seemed a bit
messy for his peers in law enforcement. He strode confidently
toward the scene, pausing to pull out his Nikon, squeezing off
several pictures of the scene. He shoved the camera back in his
duffel, confidant that in the commotion no one had noticed.
The troopers were just starting to get organized, setting up the
crime scene, establishing a perimeter. Dawkins held up his
ID, and headed for the scene. There were paramedics working
over what looked like a half dozen bodies on the roadway. By
their lack of urgency, it appeared that most were beyond hope.
An ambulance was just leaving the scene, its emergency system
activated. That meant someone had survived the carnage.
Dawkins walked up to group of officers standing near the
rear of the semi. “Hey,” he offered as a greeting. Patrol
Lieutenant Ruhland brought him up to speed. He let out a low
whistle when Ruhland walked him through the final shootout.
They both agreed that this was definitely out of the norm for
Minnesota. Drug shipments coming in on Interstate 94 weren’t
that uncommon, however this wasn’t Miami, and well armed
gunmen engaging law enforcement in shootouts was quite
uncommon.
“Let’s get the trailer open. See what this is all about.”
Dawkins moved up to the rear deck of the trailer, a bolt cutter
coming out of his duffel bag. The two troopers flanking him had

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
their matching Glocks out, standing in the classic two handed
firing stance. A third trooper, Houston, leaned on the hood of
Fletcher’s squad, steadying his M16, ready. Cade nodded to
him. He received a nod in return. Lt. Ruhland crouched in the
corner of the trailer’s deck, out of the line of fire.
With a loud snap, the bolt fell away from the lock. Cade held
his breath, lifting the door of the trailer. He gave the garage
style door a big tug up and quickly hopped down. He would
rather avoid getting shot by his fellow troopers if at all possible.
Stranger things have happened.
Lt. Ruhland called the all clear. Dawkins stood up and peered
in sweeping his flashlight beam around the trailer’s interior.
There were two wooden crates, roughly three feet tall sitting
in the middle of the otherwise empty trailer. That was it. Sure
was a lot of death over two crates. Cade hopped up and walked
around the pair of crates, his flashlight methodically panning
across each crate. There was some writing stenciled on the
wood, but the words were cut off. It looked like the crates were
assembled from pieces of other crates. He knelt down and
examined them carefully. There were no wires that he could
see. It was just an ordinary looking crate. There could have
been oranges, antiques or computer components inside. Cade
was guessing that wasn’t it, though.
He held up a hand to quiet the troopers that had climbed up
onto the trailers liftgate. Dawkins put his ear to the first crate.
It was quiet. The second one was just as quiet as the first.
He reached into his duffel. Looking for his crowbar, paused,
and pulled out the Ion Scanner. The scanner would pick up
traces of drugs and explosives. He ran it over the outside of the
crate. It hummed, the frequency modulating until he pulled it
away. He studied the readout—a trace of drugs, which sadly,
wasn’t all that uncommon, but no explosives. He grabbed the
crowbar. The other officers crowded around the crate. Dawkins
wedged the tool into a seam and using his weight, pryed the

1 A l l a n E v a n s
cover loose. He lifted the lid off and let out a low whistle. “Holy
shit,” another trooper exclaimed.
The crate was filled to the brim with neat stacks of currency.
Dawkins looked back to the troopers, “Looks like Christmas
came early this year boys.”

Chapter three
Saturday, Day two
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
“Bullshit. How much really?” Jodi Capistrano was Cade
Dawkins fellow investigator with the Minnesota State Patrol. She
wasn’t one to accept much at face value. They were discussing
yesterday’s currency seizure following the shootout.
“$388 million. In Euros, all in 500 notes.”
“No shit.” Capistrano leaned back, lost in thought. $388 million
would change a lot of things.
“You’ve been doing this job for a while Capistrano. Why
Euros?”
Capistrano pulled herself out of her thoughts. “Several reasons.
The first is the ease of money laundering. In the old days, if you
sold cocaine in Spain, you wound up with pesetas, which pointed
to where the crime was committed. So you pre-washed your loot
into, say, German marks, and from there moved into dollars.
You spun that money in and out of secret bank accounts to erase
the paper trail and across borders, and eventually brought the
money out the other end disguised as legitimate income. Done
properly, it’s next to impossible to tie your income to your crime.”

1 A l l a n E v a n s
She continued. “The Euro is the criminal’s currency of choice
because it short-circuits much of the laundering process. Legal
tender for 313 million citizens living in 12 E.U. states, four other
European countries, two territories in the Balkans, plus a group
of smaller jurisdictions around the world, euros automatically
separate the currency from the crime, eliminating the need
to pre-wash. No one then knows if your Euros are the result of
drug trafficking in the Netherlands, car thefts in Germany or
people smuggling in Italy.”
“Secondly, the 500 Euro note—which is roughly $760 U.S.—
allows a lot of money to be shipped without taking up a lot of
space. Just last March, a man was arrested at LAX carrying a
leather duffel bag on a flight from Chile. Inside the bag was
more than $1.9 million in Euros. You can’t stuff a bag full of
twenties and hundreds and get to $1.9 million—and if you did,
you certainly couldn’t lift it.”
Dawkins agreed, “Makes sense. Obviously this currency isn’t
from a legitimate source. Not with the amount, and definitely not
with the shooters involved. This leaves us with more questions
than we have answers. Whose money is it? Where did it come
from? And what were they going to do with it?”
“For me, the big question is, how bad do they want it back?”
Capistrano stated. “I mean, even for the largest of criminal
organizations, $388 million is a big hit to take. This goes way
beyond a major annoyance for the bad guys. This is crippling,
this could possibly be enough to put them out of business.
We’d better make damn sure this currency is locked up tight.
If I were them, I wouldn’t roll over dead. I would find a way to
get my money back.”
Jodi was used to dwelling about the motivations that drove
people into doing some really bad and stupid things. As a
seasoned investigator, Jodi found that motive is primary to
finding solutions. Find the reason, find the idiot behind it.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
Many people meeting Jodi Capistrano for the first time found it
difficult to imagine her with a gun. Handcuffs maybe, but not a
gun. Jodi stood about five and half feet tall, had long dark hair
and curves that caused her own traffic jams. Her Asian features
were strikingly beautiful. She fit into the law enforcement
world by sheer willpower. She didn’t take shit from anybody
and kept up with the male trooper’s sense of humor by being
one of the guys.
They were sitting in the Patrol investigators war room. The
television was on, the KSTP anchor talking about the great
Highway 94 gunfight, as the media was calling it. Dawkins and
Capistrano moved in by the TV. “…a total of eight suspects are
confirmed dead. One state trooper is at Regions Hospital in
critical condition. Reporter Susanna Song is live at the scene.”
A woman reporter was standing on the shoulder of a busy
highway, cars and trucks crowded together in the two outside
lanes. “Everyday, hundreds of semi trucks cross the border
from Wisconsin into Minnesota. Dozens are pulled over each
day for a variety of reasons. Yesterday, a semi truck was pulled
over, supposedly another routine traffic stop. Behind me is the
aftermath of that traffic stop gone horribly wrong.”
A state trooper came onto the screen. “It was like the scene in
that Tom Hanks movie about the invasion at Normandy. There
were bullets flying everywhere.”
Reporter Susanna Song: “It was rush hour, just before five
o’clock, commuters filling the busy Highway 94 freeway near
Woodbury. State Patrol trooper, Tom Fletcher had pulled over
a semi trailer truck. It appears that the driver then pulled a gun
on trooper Fletcher, who shot and fatally wounded the driver.
Officials are calling it self-defense.
“What happened next, however, went from strange to bizarre.
Two vehicles arrived at the scene and suspects emerged firing
automatic weapons.”

2 0 A l l a n E v a n s
“State Patrol dispatcher, Abbey Nicole.” A woman was on
screen in a busy command center. “I was terrified for Tom.
The assault weapons were so loud. His microphone was live
and you could hear it—feel it even. I was never so proud when
our road troopers called in saying they were on their way to
help Tom.”
Reporter Susanna Song standing in front of a bullet-ridden
State Patrol cruiser: “Three state troopers and a Woodbury
police officer arrived on the scene in minutes. As you can see
by the damage to this first responder vehicle, they came under
heavy automatic weapon fire.”
“Minnesota State Patrol Crash Scene investigator Bill “Crash”
Simpson,” a fifty year old trooper kneeling down by the
damaged vehicle. “There are 42 bullet holes here, 42! I had
to count them all—twice. Amazing that none of our guys were
killed or even hurt.”
Reporter Susanna Song: “The ensuing shootout killed all
eight suspects, none of which have been identified by law
enforcement officials. Veteran trooper Tom Fletcher was shot
twice, once in the shoulder and once in the neck. Doctors at
Regions Hospital have listed his condition as critical. What was
the truck carrying? Officials are quiet about the truck’s contents
for the time being. Speculations abound: drugs, explosives,
guns and a whole lot of cash. One thing is for certain, a story
this big can’t stay under wraps for long.”
“Reporting in St. Paul, this is Susanna Song.”
Dawkins looked over at Jodi. “I really don’t want the currency
seizure to get out. It could cause us some problems. That
much money makes some people pretty crazy.” Jodi nodded
thoughtfully and looked back at the television. Another story
was on.
“…in a first of its kind, an English Premiere League soccer
team is moving to the Twin Cities. The Chelsea Football Club

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 1
is moving their reserve team here to play in the MLS, Major
League Soccer. Chairman Andrew Bishop.” An intense looking
man standing in a pub, the Local. “Our club has always made
an effort to market to the American audience. There’s so much
potential here. We saw what a terrific response there was to the
David Beckham exhibition games. And with the dollar being
so weak, this seemed like the perfect time to bring the world’s
most popular sport here to the U.S.”
The camera pulled back to show a televised game with Chelsea
playing the Manchester United team. “And you future season
ticket holders shouldn’t think of us a minor league team. These
are the future stars of one of Europe’s top clubs. With the MLS
season running during the Premier League’s off-season, what
better way to have your players get ready for the season, than
playing in league games over here? I personally guarantee
that you will see some world-class players playing right here in
Minnesota. Come on Twin Cities, support Chelsea America.”
Reporter Rusty Gatenby: “This will definitely change the face
of Twin Cities sports. Having a team like Chelsea playing here
will bring the celebrities that follow the English game. Time
will tell if Minnesota will get on board with this English football
as well.”
“Reporting in Minneapolis, I’m Rusty Gatenby.”
Jodi looked at Dawkins, with a bit of a smirk on her face. “You
have a bit of drool in the corner of your mouth. This has to be
the best news you’ve gotten all year—well, except the news
that you’d be working with me. With you being such a soccer
guy and all, this has to be big news.”
“Are you kidding? I was sitting in $175 field seats at the Beckham
game. I would love to see Chelsea play every week. Where do
I get my season tickets? That Bishop guy is my new hero.”
_________________________________________________________

2 2 A l l a n E v a n s
They agreed to meet up later in the day. Jodi was headed for
the medical examiner to see what was uncovered with the
shooters. Establishing their identities would go a long way to
finding out who was behind this.
Dawkins walked down to the property holding area. The
currency was being held in a floor-to-ceiling safe that
had been emptied of its former contents. Typically, it was
confiscated drugs, weapons and cash that were secured
here. Though confiscated cash had a very short shelf life
here, as the cash was usually deposited quickly into the
Patrol’s account. Conventional Patrol wisdom was that it was
safer to have it in the bank than holding it here. Standard
procedure was that seized currency was never counted
by law enforcement personnel—you didn’t want it counted
and then find out later at the bank that the totals didn’t match.
It was just too much liability for the officers if there was a
discrepancy—especially a shortage—when the bank counted
with their currency counting machine. So, the money was
placed in plastic bags, sealed, marked as currency and then
brought to the bank.
However, the currency in this case would be held here due
to the ongoing investigation. Patrol Lt. Dickey had made the
call, his feeling was that because the currency was in Euros, it
would just as secure here. So, the currency had been literally
squeezed into the safe, with no room to spare. Logistically, this
was a lot of currency to secure.
Dawkins checked the security arrangements. Besides having
it warehoused in a law enforcement facility that was used 24
hours a day, the room itself was secured with a keycard system
that only Dawkins, Capistrano and the Captain had access to.
As an added measure to compensate for stolen keycards, the
property room also had a thumbprint scanner installed. The
safe was a Centurion, a combination vault well respected for
its solid steel construction. In addition to being too large and

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 3
heavy to move, the safe had been anchored with concrete. The
currency was locked and secure, totally safe.
Despite the focus of the public statements that law enforcement
agencies typically made, the seized money was vitally
important. Like most areas in life, it was all about the money.
At the end of the year, a law enforcement department would
announce how many criminals they sent to prison and the
quantity of drugs they took off the street, but what was really
important was the amount of assets that were seized. For a
small police department, seizing even $40,000 was a big deal.
It could mean the hiring of another officer, two new patrol cars
or an upgraded communication system. The money could have
a profound impact.
However, the politics of asset seizure were a bit tricky. If the
state was involved in the forfeiture, thirty percent was taken
directly off the top for the state to keep. The local department
would get the rest. And if there were several departments
involved in the bust, they would bicker for the percentage they
believed they had earned. Because the county encompassed a
number of cities, the sheriff had authority over the individual
police departments and the request would end up with the
sheriff. The sheriff would often hold onto the funds doling out
the percentages as he saw fit. Not a lot of people realized the
power the sheriff held. In Washington County for example, the
sheriff ran the jail, as well as the courts. Being sheriff is like
being the king. And this king controlled a lot of money.
Money is always the issue. If the amount of the seizure were
larger, the local department would not bring in the state
authorities, but would call in the DEA instead. The Drug
Enforcement Administration, being a federal agency, would
take only twenty percent; instead of the thirty percent the state
took. If the amount of the forfeiture were $100,000, for example,
the local law enforcement would get an extra $10,000 for just
using the DEA. It was not unusual for the DEA to get called in

2 A l l a n E v a n s
to seal the currency in a bag and take it to the bank—no agents
involved, no investigation needed. It’s all about the money.
Cade went back to his desk, confident the currency was secure.
He had all of the dead shooter’s cell phones labeled and spread
out on his desk. Cell phones are typically a good place to
start collecting information on suspects. Every cellular phone
has an electronic serial number (ESN). When customers buy
phone service, they receive an additional number, known as a
mobile identification number (MIN). Together, these numbers
make each cell phone unique; in essence, they serve as the
phone’s fingerprint and are transmitted by the phone as a
means of identifying itself within the system.
Cade would request thirty days of phone tolls, downloading
all of the calls, both incoming and outgoing for each of the
phones. He would then obtain an administrative subpoena to
get the subscribers for each of those calls. He would then run
criminal histories on each of the subscribers. For the driver’s
phone, he would break down every call received to build a
timeline of his journey. The cellular towers would give a close
approximation of where the driver was when he took the calls.
The time and location would add more pieces to the puzzle.
This should give Cade ample enough information to trace the
people that were behind the runners that were laid out in the
morgue.
Many of the vehicles that were used in crimes were found
meticulously swept of evidence by the perpetrators—except
for receipts, oddly enough. For whatever reason, receipts were
often found in the vehicles. The vehicle search had yielded
some receipts, mostly fast food places like McDonald’s and
Burger King. These would also help with the timeline recreation.
There was however, a receipt from a Heathrow Airport shop for
a pack of Dunhill cigarettes. He checked the inventory form,
a pack of Dunhill cigarettes was found on suspect #5, a label
given to the unknown deceased suspect.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2
Cade wasn’t a smoker, so was only marginally familiar with
the most popular cigarette brands. So, it was time to check in
with the fine folks at Google. Cade opened a browser on his
computer and within a few moments, the search yielded some
interesting information. Dunhill International cigarettes are
one of the most expensive brands available, made exclusively
with Virginia tobacco and are among the only Dunhill cigarettes
sold in the United States. Dunhill (minus the “International”)
are a more expensive version produced by British American
Tobacco Company, and are sold in European countries. The
only way the cigarettes were found here was because they were
carried from England. Cade also noted with some amusement
that Dunhill was the brand of cigarettes favored by Hunter S.
Thompson, the gonzo journalist. You gotta love the internet.
Next, Cade pulled up the ATF database, searching for the guns
used by the shooters. The MP9, manufactured in Switzerland,
was a serious weapon for a serious killer. The brief notation
in the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives
database spoke of primarily European-based criminals using
the MP9. Cade had seen all sorts of weapons used during
his nine years in the BCA, however, the MP9 was not typical
of the guns used by the usual dirtbags that he came upon.
Foreign manufactured automatic weapons were rarely seen
in Minnesota; most suspects were armed with garden-variety
Smith & Wesson .38 pistols or some variation. Even the drug
dealers, who tended to be better armed than average—status
after all, was a huge part of their culture—didn’t carry an
exotic weapon like the MP9. However dealers weren’t what you
would consider an exotic criminal. Most of the dealers he had
dealt with were from the Minnesota area, with a few coming up
from Chicago or Milwaukee. An occasional LA gangster would
show up on his radar, but definitely not international criminals.
And according to the ATF database, that was exactly what he
had.

2 A l l a n E v a n s
He glanced up to see Lt. Dickey staring at him.
“Can I help you Lieutenant?” Cade did not like him. At all.
“You’d better not screw this one up, Dawkins. After your fuckup
with the BCA, this is your last shot. I didn’t want you here. I‘ve
gone on record saying that the Patrol doesn’t need someone
like you. I give you sixty days tops, and you’ll be gone.” Dickey
stared down Dawkins, daring him to say something.
“I hear that the Cloquet division needs an overnight road
trooper,” Dickey continued. “You’d like it up in Cloquet. With
all the paper mills located there, you can hardly breath the
air, not that you’d want to, with the rotten egg stink in the air. I
think it’s just the place for a screw-up like you.”
Cade took a deep breath and slowly stood up, putting his full 6’2”
frame in Dickey’s space. His voice slow, measured, menacing.
“Coming from the lieutenant in charge of paperwork, what you
think doesn’t mean shit to me, sir.” He emphasized the “sir.”
Dickey stared back, his face going a red that matched the
ketchup stain on his tie. He glanced around at the others in the
room, the admins and the road troopers, gauging their reaction
to this challenge. He pointed a finger at Dawkins, paused and
then abruptly turned and stormed off to his office, slamming
the door.
Nobody dared say a word. Except Cade, who muttered, “What
a dick,” and turned back to his computer. Somebody stifled a
laugh.
He logged into the DMV database. The truck and trailer had
been registered to a leasing company out of Miami. The lease
was in the name of a Johnson Holding Company with a Miami
Beach address. The address was for a restaurant, a dead end.
Just before 2 p.m., Jodi Capistrano walked in, dropping in the
seat across from Cade. “Well, that was a lot of fun. None of
the deceased had an authentic ID on them. Their fingerprints

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2
are going into the IAFIS, so hopefully we get a hit and get
something back tomorrow.”
The IAFIS, the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification
System, is a national fingerprint and criminal history system
maintained by the FBI. It is the largest such database in the
world, containing the fingerprints and corresponding criminal
history information for more than 55 million subjects in the
criminal master file. The IAFIS made life a lot easier. Just a
few years ago, substantial delays were a normal part of the
fingerprint identification process, because fingerprint cards
had to be physically transported and processed. A fingerprint
check could often take three months to complete.
Jodi Capistrano stood up and stretched. A St. Paul Pioneer
Press newspaper was sitting on the counter that she leaned on.
The lead story was the highway shootout. Capistrano read the
article and looked at the photo accompanying the story.
“So, how does the photographer get there so fast, and how do
they get so close to the scene?”
The photograph was of the scene, a paramedic working on a
body, several troopers looking on, a haze hanging over the
carnage. It was professional and very close.
Dawkins shrugged and said good question. Changing the
subject, Cade asked if Jodi ever had run-ins with Lt. Dickey.
“Occasionally. He can be kind of an officious little prick,”
she said. “Dickey’s always going on about how brilliant he
is, his career, his education, his money—even his wife.” She
mimicked Dickey: “My trophy wife is so awesome, last night
she made my favorite dinner, then did the dishes and me.”
Dawkins laughed. “I’ve seen his trophy wife. I’m just not sure
if the trophy was for first place.” The room broke out into
laughter.

2 A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter four
Sunday, Day three
Cade Dawkins had an early appointment with his realtor.
It was well past time to move out of his cramped apartment.
The thought of spending another winter living in the bleak,
dorm-sized apartment was sucking the energy out of him
every time he thought about it. He was lying in bed, staring
at the ceiling, the other morning and had a minor revelation.
His circumstances were never going to change unless he did
something about it. He had found an interesting house online
and had called a realtor recommended by one of the admins at
the district office. Cade was going to meet her at a renovated
farmhouse just north of downtown Stillwater.
He stopped at the local Caribou shop to get his morning coffee.
He enjoyed the atmosphere here. It was more than just the
great coffee smell, people were always cheerful here—maybe
it was even the thought of getting their morning caffeine was
enough to lift them from their stupor. He watched the barista
making his drink. He was moving pretty quickly, his hands
confidently performing the tasks. Maybe a bit too fast, as some
of the drink spilled over the side.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2
“Shoot,” he said, slipping the paper holder off the cup. He set
the original cup inside a new one. “I just need to get you a new
clutcher.”
“Clutcher? I had no idea those things had a name,” Dawkins
said, accepting the drink.
“Everything’s gotta have a name,” the guy said with a smile.
“It would be complete anarchy without them.”
Dawkins left smiling. The kid would go far in life.
_________________________________________________________
He pulled up to the house on 4 th Street, parking behind the
realtor’s car. Cade stepped alongside the candy apple red
Jeep Liberty—nice vehicle—and rapped on the window. A
pretty blonde turned and smiled at him. She stepped out and
Cade shook her hand, introducing himself. Her name was
Kim Lindahl, a very pretty, five-foot three blonde. She had an
easy manner about her that made Cade feel comfortable. Her
smile added a bounce to his step, and he thought to himself:
behave.
He followed her up the walk. She told him that the house had
been built in 1882, and had been recently renovated. “You’ll
like the distinctively designed addition. It creates a library
with 2-story windows. And the master suite opens to a lofted
office with expansive seasonal views of the Stillwater river
valley.”
“Seasonal views?”
“Sorry, that’s realtor-speak. In other words, during half the
year, there are trees that block your view of the river.”
Cade laughed and stepped inside. The house was stunning.
There were three rooms on the main floor, the kitchen, dining
room and living room. The living room was spectacular, it had

3 0 A l l a n E v a n s
hardwood floors, crown molding, a fireplace, and beautiful
windows with views of the tree filled lot. The dining room
had hardwood floors as well, chair rail molding, built in china
cabinets and a ceiling with exposed beams. The kitchen was
painted a bright white and had an island with a stove. A large
stainless refrigerator/freezer combination dominated one wall.
“This is really something,” Cade said. “Though I don’t think
the stainless really keeps to the character of the house.”
“I agree, though I think you’d enjoy the benefits of the newer
appliances.” She nodded at the Wolf built-in oven. “I really
like the woodwork in the dining room. The historic touches
have been kept; while at the same time have been updated.
The colors are a great example. It’s a fine line to walk when you
work on an historical house. In an older town like Stillwater,
many of the homes are listed in a historical register that helps
maintain the historical integrity of the homes.”
They walked down a hallway and stepped into the addition.
It was a library that featured floor to ceiling windows on two
sides and a wall of bookshelves on the third side. There was
a ladder on wheels to reach the top shelves. Cade glanced at
some of the titles, and was happy to see several by his favorite
author, John Sandford.
“Good taste,” he said. “I always feel better about what I do
after reading one of his books.”
Kim looked into his eyes. “What is it that you do?”
“I’m a cop, well, actually an investigator with the State
Patrol.”
“I like a man in uniform,” Kim said playfully.
“That’s too bad, I’m in plainclothes.” They both laughed. He
enjoyed the sound of her laugh. It was full of joy. She had a
spirit about her that just glowed.
Off the kitchen, they took the stairs to the upper level. Cade

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 3 1
was enjoying the view as he followed his realtor up the stairs.
Behave, he told himself again.
Each of the bedrooms was unique, with a different character
from one to another. Cade especially liked the master bedroom,
with an exposed brick fireplace in the corner. The surprise
was the addition off the bedroom. There was a cozy office that
overlooked the library. Kim said that cozy was realtor-speak
for small and they shared a lingering laugh.
Kim said because the house was empty, the owners having
been transferred overseas with 3M and leaving power of
attorney to the realtors, he could close with just a day’s notice
and move in.
As Cade walked Kim to her truck, they talked over the details,
what he liked about the house, what she liked about the house.
Her upbeat perspective enthralled him, he had become used
to the cop’s cynical take on things. There was an edge to their
humor; sarcasm ruled the day. It came with the job; cops were
used to looking for the worst in people. Here was an attractive,
professional woman with a sharp intellect, and a disposition
that was as sunny as a July day on the lake. Cade just never met
women like this. He had known in his heart that they were out
there; they just never seemed to present themselves.
So, here she was. Do something. Cade thanked her and said
he “would think on it,” and would call her in a day or two.
Driving away, he mentally beat himself up. I’ll think on it?
What the hell was he thinking? He shouted alone in his car,
“Why didn’t you ask her out?” Like that, all the way back to his
cramped, lonely apartment.
_________________________________________________________
He wasn’t an evil man. He didn’t set out to cause harm, to kill
or maim for revenge or even sport. Andrew Bishop was a

3 2 A l l a n E v a n s
businessman.
In the world of international business, the risks and challenges
were immense. However, so were the rewards. There was
money to be had. Opportunities abounded if you were willing
to take risks. There were even more if you were willing to
break some rules. If ethics were not a motivational factor, well,
you could make a killing.
His drive to succeed was all consuming. He’d learned that from
his father. Trevor Bishop had known no boundaries in his own
drive to succeed. His father had owned an employment service
in the depressed High Wycombe area, outside of London. His
father had not been happy when new competition moved in a
half kilometer away. Late one Tuesday afternoon, his father and
some of his mates had stopped by the competitor’s for a visit—
with masks, lead pipes and serious attitude. They proceeded
to rip the phones out of the wall, terrify the staff and beat the
owner. Even after the damaged owner checked out of the
Wycombe General Hospital, the business never reopened.
He’d also seen his father’s business fail due to increasing
government regulation. The loss of his business had really hurt
his father, driving him away from his family. The subsequent
alcohol excesses led to Trevor’s death, by his own hand.
Bishop learned a lot from his father and was smart enough to
learn from both his father’s successes, as well as his failures.
As he made his way through the business world, Bishop would
do whatever it took, there was no room for failure. If someone
got in the way or perhaps a law or two became inconvenient,
he would deal with those obstaclesin his own way. It was just
business after all.
Bishop looked out his window at the Minneapolis skyline. The
view from his office was inspiring. Because he had the entire
top floor of the building at Highway 280 and University Avenue,
he had a view of the downtown St. Paul skyline as well. Being

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 3 3
in close proximity to these twin cities gave Bishop a sense of
power and control. Control was especially important to him.
Vanessa, his personal assistant stepped into his line of sight; he
wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there. Striking and
coolly efficient, Vanessa was Welsh born. She was eloquent,
intelligent and cunning. Everything one would desire in a
personal assistant. Well, almost everything.
“Smithson and Harris are ready for you sir. Supper will here in
an hour, from Bella Napoli.”
“Very nice, thank you, Vanessa.” They walked side by side,
down a well-appointed hallway, the walls decorated with
traditional oil paintings. He stepped into the boardroom.
There were two men waiting at the conference table. Neither
looked as if they had experience in corporate America.
However they did look like they were experienced: a rough
trade perhaps, the docks maybe, loan sharking definitely.
These guys had the look and absolutely the eyes of someone
who could break a leg to prove a point. Setting these two on
an innocent would be like watching a tornado heading for a
trailer park. You knew what the outcome would be—and it
wouldn’t be pretty.
Bishop spoke: “Where do we sit?” No prelude, no social
graces. All business.
The older of the two men, Smithson, didn’t look pleased. He
didn’t look as if he had cracked a smile in a decade, unless it
involved causing someone else’s pain and suffering. To call it
a mean streak, would be to seriously underestimate the extent
of meanness he could call into play. “The currency is gone.
The support team is dead.”
The other man in the conference room, Harris: “So we’re
fucked, basically.” Not a question.
His name was Andrew Bishop and he wouldn’t roll over dead for

3 A l l a n E v a n s
anyone. He had invested too much damn money, too much time
and too much of himself to let this become a failure—and that
was not part of his vocabulary. He was positively glowering.
“The power is here, not with those state assholes. They do not
have a fucking clue of what they have, no idea of what they’ve
stirred up. We are going to strike them so hard they’ll be
reeling and have no time to figure out what was happening in
the first place. They’ll be running in every direction, but ours.
And then, we are going to get my money back.”
To Smithson, Bishop said, “Get the Hazard brothers and Crane
and Wentworth. This will be right up their alley. Bring them
over here now.”
They spent the next hour planning and throwing ideas around.
There was a lot of anger going around the conference room.
The food didn’t even start to mellow him, it just focused him.
Bishop excused himself after awhile and returned to his office.
He sat in the dark, mulling over his options. After a few minutes,
he picked up his phone. He dialed a number that he had hoped
he wouldn’t ever need again. It was answered on the second
ring, “Martin Clements.”
“I have need of your services.”

Chapter five
Monday, Day four
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 3
As one might suspect, they came in the middle of the night. A
private jet landing at Holman field—the small airport just to
the east of downtown St. Paul. The airport is used primarily for
corporate jets and the Minnesota Army National Guard. Not
too busy at 4 a.m.
Four men stepped out of the jet into the cool night air of
Minnesota. The climate really wasn’t that different from the
U.K. Cool, damp with a little mist of rain coming down. The
weather wouldn’t be a problem for them, they weren’t here to
vacation. The jet was met by a single vehicle.
Angus and Kieran Hazard were the first two to the Tahoe.
The brothers had been in many scrapes with the law in
their hometown of Middlesbrough. They were more likely
to refer to it as “Miserablebrough.” Skilled jobs were few
and far between; dead end jobs were the norm. The level of
education was appalling. There was a culture of hooliganism,
not much else to do for fun than to have a few pints and get
into a fight on the weekend. Both brothers have done time for
assault, drug possession and theft. And that was what they

3 A l l a n E v a n s
had been arrested for. Angus had beat a man close to death
for saying some disparaging words about the local football
club, currently towards the bottom of the Premiership. Kieran
was no better, often bitter about the class difference with the
professional office workers in Middlesbrough; he’d taken out
his resentment with several vandalism incidents to expensive
autos parked near his haunts. He would often stare down
a bloke that was dressed up for work and punch the guy for
flaunting his superior status.
Cullen Wentworth was the guy who gave the English football
games a bad name, with his tendency to drink and brawl.
Saturday night’s all right for fighting, after all. It was right there
in that song. He was tall and slender, but deceptively quick.
His eyes were like the eyes of a rat, small and cunning. He was
not one to fight fair.
Brian Crane wasn’t much of a thinker. He was big, pushing
six feet four and two hundred twenty pounds. He followed the
crowd, which for him wasn’t too good considering the crowd
he ran with. He was typically used as the muscle or the lookout.
If he was told to hurt someone, that’s what he did—quite
effortlessly. His mates figured him for more broken bones than
any four people they knew. Big and stupid had been working
for him so far.
They climbed into the SUV, tossing their bags into the cargo
area. Smithson, who was driving, turned around and greeted
his old friends. He filled them in on the situation, telling them
about the need to create chaos on the freeways. The goal was to
incapacitate the Highway Patrol, to keep them off balance and
divert their attention to something more pressing. There was
an atmosphere of excitement in the truck. This was something
they could do very well. The amazing thing was that they
would be paid for this, quite well in fact. Most of them would
have agreed to do this for free. They had a passion for causing
trouble, after all. This would be fun.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 3
They were worked out the details, with the Hazard brothers
tasked with acquiring a truck to use for their first activity, as
Smithson referred to it. They headed for Bishop’s office to
prepare.
________________________________________________________
Martin Clements gave the Northwest flight attendant an
appraising look. A stunning redhead, slightly taller than
average, with a beautiful smile, and possibly the best legs he’d
seen since arriving in the U.S. two days ago. He smiled at her
and lifted his empty champagne glass. She made her way over
to him right away. The service in first class was so nice.
“More champagne sir?” Her smile warmed him possibly more
than the champagne.
“Please call me Martin,” he said with own practiced smile.
“Would you care for some more champagne Martin?” Ahh,
much better.
“Thank you Bridgette, I would love some. These international
flights leave me so parched.”
Martin thought he would enjoy this trip. He always tried to add
as much pleasure to his business trips as he could squeeze in.
Stopping in New York for his layover on his way from Heathrow
in his native London, to Minneapolis had been a pleasant
diversion.
He’d caught up with an old acquaintance, Emily, sweet Emily,
A transplanted Londoner, Emily had moved to Manhattan to
run a major magazine. A petite blonde, lucky if she made a
hundred pounds, Emily had this great long, curly blonde hair
and eyes that you could lose yourself in. Martin had lost two
days, actually.
Martin, dressed in his finest custom suits from Savile Row, cut

3 A l l a n E v a n s
a stylish path wherever he went. Today he was headed for
Minneapolis, Minnesota. Martin knew little about the area,
other than it was cold and the home of Prince. He loved Prince’s
music, having danced away many nights to it at London’s
swankest clubs. The cold however, was something Martin
was dreading. His contact in Minneapolis had said something
about seeing a penguin at the birdfeeder that morning. Martin
was hoping he had been kidding.
Martin pulled out his PDA and scrolled through his research.
The currency had been secured at the Minnesota State Patrol
headquarters in Oakdale in the east metro of the Minneapolis-
St. Paul area. That much cash—even if it was Euros—was a lot
for an agency like the Patrol to be responsible for. Odds are
that the money would be transferred to the DEA quite soon.
The Drug Enforcement Administration was used to confiscating
large amounts of drug money. They had the infrastructure to
deal with it. The Patrol would not have transferred the Euros
just yet; it was still part of an on-going investigation. If Martin
was a betting man—and he was—then he had a little time yet.
The flight arrived a few minutes behind schedule. Martin had a
few minutes to chat with Bridgette before the cabin doors were
opened and the passengers would push their way through the
narrow cabin. He left with a smile, Bridgette’s number tucked
in his breast pocket. He might yet find a way to stay warm
here.
His leased Land Rover was waiting for him when he stepped
out into the brisk morning air. No snow yet anyway. The LR3
was an exquisite piece of British engineering. Martin signed
for the vehicle, generously tipping the automotive dealer
deliveryman. He drove out of the Lindbergh airport and
headed east.

Chapter six
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 3
It was late morning when Angus and Kieran pulled into the
dealership. It had been a straight shot up highway 280 and a
mile on 36 to get there. They parked near the service area, so
some bloody wanker of a salesman wouldn’t come out to meet
them at their car. It wouldn’t do to leave a trail for the cops to
follow. Kieran headed for a bright yellow Hummer.
“Kieran …,” Angus started.
“Look, if you’re not gonna go big, why go at all?” Kieran flashed
his brother a big grin. “This’ll be more fun anyway.”
Walt Kiefer saw the two men walking around the Hummer.
November was not the busiest month for selling cars, but not
the slowest either. December through February could be lean
months in this business. You had to get your sales in while the
customers were still coming to the lot. When it’s snowing like
crazy and the temperature drops below zero, people are not
out looking for cars. Walt didn’t blame them either. In January,
he would much rather sit in his comfortable chair, surfing the
internet and sip his coffee than be out in the lot, freezing his

0 A l l a n E v a n s
ass off.
The two men were looking through the driver’s side window.
Walt liked having several people to sell to, rather than just one
individual. You start out by having them feel like they were
joining a rarified club, and then, if you could get one of them
to start agreeing with you, that one would often lead the other
down the right path—his path. Selling a $40,000 vehicle would
be a good way to start off his day. Maybe he would invite Erika
from financing to lunch if he got this sale. It could be his lucky
day.
Walt walked up to the two men, “Howdy,” he said. “You like?
This is the brand new H3T. It just came out in August. You get
the Hummer and a full-size pick up all in one finely crafted
driving machine.” He paused, waiting for a response.
Kieran spoke first. “This is quite the auto. I’ve always wanted
to drive a Hummer.”
Walt noticed the accent right away. Here in the upper Midwest,
where the Scandinavians ruled with their uptight passiveaggressive
Lutheran ways, a British accent was the ultimate
in sophistication. Although, these two didn’t look any too
sophisticated. But these days with the new economy, they
could be some kind of internet millionaires and still look like
dock workers. You just can’t tell anymore.
Walt launched his spiel. “It takes the right kind of man to drive
a Hummer. It’s not just the $40,000 price tag; it’s the rarified
air of those with the privilege that comes with the cachet of
driving one. Have you ever noticed the looks that a man gets
when he is behind the wheel? Other men want to be him. And
the women…,” he paused. Wait for it.
“The women?” Angus had bit.
“I’ve seen it a hundred times. Whenever I take a new owner
for a test drive, I always make sure he stops at the Rosedale

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
Mall to get out and look at the vehicle. Just get him out to look
at something, the rear vision camera or something. When he
steps out, women are always sizing him up, sensing the power
that emanates from a man with the cojones to drive such a
vehicle. They really can’t help it. Maxim magazine ran a
study recently that said that it was something subconscious—
something primal—that drives women to the Hummer man. Is
that the kind of man you are?” He looked directly at Angus.
“When can we go for a test drive?” Angus did look a bit anxious.
Got him, Walt thought, as he swung back into the office to grab
the keys.
Angus was behind the wheel. Damn, this was what it felt like,
he thought. So what if it’s pissing more money a day in petrol
than I make in a week. You only live once and you never know
when your times gonna be up.
He took the cloverleaf at 35E and came back west on 36. Exited
at Snelling, headed for Rosedale. Gotta see if the women thing
was right. They pulled up in front of Macy’s Department store
and got out. Two women were strolling towards the entrance.
They had that impossibly blonde, almost white hair that came
from expensive salons. They were dressed in expensive
clothes, with high heels and model-like looks. These were the
kind of women he always wanted and could never get until
now.
They glanced at the Hummer and then Angus.
“Small penis,” one of them said to the other and they both
laughed. They continued on into the department store.
Angus was furious and turned to Walt Kiefer. “Want to see the
rear vision camera?” Walt quickly asked.
“Okay,” Angus said. They walked to the rear of the Hummer.
Walt bent over to the bumper, thinking he still might have a
shot here. “The camera is mounted in the bumper.”

2 A l l a n E v a n s
Angus grabbed Walt by the collar and slammed his face into
the bumper. His nose went with the first blow. Blood streamed
out of the wreckage that was his nose. The second blow
knocked him unconscious. It might have been the third, fourth
or fifth blow that killed him. The six and seventh blows were
just icing on the cake.
Dropping the car salesman to the ground, Angus bent down
and rolled Kiefer to his back. Angus snatched Kiefer’s wallet
from his breast pocket and went through his other pockets
until he found a cell phone. He tucked both items in his own
pocket and said, “Lets roll.”
They stopped at the Bakers Square restaurant a block down
from the dealership. Parking in the back, they went in and had
a quick lunch, which was picked up by Walt Kiefer. Afterwards,
Kieran walked back to the dealership and retrieved their car.
No one was out in the lot. No one saw him.
Back at the restaurant, they transferred their gear into the
Hummer and left their car in the parking lot. They drove back
down highway 280, taking the University Avenue exit. They
drove the Hummer down into the underground parking lot of
the office building. Kieran parked it in the back section, behind
a panel truck. No one would see it unless the panel truck was
moved. Kieran took out his knife and stuck it through the side
wall of the panel truck’s front tire, hesitated, then went around
to the passenger side and punctured the tire on that side as
well. This panel truck would not be moving anytime soon.
_________________________________________________________
Cade Dawkins stood in the parking lot of the Patrol district
headquarters. Jodi Capistrano leaned on the hood of her
car, the engine idling. They were discussing the fingerprint
results. “Well, the U.K. citizenship makes sense, with all those
Euros. Still the big question for me is, where was the money

headed?”
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 3
Cade nodded. “It’s a question for me too. I’m sure with all those
millions, they could be buying a lot of something.”
He paused. “So…what would you do with a million dollars?”
Jodi laughed, “If I had a million dollars, well… let’s say life
would be different.”
Cade nodded. “You know when someone wins the lottery
and they get interviewed on the news. What do they say? ‘I’m
not going to let this money change my life.’ Well, screw that
noise. They should take the money right back and give it to
someone else. That much money is supposed to change your
life. Forever.”
Jodi looked off into the distance. “It sure would change mine,”
she said quietly, almost to herself.

A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter seven
Martin Clements had scouted out the east metro area of the
Twin Cities. His plan called for setting up a base of operations
where he could stage his recovery operation. He found a
realtor online that could offer some assistance. He had agreed
to meet her at the Caribou coffee shop in downtown Stillwater
to discuss commercial properties in the area. The realtor, Kim
Lindahl, was a petite blonde around Martin’s age and he was
impressed from the moment he saw her.
“Stillwater is the oldest city in Minnesota. It was built by the
lumber barons. Many of the homes were built in the Queen
Anne, Second Empire, and Stick styles of the 1800s, as well
as the Prairie style of the 1900s. For sheer charm, I like the
Victorian homes best. I’ve lived here my whole life. The river,
the boats, the antique shops, the nightlife, there just is a lot
going on here for a small town. Personally, I think Stillwater is
the most beautiful city in the state,” Kim said.
Looking up from the swell of her breasts, Martin had to agree.
He smiled at her, “As I was raised in one of the oldest cities in
Europe, a sense of history has always been important to me.”

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
“What line of work are you in, Mr. Clements?”
“Please, call me Martin. I own a recovery business. You could
say I specialize in recovering items that are difficult to get at.”
A light seemed to go on in Kim’s face. “Oh, I just read about a
data recovery firm in Forbes. A bank had a complete computer
system crash. A crash like that can cripple a company. Then
this firm rides in like a white knight and saves the day. Are you
a white knight Martin?” She asks this with a lilt in her voice—a
flirtatious lilt. Martin liked that.
If she wanted to believe that he was here to rescue data from
wayward computers, he was fine with that. He fixed her with
his best smile.
“I’m always willing to rescue a damsel in distress, especially
such a beautiful damsel.” He held her eyes for a long moment.
There was something … here he felt. Most of the women he
saw were fairly disposable. Kim didn’t feel disposable.
After a few more minutes of small talk, Kim said that she knew
of the perfect place for Martin. “It’s a little on the expensive
side, but it has a lot of history and a lot of charm. Plenty of room
for you to work and live. You should trust me on this.”
“As my estate agent, I would hope that you keep my best
interests in mind,” Martin said. “Can we go straight away?”
“Estate agent? I think I like the sound of that.” She smiled and
led him out into the sunshine.
_________________________________________________________
Steepletown lofts turned out to be a renovated church,
originally built in 1884. There were stained glass windows, a
gorgeous kitchen and plenty of room. The view of the St. Croix
River was breathtaking.
“All this for $2,000 a month, and you could move in immediately”

A l l a n E v a n s
Kim said confidently. She knew she had him.
“Done,” he said. “Where do you want go for dinner?”
_________________________________________________________
Just before 4 p.m., Kieran and Angus walked into the ramp
with Wentworth and Crane. Each of the four were carrying a
duffel bag and piled into the Hummer. The panel truck was
still parked with its flat tires hiding the stolen Hummer. Kieran
piloted the H3T onto 280, and went east on Interstate 94. The
three men were checking their weapons, organizing the
magazines. Angus set a Brugger & Thomet MP9 submachine
gun next to his brother. “Here’s yours,” he said.
Interstate 94 in the Twin Cities is the major thoroughfare
between Minneapolis and St. Paul. Near downtown St. Paul,
94 merges for several miles with another interstate, 35E. Even
in the middle of the day, 94 is crowded with thousands of cars
and trucks on the road. At rush hour, the lanes are jammed.
Just past the Dale street exit, Kieran swung over to the shoulder.
Angus rolled down his window and shoved his gear bag up
next to the door. He stepped up on the running board and
grabbed onto the door frame with his left hand, his MP9 in his
right. Wentworth and Crane tossed their gear bags into the
bed of the H3T and climbed up. Each grabbed an MP9. Crane
slapped the side of the cab and yelled, “Go, go.”
Todd Anderson was on his way to meet with a prospective
client. Anderson sold insurance, and while the hours could be
rather random, he enjoyed meeting with new people. He was
running through his proposal in his mind when he was cut off
by a large yellow Hummer. His coffee slipped from his hand
as he hit the brake and pulled the wheel violently to the left.
He narrowly avoided the rear of the Hummer and reflexively
hit the horn. A figure loomed in the truck’s bed, pointing

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
something at him—a gun? As the first of the bullets scored his
windshield, Anderson threw himself down, still holding onto
the wheel. The car lurched for the right shoulder, and with his
foot off the accelerator, the Lexus slowing down considerably.
These two things are probably what saved his life.
The Hummer continued.
It was a scene right out of that Mel Gibson movie, Mad Max.
Crane was hooting and spraying vehicles with bullets.
Wentworth was laughing, while placing controlled bursts
into as many cars as he could. Angus was being a bit more
discriminating, targeting only luxury vehicles. A BMW here,
a Mercedes there. He let out a whooping yell when he saw a
Cadillac Escalade in front of them. Angus gripped the door
a bit harder, steadying himself. He put three or four rounds
into the back window. The Escalade braked and headed for
the shoulder. As Angus was pulling even, he put rounds every
foot or so starting in the back moving towards the driver. A
frightened face loomed in the Escalade’s window. Angus
punched a round through his forehead. The Escalade slued to
the side colliding with a Passat.
Kieran gunned the Hummer and cut to the left, clipping a gray
sedan. He skillfully avoided the tangled vehicles. The scene
behind him was one of utter devastation.
_________________________________________________________
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I’ve been shot. Help me!” A woman sobbing.
“What is your location? How bad are you hurt? Are you still in
danger?” The operator smoothly went into her training, asking
the questions calmly, poised to act.
“I’m on 94, by downtown St. Paul. A man shot me—in the

A l l a n E v a n s
shoulder, he was shooting at a lot of cars. I can’t see his truck
anymore.”
“Hang on, help is on the way. We are getting a number of calls,
it must be pretty crazy out there.”
Cade was still in the Patrol lot hashing out the case with
Capistrano when his cell phone chirped. Jodi’s rang
immediately after his. Uh, oh.
It was dispatch, “Cade, we have multiple reports of automatic
weapons fire on Highway 94. Some dirtbags in a yellow
Hummer are shooting at commuters near the state capitol.
Troopers are en route.”
“Get in, I’ll drive,” Jodi said and slid in behind the wheel.
Cade hesitated and Jodi looked through the windshield at him,
giving Cade the ‘come here’ gesture. He rolled his eyes and
climbed in.
_________________________________________________________
Kieran sideswiped a Honda Accord, pushing it into a Camry.
He steered away from the crash and gunned the Hummer
enjoying the roar of its powerful motor. The scene behind him
was utter chaos. There were countless crashes, many chain
reaction crashes caused by the vehicles fired upon. Traffic on
interstate 94 was absolutely stopped. Sadly, more than a few
cars had come to a dead stop.
_________________________________________________________
Cade was holding onto the dashboard, bracing himself. He
couldn’t help it; he kept stealing glances at the speedometer.
Jodi was pushing the Patrol cruiser past 100 mph, to 110, and
then 120 mph. They were whipping by the other cars, they
were just a blur.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
“What?” Jodi said to Cade without taking her eyes off the road.
She had to raise her voice, the emergency system’s siren was
loud in the vehicle.
“You know you’re doing 120.” Cade said.
“Well, so are you. I guess I don’t know what your point is.”
“Very funny. I would hate to have the last words I hear be your
smart ass comments.”
“So, why would my speed make you so nervous?” Jodi braked
hard, cutting around the stopped traffic, driving on to the
shoulder. Clearing the cluster of tangled cars, she gunned
the large motor. 80, 90, 100. Cade’s knuckles were definitely
white.
Putting the emphasis on the first word, Cade said, “I don’t
have any issues when I’m driving, so I’m guessing it must be a
control issue.”
“Great, We’re having a therapy session at 115 miles per
hour.”
“125 miles per hour,” Cade corrected.
“Whatever. Any erotic thoughts about your mother you’d like
to share?”
“I think I’d rather have your full attention on the road, thank
you. Maybe another time.”
_________________________________________________________
They could see the crash scene as they hit the curve just before
the Marion Street exit. It was more than a few cars. Spread out
over a three quarter of a mile stretch on the eastbound side
were several dozen crashes. It was unusual as far as freeway
crashes go. Most were serial pileups as vehicles plowed into
the preceding vehicle, with no time to brake. What Cade

0 A l l a n E v a n s
saw was a tangle here of wrecked vehicles, a cluster there
of interlocked vehicles, none of them moving. They took the
Marion exit and came around on the entrance to eastbound
94. St. Paul police were there in force; firefighters as well. This
was their backyard after all.
Jodi pulled up to a pileup of cars at the shoulder. There were
no other emergency vehicles at this scene yet. Cade hurried to
the green Camry lying on its side. Jodi headed for the minivan
with its nose buried in the guardrail. The Camry was rolled
on the passenger side. Cade went up to the shattered driver’s
window. At least the driver was wearing her shoulder harness.
She appeared to be unconscious, and there was a lot of blood.
As he focused on her face, he saw the gunshot wound just
below her right eye.
Jodi saw the bullet holes on the side of the van. She could hear
a child crying inside. That was a good sign. She opened the
driver’s door, a woman with blood on her face, looking dazed.
Jodi leaned in, glancing in the rear of the vehicle. A small boy
was buckled into a car seat. He was the source of the crying
she had heard. The boy looked unhurt.
“Ma’am, are you all right? Are you hurt?”
The woman didn’t turn her head. “My neck, its messed up. I
can’t move it. Help Jake please, he’s all alone back there. Help
my boy.”
Jodi let her voice go smooth, calming. “He’s fine; the car
seat did its job. I‘ll get him out to safety. Let me get you some
help.”
She stepped back from the minivan, waving down a paramedic
vehicle that was winding its way through the devastation. She
quickly briefed the EMTs and walked over to a pair of SUVs
that had collided. There were two men leaning against the
rear bumper of the Denali. One of the men was rubbing his left
collarbone, no doubt the shoulder harness leaving its mark.

Otherwise, they looked relatively unhurt.
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
“Gentlemen, are you injured?” They shook their heads.
“I guess we got lucky, as lucky as you can get anyway in a
situation like this. Just get those pricks in the Hummer.”
Jodi stepped closer. “Tell me what happened.”
The man with the seatbelt rash spoke. “There was a Hummer,
one of the new ones—the one with the pickup bed—a yellow
one. There were two men in the back shooting at cars.”
The second man spoke up. “I saw another man hanging on
the outside of the passenger side, shooting as well. It sounded
like they were using machine guns. Sounded like the guns the
terrorists were using in the first Die Hard movie.”
The first man interrupted. “They weren’t terrorists, they were
thieves.”
Jodi looked confused. “How would you know that?”
“I saw the movie. They were pretending to be terrorists, but
they were actually breaking into the vault at Nakatomi Plaza.”
She shook her head. These two were morons. “The Hummer,
so what happened next?”
The first man said, “They weren’t only shooting at cars, the
driver was also ramming them with the Hummer. Shame too,
the Hummer still had a new car sticker in the window.”

2 A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter eight
“We now take you to Susanna Song, who is reporting live at
the scene of breaking news. This further team coverage is
possibly linked to our top story.”
The camera showed Song, standing in front of an overturned
State Patrol vehicle. There was smoke drifting from the engine
compartment.
“I am standing on a cloverleaf near Highway 36 and 694 in
Mahtomedi. This was the scene of a violent altercation that
led to the hospitalization of a state Patrol trooper. The Patrol
vehicle you see behind me is the result of that altercation.
Witnesses describe a yellow Hummer driving aggressively on
eastbound 694. The as-of-yet unnamed trooper was driving on
the ramp when …”
Three figures were coming into the scene behind Song. They
were approaching the overturned cruiser. Song had not yet
seen them. She was facing the camera.
“… the Hummer was last seen driving off at a high rate of
speed. That vehicle matches the description of the vehicle

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 3
being sought by police for the freeway shootings in St. Paul.”
The figures were now distinct enough to make out that they
were men. Men with assault weapons. The cameraman had
enough presence of mind to zoom in on the men.
John Mason, the KSTP anchor: “Uhh Susanna, can you tell who
those men are?”
Reporter Susanna Song: “Men…?” She recovered quickly and
turned around. She was a professional after all.
“Excuse me, gentlemen. Can I ask you…”
She was interrupted by the tallest of the three. He roughly
grabbed her by the arm. The other two flanked her, the one on
the right leveling his weapon at the camera.
This is when things became really interesting. A yellow
hummer roared up, driving up over the grass median. The last
thing the camera recorded was the flash of light coming from
the gun, the sound of automatic weapon fire and the chaotic
movement of the camera quickly flashing across the scene
and then stillness. The camera clearly not being operated any
more.
Pandemonium at the station. The producers had cut back to the
studio. Off camera newspeople were shouting. Anchors John
Mason and Leah McLean were obviously unsure of what to say.
There was no prepared copy for this eventuality.
Anchor Leah McLean: “Dear God … we will get updates on
this as they become available. Please pray for Susanna and
Randall, our photo journalist.”
Anchor John Mason: “Next up, a heart warming story about a
dog named Lucky.”
Susanna Song hadn’t heard the men approaching. When she
was in her zone, nobody in the twin cities television market
could match her focus, her passion, her ability to emote. She

A l l a n E v a n s
was truly experiencing the sadness and the peril that the
hospitalized trooper was feeling. Each word spoken carefully
to convey the intensity of emotion she had in her repertoire.
What she didn’t realize was danger was hurtling in her
direction like Jack Bauer chasing down the latest terrorist.
She was a bit surprised when Mason had interrupted her live
report. While she hoped to be an anchor herself someday,
they weren’t always as professional as most people would
think. It could get quite silly during commercial breaks.
Susanna had seen one anchor pour her latte in her co-anchor’s
lap seconds before returning to the air. His face had been
particularly expressive during his segment on the Canadian
goose problem.
The men walking toward her were carrying weapons. Federal
agents? “Excuse me, gentlemen. Can I ask you…”
It became obvious quite quickly that these were the men that
every cop in the Twin Cities had been hunting for. The tall,
big one grabbed her roughly. She saw the man to her left, his
weapon coming up. Susanna was startled by the roar of the
Hummer as it drove at them. Her scream was caught in her
throat as he fired a stream of bullets at Randall. He went down,
still hanging on to his camera.
Things happened fast after that. Susanna was roughly thrown
into the rear seat, followed by her tormenter. He climbed in, his
ugly weapon pointing at her. He didn’t say anything. Another
one climbed in from the other side, trapping her between
them. Susanna fought back her terror and the urge to cry. Help
would be on the way soon—after all, half the Twin Cities had
just seen her being kidnapped on live television. Well, 42
percent anyway, if the latest ratings were to be believed.
She forced herself to look at her captor. He was big, big like
a football player. There was a rough quality to him. Susanna
had seen men like him in her native Chicago. They worked at

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
the docks by day, and if she saw one out at a Chicago bar, they
were either the bouncer at the door or brawling with the other
idiots inside.
The third of the three men had climbed in the front across from
the driver. He glanced back at Susanna and said something to
the driver she didn’t hear. They took off quickly, fishtailing as
they hit the pavement. The driver took them onto the median,
making a u-turn, getting back on the ramp for westbound 694.
The Hummer was moving quickly now, passing through a
group of vehicles. Susanna could hear the horns of the offended
drivers who had been cut off.
The man in the passenger seat turned and stared at Susanna
for a long moment. She didn’t really care for the way he was
looking at her. Angus took a deep breath and said, “Look,
we’ve nothing personal against you. You were just in the wrong
spot at the wrong time. Happens all the time. Maybe next time
you should report on the latest fashions; getting involved with
the news these days can get you killed.”
Susanna felt her temper rising. She had worked too hard
to become a “fluff” reporter. She had a brain, damn it.
And that was more than she could say for this lot. “Thanks,
but I don’t think you should be the one giving out career
advice. Long term thinking doesn’t really seem to be your
forte. Have you thought about what happens when the police
catch up to you?” She was angry now and she was rolling. She
didn’t pause to wait for his answer.
“And believe me, they are looking for you. After that stunt you
just pulled back there, they will hunt you down. You almost
killed one of their state troopers. Cops don’t put up with that
shit. Believe me, you won’t get to see the inside of our American
prisons.” Susanna had noticed his British accent.
“The next time anyone sees you on my television station, you’ll
be face down in the mud. Shot down like a rapid dog. You don’t

A l l a n E v a n s
deserve anything more or anything less.” Susanna folded her
arms, fuming.
“So what’s next in your master plan? Rough me up? Shoot me?
Run over a litter of puppies?” As Susanna said it, she felt a bit
of doubt creep in. Had she pushed her luck too far?
Angus spoke up, “What happens next doesn’t really involve
you—that is, if you don’t act like a bloody fool. There is more
going on than you would know. You are just a small part—a
very insignificant part, I would say—of something far larger.
Behave, and you might just read about it some day.”
Susanna accepted the shot he took at her. She didn’t think he
had a very long shelf life. His expiration was coming up soon.

Chapter nine
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
Cade Dawkins was talking with an insurance agent who had
gotten a good look at the suspects before his car had been
shot up. The guy seemed to be pretty relaxed about his Lexus
being totaled. Cade suspected he was relaxed about most
things and decided to have a little fun with him. He looked at
the wreck and said, “I suppose with you being an insurance
agent and all, your company will take care of you right away.
The only problem would be that Minnesota is a no-fault state,
which assumes that you are fifty percent to blame. Maybe you
shouldn’t have flipped him off and provoked all this.”
Cade paused, waiting to see if the guy was going to take him
seriously.
Todd Anderson gave him a look. “Actually, I’m not in auto
insurance. I sell life insurance. I should get you my card,
because I have a feeling that if anybody needed life insurance,
it would be you. There must be a lot of people out there wishing
you harm. I’m not saying I would condone it, of course, but I do
understand it. And I always say, you can’t ever have enough
insurance. That way, your family can benefit from your death—

A l l a n E v a n s
as well as the rest of us.” His face broke out in a big grin.
“It’s always a pleasure to meet a state employee who still has
their sense of humor,” Anderson said.
Cade’s cell phone chirped. “Dawkins,” he said. It was dispatch,
with the news of the kidnapping. He glanced around to look for
Jodi, she was on her cell as well. They both sprinted for her
Chevy Impala. Cade angled for the driver’s side.
“I’m driving,” he stated.
“Whatever,” Jodi said, throwing him the keys.
He lit up the tires, enjoying the roar of the engine. He steered
through several tangles of vehicles, with nearby emergency
vehicles parked askew. He could see the moon faced officers
look up as he roared through. After he cleared the last of the
pileups, he had the whole freeway to himself. The highway had
been closed back at the Lexington exit.
He took the left lane, heading up 35E. Cade pushed the powerful
Impala, closing in on 130 miles per hour. His emergency
system was activated, the light strobing the unmarked unit’s
interior. The siren’s wail dominating the sound of the radio in
the rushing vehicle.
After they passed the Pennsylvania ramp entrance, cars were
now entering the freeway. Most of the cars were sliding over
to the right, but some were clearly oblivious to the approach of
the emergency vehicle. Cade knew it would take a tank with
flashing lights to get some drivers to notice an emergency
vehicle approaching from the rear. They worked together,
Jodi calling out the obstacles ahead as Cade steered through
them.
The highway seemed to close in on them as they flew up the
interstate. The adrenaline flowed through Cade as he tapped
the brake and went around a vehicle that tried to pull off to
the left. They were coming up on the ramp for eastbound 694.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
He slowed to a reasonable 85 miles per hour as they took the
ramp. The Impala’s suspension keeping them firmly on the
road. He dropped the hammer and brought the car back up
over 120 after he merged onto 694.
Traffic was heavier than they encountered on 35E, but other
than a short stretch driving on the shoulder, they encountered
little in the way of obstacles. They flew past Highway 61, White
Bear Avenue and then Century Avenue. Cade could see the
lights ahead as they approached Highway 36. He braked
heavily and took the ramp toward Stillwater. He could see an
overturned vehicle and several emergency vehicles at the
side of the cloverleaf.
They climbed out and approached a Washington County
sheriff’s deputy. The deputy had a weary look to him. It had
been a long day, one that would feel a lot longer before it
was over. Cade held up his ID and asked him, “What do we
have?”
The deputy shook his head. “It’s not good. First we had an
apparent vehicular assault on a trooper. The trooper is at St.
John’s, banged up, but she’ll make it. The vehicle appears to
be the same one that started the rush hour war zone down in St.
Paul. Looks like the suspects didn’t clear the scene, but waited
for the response to arrive. Now we have a dead cameraman
and one kidnapped television reporter. We’ve put out the
vehicle’s description, but so far we’ve heard nothing.”
Jodi nodded and said, “Damn, we didn’t need this. Not today.
The media is gonna chew our ass on this one.”
Cade had to agree. “You should run point then. Cause I’m
guessing they’ll like yours a lot better than mine.”
The deputy started to cough. Jodi swung her head around and
caught the deputy’s eye, daring him to smile. Cade could see
the muscles in the deputy’s jaw working, apparently biting his
lip. It must have worked, because he kept a straight face. She

0 A l l a n E v a n s
glowered at Cade, who stared blankly back.
“What?” he asked as innocently as possible.
“You’re an asshole,” Jodi spat. “Don’t you mess with me.” She
turned and stormed away.
_________________________________________________________
The Hummer swerved around several turns, driving into an
industrial area on the west side of St. Paul. The man in the front
seat had grown quiet and was no longer talking to her. Actually,
all the men had settled down, the tension leeching from their
bodies, their surge of adrenaline having passed. Susanna felt
that the immediate danger to her had also passed.
Now what?
As they went across Highway 280, she recognized the area
they were in, it was not far from the television station where
she worked. They cut into an underground parking ramp
connected to an office building. Susanna’s favorite breakfast
spot was located in the same building. The Hummer went to
the far corner of the underground ramp. Angus, the man from
the passenger seat climbed out and opened the rear door.
The man to her right stepped out and the large man that had
grabbed her gave her a push and told her to get out.
The one that shot Randall had his weapon pointing at her again.
Trying anything in this quiet garage wouldn’t get her anything
other than dead. She stepped down from the Hummer and
waited for their cue. The large man grabbed her upper arm
and pulled her away from the vehicle, propelling her towards
an elevator. The man with the gun climbed into the front of the
Hummer and it pulled out quickly heading for the exit.
The elevator had only one button. One of the men pushed the
solitary button and they rode in silence to the top floor. The

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
door opened to an office suite that was quiet and dark. There
would be no help here for Susanna. She was led through the
reception area, around a turn, into an expensive large office.
They pushed through a subtle door that was tucked in next to a
bookcase. This opened into what looked like living quarters.
Susanna had worked in and around corporate America for
years. Hubbard Broadcasting, who owned the KSTP television
station where she worked, was a large rambling building that
had been renovated and added on to for decades. It’s countless
nooks and corners held many treasures of Twin City history.
When Susanna needed to find something unusual for a story,
she would ask one of the station’s long-term employees who
would then lead her through the maze-like corridors to find
exactly the item she had been seeking. She was continuously
amazed at what the building held.
However, beyond an occasional couch, she had never found
complete living quarters at the station headquarters. Finding
the living quarters here was quite unexpected in this modern
office building. The space was large, with a sprawling living
room, a kitchen and several bedrooms that were off the living
room.
Susanna was led to a couch and released by the large man with
a gentle push. “Sit down,” was all he said.
The man she assumed was the leader spoke up. “Tell me your
name.”
Pausing, Susanna ran it through her head: nothing to gain or
lose by withholding her actual name. “Susanna,” she offered.
“Well, Susanna, you’re going to be here for a few days. If you
behave, you will be fine. On the other had, if you make a scene,
try to escape or give us a hard time, Cullen here will be giving
you a hard time as well.”
He gestured towards the tall, slender man. She did not like

2 A l l a n E v a n s
his eyes. The leader continued, “I’m Angus. That’s Kieran,” he
said pointing to a dark haired man with pale skin. Kieran had
a resemblance to the leader, Angus.
Pointing to the large man, Angus said, “And that’s Crane. Stay
out of his way.”
The man just glared at Susanna. Cullen was playing with his
pistol and watched her. He was the one that she was the most
apprehensive about. The others, she felt, could be reasoned
with. This one was just an animal. A mean animal. She would
have to be very cautious around him. You don’t want to let your
guard down around a predator. You just might find yourself
dead.

Chapter ten
Tuesday, Day five
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 3
Cade scanned through the radio stations, listening for media
coverage of yesterday’s events. He’d been up at five and
was already finishing his morning coffee at 6:15 as he drove
towards the office. He paused at a talk station, when he heard
the morning drive team, a married couple, Ian and Margery,
discussing the kidnapped reporter.
“So far, there hasn’t been any word on Susanna Song from
KSTP news. As many of you know, our station is owned by
KSTP and Susanna has been a frequent contributor to our
Balanced Breakfast morning show. Besides being part of the
same broadcast family, I also consider her to be a good friend.
Susanna is the rare broadcast journalist that can empathize
with people of all different walks of life.”
“I agree, Susanna has a great heart. I’ve been in the news
business for a dozen years,” Margery said, “and I have to say
she is very sharp and very tough. The people who took her are
going to have their hands full.”
Ian laughed. “I expect that if the police don’t catch them first,

A l l a n E v a n s
the kidnappers will be turning themselves over to the
authorities soon.”
“So what are the police doing about this? Are they doing
anything? First it’s the freeway shootout on Friday, then we
have another shootout yesterday, with a Hummer taking out
twenty-something cars.” Margery was picking up speed.
“Now, Susanna Song has been kidnapped during her live
report and one of our photojournalists gets shot to death. I feel
like we are living in Detroit or Miami.”
Ian enjoyed questioning most ideas and commonly held
assumptions, however questioning authority really energized
his mornings. He was good at stirring up the listeners. “Let’s
open this up. Do you think our highways are still safe? Does
just driving to work make you afraid? We’ll take your calls
after the break.”
Cade took a lot of pride in the job the state Patrol performed.
The Twin Cities roads were a vital lifeline and the Patrol was
responsible for keeping them safe. It wasn’t just about issuing
speeding tickets like some people thought. The Patrol pulled
unsafe vehicles off the roads. They also pulled the unsafe
and dangerous drivers off the road. And there were some
extraordinarily dangerous drivers on the road. Road rage has
become more common, with the increased congestion. Road
rage is often caused by one driver offending the other driver’s
sense of entitlement. People feel like they own the road,
someone gets in their space—sometimes just trying to merge
on the freeway—and the offending driver tries to deliver his
own brand of justice. Cade had witnessed scenes of escalating
violence: throwing things between vehicles, bumping,
fistfights and even the use of guns. People took themselves
way too seriously these days.
The Patrol also disrupted the flow of drugs into the Twin Cities.
The interstates brought millions of dollars of illegal drugs into
the Twin Cities each year. There were Patrol officers trained in

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
drug interdiction that had the ability to sniff out signs of drugs
being transported on our roads.
The State Patrol also responded to each and every accident
on the highways. The troopers usually are the ones to give
first aid to accident victims at the scene. The accident scenes
could be horrible, especially during the winter months. The
icy roads meant unchecked speeds and that made for some
real tragedies. Most troopers Cade knew looked forward to
the coming of spring for just that reason.
Cade’s attention was pulled back to the radio. The onair
personality re-capped the recent events affecting the
highways.
“Okay, Julie, where are you with this?”
“To tell you the truth, I am scared to drive on the freeway. It’s
like the wild west out there. Criminals are shooting at innocent
drivers, people are being kidnapped. You read about this type
of thing going on in third world countries, like Columbia. Not
here in the Lutheran capital of the world. And don’t we have
a police force whose sole purpose is to patrol the highways?
Where is the Highway Patrol during all this? I’ll tell you: they’re
stopping law abiding citizens, who are just driving to work,
and giving them tickets for driving five miles over the limit.
Five miles over the limit. Now that’s a crime. The governor
should fire the lot of them.”
Cade already had his cell phone out and was dialing the station.
The show’s producer answered and asked him to hold.
Radio host Ian Punnett: “We have Cade, who I understand has
a very different opinion from Julie.”
“Ian, you’ve got that correct. I‘m an investigator with the
Minnesota State Patrol. We have two Patrol officers in the
hospital right now because they were out there, doing their
jobs, putting their lives on the line trying to stop these

A l l a n E v a n s
criminals. Our entire force has been put on high alert, and
there is mandatory overtime to put more troopers on the roads.
Our sole purpose is to keep the roads safe. And we take our
job very seriously. As far as us being out there just to harass
drivers and give out tickets, I have to tell you, your last caller
must be a terrible golfer.”
Ian took the bait. “A terrible golfer? Why would that be?”
“She obviously doesn’t know her asshole from a hole in the
ground.”
Because of the tape delay, he heard his offending word beeped
out, but it didn’t matter. He had made his point.
_________________________________________________________
At headquarters, Cade checked in with Jodi. There still weren’t
any reports on the Hummer and Susanna Song. There was
however, a report of a brutal murder and subsequent theft of a
Hummer from a dealer in Roseville.
“I’m on it,” Cade said grabbing his keys. “This could give us
something to work with. It puts us in a bad position to always
be reacting, instead of following up on our existing cases.”
He paused for a long moment. “You don’t suppose, do you,
that yesterday was all for our benefit? To keep us busy and
reeling?”
Jodi shook her head. “I don’t see what their gain would be.”
“I suppose you’re right. Sometimes I get a little paranoid. But
you know what they say about paranoia.”
Jodi smiled. “If everyone’s out to get you, paranoia is just good
thinking.”
“Exactly,” Cade called out as headed for the door.
_________________________________________________________

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
In the car, the radio was still on the same talk station. The show
hosts had moved on to a new topic. An author had written a
book about lost opportunities and regrets, and had collected
a variety of people’s stories. They were interviewing the
author.
Radio personality Ian Punnett: “So what you’re telling us
Professor, is that for most people, a lost opportunity is something
that people will carry with them to their deathbed.”
“Exactly. For a lot of us, we carry these regrets with us always.
And surprisingly, they don’t tend to motivate us to do it
differently next time. It sets a pattern that will, sadly, define
us.” The author had a definite academic sound to his voice,
almost like he worked to sound that way. Cade thought the
author must be a professor of psychology or social studies at
some junior college.
Radio personality Margery Punnett: “That’s fascinating and
so counter-intuitive. I would have guessed that most people
would have learned from their regrets.”
Radio personality Ian Punnett: “Why do you suppose that’s not
the case?”
“Let me ask you Ian, have you ever wanted to date someone
and for some reason, you never did ask her out?”
Radio personality Ian Punnett: “Well, sure, but Jessica Alba
always seemed to be a bit out of my reach.” Ian was laughing.
Margery, also laughing, “Professor Levine, I don’t know if we’d
be your ideal test case. Ian better not be having any regrets
about not dating someone from his past.”
“Don’t worry honey, my only regret is that I didn’t get to know
you earlier.”
Professor Levine plowed on, “For a lot of people, there is a real
fear of failure that is attached to their regrets. And even more

A l l a n E v a n s
powerful, is their fear of success. What will happen to them if
they succeed? Will it change them? Fear can rule their life.”
Radio personality Ian Punnett: “Thank you Professor Levine.
So there you have it. Don’t let your regrets rule your life. If
you’ve been thinking about asking someone out on a date,
maybe you should. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Cade already had his cell phone out and was dialing. He could
take a hint.
“Hi Kim, this is Cade Dawkins.”
_________________________________________________________
The Hummer dealership was located in Roseville, less than a
mile from Interstate 35, north of downtown Minneapolis. As
Cade drove down the row of massive Hummers, he thought
that this must be their monument to testosterone. At first when
Arnold drove one, they had some cachet, but not anymore.
Now, he thought they were just big trucks for men with obvious
shortcomings.
He was met by the dealer’s general manager, Ron Futcher. A
large man, with good taste in suits, Futcher carried himself
with confidence. They shook hands and Futcher said, “I’m not
sure how I can help. Walt wasn’t found here, he was found at
Rosedale, outside of the Dayton’s department store.”
“You mean Marshall Field’s, don’t you?” Cade ventured
“Wait, it’s Macy’s department store now. Shit, they changed it
again, didn’t they? He was found outside of Macy’s. His face
was beaten to a pulp and they just left him lying in a pool of
his own blood. That just isn’t right. Walt was a good man. He’d
been on a test drive with one of our new H3T models. Which
hasn’t been seen since, by the way.”
“Actually, we have seen it. It was the vehicle used in the freeway

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
shootings yesterday in St. Paul. And in the kidnapping of the
television reporter after that.” Cade looked at Futcher with an
intensity he hadn’t shown before. “We want that Hummer in a
bad way.”
“Just get those assholes,” Futcher said. They walked into the
large showroom. A group of salespeople leaned against the
hood of a red Hummer. They stopped their conversation and
watched Cade and Futcher.
Nodding towards the sales staff, Futcher said, “Walt was their
friend. They’re taking his loss kind of hard.”
“We’ll get them. The Twin Cities isn’t that large. And to tell
you the truth, they don’t seem like the kind of guys that just go
away and hide. They’re living big, and they’ll go down big too.
Guys like that don’t have a long life span.”
Cade pulled out his notebook. “Did you get identification from
the driver for the test drive?”
Futcher was shaking his head. “It doesn’t work that way here.
Because of the high value of our vehicles, we don’t get a driver’s
license, because the salesman always rides along during the
test drive. We find that our salespeople get more accomplished
by spending the extra time with the potential buyer. Walt knew
what he was doing, he had his route laid out perfectly. He gives
them some curvy road to feel the handling, some freeway time
to feel the rush from the Hummer’s acceleration and a quick
stop at Rosedale Mall to feel the Maxim effect.”
Cade could feel Futcher’s deliberate pause. He was being
played by a sales professional. Futcher wanted him to ask
—needed him to ask—about the Maxim effect. Cade wasn’t
going to play his game.
“Did any of your people see the men? Was the lot busy
yesterday?”
Futcher shook his head. “I was here yesterday, but I just saw

0 A l l a n E v a n s
Walt talking to two men. They were over there,” pointing at
the end of the row near the entrance. “From here, you can’t
make out any more than that. I couldn’t tell you if they were
tall or short, or even their ages. Sorry. I never made it out to
the lot until after noon. The lot wasn’t any too busy yesterday;
weekdays are like that in the morning though. The traffic
doesn’t start to pick up until later in the afternoon.”
Futcher paused. “Don’t you want to know what the Maxim
effect is?”
Homey don’t play that game, Cade thought to himself. He jotted
down a brief note and looked up. “No, not really. How about
cameras? Do you have any surveillance cameras covering the
lot?”
“We do, but the distance and angle from the camera to where
Walt met them won’t give you much. I looked at the tape this
morning.”
Cade asked to see the tape anyway, and they walked back to
the office area.
“I thought that you might want to see this, so I had the tape cued
up,” Futcher said. He put the tape in and hit the play button.
The monitor showed three figures that were on the far side of
a row of large vehicles. The image was black and white and
grainy. There was a time and date stamp in the lower left of
the image, showing Monday’s date and a time of 11:17 a.m.
Cade could make out that one of the figures had a cap on, and
another had messy hair. Walt had his back to the camera. The
three men talked for several minutes, then Walt separated
from the other two men and walked toward the camera. He
walked underneath the camera and disappeared from view.
After a brief moment, he retraced his steps and met up with
the men again. The man with the cap climbed into the driver’s
seat, while the man with the messy hair climbed into the
passenger seat. Walt got into the rear passenger seat. After a

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
brief moment, the vehicle drove straight out of the lot, turning
left, away from the camera.
“That’s it,” Futcher said as he hit the stop button. “I wish we
had a digital system, but the owner doesn’t want to pay for the
system upgrade. If we had that, you could zoom in and maybe
get some detail. Sorry that this wasn’t any help.”
“Actually,” Cade said, “it does raise several questions for me.
Where was their vehicle? How did they get here?”
Futcher was grabbing another tape. “This should cover
the parking area. We put the customer parking up near the
building so we could readily see when we get customers.”
He took his finger off the fast forward control. “This should be
just about the right time.” The time stamp read 11:15 a.m. They
watched the parking spaces. Nothing moved.
“Go back further,” Cade requested, “maybe they had parked
nearby and just walked into the lot.”
Futcher rewound the tape to 11:10 a.m. The tape rolled forward
again. This time Cade was looking at the edges, looking for
movement. “Wait, go back a bit.”
Futcher backed up the tape. “There,” Cade said, pointing to
the upper left of the monitor. There was a flash of a vehicle
driving from right to left.
“Where would that vehicle be going? What’s in that direction?”
Cade asked, pointing to where the vehicle had disappeared.
“Our service department would be just around the corner
from there,” Futcher said, gesturing at the top left corner of
the monitor. “We also have a camera aimed at the service
entrance.” He grabbed a third tape.
The tape had a wide view of the service entrance. They could
clearly see a vehicle pull in a half dozen spaces away from the
entrance. Two men climbed out, one was wearing a cap.

2 A l l a n E v a n s
“Gotcha!” Futcher said. “It looks like a sport utility vehicle of
some kind, maybe a Denali, a Tahoe or a Yukon. Definitely not
a Hummer.”
“It looks like a Tahoe, notice the taillights. One thing about
being with the State Patrol, you see a lot of vehicles from the
back end. That’s definitely a Tahoe. Too bad that the license
plate isn’t clear.”
There was a moment of silence, the men lost in thought and then
Futcher held up two fingers. “You said that you had several
questions. What’s the second question?”
“Where was Walt going when we saw him walking away from
the men?”
Futcher smiled, “That’s easy. He was grabbing the keys for the
test drive.”
“Where do you keep the keys for the vehicles?” Cade asked.
Futcher pointed out the door. “Kirsten has the keys. She’s our
office manager.”
They walked up to a counter with a pretty brunette talking on
the phone. She was involved with her conversation. Nice smile,
Cade thought. She glanced up and ended her call.
Futcher nodded to Cade. “This is Cade Dawkins, an investigator
with the State Patrol. The stolen Hummer was used in the
freeway shootout yesterday.”
Speaking to Cade, Futcher said, “Kirsten was here
yesterday.”
Cade reached over the counter and shook her hand. “When
Walt picked up the keys, did he say anything about the men he
was taking for the test drive?”
Kirsten smiled at Cade. She did have a nice smile. “Well, he
usually flirted with me a bit. He was always harmless, but still
a little flirty. You know how sales guys can be.” She glanced

over at Futcher who smiled back.
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 3
“He called me sunshine, and then asked me about my lunch
plans. The only thing that he mentioned about the test drive,
was that he was taking some guys out in the new H3T. He
grabbed the keys and left. That’s the last time I ever saw Walt,”
she said her voice choking.
Cade thanked her and was walking out with Futcher when
Kirsten stopped them. “Walt referred to them as ... something,”
she paused. Kirsten pursed her lips and said, “I think he called
them a couple of Brits.”
_________________________________________________________
Back on Highway 36, Cade called Jodi. “Hey, I got something at
the dealership. The victim had referred to the killers as Brits,
right before he took them for the test drive.”
“Really?” Jodi asked. “What’s the odds of having two separate
cases with an international angle in the same week? Must be
quite the coincidence.”
“It does strain the limits of probability just a little bit. But do you
know what might actually strain those limits to the breaking
point?” Cade asked. He was enjoying this.
Cade could hear her impatience in the silence. “What’s that?”
she asked finally.
“How about the fact that those two Brits were driving the
same make of SUV as the shooters from the great Highway 94
gunfight in Woodbury?”
“I guess I would have to say that your earlier paranoia is good
thinking after all,” Jodi answered.

A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter eleven
Susanna woke up to voices. They were coming from outside
her closed door. The voices had a cadence to them that was
different, foreign. It took a moment for her groggy mind to
comprehend her situation. She was being held, having been
taken by force by these men: their accents British, their ways,
rough and uncultured. She had been conditioned by the
media—the irony wasn’t lost on her—that the British were all
sophisticated and charming. Apparently these men were the
lower class that didn’t make the movies.
The events from yesterday flashed through her mind. The
sudden appearance of the armed men, their weapons…Randall.
Her breath caught in her throat as she recalled seeing Randall
going down in a hail of bullets, still holding his camera. Things
had moved fast after that; Susanna had been shoved into the
Hummer and hadn’t been able to see Randall. She had no idea
how bad he’d been hit or if he was even still alive.
Randall had been the best photojournalist she’d worked with.
He had a knack for anticipating big moments and had guided
her on a number of occasions to talk to this person, or to ask

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
that question. Some of her biggest moments had resulted from
Randall’s guidance. As a team, they complimented each other’s
abilities seamlessly. She could always count on him to be there
for her. Now, when he needed her support, she couldn’t be
there. She prayed he would survive this.
The door opened, a large man filling the doorframe. This was
not one of the men who grabbed her yesterday. He looked at
her appraisingly. His eyes appeared intelligent, if not a little
dangerous. There was something familiar about him and
Susanna was sure she had seen him before. The feeling had a
recent quality to it. Had he been in the news recently?
“My apologies for holding you here,” he said, his voice low
and accented. “It became necessary to knock the authorities
off balance, to take their focus off other matters. It is in my
best interest that they concentrate their investigation on your
disappearance and yesterday’s shootings during rush hour.”
Susanna glared at him. “Your best interests? People died
yesterday. What about their interests? What about Randall,
my photojournalist? One of your thugs,” she spat out the word,
“shot my friend. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead, and you
go on talking about your best interests. Like this is all just a
business negotiation.”
His eyes flashed at her. “This is business. The stakes are just
higher than you’re used to seeing. And just like most business
deals, there is an objective that we are trying to meet. When
our objective is met, you’ll be released. It’s that simple.”
The large man turned to leave. Pausing at the doorway, he
glanced back at Susanna. “All you need to know to ensure your
survival, is for you to stay out of the way. You cooperate, don’t
try anything stupid and you’ll remain an asset. Remember, that
in business, assets are desirable. You do not want to become a
liability. Becoming a liability will get you dead. Simple.”
He left. Another man took his place, this one, the tall slender

A l l a n E v a n s
man from yesterday. Wentworth, she recalled. He tossed her
a shopping bag.
“Vanessa picked up something for you to change into. Clean
yourself up and let’s go. Time to get something to eat.”
Wentworth walked up to her, towering over her. “My pistol
will be on you the entire time. You wouldn’t be the first person
to get shot by this,” he held up his weapon.
“I get it,” she said. “I’ll behave.” Susanna thought she might
have the opportunity to pass a message or alert somebody if
they were out in public. It wasn’t going to happen while she
was held here. She would have to be alert to any opportunity,
as well as being extremely cautious taking advantage of the
opportunity. She didn’t doubt this man would take her life with
absolutely no hesitation. She reached for the shopping bag.At
least it was from Saks.
_________________________________________________________
Cade was back on the road and the talk radio station had
switched hosts and was now on to an entirely new subject. It
was something about the bonding that women do when they
share the love of the same character on a reality television
program. Cade couldn’t switch the station quickly enough.
Chick stuff. It reminded him of the old joke: how do you know
if you’re watching a chick flick? When you wake up, your wife
is crying.
He found the sports talk station and relaxed a bit. They were
talking about the new soccer team that was moving to the
Twin Cities. Now, this is a subject that was near and dear to
his heart. Cade had played soccer in college, and continued
to play soccer in the summer rec league. It was a great way
to stay in shape and also a good excuse to go drink beer after
the game with the boys. That’s how boys bonded—at least

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
the older boys. Hashing out what happened in the game over
beers, talking about the great passes, the near misses, and it
should-have-been a goal opportunities, now that was fun.
The unfortunate thing about this station, was that it was
populated by self-proclaimed sports purists. And they just
didn’t get the game of soccer—it wasn’t a sport to them like
football and baseball. Yet they would talk endlessly about
table tennis, mountain unicycling and long driving (“basically,
a bunch of apes on a driving range whacking balls to see
who hits it the farthest”). The subtleness of soccer was lost on
them.
The host was on his rant. “Okay, this Bishop guy has promised
us the team will have world-class athletes like Beckham.
Everyone is getting so excited; the papers are doing daily
feature stories, and the television stations are carrying stories
about it every night. But the point that the media people in this
town are missing is that the team will still be playing soccer.
Who’s going to want to go see that week after week? I know it’s
a big deal over in Europe, but aren’t these the same people who
like cricket and obviously hate the dentist? Not the sharpest
tools in the shed. “
He continued, “What is so exciting about a game without any
scoring? You talk to a Brit, and they’ll go on and on about the
exciting football match they saw. Of course, when I ask what
the score was, you know what they’re going to say. Nil to nil. No
goals? What were they doing for an hour and a half? I would go
nuts having to sit out in the damp weather watching this drivel.
I would rather watch a whole afternoon of The View. Maybe not
when Rosie was on there, but you get the idea. England, what
a country: bad food, bad weather and bad sports. Remember
this is the country that has the national paint drying festival.”
The co-host jumped in, “You made that part up.”
“Just to make my point. A little creative license.” Cade had

A l l a n E v a n s
enough and turned off the radio. Seriously, he would have to
go back to his iPod. This guy was a moron.
Interestingly enough, he’d heard the term Brit now twice today.
It was funny though, to have another coincidence involving his
cases. However, this one he wouldn’t be sharing with Jodi. No
point in giving her any more ammunition to tease him with.
_________________________________________________________
Cade’s cell phone chirped, pulling him from his thoughts.
Dispatch was on the phone; 911 had received a call from
someone claiming to be Susanna Song.
“Do you want me to put her through?”
“Please, and make sure the call is recorded.”
Cade heard several clicks and then a female voice spoke in a
raised whisper.
“Hello, is there anyone there?” The voice had a hint of
desperation to it.
“This is Cade Dawkins, investigator with the Minnesota State
Patrol.”
“This is Susanna Song from KSTP. I’m calling from the restroom
at the Perkins restaurant on University. I borrowed a cell
phone. They’re waiting outside for me, so I only have another
moment.”
Cade hit the toggle activating his emergency system. He
braked hard and swerved into the center median. Grateful
for the sparse traffic this time of day, he gunned it back onto
westbound Highway 36. It was a few miles to Highway 280 and
then a few more miles south to the University Avenue exit. He
could be there in less than five minutes.
“I’m on my way there, Susanna, just hang on. What can you tell

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
me about the men who did this? Are they British?”
“Yes, they are—how did you …? Wait, I need to know about
Randall, my photojournalist. How is he?”
Cade was on 280 now, weaving in and out of the traffic, pushing
the speed past 100 miles per hour. Three more exits to go. “I’m
sorry, Randall didn’t make it.”
Susanna’s voice was choked with emotion. “I knew he had
been hurt bad. I have been so worried about him.”
“I’m not letting these guys get away with what they did to him.
I’m right at University and 280. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Be careful, these are not nice men. They really seem to enjoy
hurting people. This may sound overly dramatic, but I think
evil has found a home in their hearts. Oh, I have to go…”
Cade could hear some loud noise, like the phone was being
jostled. Then the call was gone.
He flew down University Avenue. The restaurant was a half-mile
west of the highway. Cade had to brake hard as he approached
a stoplight. Making sure that the cross traffic was stopping,
he gunned the unmarked Impala through the intersection.
He used the radio to contact dispatch and requested backup.
Cade asked that the St. Paul police establish a perimeter a half
mile out.
The Perkin’s restaurant was at a busy intersection near the
University of Minnesota campus. He dumped the Chevy on the
street a half block down and started running.
Cade slowed down as he reached the entrance. He glanced up
and down the block, and then checked the lot for any sign of
Susanna Song. He knew he could recognize her from her news
reports. She wasn’t outside the restaurant. Just as he turned to
go inside, he saw furtive movement in the parking lot. Hand on
his holster, Cade looked in the direction of the movement.

0 A l l a n E v a n s
He could see a figure crouching beside a vehicle at the far
edge of the lot. He took a step to his left and recognized the
blue of St. Paul’s uniforms. He pulled out his badge and ID
and held it up. He could see there were two officers kneeling
beside a pickup truck. Cade trotted over and knelt down next
to the pick up truck with the two St. Paul officers. The older of
the two, a sergeant, said that they also had just arrived. “No
one has left the restaurant that we’ve seen. Our orders are
to hold this location until SWAT gets here. They’re about five
minutes out.”
Cade was shaking his head. “I don’t think she has five minutes
with these guys. I don’t want to risk her anymore than we have
to. I’m going in.” He stood up.
The sergeant didn’t look at all happy about it, but he didn’t say
anything.
Cade trotted back to the restaurant. There were definitely some
advantages to working in plain clothes. He could walk into the
restaurant without drawing a lot of attention. He stopped to
buy a Pioneer Press newspaper from the box at the entrance.
It would help give him some cover. He pushed the door open
and walked in.
Straight ahead of him was the counter where the hostess
normally would be stationed. There wasn’t anyone there. He
approached the counter and looked out into the seating area.
Approximately three fourths of the tables and booths were
occupied. He was looking for an attractive Asian woman with
two or three men. Cade could only see into the first section, as
there was a chest-high section divider that blocked his view
into other sections.
“Table for one?”
An attractive college age hostess stood in front of him. She was
blonde and remarkably tan for November in Minnesota. Her
nametag said Alyssa.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
“Actually Alyssa, I’m looking to meet up with a colleague. She
is Asian and about your height. She is probably with several
men who might have English accents.”
Alyssa got a little wrinkle between her eyebrows. “I did seat a
party like that. They did seem a bit … uncomfortable with each
other. They sure seemed to be sullen group, usually people
are happier when they come to lunch.”
“Where did you seat them?” Cade asked. He tried not to look
too anxious.
“Lets see, Janna had just come on, so it would have been in
section three.”
Trying not to roll his eyes, Cade asked, “And where is section
three?”
Alyssa pointed to the back. “It’s along the far wall there. Would
you like me to take you?”
Cade shook his head. “No, I have to stop by the bathroom
first.”
He first checked the men’s room, but it was empty. At the
women’s restroom, he pushed the door open a few inches
and listened. It didn’t feel occupied. “Hello,” Cade called,
“Maintenance.”
Not waiting for an answer, he pushed in. The stalls were empty.
Cade wasn’t sure what he expected to find, blood possibly, a
body maybe. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.
Cade walked out into the restaurant and moved slowly towards
the back section. He shifted the newspaper to his other arm and
rested his hand on his holster. His jacket covered the Glock.
He looked just like a typical office worker stopping for lunch.
As he moved down the aisle, he scanned both sides looking
for his target. He could feel his pulse racing. Though this was
just a reconnaissance mission, he could feel the adrenaline

2 A l l a n E v a n s
surging. It would not be wise to try to take them here, with no
backup inside in the busy restaurant.
He reached the end of the row without finding Susanna. He
walked down the aisle in the next section over. Then to be sure,
he walked the front section. She wasn’t here. He couldn’t have
missed her by much, no more than a minute or so. He pulled
out his cell phone and called dispatch. He updated her on what
he had found and requested that the perimeter be moved out
another half mile.
On a hunch, he asked the dispatcher for the number of the cell
phone that Susanna Song had used. Cade went up to Alyssa’s
hostess station and did the need-a-pen gesture. She handed
him her pen and he jotted down the number. Punching in the
number, Cade took a stroll through the restaurant. He heard
a burst of tinny music behind him—sounded like “You Can’t
Stop the Beat” from Hairspray, Cade thought. Cute.
Hanging up his cell phone, Cade walked over to a woman
putting down her cell phone. She was about 18, with light brown
hair and a jean jacket. She looked up as Cade approached her
and he pointed to his cell phone.
Cade held up his ID. “That was me on the phone just now. Did
you loan your phone to someone a few minutes ago?”
The young woman nodded. “I was in the rest room and I heard
someone come in to the stall next to mine. A woman asked if
I had a cell phone she could use. She said it was very urgent.
Her hand was reaching down for it, waiting. So, I passed my
phone to her.”
“And then?”
“She talked for a maybe a minute or so. She wasn’t talking very
loud, so I couldn’t make out her conversation. I’m guessing she
got some bad news though, because her voice sort of broke
up. You know how you can tell when someone is upset without

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 3
actually hearing the exact words? It was like that.”
Cade needed to keep her talking; he wanted her to remember
it as it happened. To facilitate her recall, he kept his prompts
at a minimum. “Uh huh.”
“I heard a man’s voice from inside the rest room, telling her it
was time to go. Just as her toilet was flushing, my phone came
sliding across the stall floor to me. I didn’t think I should go
right out, so I waited a moment or so—maybe 30 seconds—
and then came out. There wasn’t anyone in the rest room and I
didn’t see anyone that looked like a woman in distress when I
came out here. Of course, all I saw of the woman was her hand.
Nice manicure, though.”
He had her go through it once more, but didn’t learn anything
new. “I don’t feel like I’m much help,” the woman said. She
looked dejected.
“What’s your name?” Cade asked.
“Natalie,” she said.
“Well, Natalie,” Cade said, “I think you did really well. You
kept your cool, helped out a kidnap victim and were able to
remember a lot of the details. For most people, that’s a pretty
good day. We’ll catch up to these guys soon enough. They’ve
been having a run of luck avoiding the police. But if there’s one
thing about luck, it always turns.”

A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter twelve
Back at his desk, Cade was paging through phone records.
They were downloaded from the cell phones recovered from
the bodies of the driver and shooters at the shootout that had
started the investigation. All the cell phones had a Miami
area code. And unfortunately, these phones were prepaid
cell phones and the anonymity they offered was not a benefit
to Cade’s investigation. The local Dade County authorities
had come up with bogus names and addresses. These were
professionals who were exceedingly conscious of their
security. This could be another dead end.
To be thorough, Cade looked for patterns in the calls. The calls
themselves were short in duration and were made between
the three vehicles, the semi truck and the two chase vehicles.
The obvious pattern Cade saw were the calls seemed to be
made in pairs. The driver of the semi truck would call one of
the chase vehicles, quickly followed by a call to the second
chase vehicle. It went like that, with hour or so breaks between
further calls.
He almost missed it. On the driver’s phone call log was a single

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
call to a different number, the same Miami area code, but a
different number. The date and time of the call would put it
maybe twenty minutes before the driver was shot and killed.
Had he made a call to announce his arrival in Minnesota?
Who had the driver called? There was a way to find out.
The paperwork for the administrative subpoena took just
a few moments. The subpoena would yield the subscriber’s
information within twenty-four hours. Chances are, the driver
had called another prepaid cell phone with a bogus name
attached. But, as in life, you played the cards you were dealt—
and sometimes you get a break.
_________________________________________________________
Cade was driving towards home, enjoying the changing
colors. Fall in Minnesota was spectacular; it was too bad it was
so damn short. Before you knew it, the snow was flying and it
got so cold, the wind chill would freeze the nuts off a snowman.
But today was a beautiful afternoon and it was great to be out
cruising. He had his window down, Bob Marley on his iPod. He
let his mind wander, stretching out a bit. Cade did some of his
best thinking behind the wheel. He sang along, without even
thinking about it. “Don’t worry about a thing, ‘cause every
little thing gonna be all right.”
The call came in, pulling away his thoughts from the case. Cade
usually kept his radio on, scanning through the local police
frequencies. Even though it would be on in the background
and he was listening to his own music, his ears would pick up
the change in intensity when something was happening.
Washington County was in pursuit. A drunk refusing to pull
over, the sheriff requesting back up. Cade could hear the
siren in the background as the officer gave his location. The
chase had been moving up Manning Avenue towards the
small airport, with the high school another mile further. That

A l l a n E v a n s
could be dangerous, with school just letting out. Fortunately,
the suspect had taken a sharp turn onto 30 th . They would be
intersecting Lake Elmo Avenue about four miles ahead of
Cades’ position. Cade responded to the dispatcher giving his
location. He would be backup; Washington County would be
primary on the chase. He activated his emergency system, the
lights strobing the interior. He jammed the gas pedal to the
floor, feeling the engine surge. God, he loved the adrenaline.
The trees were a blur as he whipped down the avenue, the
lake on his left. Traffic had pulled to the shoulder yielding to
the emergency vehicle. He glanced at his speedometer; he
was fast approaching 120 miles per hour. The vehicle could
do around 140, but he’d run out of road before he could attain
that speed.
The fleeing Chevy truck was closing in on Lake Elmo Avenue,
where it would have to turn either right or left, there was no
going straight. A minivan was at the stopsign, a soccer mom
headed for the elementary school several miles to the north.
The Chevy truck swerved around the stopped minivan, and
turned right, towards the elementary school.
Cade was just a block behind the intersection. He saw the
Chevy truck make the turn, barely keeping all four wheels on
the pavement. The Sheriff’s car made the same turn, but with
the cruiser’s superior suspension, it hung low and made the
sharp turn with little difficulty. Cade braked hard, not wanting
to overrun the chase. He quickly closed up the distance to the
Washington County unit.
The officer came on the radio, saying the busy Highway 5 was a
mile ahead, the school at the intersection of the two roads. The
Washington County Sheriff said he was going to go around the
suspect and try to slow him down. The Sheriff’s squad made
a move on the Chevy truck’s left, and cut in front of him. The
Chevy was not going without a fight and rammed into the rear
of the Washington County Sheriff’s squad car. “Holy shit, he’s

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
ramming the squad,” the deputy excitedly called out over the
radio.
The Chevy driver was losing it. He surged ahead and rammed
the squad car again. The squad moved a bit to the right. The
truck swerved to the left grazing a parked van. The driver’s
side mirror popped off and rolled into the street. Almost
immediately, the truck swerved to the right, cutting off the
sheriff’s squad car and hopped the curb. The Chevy was
driving down the sidewalk now. Cade saw an older woman on
the sidewalk in front of the post office, scrambling to get out of
the way.
This couldn’t continue. Cade gunned his squad aiming it
between two parked cars directly at the Chevy truck. He
impacted the truck just behind the driver. The truck rolled
once, twice and came to a stop rightside up. The truck’s roof
was smashed down a bit, but having maintained it’s structural
integrity, the cab hadn’t totally collapsed.
Cade was out in a flash, his Glock in a two handed firing
stance. He ran to the Chevy, ordering the driver to exit the
vehicle. An abusive tirade of curses the only response from
the driver. Cade grabbed at the suspect through the shattered
window. The Washington County deputy was at his side, a
second Washington County Sheriff squad pulling up flanking
the overturned vehicle. Cade and the deputy were pulling at
the driver, swearing right back at him. The driver had his legs
wrapped around the steering column, refusing to give up. The
second Washington County deputy joined the fray and went to
the passenger side in an attempt to free the driver’s legs. With
a lurch, the driver came free, and was violently pulled through
the window and was pushed to the ground.
This is the dangerous part of a hot pursuit. Adrenaline surging,
tempers flaring, potent emotions boiling over. This is when the
response can go over the top, when officers can cross the very
line they have sworn to uphold. However, today would not be

A l l a n E v a n s
the day when the line was crossed.
Cade put his knee into the man’s back, the other cop restraining
the struggling suspect’s arm so handcuffs could be secured.
With his arms immobilized, the drunk deflated, the life
drained out of him. Cade fell back into a sitting position, his
heart pounding. His siren was still blaring, adding a feeling
of surrealism to the already chaotic scene. He was sure he
was going to throw up from the adrenaline. Now that would
not look good for the dashboard camera recording the scene.
Though, The World’s Most Amazing Police Chases television
show would probably love it. Cade took a deep breath and the
feeling passed. Thank God.

Chapter thirteen
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
Kim Lindahl lived in a loft apartment above an antique store
in downtown Stillwater. Stillwater was an antiquer’s paradise.
Walking along the main street in Stillwater, one would find an
antique store, then a bookstore, another two antique stores
and then a bar. After that, the pattern would repeat itself. Cade
thought that if he were going to design a town, this would be a
good way to start.
A little anxious, he took the stairs two at time. It had been a
while since his last date. Probably a year and a half now. He’d
met a lot of women, but not the right kind of woman. They
tended to be too jaded, too needy, or just too much of being a
cop. He refused to date cops.
Kim was ready and waiting for Cade. She looked absolutely
stunning. She had on a simple, but elegant floral blouse, a
black skirt and heels. Her blonde hair was pulled gently back,
emphasizing her Nordic cheekbones. Cade’s breath was taken
away. Kim was well worth the year and a half wait.
She smiled and said, “Don’t you clean up well.” Cade was

0 A l l a n E v a n s
wearing a sportcoat over his favorite H&M sweater and jeans.
A little dressy, but not too much. When you first start dating
someone, there’s a thin line you have to walk. You don’t want
to look like you’re trying too hard, but on the other hand, you
don’t want to come across as taking things too casual. From
Kim’s reaction, it looked like he nailed it.
He gave her his most mischievous grin. “Well thank you; I
think you’re hot too.” That made her laugh, and that was a good
thing.
“So, where are we headed?” she asked.
“How about you pick the restaurant, and I’ll pick the dessert
spot?” Cade ventured.
“Works for me,” she said, “I know the perfect spot, but you
have to love Italian.”
“I do.”
“We’re set then, Mama Maria’s it is. It’s a one-of-a-kind
restaurant in Hudson, not a chain restaurant. The ambience
simply lifts you up and transports you to Italy, and the food…”
Pausing for effect, “…is authentic and fabulous.”
Driving over the Stillwater lift bridge into Wisconsin, the lights
of Stillwater reflecting on the St. Croix river below them, Cade
and Kim talked about the real estate market. “Overall,” Kim
said, “the market in Stillwater is still going strong; the homes
are charming and there really is a strong arts culture for the
town being so small. People want to live in Stillwater.”
“Do you think the Stillwater market is so strong because people
don’t want to leave or is it that people are moving in from other
areas?”
Kim said, “I have seen that people will watch the historic
homes and when one comes on the market, there is a lot of
movement. Trading up, basically. On the other hand, buyers

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
are looking to move into Stillwater as well. In fact just recently,
I had a client that moved to Stillwater from quite a long ways
away.”
“Where was your client from? Wait a minute, I thought I was
your only client.” Cade laughed, “Just don’t tell me you had
dinner with him too.”
He looked over at Kim. She looked up at him, with an “oh,
please” look on her face.
“Never mind,” Cade said. “I was just teasing.”
_________________________________________________________
Mama Maria’s was set off the two lane County 35 highway in
North Hudson. It didn’t look fancy from the outside, but there
were quite a few vehicles in the lot. Inside was busy, with a
group of people waiting to be seated in the entrance way. After
a brief wait, they were shown to their table, a booth wrapped
around the long end of the rectangular shaped table. The nice
thing about the seating arrangement, Cade thought, was that it
forced them to sit side-by-side, definitely cozier this way.
The waiter greeted them from across the table. “My name
is Gregory, I’ll be your server this evening,” he said. Cade
thought he seemed pleasant enough, though a bit snooty, as he
offered the list of the evening’s specials. As with most higher
end restaurants Cade had visited, the specials were relayed
with an almost orgasmic enthusiasm, the sensual descriptions
bordering on soft porn.
Kim was reading the menu as he spoke, ignoring Gregory’s
enthusiastic renditions of the specials. As he finished, Kim
looked up and asked him what was in the chopped salad. He
gave her a look that split the difference between incredulousness
and rudeness. “I had just finished that very description,” he
stated.

2 A l l a n E v a n s
Gregory rolled his eyes and proceeded to run through the list
of chopped salad ingredients. “I’ll be back in a few moments,”
he said, turning on his heel and was gone.
“Great, you just pissed off the waiter,” Cade whispered to
Kim.“Not a minor infraction at $50 for a plate of spaghetti. I’m
guessing he’ll stick his thumb in your soup.”
“As long as that’s the only thing that he sticks in there, I’ll
be okay,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. Kim’s comment
dropped his jaw. Not much surprised Cade anymore, after all,
he’d been a cop for almost ten years. But she had surprised
him, though. He liked that.
Gregory was back to take their order. He looked at Kim
expectantly. As she didn’t want to further offend Gregory
by asking any additional questions, she ordered the Grilled
Italian Chicken Sandwich. While he appeared irritated with
her order, his comments made it quite clear. “How often do
you eat chicken at home? Do you really want chicken on a bun?
We have some of the best cuisine in the area and you want
chicken on a bun?” he said with distain.
“Okay, okay, what would you recommend?” Kim asked, trying
to be cool with the other diners now looking on.
“I’ll put you down for the Cannelloni Classico,” Gregory said.
Gregory turned to Cade. A look of superiority on his face,
which Cade wanted to wipe off in the worst way. “I’ll have the
chicken on a bun.”
Cade thought he heard someone snicker, but he couldn’t be
sure. Their server, not to be outdone, shot back with a sneer,
“I suppose you want fries with that?”
“Yes, Gregory, I do.” Cade gave him his best ‘fuck you’ smile
and handed back the menu. Cade felt oddly satisfied with the
exchange. Yes, it was definitely a snicker he was hearing from
a nearby table.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 3
The rest of the meal was enjoyable. Kim had many interesting
stories about the Stillwater area and what it was like to be a
realtor. Cade was on the edge of his seat as she told him about
a haunted house that she had shown in the last year. The way
she related her stories enchanted him so much, he was actually
disappointed when she asked about his work.
“Well, I’ve only been with the State Patrol for a month or so. I
like it though; being an investigator is fascinating work. I like
the puzzle solving aspect of the job: finding the pieces, the
clues, the motivations, and then fitting them together to get the
big picture. And the best part is putting the bad guys away for
a long, long time.”
She smiled at him. “So fighting for truth, justice and the
American way is a good gig.” It wasn’t a question.
“Except for the spandex tights they make you wear.” Cade was
enjoying himself.
“Do you have to wear your underwear on the outside like the
other superheroes?”
“It’s optional, but I consider it a lifestyle choice that I believe
in. Also, I get less wedgies with it on the outside.”
Kim laughed holding his eyes. She sipped her wine, a nice
bodied vintage from Portugal. “Where did you work before
the Patrol? Were you a cop?”
“I was with the BCA—the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal
Apprehension—as a special investigator. We worked a lot of
violent crimes and a whole lot of drugs.” Cade didn’t usually
dwell on his BCA days. The wound was too raw still.
“I’ve heard of the BCA. Has it been around long?”
“Actually, the BCA has been around since the twenties. The
BCA is known in law enforcement circles for their forensic
labs.”

A l l a n E v a n s
“Like the CSI television show?” she asked.
“Exactly. Believe it or not, the first case ever solved through
the use of DNA was by the BCA here in Minnesota. Now you
hear about it all the time. I was there for almost seven years.”
Kim studied Cade for a moment. Her eyes locked with his. He
felt like she could see right into him. “Tell me what happened.”
She didn’t need to say anything further, she just held his gaze
with her own.
“We—my team with the BCA, that is—were working a drug
case in Northern Minnesota, investigating a high-level drug
trafficking organization. They were bringing cocaine and
marijuana down from Canada. The pipeline from Canada isn’t
nearly as constricted or watched like it is from the south. We were
working jointly with the DEA and US Customs, who apparently
had the dealers under observation for some time. Working
alongside the other agents, observing the systematic flow of
drugs coming into the states, I started to see some patterns
that just didn’t have the right feel. The drug organization had
to be getting some sort of help from law enforcement—or at
least cooperation—in order for their system to being working
as well as it did.
“I picked one guy to watch. He was a senior customs
investigator. It was an educated guess; he didn’t act suspicious
or drive a Mercedes. I didn’t have anything that I could point
to at the time. My gut said that if this organization was being
so successful, they were getting some help. And that help
had to be coming from someone senior. So I picked a likely
candidate.
“I parked myself on his tail, just far enough away as not to raise
his suspicions. Whether he was guilty or not, it would have
looked really bad for it to get out that I was following one of my
fellow law enforcement officers.”
“I’d imagine,” Kim said. “So you were careful.” A woman of

few words.
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
“I was. I’ve had enough experience tailing suspects. Maybe
not too surprisingly, people are really creatures of habit. With
just a little variation, people have a routine and they stick to it.
Do you drive to the office the same way everyday?”
Kim paused, “Except for the occasional stop for coffee or to
pick up my dry cleaning, yeah, it’s the same route.”
Cade was nodding his head. “Exactly. You can follow someone
for a few days and you get a sense of what they’re about. You
know their routine. I could go back three months later and I’ll
know where to find them if I need them.”
Pausing to take a sip of his wine, Cade said, “So, I followed this
senior investigator. Nothing too interesting—at first. However,
on the third evening, after I thought he was down for the night,
he turns off his lights and slips out. I almost missed it; I was just
getting ready to call it a night and leave myself.
“I had to be extremely cautious, so I wait to give him some
space. It’s quite a bit more difficult to follow someone after
dark, especially when it’s pretty quiet out. If it’s busy, the lights
from the other cars can cover you some. But when it’s quiet,
the flash of your headlights can raise a flag quicker than a cat
covering something up.”
Kim choked on her drink. “Say what? A cat covering something
up?” She was laughing.
“Faster than a hobo on a ham sandwich?” Cade was laughing
now too. “Oh man, now I’ve become my dad. My dad always had
these crazy expressions. They didn’t always fit the situation,
but they sure were funny. Oddly enough, he couldn’t really tell
a joke though. He would go on these long rambling sojourns
and by the time he got to the punch line, there was nothing. My
brothers and I would just look at each other, wondering if the
other had gotten the joke. My dad sure was laughing though.”

A l l a n E v a n s
Kim leaned forward, “Tell me one, if you remember them
still.”
Cade was smiling, “Okay, you asked for it.” He paused, clearly
enjoying the moment. “There was this rich man who decided
to build a red brick barbecue in his back yard. So he called
up the Red Brick Barbecue Company and orders 1,000 red
barbecue bricks. After they were delivered, he decides he’d
better count them because they were so expensive. He counts
them and only comes up with 999 bricks. He gets angry and
calls up the Red Brick Barbecue Company. ‘I ordered 1,000
red barbecue bricks and I only received 999.’ The man says,
‘well, one must have been lost along the way.’” Cade stopped
and waited.
Kim looked confused. “That’s it? I don’t get it. Really, that’s
all?”
Cade was laughing now. “You see what we went through all the
time?” Kim joined him, laughing.
Gregory arrived with their dinners as they were laughing.
“Cannelloni Classico for the lady,” he said as he set the plate
down. “And for you, chicken on a bun.” Gregory reached
across the table setting the plate down with a thump in front of
Cade. Serious attitude, Cade thought. It would have been more
effective, however, if Gregory hadn’t knocked over the vase of
flowers, spilling the water all over the table.
Cade and Kim could hold back their laughter for only so long,
breaking out as Gregory stormed off.
_________________________________________________________
After dinner was over and they were walking out—leaving a
surprisingly decent tip for Gregory—Cade paused. “My dad
told this one too: There was this little old lady who was waiting
for a bus. She had her little dog with her. When she got on the

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
bus, it was very crowded. The only seat left was next to this
old, cranky looking man. He pulled out a cigar and started to
unwrap it. The old lady said, ‘Excuse me sir, I’m allergic to
smoke. Could you not smoke your cigar now?’
“He said, ‘Look, I paid $20 for this cigar and I’m going to smoke
it.’ She was intimidated and just sat there as he lit the cigar up.
He blew his smoke at her and she said, ‘If you don’t put out
your cigar, I’m going to throw it out the window.’
“He said, ‘If you throw my cigar out the window, I’m going to
throw your dog out the window.’ He kept smoking.
“But now the smoke was getting so thick, even her dog was
coughing. She reached over and plucked the cigar out of his
mouth and threw it out the window. He grabbed her dog and
threw it the window. They pulled up to the next bus stop. And
there was her dog. Do you know what it had in its mouth?” he
asked as he led Kim out the door.
“His cigar?” she ventured a guess.
“Nope. A red barbecue brick.” They were both laughing as
they stepped out into the cool night.

A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter fourteen
Cade drove south on Wisconsin 35 through Hudson. Hudson
was an older town, a lot like Stillwater, with many great older
homes. Kim was taking in the exceptional architecture and
asked where they were headed.
“We’re going to try this music club called Doc’s. It’s open only
the first Saturday of each month, like a lot of the rural antique
shops out this way. Doc’s always bring in these great artists.
It may not be someone you’ve heard of, but they’re always
outstanding. The club has a loyal following of music lovers.”
Kim was impressed. “It sounds great. And I thought we were
just going to head for DQ and get cones.”
“Not tonight, besides I need to save something special for our
second date.” He grinned at her.
She looked back at Cade and said, “Tell me more about the
BCA drug thing.”
Cade took a deep breath. “I followed the customs investigator
from a distance. There was a motel on the outside of town, the

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y
Morningside, I think. He pulled around the building, parking
on the end. There were several cars there and a semi truck
from a Canadian shipping firm.
“I ditched my car on the opposite side of the motel and walked
around the back side. I was able to get close enough to see
the customs officer, talking with a group of men. I came up
alongside a ridge of spruce trees. From my new vantage point
I could see two of the drug dealers we had watched on the first
day we had arrived in Grand Marais. I shifted a bit to get a
clearer view. I couldn’t believe it. There were two of the DEA
agents from our investigation there also.”
Kim had been looking straight during his recollection. She
glanced over, concerned. “What did you do?”
“I had to play it carefully. I got out of there and talked it
over with my two teammates. We thought it best to contact
the DEA regional office in Minneapolis. Maybe the agents
were undercover and hadn’t wanted to share that with us—a
sometimes competing agency. The normal protocol on an
active investigation with cooperating agencies would be full
disclosure of all undercover personnel, so no one could get in
harm’s way from the other good guys.
“Minneapolis had no idea what I was talking about. I eventually
spoke with the head guy after several transferred calls. He
emphatically stated there would be no one in a deep cover
situation during a cooperative investigation. That’s what I
thought as well. Before he hung up, he said he would look into
it.
“A few days passed and the intel was that a shipment was
coming in that night. After my little surveillance operation, we
thought it best not to alert the local DEA or Customs. My team
was going to take down the truck ourselves. We followed the
trucker as he drove through Grand Marais and into a rest area
near Lutsen. Just as we were staging our raid, a delivery van

1 0 0 A l l a n E v a n s
meets up with the truck. The same three officers from our task
force step out. They obviously are acquainted with the driver.
They receive a duffel bag from the driver.
“At this point we are thinking that we are going to have to take
them down as well. Just as we are going to make the arrest, two
black SUVs arrive on the scene. We hold back to see what’s
going to happen. Several people exit the vehicles, armed with
M16 rifles. They have windbreakers with bold writing on the
back.”
Cade paused, “This is the bad part.”
Kim was riveted. Cade continued. “There was no arrest, no
warnings. The Customs investigator, the two DEA agents and
the driver were executed. There was no warning given. The
agents had no chance to defend themselves. My two partners
broke for the killing scene, weapons drawn, calling for the
shooters to stand down. As I was on the far side of the semi, I
was a good twenty yards farther away than they were. Before
I could announce my BCA status, the M16s were turned on my
partners. I was horrified to see these two men that I shared
everything with, shot down in cold blood. I slipped and
dropped to my knees. The last thing I remember is looking up
as the butt of a M16 came down.”
Kim was shocked. “What happened?”
“When I came to, the Cook County sheriff’s department was
on the scene. My partners were dead, as were the earlier
victims. Agents from the DEA were just arriving—oddly
enough, in black SUVs. The funny thing is they had on the same
windbreakers as the shooters.
“I guess the DEA takes care of their own. In the aftermath, I
was accused of screwing up a simple drug bust. It seemed
the most intelligent course of action to accept the blame, not
tarnishing the slain officer’s reputations—they all had families
that would need their pensions. Besides, who would believe

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 0 1
that there was some sort of federal death squad involved? So,
I resigned from the BCA. I wanted out after that, anyway. So
now, I’m on the highways, keeping them safe, while I fight for
truth, justice and the American way.”
Kim was angry. “They can’t do that to you. Can they? Will they
come after you if you talk?”
“The feds can do pretty much whatever they want. However,
they crossed a major line by taking out my partners. I have
the feeling these guys know both sides of the line very well.
As for me, there’s no percentage in it for them to hurt me. I
haven’t said anything, and I won’t either. I’m not naïve enough
to believe that if I came forward, anyone of importance would
either believe me or act on the information.”
Kim paused, working it through her head, the impossible
situation that Cade had been in. She obviously was having
difficulty with his acceptance of it. “So…you’re just going to let
it go? I’m not judging, I just don’t know how I could live with it,
the knowledge that there are people like that out there, people
who work for our government.”
Cade glanced over in her direction. “Just think of it as a cooling
off period. I haven’t forgotten what happened—and I won’t
ever forget seeing my partners lying on the ground, lifeless.
There will come a time where I will be in the right place and
I will see those guys again. Then, they’ll remember me, and
what they did to two good law enforcement officers.”
Cade shook his head. “I sound like that guy from the Princess
Bride movie.” He spoke with a very bad Spanish accent, “My
name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”
Maybe it was the tension, but he broke out laughing. Kim
picked up on it and joined in.
_________________________________________________________

1 0 2 A l l a n E v a n s
Doc’s was an old fashioned roadhouse in Hudson. Word must
have spread, the lot was packed full of cars. The sign at the
entrance read, “For one night only: Denver and the Mile High
Orchestra.”
“Denver and the Mile High Orchestra,” Kim read aloud.
“Never heard of them. This doesn’t look like a typical venue
for a symphony orchestra, though.”
Pushing through the doors, there was one great room, with
booths on the sides, tables just to the inside of the booths and
a dance floor directly in front of the massive stage. There was
an energy to the place, the crowd packing the dance floor. A
large band was on the stage, a dozen or so musicians wearing
double breasted suits. Trumpets, trombones and sax players
were all spread out in a row at the front edge of the stage. The
lead singer, standing in the middle of the horns, was wearing
a red suit. In the back was the rhythm section: keyboards, bass
and electric guitars, as well as a drummer. The group was
playing an amazing arrangement of a blues song, the horn’s
choreography adding to the energy. Cade was quickly caught
up with the enthusiasm of the crowd, these guys could really
play.
They stayed to the end, both enjoying the music. Kim was
able to get Cade out on the dance floor for the last half of the
evening. She was a good dancer and was gifted enough to get
Cade doing some of his best dancing at the same time. Before
he knew it, the night had flown by and he was pulling in behind
her building.
She looked so intoxicating sitting across from him; it was as
if his brain was swirling in a mist. She was in mid-sentence,
though he hadn’t registered what she was saying. It was almost
primal what he was feeling, the ache, the longing for her. He
pulled her close, his fingers tangling in her long blonde hair.
His lips found hers. And he was lost.

Chapter fifteen
Wednesday, Day six
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 0 3
Martin Clements piloted his Land Rover along the scenic
Highway 36 outside of Stillwater. He was enjoying his time
here; the city was charming and his rented loft at Steepletown
was perfect for his needs. Martin had set up his computer
equipment in the front room with the view of the river. He
had started with research on the State Patrol headquarters in
Oakdale. The Patrol facility was located a stone’s throw from
the highway and several miles from interstate 94. Even better,
it was just a few miles from his base of operations. That would
simplify things. Simple was good when he could get it. Much
of the coming work would be quite complicated, but that just
went with the job. And as far as jobs go, it paid quite well.
Money was not an issue these days. The projects that Martin
had completed had been quite lucrative. It was the challenge,
the gamesmanship that drove him now. Figuring out the puzzle
of how to recover such a remarkable amount of currency that
was under such a tremendous amount of security—now that
got him going.
His last ‘recovery’ effort had tested his skills to the max. He

1 0 A l l a n E v a n s
had been hired to recover a stolen car. Not too much of a
problem, he had thought at first. The owner was a car collector
from the south of France, who by virtue of his large, lucrative
illegal gambling business, couldn’t go to the authorities. The
first complication was the car itself. A beautifully restored
Duesenberg Convertible SJ LA Grand Dual-Cowl Phaeton from
1935. This was one vehicle that commanded attention wherever
it went. The Duesenberg was beyond valuable. Forget the fact
that only a few hundred were built some seventy years ago.
And forget the fact than less than a handful had survived the
years since. The masterfully designed Duesenberg was built
a hundred years before its time. There’s never been a car built
to its equal since.
Martin knew that there were few who had the resources to get
past the Frenchman’s fortress-like security precautions. After
a brief search, he had found the man who had pulled off the
very daring theft. Breaking into the thief’s communication
system in his Berlin office had led Martin to Belgium, and to a
woman who was connected like no other. She knew everyone
and had business dealings with most of them.
The trail led to Los Angeles, to a collector who kept an extensive
collection of restored vintage automobiles. The owner was
famous in the United States for hosting a late night talk show.
Martin had devised his plan to take advantage of the collector’s
Hollywood connection.
Martin hired a film production crew to build a set on an
abandoned airfield in the desert. Posing as an Australian film
director, Martin had secured the services of a Hollywood
casting firm, and several promising young actors were hired
for a scene in the production. He had promised an extra
percentage to his lead actress if she could get the collector and
his newest acquisition, the 1935 Duesenberg, for the scene.
She turned out to be as persuasive as she was beautiful.
The scene was set immediately after the Pearl Harbor attack

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 0
and the United States had committed to joining the allies
in World War II. The cast and crew were staged up outside
the Army Airforce’s barracks. The Duesenberg was placed
prominently in the shot, while the collector played the crusty
old base mechanic. Martin arranged for a director’s cameo,
where he would be a walk-on, saying a brief line of dialogue
and then driving the Duesenberg across the field into a hangar.
The scene was to continue for another minute after the car was
driven off.
The plan had played out perfectly. It was simple, really. Martin
had hired a large Sherpa military transport aircraft. His hired
flight crew had the transport’s ramp down allowing Martin
to pilot the vintage auto up into the belly of the aircraft. The
pilot started the engines immediately, the crew securing the
Duesenberg as the plane taxied out to the runway. The takeoff
was spectacular, the large craft lifting off rapidly. Martin had
wished he had been on the ground with the crew to see their
faces—especially the collector’s face as it dawned on him that
his prized Duesenberg would not be coming back.
The memory brought a smile to Martin’s face as he pulled the
Land Rover into the parking lot of the Home Depot store. You
would be hard pressed to find a store like this in the U.K. If you
have the money, America has much to offer. The sheer quantity
of products sold here was staggering. He should be able to find
most of what he needed to get the job done. He went through
the store, throwing a laser leveler, saw and diamond blade,
workman-style vest, flashlight, clipboards, and some buckets
in his cart. Martin went through his list, stopping to add a few
more items to the cart on the way to the checkout.
“I think you’ll find that the Hollingsworth Avocado will warm
up the room more than the Northampton Putty,” Martin said
with his best smile. Walking by the paint department, he had
noticed an attractive blonde woman with glasses. She had
been holding several paint sample cards up to a decorative

1 0 A l l a n E v a n s
pillow, a look of frustration on her face. She was dressed in a
white blouse and a black skirt cut just above her knees with
black stiletto heels. Very nice, very classy. She also had an
amazing figure.
She looked up at Martin, taking in his accent, his expensive
suit and his lack of an orange vest. “Oh, do you really think so?
Are you a designer? Have I seen you on the Trading Spaces
television show?”
“I’m not a designer by trade, although my business has taught
me quite a bit about color and the value of proper presentation. I
would have guessed,” Martin paused to give her an appraising
glance, “that you were the television star, not me. You look
every bit the star.” He held her eyes for a long moment.
The woman was blushing from Martin’s attention. She tucked
some stray hair behind one ear. “I’m only in sales, and believe
it or not, I sell toilet paper.” She went a bit pinker.
“And I’m sure you’re quite brilliant at it as well. I would
venture a guess that if there was one product that you didn’t
have to worry about the demand going away, you have found
it. Brilliant again,” he said enthusiastically. Martin put out his
hand, “I’m Martin Clements.”
“Nice to meet you as well, I’m Tonia.” Martin enjoyed the
firmness of her handshake.
“Why don’t you tell me about your home and how you’ve
envisioned it to look when you’ve finished with your redesign
project.”
Tonia was quite eloquent on the subject. They walked and
talked together as they moved through the store. She was
comfortable with Martin as he subtly leaned into her space.
That was a first-rate indicator of her attraction to him. Martin
took great pleasure in the little touches Tonia gave as they
talked about her home. He thoroughly enjoyed the time they

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 0
spent, especially the tour of her home. It was a warm place to
spend the morning indeed.
_________________________________________________________
Cade Dawkins walked in to the East Metro Patrol headquarters
with his morning cup of coffee, still feeling the intoxicating
glow of his night out with Kim. The boys were all there.
Swanson, Curtis, Molski and Javier. Four guys with just one
brain between them. Discussing their so-called sex lives was
a daily occurrence. Just because Cade didn’t want to discuss
his, it didn’t necessarily mean he didn’t have an active sex life
of his own. It was a totally irrelevant fact that he didn’t have a
sex life at all. And the fact that before last night, he hadn’t even
been on a date in almost two years—besides being utterly
depressing—was hardly worth mentioning.
Curtis was elaborating about his latest conquest. “So you
boffed her,” Molski interrupted, finishing Curtis’ thought.
Remember, one brain between them.
“Well, that’s not how I would put it,” Curtis replied.
“Played hide the weenie.”
“Gave her the old hot beef injection.”
“Doing the Mattress mambo.”
“Two in the pink, one in the stink.”
“Crashing the custard truck.”
“Parking the beef bus in tuna town.”
Cade had enough. “Why can’t you guys just say sex?”
Curtis looked at Molski, who looked over to Javier. Swanson
finally spoke up, “I don’t know, it just lacks flavor.”
Cade shook his head “Welcome to the shallow end of the pool,”

1 0 A l l a n E v a n s
he said and headed out the door.
_________________________________________________________
The East Metro State Patrol headquarters shared a facility
with the Washington County Department of Transportation in
Oakdale. It was off the highway a quarter mile and set back
from a busy thoroughfare in a fenced-in compound. The Patrol
office occupied the west portion of the facility, while the DoT
had the eastern front section. Martin turned his vehicle into
the DoT parking lot.
He had on a pair of jeans, an open collared dress shirt and a
casual blue blazer. He had a camera slung over one shoulder
and a pencil tucked behind his ear. Martin looked every bit the
journalist. He walked up to the entrance carrying a clipboard.
The clipboard, he had found on many occasions, lent him an
air of authority. If you had a clipboard, you had a purpose, a
reason to be somewhere. People tended to defer to you. And
they most certainly didn’t ask you questions that you prefered
not to answer.
He walked into the reception area, purposely studying his
clipboard. Although he could feel several eyes on him, Martin
steadfastly kept his attention away from the DoT staff and made
several notes on his clipboard. He reached for the camera and
took off the lens cap. It was only then that he started to look
around. A woman hesitantly stood up at a desk.
“Excuse me, can I help you?” It was like she hadn’t wanted
to interrupt Martin, but her curiosity had gotten the better of
her.
“Oh yes,” Martin paused, fishing out a business card from a
side pocket in his blazer. He walked over and handed it to the
forty-something clerical worker. “I’m with the State Journal of
Facility Care. We cover the state and local government facilities,

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 0
from an architectural and quality management perspective.
Our role is to report on the excellence that is present at only
the most exceptional government facilities. This is in an effort
to inspire and lead the other facilities into the 21 st century. As
you probably know, most of the government facilities were last
updated in the 1970s.”
Martin looked back at his clipboard for a moment. “Your
facility has been nominated for our annual year-end journal of
excellence award. I just need to document a few things and get
several pictures for our review board.” Martin flashed his best
grin at her. “Don’t you think winning this award will go a long
way to improving your superiors outlook on the fine job you’ve
been doing here all along?”
The woman was almost instantly joined by two of her fellow
clerical workers. They were most effusive in their offers to
give Martin whatever assistance he needed.
Martin had the ladies show him around the offices. He stopped
them a few times to jot additional notes onto his clipboard. At
the far end of the DoT facility, he asked what was on the other
side of the wall.
“That’s the State Patrol headquarters. They share the facility
with us.”
Perfect, Martin thought. He pulled out his camera and had the
women pose against the wall. They were giggling as Martin
snapped their picture.
He walked up to the most senior of the women. “I had no idea
this was a dual-purpose facility. That alone will qualify you
for the prestigious Anderson Green Efficiency achievement
award. Do you think you could show me that half of the facility
as well?” He looked at her with his passionate blue eyes. I do
believe she swooned just then, he thought.
The woman was most eager. “I would be honored to show you

1 1 0 A l l a n E v a n s
off, I mean show you the way there. We’ll have to walk around
though, there isn’t an entrance way from here.”
Martin smiled and extended his hand, gripping hers with both
hands, “Thank you so much, I’m Martin, by the way.”
The woman actually giggled. “Mine is Shirley. Let me just grab
my coat.”
They took the Land Rover around to the State Patrol headquarters
side. The entrance was a level higher than the DoT portion of
the building. Martin assumed it was a two level facility, with
the common wall between them on the lower level. He would
have to see the lower level to make sure that was the case.
After some shared whispers, giggles and glances in Martin’s
direction, Shirley introduced him to Joyce, the senior
administrator, a woman approximately Shirley’s age. She was
most effervescent with her greeting.
Martin pulled out his camera and posed the two women
together. “This would make a great cover shot,” he told them.
“I can see the headline now, ‘Beauty, grace and excellence:
this facility has it all.’ I can’t wait to see the rest of it.”
As he was shown around the Patrol facility, Martin generously
praised the layout and the obvious energy efficiency that made
the facility unique. The party turned a corner and walked into
an area with several uniformed highway Patrolmen. They
looked up with mild curiosity. Best to go big, if you’re going to
go at all, Martin thought.
“Gentlemen,” Martin said, as he walked over with his hand
outstretched, “I am so honored to meet you. My name is Martin
Clements, with the State Journal of Facility Care. We are doing
a feature article in our annual year-end journal of excellence
awards issue on your fine facility.”
He enthusiastically shook each of the officer’s hands, repeating
their names from their uniform name badges. “Men of bravery,

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 1 1
fighting the good fight. I will write of your heroic deeds.” He
had them at ‘bravery.’ After that, they accompanied Martin—
who was now leading the tour—as he took them down a flight
of stairs. They went down a hall and came to a steel door with
a keycard reader. Directly above that was a smaller scanner
device. Due to the lower height it was mounted at, Martin
assumed it was a thumbprint scanner, not a retinal scanner.
The door was labeled with a sign that read ‘Property.’
“We must have taken a wrong turn,” Martin said, gesturing at
the heavy door. “This looks like it belongs in a bank vault.”
The Patrolmen looked at each other and smiled.
One of them, Curtis, spoke up. “Actually, there are times that
this is a bank vault. We sometimes confiscate large amounts of
currency when we make an arrest. And every once in a while,
we confiscate an extremely large sum of currency.”
“Hundreds of thousands?” Martin asked.
“Millions,” Curtis said with a self-important look on his face.
“Locked in our secure safe on the inside.”
“Amazing,” Martin replied. “I must get your photograph.”
He arranged them around the outside of the door. Martin took
several pictures of the troopers, one with their arms folded,
another with their fists at their waists—the classic superhero
pose. Not wanting to push his luck too far, Martin thanked them
for their time and quickly made his way out of the building. He
dropped Shirley off at the DoT portion of the facility and turned
the Land Rover onto Hadley Avenue. Mission accomplished,
Martin thought.

1 1 2 A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter sixteen
Cade found himself driving west on 694. He enjoyed being out
on the road. For Cade, being an investigator was the best of
both worlds. He had the freedom that the road brought. Yet,
he wasn’t chained to his vehicle either. If he were to work for a
corporation—lost in a sea of cubes—that would be enough to
drive him insane.
It took a special breed of person to be a state trooper. While
it certainly helped to be an adrenaline junkie, you also had
to have the capacity to operate on your own for eight hours
a day. The loneliness of the job was a surprise to many of the
troopers just starting out. Other than a handful of traffic stops
with less-than-happy motorists, most days consisted of little
human contact. Cade believed that to be a trooper, you better
have your own house in order. You sure were going to have a
lot of time to dwell on it if it wasn’t.
He took 35E south towards downtown St. Paul. This might be
a good time to check in with his old friend, Dan Miller. Dan
has been with the FBI going on 18 years now. Dan had steered
him through some political headaches over the years. Cade

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 1 3
could handle the investigations no problem. He was tough
enough to deal with the worst that came his way. The political
intrigue was something all together different. That was where
Dan came in. He knew where all the bodies were buried. Not
only that, he knew who put them there and how best to use that
knowledge to advantage.
He speed dialed Dan’s number, and after some small talk,
arranged to meet him for a late lunch. They chose a quiet
lakeside restaurant in Oakdale. In the summer, Toby’s by
the Lake would be hopping. Toby’s was located near the
3M headquarters, so the weekday lunch traffic was good. It
was a great place to sit out on the deck and enjoy the view
of Tanner’s Lake. Not a giant lake, it was however, a busy
lake. In the summer, speedboats would be pulling skiers
and wakeboarders and in the winter the lake was home to
snowmobile races. November was a completely different
story. After one p.m. the restaurant was quite quiet. Just the
place for some needed privacy.
They shook hands and took a table near the window. The lake
was grey and choppy. Dan studied Cade for a long moment.
“So, how are you doing? No bullshit. It’s me, and my BS detector
is as fine-tuned as they come.”
Cade laughed. “For as being as full of shit as you are, not much
gets by you, does it? Life with the Patrol isn’t always easy, but
on the most part, I’m enjoying it. Lt. Dickey can be, well, a
dick. There’s no better word for him. I’ve spent considerable
time thinking of other suitable names, but I keep coming back
to dick. Who the hell thought this guy should be promoted?”
Miller was nodding. “I’ve had several interactions with Dickey
over the years. As a cop, he makes a good bureaucrat. I don’t
think he could detect or police if his life depended on it. Not the
sort of guy you want backing you up on the street. I’d imagine
he’s not too much fun to work with either.”

1 1 A l l a n E v a n s
“You know,” Cade ventured, “some people are like Slinky’s,
they’re not much fun until you push them down the stairs.”
The waitress, Andrea, stopped by with some menus and some
pleasant banter about the imminent coming of winter. She
mentioned that it was getting so cold, that the politicians had
their hands in their own pockets. Both men laughed. She left
with the promise to be back for their orders in just a moment.
They studied the menus in silence. Cade glanced out towards
the lake and saw several seagulls at the edge of the shore.
The gulls were the only sign of life out there on this gray
afternoon.
Andrea stopped back and took their order. Pausing while
writing their orders, she smiled and said that she’d been
walking around in downtown St. Paul earlier today. “It was so
cold today, I saw a cab driver saying something to a pedestrian
and his middle finger froze.” Dan Miller was drinking and
laughing so hard that Cade thought he was going to have a
nose-out. She was definitely more cheerful than Cade’s last
server, Gregory.
After placing their orders, Miller asked Cade, “So, you must
be quite busy these days. The highways are getting a little
crazy for my taste. I’m thinking about taking the bus to work,
safety in numbers you know.”
Cade held up a finger.
Miller laughed. “Very nice. For being smarter than most of us,
your vocabulary is a bit limited.”
“Why use ten words, when one finger will do?”
“Touché,” Miller said with a smile. “You know, the case that
I find most interesting is the currency seizure. That’s a lot of
walking around money.”
Several dozen other gulls had joined the original seagulls.
They seemed to be fighting over something on the edge of the

shore.
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 1
Cade turned back to Miller. “You’ve been around dealers and
their money for a long time. What do they do with it all? You
can only buy so many cars and Armani suits. Where do they
put it so the IRS doesn’t come asking for their fair share?”
Miller leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Hiding
money is a real art. There are hired guns that specialize in
moving currency—remember that the drug trade is a cash
business—to off shore locations. The money needs to get
moved around and cleaned up before it can be spent here. But
did you know that money is also coming in to this country as
well? Every day, American Airlines Flight 914 takes off from
Bogota, Colombia, at 8:20 a.m. and touches down at the Miami
airport at noon. In the jet’s cargo hold are usually bags and
bags of euros that our investigators say are part of a huge $1.4
billion cocaine money-laundering scheme.
“So far, despite nearly four years of investigation, we have
apparently been unable to build a strong enough case to stop
it. It’s a complex arrangement involving money exchange
businesses in Colombia, commercial jetliners from the U.S.
and Britain and financial firms in Miami and London. When the
circle is complete, the Colombian drug cartels have hidden
the true source of millions of dollars.”
Cade was nodding, “And that money buys ownership and
legitimacy.” Not a question.
“Exactly. I know a national chain—one that I guarantee you will
be familiar with—that was started to launder drug proceeds.
It wasn’t supposed to make money. The owners were quite
surprised when the chain actually started making money. No
doubt the ownership has changed hands a number of times
since then,” Miller said.
“They probably sold the business, making out well enough to
retire on their private Caribbean island. Legitimate business

1 1 A l l a n E v a n s
owners, hah,” Cade laughed.
“A computer manufacturing company—again one that I’m
sure you’ll know and possibly even have one sitting on your
desk—was started as a way to move drugs. They would
ship components with the drugs. Eventually, they started
assembling the components into computers. Oddly enough,
the computers started to sell. And there you are, another
legitimate business.”
“I sense,” Cade ventured, “that you might be suggesting that
the money we confiscated could be used for business. That
somebody could be trying to buy their way into legitimacy.”
Miller nodded. “Could be,” he said.
“The thing is, Cade, that much money usually has a lot of
power surrounding it. You will need to carefully watch where
you step with this case.” He stared at Cade. “I can’t emphasize
enough the need to tread carefully.”
Andrea was back and dropped off their lunch. She was smiling
again. “It sure was cold today,” she said.
Dan Miller picked up on her bit. “How cold was it?” he asked.
“It was so cold that Al Gore returned his Nobel Prize.”
This time it was Cade laughing so hard that the other patrons
were looking over at him. Her blue eyes twinkled at him.
Hmmm, Cade thought. Pretty and a sense of humor.
“Earth to Cade. You still with me buddy?” Miller asked with a
smile.
Cade pulled his eyes back to Dan. “Sorry,” he said.
Miller laughed. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. She is hot
though.”
“Hey, you’re the old married guy here, not me.”
Miller looked pleased with himself. “I can still look at the menu

as long as I eat at home.”
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 1
“The thing is, Cade,” Dan said, now serious, “power doesn’t
respect law enforcement and it sure won’t respect a state Patrol
investigator. It doesn’t respect anything but more power. You
have to remember, money is power. Extremely large amounts
of money will bring in people—people that you would normally
trust—like a moth to the flame. And when those people are
so close to the flame, that’s all they see. Friendships, ethics,
morals, all fall to the wayside. They want that power and will
do whatever it takes to keep it.
“You know probably better than I do, that even law enforcement
will do whatever it takes to protect what’s in their own selfinterest.”
Dan Miller had stopped eating. He looked around;
most of the tables had left. He leaned closer to Cade.
“I’m not saying that you shouldn’t continue with your
investigation. What I am saying, is that the money you are now
sitting on could be a big deal to a number of people. While
your looking into this, just watch your back. You don’t know
who might be there.”
Cade felt a chill run down his back. He looked out towards
Tanner’s lake. The gulls were gone, the lake looked cold and
desolate. There were times that doing the right thing could be
a lonely path to walk.

1 1 A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter seventeen
Martin steered the Land Rover onto the ramp to downtown
Minneapolis. He had an idea. While Martin was never at a
loss for ideas, he thought this one in particular was one of his
better ones. He was going to need a diversion to make his plan
work. Not just a little one, but a diversion that was huge, showy
and audacious. Martin liked his diversions to be the way he
lived his life. The need for this diversion had brought him to
Minneapolis.
After his second turn, Martin was driving on Washington
Avenue. He took that into what the woman had called the
warehouse district. Despite the abundance of one way streets,
he found her office relatively easy. The idea for this diversion
had come fairly easy as well. He’d been hearing the news
media discussing the Chelsea reserves setting up camp here
in Minnesota. As a native of England, he was raised on football.
Even though the game was called soccer here, it was still the
game he had played since he was a young lad. He could use
that knowledge, his accent and the public’s curiosity to his
advantage.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 1
The Meredith Agency was a modeling agency that came highly
recommended by both of the advertising agencies that Martin
had used in his research. They specialized in commercial and
print models, although the agency also provided most of the
event models for the larger functions that were held in the
Twin Cities.
Katelyn Meredith looked as if she had just stepped off the runway
herself. Wearing a light green dress, she looked absolutely
magnificent. She stood about 170 centimeters in her heels. Her
light brown hair was swept up in an elegant updo. A few stray
curls hung down giving her a sexy casualness to her otherwise
put together look. Martin was thoroughly captivated.
Her hazel eyes beamed as she greeted him. “It is my distinct
pleasure to meet you, Mr. Clements. I’ve been hearing so
much about our new soccer team. I think it’s a great thing for
the Twin Cities.” Katelyn made some small talk as they walked
through the upscale agency. She asked Martin where he was
from and how he was enjoying the area. His answers were
charming and altogether false.
When Martin had called the Meredith Agency, he had
introduced himself as the marketing manager for the Chelsea
America team. He talked about the need to have a major media
event that would introduce the team to the Twin Cities. He
had also mentioned having a rather sizeable event budget to
work with. This had resulted in his swift appointment with the
agency’s owner, Katelyn Meredith. He still had time enough to
print his new business cards.
She led Martin to a conference room with a view of the downtown
area. There were two people, a man and a woman, already
seated. Katelyn introduced Martin to Rafe, the agency’s event
planner and to Anne, described as the agency’s relationship
manager. Martin thought her title sounded grand. Given her
obvious qualities, he definitely could manage a relationship
with Anne as well.

1 2 0 A l l a n E v a n s
“Here’s what I’m up against,” Martin said, as he leaned back
in the expensive leather chair, “soccer is not as popular here
as it is in the civilized world. I need to project that this is a
fun family sporting event. While at the same time, I need to
appeal to the younger trendsetters. What they’re looking for is
a global connection, excitement and sex appeal.”
Martin was up and pacing now. “I’m looking for an event that
will lend credibility to our organization. But I want it to be a
spectacle, an event that will be talked about in years to come.
We’ll need cheerleaders. There should be plasma screens
with clips of the team. Can you hire a band, the louder the
better?”
Rafe nodded, furiously jotting down notes into a laptop.
“I also would like to have many—twenty or thirty, if possible—
team representatives, from your service to greet the attendees.
They should be as attractive as humanly possible. Could I see
some photographs?”
Rafe nodded again.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Martin grinned, “my team is
still playing in England. Can I hire a soccer team for the
appearance?”
_________________________________________________________
Martin slid into his Land Rover, pleased with himself. So far, so
good. Next, he needed to meet with his new public relations
agency. For that meeting, Martin would be a representative for
the City of Oakdale, the city that just happened to be hosting
the welcome celebration for the Twin Cities newest soccer
team. The plan was, that the city of Oakdale would be the site
of the soccer rally. Martin had met with city officials, posing as
Chelsea America’s marketing director. He had convinced them
the exposure the city would receive—as well as the $50,000

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 2 1
donation—would generate a tremendous amount of good will
for not only the city, but for the city officials, as well. Martin
made a mental note to make sure the team is contacted by the
PR agency and invited to their own celebration. After that, he
could relax and enjoy his dinner out with Anne.
_________________________________________________________
Susanna Song sat in her prison cell. Though for a prison cell,
she didn’t exactly have it rough. The room, where she was
confined, had a bed, a reasonably comfortable arm chair, as
well as some books and magazines for her to read. Probably
the best thing about her cell though, was that she was separated
from her captors.
While they weren’t going out of their way to be mean to her,
Crane—the large ox of a man—liked to push her around a bit
too much. He looked liked he enjoyed dominating her. The tall,
skinny one, Wentworth just stared at her. A lot. It was difficult
for her to read him, to gauge his intent. His eyes conveyed
nothing. Was it lust, curiosity or contempt? She couldn’t be
certain.
During her time here, they had settled into sort of a routine. She
stayed in her room until meals were brought in and she was
summoned from her room. They had not left to go out for food
since yesterday when she had made the call in the restaurant
restroom. She also hadn’t had any further opportunities to
escape or make contact with the police. They were pretty strict;
if she had to use the restroom, she was to knock and then was
escorted to the nearby bathroom.
Susanna had become quite familiar with every inch of her
room. At first, Susanna had thought she could find a way out,
a way to signal for help—something. She thought she’d once
seen a movie where the kidnapped character took apart a
phone jack and was able to signal for help by crossing the

1 2 2 A l l a n E v a n s
wires. However, after a thorough search there was no phone
jack to be discovered. Being an office building, the windows
weren’t built to be opened. And if they were, what could she
really do from the tenth floor?
What did intrigue her was that from her window, Susanna
looked down into someone’s back yard. She thought that if the
homeowner was out in their yard and happened to look up,
she could signal for help. Her moment of hope lasted for about
as long as her first on-camera standup: ten seconds. First, the
windows would be reflective and second, nobody would come
out and just happen to look at her one window in the building’s
sea of windows. Even if that happened, how could she possibly
catch their attention and communicate her distress?
With a sigh, Susanna resigned herself to watching the German
Shepherd pace back and forth endlessly in the yard’s outside
kennel. She knew exactly how the dog felt. Trapped.
Her door opened, startling her. “Come on.” It was one of the
Hazard brothers and she followed him out. He pointed to a
chair.
Wentworth, Crane and the other Hazard brother were sprawled
in chairs around the living room. Bishop and his two shadows,
Smithson and Harris, were sitting across from the others. They
stopped their conversation when she came into the room. They
just looked at her, making Susanna feel uncomfortable under
their scrutiny.
After a long moment, Bishop spoke. “We require your
assistance. I’m going to hand you a phone in a moment. I want
you to call the police and identify yourself.”
Confusion and hope ran through Susanna’s head.
“You will ask for the lead investigator on your kidnapping
case,” Bishop said, “and you will tell him that you are at the
Sam’s Club in Woodbury and he has exactly seven minutes to

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 2 3
get there. Tell him the police should not be called in or we will
be gone. Forever.”
“You will tell the investigator that we will be watching. Get his
vehicle description, make and color. Once we are sure he has
arrived alone, we will call to give the meeting location. Let
him know we are through with you and we will release you
after our demands are met. Understand?”
She nodded.
Bishop leaned forward looking intently at Susanna. “If you say
anything different or try to get a message across, my large
friend here,” he nodded towards Brian Crane, “will spend the
next two hours with you in your room getting to know you. Do
you understand my implication?”
She nodded. Time alone with Crane should be avoided at all
costs.
Bishop stood up and said to Wentworth, “You stay here and
monitor the call. I’ll call when we are in position.”
Susanna glanced around. “But I’m not going with you?”
No one answered her. She watched the men preparing,
assembling a small arsenal of automatic weapons. Smithson
had what looked like a deer rifle in his hands, adjusting the
scope. She had her answer. This was to be a hunting party and
she was not invited.

1 2 A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter eighteen
Cade was at his desk, looking through his notes on the case.
It had become apparent that all the shootings had a common
thread. The Hummer shooters were British, but also drove a
Tahoe, the same SUV that the freeway shooters had driven.
The weapons they used were European and so was the seized
currency.
The currency was central to the case. Dan Miller as much as
suggested that the money could be used to buy a way into
legitimacy. How much does it cost to buy a business? $388
million should do the trick. You could buy a lot of Dairy Queen
franchises for that. Possibly even a few MacDonald’s as well.
Most cops that Cade knew, would take the money and retire
to someplace like Mexico, a ranch in Utah or just buy up some
lake property up in northern Minnesota. They wouldn’t be
buying a large business.
Cade paused, feeling he was on to something. Cops wouldn’t
be buying their way into legitimacy, because they were already
legitimate. They would take the money, which is something
they never had much of, and use it to buy their retirement. The

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 2
people behind all this have not been legitimate, and they were
used to dealing with money—lots of it. They wanted what they
didn’t have. Legitimacy. He wasn’t sure how to use this insight
now, and mentally filed it away, knowing it may be useful
later.
Checking his email, Cade saw that he had the results of his
subpoena for the subscriber records for the unknown person
the driver had call shortly before his arrival in Minnesota.
Damn, it was another prepaid cell phone. It was a different
name, but they had used the same address as one of the other
phones. Some times you can’t catch a break.
Nick Javier stopped by Cade’s desk. He was with a younger
looking trooper, built very tall and very thin. The trooper
looked so young, Cade thought the guy must get carded at R
movies. “Cade Dawkins, meet Hollis Stuart. Hollis is starting
his rookie training today. He’ll be riding with me for the next
month. Might as well be learning from the master.” Javier had
a smug look on his face.
Cade stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you Hollis. Good luck
with your training. Javier is someone you should look up to—
if he wasn’t so short. He’s the only trooper who has trouble
seeing over the steering wheel. Just make sure your seatbelt
is cinched up nice and tight, in case he slips off his phone book
and hits the gas petal.”
Javier flipped him off and was gone. Hollis followed him,
laughing as he went.
_________________________________________________________
Still in a good mood from their interchange, he decided to
pick up the phone and give Kim a call. She was just finishing
prepping a house for a showing tomorrow. She sounded happy
to hear from him and Cade arranged to meet her for dinner in

1 2 A l l a n E v a n s
a half hour.
But first, Cade had an idea. Maybe it was the adrenaline talking
or his surging hormones, but it got him thinking. Why not call
the number for that unknown cell phone call. It looked like a
dead end. What did he have to lose?
He moved to a quiet conference room. Using a simple recorder,
Cade would have everything that was said by the mystery
person—just in case he slips up and confesses to the whole
diabolical plot. Clearly, he’d been watching too many police
shows on television.
Dialing the number, thinking the phone was most likely in
a dumpster somewhere by now, he was astounded to hear a
voice pick up on the third ring.
“Yes.” Cade couldn’t gleam anything from the one-word
answer. He had to get him talking.
Thinking fast, “I need ten seconds. You’re in an expensive
restaurant. You have a business meeting with a prospective
female associate. When she shows up, you are stunned by her
resemblance to Angelina Jolie. Looking quite hot, she asks
that you buy her a soda from the bar. Quick: which soda do
you buy for her?”
It was a gamble, but you had to take risks in life. “Soda? Do you
mean a fizzy drink?”
The voice was unmistakably British. Cade had never heard
the term fizzy drink before, but when one is improvising, you
never put up a roadblock by saying no.
“Exactly. A fizzy drink.”
There was a pause, and then he was gone. Hmm, fizzy drink.
_________________________________________________________

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 2
They met at a trendy Mexican restaurant in Maplewood. Kim
was dressed casually, wearing jeans, heels and a bright top.
Although the top was cut nice and low, Cade was convinced
that she would look good in anything. He leaned in to give
her a hug and somehow his lips found hers. Warm and soft, he
could have stayed there all evening.
Baja was crowded, too crowded. After being informed of the
hour wait for a table, Cade suggested they try the Lake Elmo
Inn. Kim was familiar with the restaurant, having had their
brunch on several occasions. Kim offered to drive, mentioning
that he might enjoy not having to drive for once.
They had just pulled on to the highway in Kim’s Jeep Liberty,
when Cade’s cell phone rang.
“Sorry,” he said to Kim. It was dispatch.
“I’ve got a call to patch through to you. It’s the reporter, Susanna
Song. She asked for the lead investigator.”
“Put her through, Abbey. Thanks.”
“This is State Patrol investigator, Cade Dawkins.”
“I’m Susanna Song, from KSTP television,” she said. Her voice
sounding shaky.
“How are you?” Cade asked quickly.
“Can you help me?” She asked. “The men that are holding
me want to release me, but only to the lead investigator on
the case. They said that if the demands are met, they would
release me and leave the country.”
She paused. “I know we’ve never met or spoke before, but you
have to trust me.”
Huh? Cade’s inner red flag went up. “I want to help, no matter
what. And I do trust you. What do I need to do?”
Sounding slightly robotic, Song said, “We are in the Woodbury

1 2 A l l a n E v a n s
Sam’s Club parking lot. You will need to be here in the next
seven minutes. Do not send the police here, they will be
watching. When you get here, I will contact you to notify you of
our meeting location. I need to ask about the vehicle you are
driving.”
“It’s a Red Jeep Liberty.” Kim glanced over at him quizzically.
“Okay,” Susanna said. “Hurry.” She was gone.
Cade swore and looked over at Kim. There wasn’t time to stop
to drop her or to switch drivers. “How fast can you drive? I
need you to floor it, we’re going to Woodbury.”
She nodded and gunned the Jeeps’ motor. He would notify
the Patrol, of course. Going in without backup wasn’t smart—
especially when this was most likely a trap. Even though we’ve
never spoken before? It sounded like she was trying to give
Cade a warning. He’d watched her news reports enough times
and had thought she could think on her feet.
He would have the troopers stage on Highway 94 at Woodbury
Drive, just a block from Sam’s Club. If he needed them, they
would be on the scene in a moment. He called dispatch and
laid out the plan. He gave the details and his concern about the
possible trap. It wasn’t going to be the safest thing he’d ever
done, but he couldn’t take a chance on Susanna Song’s life.
Kim was weaving the Liberty in and out of the traffic on 694.
There was a look of intense concentration on her face. Cade
glanced at the Jeep’s speedometer. It was hovering at 100
miles per hour. Not bad, he thought. If the real estate market
kept tanking, he would suggest she try the State Patrol.
Jamming on the brakes, Kim cut into the line at the exit ramp.
A horn blared behind them. She passed a Toyota sedan on the
curve of the ramp onto 94 east. Cade glanced over to see a
very surprised face in the Toyota. Two miles to go.
The ramp had a half mile merge lane that intersected with

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 2
traffic coming from northbound 694. This was often jammed
up all the way to the next exit, Radio Drive. A poor design that
often frustrated drivers, Cade included. Kim cut to the left,
crossing over the median and the white lines. She swung out
several lanes and moved into the left lane. The Liberty quickly
picked up speed under her heavy foot.
“I always wanted to do that. I’ve hated that ramp forever.
Besides, merging is for weenies.”
There are times in a cop’s life when the stress and tension
can get almost overpowering. They show it in different ways:
anger, sullenness, recklessness. And sometimes they release
the pressure with humor. This was one of those times. Cade
burst out laughing at Kim’s comment, barely able to control
himself. Kim picked up on it and was laughing too. They were
still laughing when they came up on the Woodbury Drive
exit.
The shots came from the left, from the wooded ridge
overlooking the highway across Highway 94. The first shot
took out the window directly behind Kim. It was quickly
followed by a second shot that punched through the door next
to her. The bullet tore into the seat directly behind her. Cade
grabbed the wheel and wrenched it hard to the right. The Jeep
jumped the curb, went over the grass and plowed through a
cyclone fence. The fence was no match for the speeding Jeep.
The Liberty bounced hard as it came down on the frontage
road next to a Wells Fargo.
Kim had control of the Jeep as she steered it towards the
intersection a block to the south.
“Are you all right?” Cade asked Kim. She nodded.
“And you thought our first date was exciting,” Cade said. He
had his Glock out and on his lap.
Cade grabbed his phone and called in. “Officer needs

1 3 0 A l l a n E v a n s
assistance; shots fired.” He gave his location, as well as the
location of the shooter.
At the light, Kim asked which way should they go. Cade pointed
ahead towards the Sam’s Club lot. “We should still check it out
just in case. She might be there.”
The large discounter shared a parking lot with a sporting
goods store. Business must be good; the parking lot was full.
They drove along the far side, peering down each row looking
for any sign of Susanna Song and her captors.
Cade glanced behind them and saw a large vehicle closing at
a fast rate of speed. The lights appeared brighter than normal
as they came up quickly behind them. Kim cranked the wheel
to the right, turning the Jeep down a row of cars. The sound of
gunfire could be heard over the engine noise.
“Go, go!” Cade yelled. Cade looked back to see a yellow
Hummer just miss making the same turn. The Hummer’s driver
made the right turn at the next row over.
“Keep a row of cars between us. They’re going to be better
armed than we are.” Kim nodded.
Rolling down the passenger window, Cade swung up and out
sitting on the window ledge. There were two men hanging out
the Hummer’s windows on the passenger side. He rested his
elbows on the vehicle’s roof, lined up the sight on the Glock
and squeezed off several rounds. The man in the front dropped
out of sight. Cade thought he had hit him, but couldn’t be sure.
The Hummer continued down the row.
Kim jammed on the brakes, throwing the Jeep in reverse. She
gave the truck gas, the engine whining under the strain. There
were people in the lot running and screaming. He could see
people crouching down between the cars. She swung the rear
out to the left on the main drive and shoved the Jeep in drive.
The Hummer was starting down their row now. Kim floored

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 3 1
the accelerator pedal and swerved into the next row over.
This had to be ended soon. The odds of a bystander getting
injured or killed were increasing by the second. Cade had
the Glock supported and timed his shot when the two vehicles
were across from each other. He put a round into the driver’s
window. The Hummer swerved to the right, away from Cade
and clipped several vehicles. He could see a face in the rear of
the vehicle, but couldn’t make out if was a man or a woman.
A State Patrol cruiser had entered the lot from the far north
side. It came to a stop, parking diagonally across the road
near the fast food restaurant, its emergency system strobes
pulsing across the parking lot. The Hummer had come to the
main road and had turned in the direction of the trooper. It
then swerved down the back set of rows moving away from the
Jeep. Cade thought he must have hit the driver, the driver was
oversteering every turn now.
Two Woodbury patrols came screaming into the lot from the
south. They made a beeline for the yellow Hummer.
Kim had swung the Jeep around and was also headed after
the Hummer. The driver seeing his escape routes closing off,
headed for the Caribou coffee shop, which was on the end
of the strip of retail stores. Cade assumed the Hummer was
looking for a shortcut out to Woodbury Drive. From there, it
was a brief quarter mile sprint to the interstate.
For once, Cade was glad it was November, because the outside
patio at Caribou was deserted. The Hummer jumped the curb,
drove onto the patio and plowed into the metal patio furniture.
A table was launched through the plate glass window into the
coffee shop.
The driver over-compensated after hitting the furniture and
swerved to his right. Unfortunately, to the right was a steep hill
leading down to a large runoff pond. Despite the Hummer’s
wide wheelbase, the speed, angle and sharp turn caused

1 3 2 A l l a n E v a n s
the vehicle to tip over. Once it started to roll, it kept rolling
down the steep incline until it landed wheels up in the icy cold
water.
Kim pulled the Liberty to the curb next to the coffee shop’s
patio. The officers were out of their vehicles, flashlights and
guns braced for the ready. Cade held up his ID. He recognized
the woman Woodbury officer, Olivia, from a case that he had
worked with the BCA several years back. She’d been whipsmart
and full of drive. He nodded to her and followed the
officers down the incline.
He glanced back. Kim was several steps behind. She’d been
through too much to deny her seeing this to its conclusion. The
night air seemed alive with the sound of approaching sirens.
They came to the Hummer at the bottom. The water wasn’t
more than several feet deep, but that meant the windows were
completely covered by the water. Nobody was stirring on the
inside. The male officer tried the front passenger door, but the
door refused to open. Olivia already had her ASP tactical baton
out and quickly broke the window glass. She reached through
and grabbed the arm of the passenger. The other Woodbury
officer was on his knees, the water up to waist, helping pull the
man from the wrecked vehicle. Cade had his Glock out and
ready.
When the man’s shoulders cleared the window, Cade realized
that his first shot had been a good one. The bullet had entered
just above his left eye. There was nothing they could do for
him. The Woodbury officers let go of his arm. They moved to
the rear window.
Olivia held the flashlight, while the other officer went in through
the broken window. In a moment he squirmed back out. “The
driver looks alive, but this one back here is gone. I think his
neck is broken.”
They moved to the other side and again Olivia broke out the

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 3 3
window. The driver had been shot in the neck, but was still
alive. They pulled him from the vehicle and carried him to
the water’s edge. A paramedic was waiting and immediately
attended to the driver’s neck. He glanced up and said, “He’s
going to need surgery if he’s going to make it.”
The paramedic got on the radio asking for a medical chopper.
When he was done, he said the chopper was five minutes out.
He went back to working on the man’s neck.
Woodbury fire and rescue arrived on the scene and powered
the doors open on the Hummer. They pulled the two dead men
from the vehicle. There was no sign of Susanna Song.
Cade called in and learned that while a second vehicle was
used at the sniper’s location across the highway, it was gone
now. A few casings from the rifle shells were found, but that
was it.
Nothing else to do. Cade looked over at Kim. “Still hungry?”
_________________________________________________________
Later, over dinner, Cade asked, “So, is the house still available
and can I move in on Friday?”

1 3 A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter nineteen
Thursday, Day seven
“My ex-wife needs a kidney transplant. But I’m not worried,
she hasn’t rejected an organ in twenty years.” The room broke
up in laughter. Curtis was going on about one of his favorite
subjects, his ex-wife. Cade kept walking and shook his head.
This guy was a goofball, but he was funny.
Jodi was on the phone; Cade leaned against a desk waiting
for her to finish. When she hung up, he asked what she knew.
“We’ve identified the men, all three are—or were—British
nationals. The driver died in surgery. There were two brothers,
Angus and Kieran Hazard. The driver was Angus Hazard. Both
had extensive criminal records in the UK. Some prison time as
well. Small time stuff, though. Robbery, assault, theft, drugs,
assault.”
“You already said assault.”
“They really liked assault.” Not noticing Cade rolling his eyes
at her, Jodi continued, “They both are believed to be involved in
several murders, but there were not any witnesses that wished
to come forward. These guys didn’t have the brainpower to

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 3
mastermind anything, and certainly not anything like this.”
Cade asked, “What about the third guy?”
Jodi was shaking her head, “From what I learned, Brian Crane
was lucky to have an IQ that would reach three digits. He was
a brawler, plain and simple. These guys were small time hired
muscle.”
Cade was thinking. He held up a finger and Jodi paused.
“Small time hired muscle doesn’t get imported from across
the Atlantic Ocean. That is, unless they have worked with the
person behind this on other occasions. So then we have to
assume our ‘evil genius’ is British as well. But why come here?
Why Minnesota? Is Minnesota the typical place where the
British dream of retiring to?”
“I always thought the British went to Spain for their holidays,”
Jodi replied.
“Exactly,” Cade said. “The money is not being used to run
away. The part I don’t get, is why they don’t make their life
better at home?”
Jodi Capistrano was nodding. “Suppose you have millions of
dollars,” she said. “Suppose you came by it by means that
aren’t strictly legal. You can’t just trade in your Chevy S10
pickup for a Rolls Royce. And you can’t trade your denim for
$2,000 Brooks Brothers suits. People will notice, and they
definitely will start asking questions. You need to put a lot of
distance between you and the people you know.”
“And,” Cade said, “$388 million can buy you a lot. Most likely,
you are looking for something that you don’t already have.
That much money can buy you power and possibly legitimacy.
I would venture my slightly educated guess that the people
working with the hired muscle—that are now lying dead in
our morgue—are clearly not used to walking on the legitimate
side of the street.”

1 3 A l l a n E v a n s
“So,” Cade went on, “we should be looking for someone who
is British, with a criminal history, or at the very least, ties to the
criminal element across the pond. How difficult can that be?
We should have this case wrapped up by lunch.”
Jodi smiled. “I take it you’re a glass full kind of guy.” Not a
question.
“Glass full, glass empty, it doesn’t matter. By then, I’m pretty
much just looking for the waitress,” Cade said with his own
smile.
Jodi reached for a file and started paging through it. Without
looking up, she said, “I meant to ask, I saw you were with your
realtor again last night. Has she been showing you anything
interesting lately?”
“Very funny. I’m just lucky she enjoys people shooting at her.
Who could have guessed?”
“I’m glad you have that figured out,” Jodi said. “Most guys
have no idea what women want.”
“Oh, I know what women want,” Cade replied. “They want
security. In fact, every time I approach a woman at the bar, she
calls out for security.”
This time it was Jodi rolling her eyes.
_________________________________________________________
Andrew Bishop was a busy man. But he’d always been a busy
man. Running a business was a time consuming proposition.
However, lording over a criminal empire meant burning the
candle at both ends. It didn’t exactly lend itself to a normal
workweek. And it had been quite far from being a normal
week. Life had become quite stressful of late.
He was in the process of purchasing the Chelsea reserve
team and moving them here to the United States. The Chelsea

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 3
owners were quite excited to gain the inroad in the U.S. market.
Many of the top European clubs were building relationships
with their American counterparts. They were embarking on
American tours to raise awareness and marketing their teams
as a global brand. Having a team playing in the U.S. soccer
league was a major coup for the Chelsea organization.
The deal was also a great one for Bishop. Owning a team of
Chelsea’s status was quite an achievement, even if it was the
club’s reserve team. The price was certainly reasonable,
especially considering the reduced cost of the money he was
laundering for the Colombians. It helped to have friends in low
places.
This was a deal that could make Bishop a lot of money. It was
more than that though. This would give him standing in the
international community. It would allow him to move with
a different crowd, a different class even. It could allow him
access to possible ownership in some of the world’s most
prestigious clubs. His father would be proud.
Respect was something Andrew Bishop had thought about a
lot. It could be bought, maybe not directly, but would come
with his purchase of the team. The public had always respected
the owner of football clubs, and back home, those owners
were positively revered. Bishop had gained the respect of
his business associates and competitors through fear and
intimidation. But it wasn’t the same and it just wasn’t good
enough. It wasn’t real respect if people were frightened by you
and he didn’t want to live his life in the shadows, associating
only with other members of the same element. He wanted the
spotlight. He wanted to be a pillar of the community. He craved
their admiration so intensely, he just might kill for it.
Bishop had worked hard to make this deal happen. Fortunately,
he had signed a letter of intent and was allowed to start setting
up the team’s infrastructure as well market the team. Interest
was high in the community and soon he would be able to sell

1 3 A l l a n E v a n s
season tickets and sponsorships. It would be a relief to have
some money flowing in for a change. And that would go a long
way to making this feel real. The deal would be complete with
the transfer of funds scheduled in four days. It was those four
days that were bringing so much stress to Bishop.
The problem, of course, was that his funds had been seized
and were being held in a secure location by the local law
enforcement authorities. The only saving grace was that he
had employed the one person who could recover his money.
Martin Clements had earned his reputation for accomplishing
the impossible.
Bishop was doing his part to keep the authorities occupied.
The state Patrol had to be absolutely reeling from the chaos on
the highways. It was a shame that last night’s misadventure had
not only failed to take out the lead investigator, but cost him
three of his men. They were good men, ones that had served
him well over the years. However, they knew what they were
getting themselves into, and were well paid for the risk.
The possibility of a connection being found that would lead the
authorities back to him concerned Bishop. He had considered
it to be an acceptable risk, if it helped to get his money back.
After all, the money was everything. He couldn’t buy the team
without it. But this close to the end game, it did worry him. He
wouldn’t give it a lot of thought, though. No point in worrying
about things you can’t control.
One thing about being in business, was that it taught you to
put your trust in the right people. You can’t do everything
yourself. Having said that, it was also a good idea to give them
all the support you could possibly lend. He had spent some
time and much money to cultivate the right support. He dialed
a number, let it ring three times and hung up. In exactly three
minutes, he dialed the same number once again. This time it
was answered on the first ring.

“I’m here.”
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 3
Bishop spoke in strong, measured tones. “I have need of your
assistance. The sort of assistance that only you can provide.”
The voice on the other end was quiet, hesitant. “What do you
need?”
“I need to make sure that the vault is ..., well, accessible.”
“I can’t touch the thumbprint scanner or alarm, that ties directly
to my identity. But I can help with the vault itself.”
“That’s all I need, my dear,” Bishop replied, “That’s all I
need.”
_________________________________________________________
Things were falling into place, Martin Clements thought as he
stretched. He had woken up worrying about the details that
still needed to come together. However, Martin’s plans were
laid out and the details were being worked out without any
major issues. With any luck, he ought to be on the plane back to
London on Sunday afternoon. The hand-off to Bishop should go
down without any difficulty. He had dealt with Andrew Bishop
on one previous occasion and had found him to be a man of
his word. He would receive his negotiated price without any
complication. The opposite would hold true for Bishop: there
would be no complication for him as well. There are some lessprincipled
individuals, who given the extremely large amount
of currency in play here, might face overwhelming temptation.
Not Martin.
Martin considered himself to be a man of principle, which might
seem odd considering the line he often crossed. His reputation
was quite important. He wanted to be the best, and desired
to be that with high style. He felt confident that so far he had
lived up to his own high standards. The fact was, that Martin’s

1 0 A l l a n E v a n s
reputation was made on his ability to deliver. There would be
nothing to gain for him by not delivering as promised. He had
more than enough money to live—quite comfortably, in fact—
for the rest of his life. Actually, if he lived to 150, he would still
have a sizable reserve left over. Though he had serious doubts
that he would make it past ninety, as he already had a rather
large group of jealous boyfriends and husbands looking for
him. Such was his life.
With two days left before he would be able to recover Bishop’s
currency, he was feeling a bit bored. It was rather an odd
combination to be both bored and at the same time feel his
adrenaline creeping up. It had to be the anticipation of all his
planning coming together. Sitting around in this loft for any
longer would drive him over the edge. He felt the urge to
stretch a bit and headed for his truck.
Martin enjoyed cruising around in the Land Rover. He drove
along the St. Croix River, enjoying the countryside. It must be
stunning in the summer, he thought, though this cold, gray
weather reminded Martin of home. After an hour of more or
less aimless wandering, he stopped by a coffee shop. It was a
small neighborhood establishment that had a nice cozy feel to
it. There was a fireplace with overstuffed chairs surrounding
it.
He ordered a chocolate flavored coffee and sat by the fireplace.
There was a stack of newspapers on the table next to him and
he saw the feature on the Chelsea America team. He wondered
if it was his public relations agency that had placed the story.
It couldn’t hurt to learn a bit more about the club, given his
upcoming diversion. He picked up the paper and leaned back
in the comfortable chair. He was absolutely stunned when he
read the second paragraph.
Andrew Bishop was the owner of the team? Amazing! He
wondered if he should cancel his diversion? Time was critical
here. He was on strict notice that the funds had to be in Bishop’s

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 1
hands on Sunday at the latest. There really wasn’t time to put
together another diversion. Certainly not in two days time.
Another question intrigued him. Should he discuss his
diversion with Bishop? Let him know that the welcome Chelsea
America event on Saturday was a sham, just a diversion for
his recovery effort? There were advantages either way, but it
came down to the importance of having Bishop acting natural.
If this was to play out to Martin’s plan, Bishop would need to
play his scripted part. And it would be a brilliant alibi for
Bishop, though if things played out properly, Bishop would not
need the alibi.
“Here’s your Chocolate Steamed Nirvana.”
Martin looked up to see a beautiful brunette holding his drink.
The woman’s hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her green
eyes captivating him, while her smile seemed to light up the
entire room. He accepted the cup she offered him.
He held out his hand. “Thank you, I’m Martin, by the way. And
you are …?”
“I’m Desirae.” Her eyes held his.
“Desirae, that’s French, I believe. What does it mean, do you
know?”
She nodded. “My mom tells me it means ‘much desired.’”
Martin smiled. “I have to agree with your mum. Brilliant
woman, to be sure.”
Desirae blushed. “I like your accent. I take it you’re from
England?”
Martin gestured to the open chair across from him and said, “I
am. Could you sit for a moment?”
Desirae looked around as if to gauge how busy the shop was
and then sat down across the table from Martin. She tucked
one leg beneath her. “I suppose I could sit for just a moment. I

1 2 A l l a n E v a n s
do have a question for you, if you don’t mind.” Martin nodded
his approval.
“Having never been to England, I was wondering if all the
gentlemen over there are as forward as you?” She was
smiling.
Martin leaned towards her. “I like to think of it as being
charming.”
She laughed, and Martin thought her laugh was delightful,
absolutely brimming with sunshine. He’d met a few women in
his travels—okay, a lot of women—but there was a purity, a
vitality that Desirae had that he hadn’t found before. Martin
knew how the Hollywood movie directors must have felt when
they discovered the next star working at the local diner.
She was asking him a question, though he had missed the first
part. “ …live here now?”
Martin shook his head. “My business was hired to run a project
here. I just came over a week ago. Though I really am enjoying
my stay here.”
“Are you working with the new soccer team that came over
from England? I like soccer a lot,” she added.
“Actually, I am,” he said. Funny how things work out. “I am
putting on the soccer ralley celebration for the team this
weekend. I think it will surprise a lot of people.”
“Great,” Desirae said. “I hope the team does well. So, tell me
Martin, where is the most exotic destination you’ve traveled
to? And where is your favorite place that you’ve visited so far?”
She had a whimsical smile on her face.
Martin was usually the one to ask the questions. Chatting up
the birds, as they call it back home, was best accomplished
using strategic questions laced with overt compliments. It
doesn’t sound like it should work, but you can’t argue with the

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 3
results Martin has had. However, Desirae was throwing him off
his game with her questions.
“Well,” Martin said, stalling for time. He was actually a bit
flustered. “I think the most exotic location had to be my trip
to New Zealand. Beautiful countryside, that. As for the favorite
place I’ve traveled to, it has always been the Lake Como
region of northern Italy. The snowy alpine peaks, the villas,
the picturesque lake, ahh magical. But now it has to be the …”
He glanced at the side of his cup. “…the Dunn Brothers coffee
shop in Woodbury Minnesota. Clearly, the most stunning
scenery I’ve seen.” He was working hard to take back his edge
from Desirae.
Smiling, Desirae said, “That’s just the caffeine talking. I’ve
served way too many espresso’s to believe a line like that
again.”
Desirae eased herself out of the chair and extended her hand.
“It was a pleasure to chat with you Martin. Please stop by again
while you’re in town.”
With a quick smile, she turned and was gone.
Martin was speechless. It didn’t usually go like this. He was
the charming one, the one who mystified and enchanted the
opposite sex. Now here he was, adrift, dwelling on about the
much desired Desirae. He walked out to the parking lot and
climbed into his Land Rover, thinking that perhaps there might
be a way to extend his stay in America. It would be dangerous, but
Martin had lived his life seeing the positive side of taking risks.

1 A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter twenty
He must have outweighed Cade by a good twenty pounds
and was running straight at him full speed. During the soccer
game, Cade had been watching him try his moves on the other
defenders for the last ten minutes. No way, no how, was he
going to get by him. Knowing that the opposing forward would
attempt his fake to the outside, and then cut the ball over to the
inside, Cade shifted his weight to his left side. Cade stuck out
his right foot, getting his cleats on the top of the ball and pulled
it away from the very surprised forward. Shifting the ball to his
left foot, Cade sprinted up the sideline.
He loved this. Beating the arrogant forward players at their
own game, stealing the ball away and taking the ball on an
attacking run was what made this game fun. In soccer, most
defenders broke up the attacking plays and passed the ball up
the field, starting the attack with a pass to a midfield player.
Cade liked to take the ball away and sprint for goal, leaving a
trail of beaten players in his wake. Maybe he had some longstanding
issues with authority, but he really enjoyed putting
the oh-so-superior forwards in their place.
The stocky midfielder slid over to cut off Cade’s path up the
field. As Cade had hoped, the man made a desperate attempt
at a tackle, going to the ground, his leg outstretched. With a

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
flick, Cade lifted the ball over the man and simply hopped
over him. That bought him some space to run.
As he approached the outside of the box, Cade slowed a bit. The
defense shifted over, with two of the defenders moving to close
him off. He bobbed his head to the inside and accelerated to
the outside. Just as the two defenders were starting to recover,
he pulled the ball back and moved to the inside. This brought
the sweeper over as well. The sweeper is the leader of the
defense and the last line of defense. With this third player now
closing in him, Cade glanced over to his right, seeing Peter
making a run towards goal. He slotted the ball between two of
the defenders onto Peter’s feet.
With one touch, the ball was in the back of the net. The
goalkeeper never had a chance.
Peter acknowledged Cade’s assist with a thumbs up sign as
they jogged back to their half for the kick off. They played for
a few uneventful minutes before the referee blew the whistle
for halftime. The players grabbed their water bottles and sat
in a group on the sideline. This was their last game of the fall
season and Cade was taking it in, enjoying the moment. They
were lucky to be in the middle of a rare Indian Summer this
week. Many of the games at the end of the season were often
played in the cold, with rain or even snow adding to the fun.
Not this year.
Peter sat down next to Cade. “That was some brilliant work
out there,” Peter said. “Drawing the defense over like that left
me with an open path to the goal. You made it easy for me.
Thanks.”
Cade nodded. “I was just glad to see you put the shot on goal.
How many times have you seen a guy get an open shot at the
goal and kick it as hard as they can, launching it ten feet over
the goal? You took the shot calm and cool like a professional.
Maybe you should turn pro. You need a real job anyway, no

1 A l l a n E v a n s
more of that prissy modeling shit.”
Peter smiled. “Funny you should say that. Believe it or not, I
have a modeling gig on Saturday and I’m posing as a Chelsea
America player for the soccer festival in Oakdale.”
“Really?” Cade asked. “Posing?”
“Yeah, there’s a bunch of us and we’re being introduced as
the team. I get to sign autographs even. I have to sign as Nigel
Pierce, though.”
“And this didn’t strike you as odd?” Cade asked.
“I just figured that the real team couldn’t make it. I mean after
all, they are in the middle of their season over in England.”
“You mean that if there is a buck in it, its okay by you.” Cade
held his eye and then broke into a smile.
“Well, yeah,” Peter was laughing as well. He stood up and held
out a hand to Cade.
“Let’s go get them. One more half and the season is history.”
Such was the way fall rec soccer was organized. You had your
ten league games and that was it. No playoffs, no trophies, just
bragging rights. Soccer just for the fun of it. That’s the way it
should be.
_________________________________________________________
They were at the bar after the game. Half the game was played
on the field; the other half was replayed in the bar afterward.
The mood was rowdy, they had positively crushed the Sting.
Cade had completely owned the left side of the field.
Peter was on his third beer, and his arm on Cade’s shoulder.
“Are you coming to get my autograph on Saturday?”
“You’re not charging for it this time, are you?” Cade asked
with a grin.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
“Only for the guys, the women get it for free. I’ll sign yours at
no charge, though.”
“All right, I’ll be there. I had been thinking about checking out
the festival anyway. I better run, I’m closing on my house in the
morning.” Cade shook hands with his teammates and headed
for the door.
“See you there,” Peter called.
“See you, Nigel.” Cade was still laughing as he went out the
door.

1 A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter twenty-one
Friday, day eight
Looking around his apartment in the morning light, Cade
knew he wouldn’t be missing his cramped home of the last two
years. It had served its purpose as his place to sleep and store
his stuff. Though it was sad to look around and see how few
boxes he needed after all these years. Other than some favorite
books and music, he tended to not be sentimental and avoided
accumulating possessions the way many others tended to.
Of course, living the life that he had, Cade didn’t have a lot
to be sentimental about. When you see the worst of humanity
and then the tragedy that often befalls the other half, life can
feel quite somber, not really worthy of celebration. Having
a job in law enforcement could bring you down. Especially
when you began to feel no matter what you did, and how many
people you take off the street, others just step up and take their
place. The trick was, you either keep your sense of humor or
you become jaded. The ability to laugh at life’s absurdities and
injustices could be the last defense of a cop’s sanity. Cop humor
was gallows humor—a dark attempt to keep life’s events from

staining their souls.
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
Living this way often made it difficult to find something to look
forward to. However, for the first time in years, Cade had that
feeling again. Hope. Hope that life would be better, hope in
tomorrow, and hope in humanity. It helped just knowing there
was someone out there that was thinking about him. He found
himself thinking about Kim Lindahl frequently. In just a brief
amount of time, she had made quite an impact on his life. It
wasn’t just the near constant raising of his blood pressure, but
the feeling that a troubled chapter of his life was coming to an
end.
This morning’s closing on his new home felt like a brand new
chapter of his life was starting. Moving to Stillwater into a
beautiful old home felt right. It was funny how the house had
made him feel: like he was right at home. The feeling was the
same with Kim. It was immediate, warm and comfortable—but
at the same time, there was a passion that they both seemed to
feel. The lust between them was obvious, but so far unrequited.
So far.
Cade met Kim at the Caribou in Stillwater for breakfast,
planning to ride together to the mortgage company for the
closing. She was happy to see him, kissing him tenderly. After
they sat down, Kim talked about what to expect at the closing.
She promised the closing paperwork would go smoothly.
“After all, the mortgage officer and I are trained professionals,
educated in the nuances of real estate transactions. No detail is
too small, and no client need will go uncared for. You, my prized
client, are in good hands.” Kim looked proud of herself.
“Actually,” Cade interjected, “I never had a doubt about being
in the right hands. Anybody that can drive the way you did
the other night, keeping us out of harms way, can certainly
navigate their way through a real estate deal with no problem.”
He gave her his best smile.

1 0 A l l a n E v a n s
It worked. Kim beamed at Cade. As she took a cell phone call
from her office, Cade leaned back, sipped his Mint Condition
coffee and studied Kim. She was confident and personable as
she animatedly carried on her half of the conversation. Dressed
in a heather gray suit, skirt and black heels, she looked both
professional and sexy. There was something distracting about
the way her blouse strained against her large breasts that
kept pulling his eyes downward. He glanced up, realizing
that she had busted him, the focus of his attention obvious.
The smoldering look in her eyes let him know that she hadn’t
minded a bit. Life is good, Cade thought.
The rest of the morning was a whirlwind as they completed
their final walk-through of the home and then moved to the
mortgage office. Forty minutes later, rubbing his hand to
relieve the writer’s cramp he suffered signing the multitude of
forms, Cade walked out a new homeowner.
Driving back to Caribou to pick up her car, Kim offered to help
Cade settle in. They agreed to meet at Cade’s new house that
evening. “A women’s touch is just the thing you need,” Kim
offered.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Cade said with a smug smile.
Kim punched him in the shoulder and said with pretend
exasperation in her voice, “You know what I meant.”
He did, and headed for his vehicle with a big grin on his face.
Behind the wheel, cruising down Highway 5 in Lake Elmo,
Cade checked in with Jodi. “What do you know?” he asked.
“I know now that you’re house-poor, you’ll be living on nothing
but macaroni and cheese,” Jodi said. Cade could hear her
laughing.
“Not a chance, I’ve skimped for too long to have to suffer
through endless meals of that yellow muck.”

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 1
Are you kidding me?” she asked. “There’s no accounting for
your taste, Dawkins. I love mac and cheese. I was raised on
it.”
“Obviously, the poor nutrition you received during your
important childhood development years really explains a lot.
So that’s why they had to bring me in to help you figure shit
out.”
“Exactly. So far you’ve figured out shit. Nothing. Nada.” Jodi
could give as good as she could get. She was clearly enjoying
the exchange.
“Oh yeah?” Cade asked, “Well the day is early yet.”
She laughed, “That’s the best comeback you’ve got Dawkins?
Once again, I’m left wanting more from a man.” She laughed
loudly and was gone.
_________________________________________________________
Cade had loaded up the U-haul with the help of his teammate,
Billy, cleaned up the apartment and happily turned in the key
to the apartment manager. He spent several hours hauling in
boxes and furniture. Kim arrived just before the pizza was
delivered. She walked in, having changed into jeans and a
long sleeve shirt with the band U2 on it. She still looked hot,
Cade thought as he handed her a beer.
“Welcome to my new home.” He pulled her close, smelling
her perfume. She gave him a lingering kiss.
“Mmm, now this is how a woman likes to be greeted.”
“I knew you would like the beer,” he said quickly covering his
shoulder. “Too quick for you. You see, I have your moves all
figured out.”
Kim looked deep into his eyes. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I have
moves you’ve never seen. Ever. And if you play your cards

1 2 A l l a n E v a n s
right, I might just show them to you.”
With a glance out the front window, Cade said, “I can’t even
find the box that has my cards. How about some food? I can at
least offer you some pizza.”
The doorbell rang; the chimes reminded Cade of a churchbell.
It was oddly comforting.
Kim was still giggling as she opened the pizza box. “You sure
know the way to a girl’s heart.”
_________________________________________________________
Late in the evening, Andrew Bishop was sitting alone in his
office. A solitary lamp the only light in the darkness. His phone
rang, pulling him from his thoughts.
“Tomorrow’s the day,” a cultured voice announced, the British
accent prominent. “And you and I will make our exchange on
Sunday morning.”
Martin Clement laid out the details of the transfer. It was
obvious to Bishop that Clements had thoroughly scouted out
the location.
After Martin Clements had hung up, Bishop thought that
he’d made the correct choice by hiring him. With Clements’
detailed planning, there was nothing left to chance, and that
would keep them both out of trouble. Talk about being dead
wrong.

Chapter twenty-two
Saturday, day nine
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 3
Autumn in Minnesota can be a funny thing. It can turn
viciously cold and windy, forcing the beleaguered residents
to bunker down for the long, cold, winter months. For most,
outdoor activities consist of shoveling snow from driveways
and running from their cars to their destination. Of course,
there are those really hearty souls, with anti-freeze coursing
through their veins, that live here also. You’ll find them out on
the frozen lakes, drilling holes to go ice fishing, all the while
drinking cold beer. Minnesota can be a strange place.
On the other hand, autumn could bring some of the most
glorious days of the year. The occasional airflow coming from
the pacific brings in welcome balmy air. The humidity has
receded and the mosquitoes have gone wherever mosquitoes
go this time of the year—no doubt carrying off smaller animals
to feast on for the winter.
Today was one of those glorious days that Minnesotans dream
of, a day to linger outside in the sunshine, where the memories
of this warm jewel of a day would be enough to keep them
warm for months to come. The sun was shining, with a warm

1 A l l a n E v a n s
breeze blowing in from the southwest. The leaves, though past
their prime, were still a beautiful shade of orange. Children
were out playing in the yard, parents were getting in their last
lawn mowing session of the season, or some were actually
putting up their Christmas lights before the weather turned on
them.
Cade woke up to the sunshine coming through his blinds. He was
momentarily disoriented waking up in his new surroundings.
As he became more alert, Cade smiled, thinking it was very
nice to wake up in his new bedroom. This house had felt
like home from the very first moment he had walked into the
foyer.
He lay there on his back, arms and legs outstretched, just
taking it in. The feeling that he had, though difficult to express,
was one of grounding. Having a home of his own settled him;
giving Cade what he hadn’t realized he needed. His life and
career had been in turmoil for so long that he hadn’t had
anything to hold on to.
He hadn’t even had a relationship that brought him stability.
However, his budding romance with Kim had sparked a light
in him. The smile of a beautiful woman could bring a little
bounce to your step. And when she smiled just because she
enjoyed being with you, well, that could be life changing.
He was still thinking these warm thoughts when she came in.
Her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a t-shirt
and a smile. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
Kim climbed in bed next to Cade. Crawling on top of him, she
gave him a slow, lingering kiss. “I have an hour or so before I
need to be at a showing. Are you hungry?”
Cade rolled her over so he was on top, looking into her eyes.
“Not hungry in the least,” he said, leaning in close.
_________________________________________________________

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
Martin was also awake. He’d been awake now for several
hours, the adrenaline surge taking him as soon as his eyes
fluttered open. Today was the day. The long awaited day he
would complete the job. And there was no question about it—
he would complete it. Desperate men paid Martin large fees
for that very reason: he always completed his jobs.
As ever, the money wasn’t his motivating factor. He thrived on
the challenge, the audacity of it all. When it came together,
the feeling was like no other. The sheer complexity of Martin’s
plan would panic many men, but not Martin. That’s why he was
as good as he was.
To make sure he was as sharp as he could possibly be, Martin
thought getting a little caffeine couldn’t hurt. There was only
one obvious choice for this destination. He hoped that Desirae
would be there, now that would be Nirvana.
His Land Rover was packed with his equipment, as well as
his belongings. Depending on his results, he may not make it
back here to his Stillwater loft. He would miss the place. There
was a comfort to it, as well as the palpable charm the older
building had. He doubted that the authorities would be able to
put enough of the pieces together to lead them back here. Of
course, he had taken great care in wiping down the place. In
his previous recovery efforts, the law enforcement community
had been left with just a few of the pieces, and was never able
to come close to Martin.
Meticulous planning, as well using blind agents—such as the
modeling agency—who had no idea of their part in Martin’s
plan—ensured he would be untouched. Martin was only
touched when he wanted to be touched.
The Dunn Bros Coffee shop was busy. Martin noticed the
variety of people that were there. Women out for a morning
chat and lattés, dads with their children and sweaty looking

1 A l l a n E v a n s
people obviously coming from a local gym for a post-workout
energy boost. Waiting in the line, three people in front of him,
Martin caught Desirae’s eye and smiled at her. She smiled
back at him and Martin knew this would be a good day.
“Good morning, Martin,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “Good
to see you again. I heard that you were having David Beckham
at your festival today.”
Martin nodded.
“Looks like all the handsome British men will be there,”
Desirae continued. “I might have to try and catch the end of it.
Chocolate steamed Nirvana?”
Martin nodded. “Whipped cream?” she asked.
“Always,” Martin said. “Pierce Brosnan won’t be there.”
“Pardon me?” She jotted a note on the side of his cup.
“Pierce Brosnan won’t be there,” Martin repeated. “You said
all the handsome British men would be there.”
“He’s too old for me.”
“Jude Law couldn’t make it either,” Martin said.
“Too much of a ladies man,” Desirae said with a smile. “And
he’s losing his hair.”
“Orlando Bloom and Ewan McGregor had other commitments.”
Martin folded his arms, looking confident.
“Their loss, not mine. Anyway, all the handsome British men
that I care about will be there.”
Martin watched her make his coffee. “I had no idea you were
such a big David Beckham fan.”
“I’m not.” She handed him his drink. Desirae smiled at him and
went back to helping the other customers. Walking out, Martin
glanced at the cup and saw a telephone number scribbled on

the side. It was going to be a good day.
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
Arriving at the site of the soccer festival, Martin thought it
was perfect. Richard Walton Park in Oakdale was a sprawling
recreational area covering 80 acres of land in the heart of the
suburban city. It includes a four-field adult regulation softball
complex, a four-field youth baseball/softball complex and a
full-size football field, all under lights; three tennis courts; two
basketball courts; a regulation-size hockey rink; three picnic
shelters; a children’s playground area; and a band shell that
hosts the city’s summer concert series. It was also quite close
to the State Patrol headquarters.
The scope of the festival had grown rather large in the last few
days. The coup of the David Beckham appearance had pushed
the event over the edge, so now this event—this diversion,
actually—was the talk of the town. The Governor had actually
declared today “Chelsea America day.”
The brilliance was that everybody thought someone
else was behind the festival. The city of Oakdale and the
modeling agency thought the team was the driving force.
Though, to their credit, they got behind the event in a
big way. The public relations agency and the Chelsea America
team itself thought the city of Oakdale was behind the event.
Martin had seen a television interview with Andrew Bishop
talking about how honored the team was that Oakdale has
offered to host the festival. The same reporter had interviewed
an Oakdale official who had talked about the privilege of
hosting the celebration for the new Chelsea America soccer
team.
Martin thought that, oddly enough, he had done more for
soccer in Minnesota than anyone had done previously.
The remainder of the morning was a whirlwind. He checked
in with Rafe and Anne from the Meredith Agency. Anne was
looking fantastic, and returned his smile. He then met with his

1 A l l a n E v a n s
project manager from the public relations agency. Stephanie
had her team assembled in a tent just behind the band shell. She
said that all the television stations had run features previewing
the event last evening and both of the major newspapers
had front page stories this morning. She said that fortunately
Saturday’s were slower news days and at least three of the
local news stations had committed to having news crews at the
scene. The more the merrier, Martin thought.
Stephanie had been on the phone with Bishop earlier and he
had told her that he had flown in a half dozen of the authentic
Chelsea players to go with the agency’s model players. “He
was most excited by all the attention. He almost seemed a bit
manic. This must mean a lot to him,” she said.
“More than you know,” Martin said with a wry smile.

Chapter twenty-three
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
By two in the afternoon, the park was completely packed. A
band, The Jonas Brothers, was playing to a wildly enthusiastic
crowd of mostly teenagers. Parents watched from the crowd’s
fringe, thankful that the music was safe for younger ears. They
were plenty loud, though.
There were inflatable jumpers for the little kids, soccer skills
demonstrations, numerous plasma screens with rock videolike
clips of Chelsea highlights, and some of the most amazing
looking cheerleaders wearing some of the most provocative
uniforms you were likely to see in a Midwestern state like
Minnesota.
Chelsea replica jerseys and caps were being given away at all
the park’s entrances. Several radio stations were broadcasting
live reports from the event. The big news was that at three,
Beckham was scheduled to introduce the team. In fact, a
caravan was on the way from the airport with David Beckham
and the entire team. Beckham’s escort was a fleet of State
Patrol troopers. You can’t take a chance these days with the
dangerous state of affairs on the highways.

1 0 A l l a n E v a n s
The State Highway Patrol was not only providing the Beckham
escort, but were dealing with traffic at the 10 th Street exits on
Highway 694. Both were backed up for a quarter mile. Traffic
was also tied up for a mile around Richard Walton Park. People
from all over the metro area and western Wisconsin were
descending on Oakdale. Based on how many officers he saw,
the entire Oakdale police department appeared to be working
today. The Washington County sheriff’s were on hand as well.
They were kept busy, and not just at the park, but the nearby
intersections required traffic direction also.
Cade was pleasantly surprised by the turnout at the park. This
had to bode well for soccer in Minnesota. Cade had seen another
professional team come to Minnesota a number of years back
and then fold after three seasons. He had been heartbroken for
months when the team left. The Chelsea team had better stick
around here. The European clubs had lifelong fans; you cheered
on the team that your father supported and of course he was
cheering on the team his father had supported. When you had
generations of supporters, you did not just pick up the team and
move it to Dallas or wherever. It was more than business. It was
a passion.
As Cade walked through the park taking it in, he wished that
Kim could be here too. She was working, showing houses to a
young family that had recently moved to the area. It was quite
the week with Kim; Cade had been impressed with not only
her driving, but also her fearlessness during the chase on
Wednesday. She was tough and hot.
The sex with Kim was unbelievable. He could not get enough
of her naked body. She …
Cade was pulled from his thoughts when he walked into a
couple that had stopped in front of him. He offered an excuse
for not paying attention. They had stopped by the edge of
the crowd by the bandstand. The announcer said that David
Beckham and the team was on the way and would take the

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 1
stage shortly. The energy from the crowd was electric as the
band resumed playing. Cade was feeling it too.
_________________________________________________________
Martin swung the Land Rover into the deserted parking lot of
the DOT. He backed it up to the rear of the building. Back here,
he was out of sight and far away from any ears that might hear
him. If someone came upon him, he was confident that he could
talk his way out of whatever jam he was in. His accent typically
carried an air of authority on this side of the pond. Chances
are, if he was spotted, he wouldn’t be challenged—Martin was
dressed to blend in. He was dressed in your basic highway
construction worker uniform: jeans, work boots, white t-shirt
and vest. If it came down to it and he couldn’t bluff his way out
with bluster and bullshit, he could at least stall long enough to
make a break for it.
There were thieves that resorted to violence to achieve their
goals. If someone stood in their way, too bad. Unlike these more
common thieves, Martin couldn’t hurt anyone. He wouldn’t
carry a gun, though while he lived just a bit on the other side
of the line most people didn’t cross, violence wasn’t a part of
him. He was too smart, too sophisticated for that. Besides, it
would take the fun out of it for him. He lived for the game, the
thrill of it. Violence wasn’t going to add anything for him.
Martin brought out his duffel bag and approached the side
entrance. There was a card reader mounted on the door frame
of the employee entrance. Martin’s unofficial entrance card
was connected to his laptop. Rather than swiping the card, he
held it in place and hit the enter button to start his cracking
program. It wasn’t like the movies, where numbers flashed
across the screen and three seconds later the password was
figured out. And for some reason, the hacker guy always said,
“We’re in.”

1 2 A l l a n E v a n s
Martin’s program penetrated the software and queried the
database. It looked for the most recent entry and duplicated
it.
It was a long forty seconds, but it worked. The light went green
and the door lock clicked open. He smiled and said to himself,
“We’re in.”

Chapter twenty-four
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 3
Slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder, Martin lowered the
bill on his cap—his new Chelsea America cap—and entered
the building. The lights were off, but there was enough light
coming through the windows to see what he needed to see.
Martin made his way to the back of the building. He followed
a series of offices that were along the side wall. The last office
was the corner office, an office that also happened to back up
to the rear wall of the facility. He read the nameplate on the
door: Ricardo Sanchez, Human Resources Director.
No doubt Ricardo would be happy to loan out his office for a bit.
Martin tried the door. Locked. There must be some sensitive
personnel files that needed to be kept locked up in a secure
office. It took him less than twenty seconds to get the door
open.
Maybe he should find his friend Shirley’s personnel file and
leave a letter of commendation for all her assistance. Something
along the lines of, “I couldn’t have done it without her kind
assistance. She went completely out of her way to help me case

1 A l l a n E v a n s
the entire facility.” Maybe not.
Martin stepped back out of Ricardo’s office looking for a
maintenance closet. He found one along the rear of the building.
This door was also locked. For a transportation department,
this was a very secure facility. And oddly enough, this lock
was more sophisticated than the human resources director’s.
It took him a full thirty seconds to open the door.
Inside, Martin found two ladders, and he took the longer one.
He needed to get up into the ceiling if he was going to be
successful today. Back in Ricardo’s office, he moved a smaller
conference table against the wall. The ladder was leaned
against the wall that adjoined the Highway Patrol’s facility.
He took a moment to pick up a framed picture that had been on
the table. He wasn’t sure if it was Ricardo’s wife or daughter,
but she was quite striking. He gently placed the frame on the
desk, touched two fingers to her lips and said, “This one’s
for you.” He quickly ascended the ladder and pushed up the
acoustical ceiling panel.
Martin’s flashlight lit up the confined space. This was going to
be easier than he had hoped. There wasn’t any sort of divider
between the two halves of the facility. Why would they need
one? Really, who breaks into a police station? Martin could only
think of one person. Balancing on the edge of the wall frame,
Martin pulled up the ceiling tile and looked down into the State
Patrol facility. It was dark. He took that as a good sign.
With the light of his flashlight, Martin saw he was in some sort
of storage room. There were displays, possibly from some sort
of exhibit. The headline reads “Just Slow Down.” It went on to
say that people are driving too fast, especially in poor driving
conditions. From what Martin knew of the varied weather in
Minnesota, he thought that sounded like good advice.
Slowly, he retraced his route and went back down the ladder. If
he went down into the Patrol facility, there would be no turning

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
back. But were there any reasons, any signs that he should turn
back? No. His planning had been quite thorough and quite
bold. Martin thought it was a go. He grabbed his duffel bag
and was back up the ladder in a flash.
He dropped the duffel in the storage room and lowered himself
on to the shelving unit. He used it as a ladder and quickly
reached the ground. From the duffel, he took out his mirror.
The mirror was mounted on a short pole and was designed to
help him see around the corner. There shouldn’t be anyone
in the facility, but it always paid to be careful. He opened the
door slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the bright light of the
hallway.
Slowly and carefully, Martin reached the mirror out into the
corridor. He saw that the hallway was clear. He rotated it to
observe as much detail as possible. The property room was on
the far end of the hallway, past the stairwell he had used during
his tour. Rotating the mirror in the opposite direction, he looked
behind the storage room’s door. There it was, mounted high on
the wall, a surveillance camera. He had spotted it during his
earlier reconnaissance. He had been careful to keep his face
turned away from the ever vigil lens. Now he would have to
deal with it.
His trip to Home Depot had prepared him for this. He pulled out
the laser leveler he had purchased there. It was mounted on a
mini tripod; he reached out and placed it on the floor directly
in front of the doorway. With the aid of his mirror, he tilted
the leveler upwards, adjusting the aim. It was a slow process,
centimeter by centimeter, but there—he had it pointed directly
into the lens of the surveillance camera. He had effectively
blinded the camera.
_________________________________________________________
Cade moved his way towards the front of the crowd. The band,

1 A l l a n E v a n s
too young for his tastes, was just finishing their song. Starting
faint, but soon overpowering the applause from the crowd
was the sound of a powerful motorcycle. The cycle swung
up onto the sidewalk driving directly toward the stage. Cade
had a momentary vision of the maniacs on the highway, but
relaxed when he saw the local police clearing the path for the
motorcycle. There was a ramp that ran from the left side of
the stage down to the sidewalk. The driver of the motorcycle,
wearing a black helmet and a black leather jacket with England
stitched on the back, steered the large bike onto the ramp.
The driver gunned it hard up the ramp causing the front wheel
to lift off the ground. The crowd went wild at the sight of the
wheelie.
Energized by the crowd, the driver goosed the throttle as
the bike drove onto the stage. The band had retreated to the
relative safety of the far end of the stage. The driver hit the
brake hard causing the rear wheel to slide toward the back of
the stage leaving the driver facing the crowd. There was quiet
as the crowd took in this daredevil motorcyclist. The driver
suddenly gunned the motor causing more than a few in the
crowd to gasp or jump.
Sensing the power that he held over the thousands in the crowd,
the driver quickly cut the engine and stood up. No one said a
word. The driver reached up and started to lift off his helmet.
Cade felt himself drawn into the moment, the sheer spectacle
of it. The helmet came off and there was a collective gasp of
excitement. Standing there smiling on this stage in Oakdale,
Minnesota was David Beckham.
The crowd went wild.
_________________________________________________________
Martin stepped out over the laser device, careful not to block
the beam. Moving down the corridor, he paused at the stairwell

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
to listen for a long moment. It was quiet. He moved down to the
steel property room door. Besides the steel of the door itself,
there was another keycard reader and a thumbprint scanner.
Obviously, he would have little difficulty with the keycard
reader. He could breach the thumbprint scanner as well—
given enough time. But there was an easier way.
But first, Martin headed for the stairs. He went to the top and
again used his mirror device. It was clear. He really didn’t
think anyone was here; it didn’t feel occupied. But good habits
stay with you. He called out using his best American accent,
“Hey Bob, I found the short in the air conditioner unit.”
There was only the hum of the ventilation system. He was alone
and could get away with making a bit of noise.
Back at the property room door, Martin pulled out his power
saw. He plugged it into the nearby outlet and pulled on the
safety goggles and work gloves that had come from his
shopping trip on Wednesday. He had tested the saw blade and
now double-checked that it was attached securely. This blade
was the key to his entry. The diamond-studded blade could cut
through nearly anything.
Martin looked at the imposing door, held up the saw, firing it
up to full speed and took two steps to his right.
Rather than tackle the heavily fortified steel door, it would be
immensely easier to just go through the wall. Martin ran the
saw vertically along the side of the door. He then ran the saw
across and back down creating his own doorway. The wall was
constructed of cement blocks and the process was slow, messy
and loud, but it was working. Martin was cutting his way into
the property room.

1 A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter twenty-five
The crowd was still cheering as David Beckham swung his leg
around and stepped off the cycle. He dropped his helmet and
ambled to the front of the stage. The intensity was picking up
as the crowd noise grew. Arriving at the edge of the stage,
Beckham paused, gave his trademark smile, and turned to face
the back of the stage. He was wearing the waist length leather
jacket, jeans and black boots. He made a show of slowly pulling
the zipper down on the leather jacket. The crowd noise had
become louder and distinctly feminine as the zipper reached
the bottom.
Glancing over his shoulder, Beckham reached up and pulled
the jacket down his shoulders exposing the Chelsea America
jersey he was wearing. His nickname, BECKS, was lettered
across the back. The crowd loved it.
The nearby dogs had to be barking from the girl’s high-pitched
screaming, Cade thought. This must have been what it was like
to be at a Beatles concert.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
Chips of cement were pounding into Martin’s safety goggles,
obscuring his vision. There were people that did this sort of
work for a living. Unbelievable. He enjoyed the physical aspect
of the work, but the noise and the sheer grime of it, he could
live without. Not that they ran in the same circles, but if Martin
ever met this sort of tradesman, he would buy the man a pint
right there on the spot.
Using a crisscross pattern, Martin cut down several inches
into the block. Setting down the saw, he picked up a sledge
hammer chisel and knocked out the diamond shaped pieces of
concrete. Maybe not with the finesse of an Italian sculptor such
as Alessandro Vittoria, but it was effective. One more round
with the saw and chisel, and he should have an opening large
enough.
Five minutes later, Martin had the doorway open. He took a
few extra minutes to clean up the edges, not wanting to catch
his clothing or the money bags on his way out. When it was to
his satisfaction, he carefully leaned his head into the property
room to study the surroundings.
Directly over the new doorway, a camera was mounted to
record the comings and goings in the property room. As
Martin preferred not to have his visit recorded, he had a simple
solution prepared. The can of Silly String covered the lens in a
matter of seconds. Effective and bio-degradable as well.
The property room was a fairly large room, not unlike the size
of Martin’s last hotel room. Shelves lined the sides of the room
with a cage-like structure along the far wall. This apparently
was where the seized weapons were held. From the look of
things, criminals must be well armed on the highways. While
not willing to carry a pistol himself, Martin had an appreciation
for a finely crafted weapon. Of course, there were the blunt
instruments of the criminal trade such as Smith and Wesson
revolvers, pump action shotguns and ugly looking assault
rifles, however Martin also saw a Beretta, a Walther PPK and

1 0 A l l a n E v a n s
the subtle elegance of the Israeli Bul Cherokee pistol. Oddly
enough, there was even the Slovakian K-100 Grand Power
pistol hanging in a place of honor on the wall. This had to be
a rare weapon for the Minnesota law enforcement community
to come across. For better or worse, the world was becoming
smaller as everyone was thinking more globally.
The property room’s focal point for Martin, of course, was
the safe. Standing just short of two meters, the steel gray
safe dominated the center of the room. It was built into a
pedestal of concrete and had large reinforced hinges. It was a
Centurion, a safe with a solid reputation that wasn’t so much for
its sophistication, as it was for being impenetrable. And if you
paid big money for a safe, that was probably a good thing.
Unless you are the unlucky person tasked with breaking into
the Centurion. Then, not so good.
_________________________________________________________
Cade watched as Beckham moved to the microphone. “I know
it’s not really me you came to see.” Lots of vocal protest from
the audience.
“One man had the vision. One man had the courage. Only one
man had the balls to take a British football club and turn it into
an American soccer team.
Ladies and Gentlemen: that man is Andrew Bishop.”
A large man stepped out pumping a single fist in the air.
Andrew Bishop was large, but not in an overweight way. He
was built like a fighter, large shoulders and hands, an intense
look to his face.
Bishop moved to the microphone stand. He held onto the
microphone with both hands and looked out into the audience.
The capacity crowd was cheering and clapping. Bishop seemed

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 1
to be just savoring the moment. After a long pause, he smiled.
“Some people just dream,” he said, his British accent
noticeable. “And there are those of us that will do whatever
it takes to make that dream a reality. I want to thank you for
standing up and supporting my dream of bringing world-class
football—soccer—to Minnesota. Your team, Chelsea America,
is the first step of bringing together the international soccer
community. Here in Minnesota, you will have the chance to
see international stars from England’s Premier League playing
against the stars of the Major League Soccer every week.”
Bishop waved over Beckham who had stepped back
relinquishing the spotlight to Bishop. He put his arm around
Beckham. “David Beckham is an international star and he has
brought considerable publicity to MLS soccer. The league has
assured me that our first home match will be against David
Beckham and the L.A. Galaxy. It will be an honor to have my
team match up against your L.A. Galaxy team in May.”
The crowd was cheering. “What do you think about that?” he
asked the crowd.
The crowd was going wild. Bishop waved them down after a
few moments.
“There are some lads I would like you to meet. Boys …” Bishop
waved over to the side of the stage. A group of young men,
around twenty total, all wearing Chelsea America uniforms
made their way to the front of the stage.
Bishop again: “Minnesota, this is your team. This is Chelsea
America.”
Cade was caught up in the excitement. He was on his feet
cheering with the rest of the crowd. Scanning the players, he
picked out his friend Peter in the group. Peter had said there
was a group of them posing as players. Looking around, many
of the players could pass for models he noticed. It should make

1 2 A l l a n E v a n s
it easier to market the team he thought.
Bishop went to the microphone again. “The lads would love to
meet you and sign autographs. They will be at the tables next
to the merchandise tent. We have posters, jerseys, shirts and
hats for sale. There are also refreshments available. So pick up
a hot dog and a fizzy drink and come meet the team.”
Cade stopped. He didn’t move. Time seemed to swirl around
him as his mind raced. That voice. That accent. That voice
saying those words. “Fizzy drink.” Son of a bitch.

Chapter twenty-six
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 3
Martin had two very different strategies that should gain him
access to the currency. ‘Should,’ only due to the fact that Martin
had actually never encountered a Centurion before. However,
the principles that worked on other makes of safes, should
work here as well.
His primary strategy entailed using an autodialing machine to
open the safe. Unlike the mythical Hollywood machines that
can open a combination in seconds, the autodialer must cycle
through thousands of combinations to open the safe. Martin
had read about two students from the Massachusetts Institute
of Technology, Kyle Vogt and Grant Jordan, who had built an
autodialer and found an unknown combination in 21,000 tries.
Fortunately for Martin, there also exists a device called a soft
drill, that is like an autodialer except it listens to the lock and
with the aid of a computer, makes logical decisions like a human
manipulator might do. It has a success rate of 95 percent. It still
took a bit of time, but Martin was thankful he had packed his
soft drill autodialer.

1 A l l a n E v a n s
Martin’s backup plan, should the autodialer didn’t get the job
done, was more of a brute force approach, but it would work.
It would be a cold day before Martin would let a safe—even a
Centurion—get the best of him.
The liquid Nitrogen was stored in a vacuum flask. Despite its
reputation, liquid nitrogen’s efficiency as a coolant is reduced
by the fact that it boils immediately on contact with a warmer
object—the safe in this case, enveloping it in insulating nitrogen
gas. This effect is known as the Leidenfrost effect and applies
to any liquid in contact with an object significantly hotter than
its boiling point. Martin had a tray that he would place on the
top of the safe. The trick that made this approach effective was
that he used a covered tray to contain the nitrogen. As liquid
nitrogen evaporates, it will reduce the oxygen concentration
in the air and possibly act as an asphyxiant, especially in
confined spaces—like a property room.
The tray keeps the nitrogen in contact with the surface of the
safe, allowing the nitrogen to do its work and freeze the metal.
After several minutes Martin would be able to use his sledge
hammer and break through the now brittle metal on the top of
the safe. Pretty cool.
The actual soft drill autodialer was an unassuming small black
box with a large suction cup mounted to the rear side of the
unit. It had two smaller detached suction cups that were the
microphones. These sensitive microphones could pick up the
softest clicks of the inner workings of the locking mechanism.
Both microphones relayed the sounds back into the box, which
worked in conjunction with the software program on Martin’s
laptop. The two were connected by USB cable and the computer
fed its educated guesses back to the dialer—an adjustable
centrifuge powered by a small motor—which would spin the
safe’s dial again and again. All in all, a very useful device for
someone in Martin’s profession.
Careful to place the autodialer in precisely the proper

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
position, Martin adjusted the spinner to fit the combination
dial. It had to be centered perfectly as to avoid spinning the
dial off center, which would cause added noise and slow the
process considerably. Confident that he had it positioned
correctly, Martin connected the cable to his laptop. He started
his cracking program; the software would guide him on where
he should place the suction cup microphones.
The dial started to spin, the quiet whine of the motor the only
sound in the room. He placed the first microphone near the
dial, and then slid it up and to the left. The digital bar graph
went higher. He moved it a bit further to the left. The graph
level creeped up a bit more. Martin slid it again, but this time
the bar went down. After several more movements, he had
locked in the optimal location for this first microphone.
The second microphone started just below the dial. Martin
nudged it to the right. And then a bit more to the right, with a
little more height this time. The graph went up a fair amount. He
nudged it up a little more. The bar went up again. The trouble
he was running into though, was the handle was in the way. It
looked a little askew though.
Martin had an odd premonition. Suppose . . .
He grasped the handle and lifted it. There was a definite click
as the handle went parallel to the floor.
Seriously? Martin had spent not just a little time on his
preparation to open this safe. And it was unlocked? It just goes
to show that you can’t plan for every eventuality. What if the
currency had been moved, or even worse had been deposited
into a bank? That was the standard procedure in most seizures
of currency. This hadn’t been a standard case, so the money
should still be here. Martin was truly afraid to open the safe.
But he had to know.

1 A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter twenty-seven
The safe was absolutely stuffed with sealed plastic bags of
Euro notes.
Martin felt like doing a little victory dance. Instead, he pulled
out several folded canvas duffels from his duffel bag. He
carefully packed the plastic bags into the duffels. When the
first one was full, he clipped the shoulder strap into place and
slid the large duffel over by the door. Bag by bag, he steadily
emptied the Centurion safe. Before long, a second duffel was
slid over to join the first.
It took a third duffel bag, one that he packed completely full, to
empty the safe. Martin had once read about a thief in Belgium
that had left an IOU note after emptying the contents of a bank
vault. It never pays to get too cute however, when you are
trying not to leave any clues behind. Martin carefully closed
the door and removed his autodialer. He debated whether to
lock it or leave it as he found it. Because it was so obvious that
he had broke in—after all, he had cut through the wall—he just
left it as he had found it.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
With his tools stowed in his equipment bag, Martin picked up
a money duffel bag and pushed it through the opening into
the hallway. After the third bag was pushed through, Martin
stepped out of the property room. The hard part was over.
Martin froze—there were voices coming from up the stairs.
_________________________________________________________
Son of a bitch. Cade was angry. Andrew Bishop had dangled
his dream of English soccer coming to Minnesota and Cade
had bit. How ironic of all the cops in this Minnesota, that Cade
would be the one to put the owner away, no doubt causing the
collapse of the new team. Shit.
On the other hand, Bishop has it coming. He was a first rate scum
bag who had caused a lot of pain and death in the Twin Cities.
Cade smiled; he would enjoy taking this asshole down.
_________________________________________________________
Martin moved against the wall. He slid over to the edge by the
stairwell. There were voices drifting down.
The worst time to be discovered is on your way out after
breaking in. There really isn’t a way to talk your way out of that
situation. This could get interesting.
The voices—there were two of them—were having a
conversation. At least that meant they weren’t here for him. As
long as they didn’t have a reason to come downstairs, he should
be okay. Listening, Martin could pick up what was being said.
“…just fill in your information and sign at the bottom. This
protects the Patrol from liability should we happen to run into a
concrete wall at 130 miles per hour during a high speed chase
and you had forgotten to wear your seatbelt.” Martin heard
laughter.

1 A l l a n E v a n s
“Is this your first ride along?”
“It is. It should be interesting to see what goes on…” They were
moving and Martin was losing some of the conversation.
“We will be spending most of our time this afternoon supporting
the soccer festival.” Martin thought that sounded like a great
idea.
“Do I get a gun too?” He wished he had caught the trooper’s
response, however the gun question was the last of the
conversation that Martin heard. It was quiet and deathly still
now.
Martin waited for a full five minutes to make sure they had
left.
Grabbing two of the money-stuffed duffel bags, Martin headed
for the storage room. One by one, he tossed them into the
room, careful not to interfere with the laser leveler. He made a
trip back for the last money duffel and his tool duffel bag. After
they were both tossed into the storage room, he stepped in as
well.
Martin leaned out to retrieve the laser leveler. The trick was
to grab it in one quick motion and get out of sight. No point in
giving them any more photographic evidence to corroborate
the video they had of Martin from his earlier reconnaissance.
No problem, he had it and stowed it in his gear bag.
Starting with his gear duffel bag, Martin climbed up the shelves
in the storage room. At the top, he heaved the bag up into the
ceiling. Martin joined the bag in the ceiling, climbed over it,
stepped onto the ladder and pulled the bag down with him as
he descended into Ricardo’s office. It felt like hours since he’d
been here in the human resources director’s office. Checking
his watch, it had been only twenty minutes. Of course, when
you were breaking into a secure law enforcement facility,
twenty minutes was an eternity to be inside. He set the bag

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
down by the door and went back up the ladder.
He repeated this up and down journey three more times. On
his way down for the last time, Martin replaced the ceiling
tiles. The bags were then shifted out into the hall, and leaving
the office he touched two fingers to the striking woman’s lips in
the picture frame. “Thanks for watching over me,” he said.
As Martin made the trips to the employee entrance carrying
the large bags, he thought that there are times it would be nice
to have a partner. Not only someone to help carry the load, but
someone he could bounce ideas around with as he devised
the plan and then later to celebrate with when the job was
complete.
The problem with having a partner was that most people didn’t
embrace risk the way he did. Having someone attempt to
simplify the plan, taking out the most audacious components
would be just wrong. The thrill would be gone. Might as well
be a car salesman then. Martin wanted to feel alive, feel the
adrenaline coursing through his veins. If you’re going to be
alive, then you better live big. Living, surviving and prospering
using his nerve, his wits and his sheer bravado made life fun.
Settling for anything less would be just like giving up.
Martin had no idea where he got his own passion for living
large. He loved and respected his father, but this was the man
who lived each day exactly the same.
His father had been a good man, working at the machine shop
for thirty years. Every day was the same. Same shit, different
day he would say. There were only a few things that would get
his passion up, and those seemed to revolve around football.
If England was playing well, life was good. If his local team,
Arsenal, was playing well, then there was a reason to celebrate
with the boys at the pub. When Dennis Bergkamp notched
another goal, he would parade around the house singing the
team song, You are my Arsenal.

1 0 A l l a n E v a n s
He was a good father and supported Martin as he grew up
playing football. Martin could count on him being at each
game, cheering the loudest of the fathers. He would never
miss a game. There were stretches over the years where the
hooting and hollering embarrassed Martin, but he grew to
respect his father’s passion. His father would talk about the
great footballers that played the game. The players who were
not afraid to take on other players in one on one competition.
The players that dazzled with their flair and imagination. The
players that didn’t limit themselves by their fear of failure.
These were the players that intrigued Martin the most. These
were the players that had absolutely no fear of failure and
refused to settle for being any less than God intended us all to
be. We were meant for greatness, so why should we not let our
light burn brightly?
Maybe he did know where he acquired his passion from, after
all.
The laptop and card were again used to trigger the door lock
to exit the department of transportation building. It took just a
moment to get the bags stowed in the back of the Land Rover.
After that, Martin was off and moving through the deserted lot.
He turned left onto Hadley, and took another left onto Highway
5. Within a half minute, he was at the interstate. From here,
Martin could go anywhere.

Chapter twenty-eight
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 1
Cade watched Bishop carefully over the course of the afternoon.
Bishop stayed with the players, obviously enjoying his time in
the spotlight. He signed autographs, shared stories with the
players and chatted with the waiting fans in the long line to
meet the players. The press and several television stations
interviewed Bishop, Cade watching as the big man flirted with
the reporter from the Fox affiliate.
After David Beckham and the players left, things wound down
fairly quickly. Bishop checked in with several of his people at
the season ticket order tables and the merchandise tents. He
looked like a man on top of the world. Not for long.
Cade watched as Bishop met up with two men at the parking
lot. The men were waiting at a black SUV; however it was a
Denali this time around. Bishop tossed in his brief case and
climbed into the rear. The men looked around, a wariness to
their eyes that was almost animal. When they glanced in his
direction, Cade waved at a couple of women who were talking
at the edge of the lot and put his arm around one of them as he
joined them. The second woman, a college age woman with a

1 2 A l l a n E v a n s
jean jacket and a ponytail just stared at him.
“Please work with me here,” Cade said quietly, “I’m an
undercover investigator and I need it to look like we’re old
friends.”
Cade smiled at the ponytailed woman. “So,” he said with a
dramatic pause, “how are you?”
Ponytail hesitated for the briefest of moments and then threw
her arms around Cade. “Jeff, why haven’t you called?” she
asked with the over-the-top air of a stage actor.
She leaned in and kissed Cade full on the lips. “Honey, it’s
been way too long.”
Ponytail did have soft lips, but Cade pulled himself back. He
glanced over towards the Denali. It was backing up.
“Always good to see you, let’s do breakfast again real soon,”
he said to ponytail with a smile. Cade left her standing there,
with a slightly dazed look, no doubt wondering what had just
happened. He sprinted off for his car. Can’t lose Bishop now
that he was finally on the trail.
Cade had left his car in the front of the lot. Most of the parking
lot had emptied, leaving ample space for Cade to back out at
speed and turn onto Hadley. The black Denali was roughly two
full blocks farther, but it stood out from the sedans around it,
leaving Cade little doubt that he could stay with it.
The SUV took him onto 694 briefly and then onto westbound
Interstate 94. Cade hung back, falling in behind a red Accord in
the right lane. The Denali was in the middle lane a good eighth
of a mile ahead. Cade would be inconspicuous keeping behind
the Honda. It worked for a few minutes. The problem was the
driver of the Honda was drifting over the line occasionally and
was being generally erratic with its speed. It looked like the
driver was clearly over the legal limit. Damn, there’s never a
cop around when you need one.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 3
Cade laughed. There are times that you get so caught up in
what you are doing and forget that you are actually a cop. This
was not the time to get distracted from Bishop. However, he
absolutely couldn’t sit behind this driver. It was driving him
nuts. He pulled out into the middle lane and glanced towards
the Honda. Damn, it was a high school age girl texting on her
phone. Talk about driving while being impaired. He eased his
Impala over as close as he dared, held up his badge case and
held down the horn.
Her face was a flash of surprise. It looked like she dropped
the phone and hit the brake at the same moment. The Honda
slowed and was well behind Cade in seconds. Cade could
almost guarantee that she wouldn’t be driving while texting
any time soon.
Interstate 94 dipped down a steep hill as it approached St.
Paul. The city was laid out in postcard-like panoramic view.
The Cathedral was on the left towering over the city, while the
state capital overlooked from the right. Cade could see the
black Denali at the bottom of the hill. He continued to follow
it as it turned onto Highway 280. Cade closed up much of the
distance, not wanting to get separated. Bishop’s vehicle took
the University exit and was waiting at the stoplight in the left
turn lane.
Bishop’s vehicle came to a stop in an underground parking
lot for a large office building. It was deserted—as one might
expect late on a Saturday afternoon. Glancing around, Bishop
and the two men exited the vehicle and took the elevator up to
their floor.
Cade left his car on University Avenue. He recognized the
office building, having been inside for several appointments
in the past. It was a newer building, with offices on the upper
three floors and restaurants and shops on the ground floor.
There were elevator banks located on both the north and south
sides of the building. It was an upscale office building located

1 A l l a n E v a n s
directly between the cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul.
Cade ducked into the ramp. It was quiet. There was none of
the weekday hustle and bustle to break the silence. Staying
close to the inside wall, Cade made his way though the mostly
deserted parking structure. There were a few older model
vehicles located just inside the entrance. Judging by their wellworn
condition, they most likely belonged to the staff of the
restaurant that was located just above the entrance. Moving
further into the structure, there were a few scattered vehicles,
but no Denali.
Because of the quiet—the street sounds didn’t carry this far
in, due to the concrete barriers that segmented one section
from the next—Cade heard the Denali before he saw it. The
little pings of the cooling engine alerted Cade of its presence.
He poked his head around the wall and saw the Denali by
itself, sitting by an elevator bank. Listening, but not hearing
any activity, Cade stepped around the barrier. There was no
one there. He moved up to look in the SUV’s window, but the
vehicle was clean and empty. The engine pings still the only
sound in the empty parking structure.
Cade moved over to the entrance of the elevator bank, a sign
marking this elevator as private. This elevator would surely
take him directly to Bishop, but Cade was not yet ready to be
that direct.
Knowing that Bishop was behind the money laundering was
one thing, convincing a judge to issue a warrant based on
his certainty and little evidence, was something completely
different. Usually this would be the time Cade would request a
subpoena for a wiretap. Gather more evidence, tie the pieces
together and then move against the principles. It would help
to get up to Bishop’s floor and have a look around. The elevator
was stopped on the tenth floor. As he was looking at the floor
indicator light, it blinked out. Then the light for the ninth floor
went on.

Shit.
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
He looked around, the only place with any cover was the
Denali, but clearly that wouldn’t be the smart option. Looking
over his shoulder, Cade saw the floor indicator was now on the
third floor. Cade sprinted for the concrete barrier.
The elevator door was just opening as Cade dove behind the
barrier. He rolled trying to cushion the fall. With his elbow
stinging, Cade crept back to the barrier and ventured a quick
look towards the SUV. It wasn’t Bishop. A different man, tall
and lanky, was propelling a dark haired woman towards the
vehicle. Susanna Song yanked her arm free and gave the man
a piercing look. If looks could only kill.
The lanky man’s other hand was holding a vicious looking
automatic weapon. Looking at the unique barrel and stock,
Cade recognized it as an MP9, the same efficient killing tool
the dead shooters had used at the great Highway 94 shootout.
The man opened the passenger door and pushed Susanna
inside.
Cade turned and sprinted. He had to get out of the parking
ramp and to his car before the Denali drove away. With the
close proximity of two major highways, they would be gone if
he couldn’t get to his car and follow them. Cade could hear the
Denali start and he pushed himself harder. Daylight was about
twenty yards straight ahead. As he reached the entrance, Cade
grabbed the edge, spinning himself around to the outside
edge, flattening against the outer wall. The Denali roared by
as it exited the ramp.
Turning right, the black truck roared down University Avenue,
speeding past the Highway 280 exit. Cade ran to his vehicle
and pulled a quick u-turn, cutting off a minivan, his spinning
tires leaving behind twin black streaks of rubber. The chase
was on.
_________________________________________________________

1 A l l a n E v a n s
Susanna Song stopped halfway between the elevator and the
black SUV and looked at her captor. “Listen Cullen, we both
know you have a dirty job to do.”
Cullen Wentworth stopped by the passenger door to the
Denali. His hesitation negated the words that followed. “My
job, my only job, is to drop you off. It’s all done, so there’s no
need to keep you any further. You can go back to your prissy
little life and forget this ever happened.”
He opened the passenger door and said, “Get in.”
The automatic weapon slung over his left shoulder forced her
cooperation. She climbed in.
“Maybe,” Susanna said when Wentworth climbed in, “this
doesn’t have to happen right away. Maybe not at all. I see how
you look at me.” She held his eyes for a long moment.
Wentworth looked away, starting the truck. He put it in gear
and pulled out of the parking space. They drove in silence as
they headed for the daylight.
Maybe it was being out in the sunlight again after several
days, but it brought out the desperation in Susanna. She could
never just give up and die. It just wasn’t in her. She turned to
face Wentworth. “Tell me what you’re thinking. A decision this
important shouldn’t be made lightly. Cold blooded murder in
the U.S. is taken seriously. I have to tell you that even though
we don’t have the death penalty here in this state, our prisons
are not a pleasant place.”
She plowed on. “I’ve been to our maximum security prison at
Oak Park Heights. It’s built right into the ground. The entire
prison population lives under the fucking ground. I know you
don’t get much sunshine back in merry old England, but you
will never see the sun again. And then you have to think about
all the friends you will make. Oak Park Heights houses the
worst of the worst. Your neighbor two doors down could be

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
the man who slaughtered his family while they slept and then
sat down to a breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon. The cell
between the two of you will hold the gang banger, the one
who shot the girls at the schoolyard just because they stopped
their game of jump rope and said hi to him. He felt they were
mocking him for dropping out of school in sixth grade. Totally
illiterate and egocentric, he never shuts up.”
“On the other side of your cell is the quiet man that moved
in down the street at the corner. He was always pleasant to
everyone in the neighborhood. Well liked, neighbors felt
sorry for the widower living alone. They made every effort
to include him in gatherings. That was until some of the pets
started disappearing. People started asking questions about
the new guy. When the toddler disappeared three doors down,
you don’t want to know what the police found in his house, in
his kitchen or in his stomach.”
“That brings us to your cellmate. A real sexual predator. He’s
had forced sexual relations with school girls, with a thirtysomething
soccer mom while her children were in the room.
He’s taken elderly women that were too weak to resist. He’s
kidnapped and abused teenage boys. He’s been put into
solitary a dozen different times for vicious sexual attacks on
fellow prison inmates. And cellmates. Not very discriminating
this new cellmate of yours. Or should I say, bunkmate?”
Susanna paused, “Just because someone else gives you orders,
telling you what to do, does not mean you have to blindly
follow them. Bishop will not realize the same consequences
that you will. He won’t end up in the same place as you, and he
definitely won’t make the same friends as you. Life is too short
to not take the chance to make your life better. I’ve heard the
definition of hell is having to repeat the same nasty, brutish
obscene events over and over again. Can you imagine waking
up each morning knowing that today will bring you more of
the same hell that you barely endured the day before? The

1 A l l a n E v a n s
same psychological abuse, the same horrible sounds, the
same smell that made you retch, the same physical abuse that
made you want to hang yourself by your belt until your breath
stopped, your swollen tongue hanging out, your dead body
swinging from the ceiling of your cramped cell. If only they
had let you keep your belt …”
Wentworth suddenly swerved the large SUV into a warehouse
parking lot, headed for the rear of the dilapidated facility.
“Enough,” he croaked, his voice thick with emotion.

Chapter twenty-nine
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
Cade followed the black SUV as it made its way down University
Avenue. The area was heavily industrial, with more than its
share of run-down warehouses and start-up business that
didn’t care about curb appeal and needed the cheap rent. The
driver was clearly not in much of a hurry, and in fact, appeared
to be somewhat distracted. There were moments where the car
drifted a bit over the outside lane line or moved up, tailgating
the vehicle ahead and then braked too hard to back off. There
was something going on the Denali. Hopefully, Susanna was
okay.
This was the time to call in local backup to stop the Denali and
rescue Susanna Song. Cade reached for his cell phone. Not
good, the pocket was empty. He flashed back; chances are it
was laying on the ground back in the parking ramp, behind
the barrier where he had rolled on the ground. Damn, he’d
made mistakes before—though none of them had been fatal.
He prayed this one wouldn’t be either.
Cade could feel the momentum building, knowing this case
would be over in a matter of hours. He would have to be careful,

1 0 A l l a n E v a n s
the other players would be feeling the same momentum.
And moments like this can bring desperate actions. The SUV
carrying the kidnapped Susanna Song suddenly swerved
off University Avenue, heading for the rear of a sprawling
warehouse complex.
_________________________________________________________
Susanna held on to the dashboard as the truck swerved into
the parking lot of a large rundown warehouse. She hoped she
hadn’t pushed Wentworth too hard, forcing him to deal with
her. Desperate people did desperate things. She really hadn’t
a choice. She firmly believed there wasn’t a remote possibility
they were going to proceed as they had promised. Why would
they release her? They had to know she would go directly to
the authorities. She couldn’t keep quiet. After all, Susanna was
a reporter with an amazing story to tell. She had spent five
days with them, learning their faces, their names, and their
backgrounds. She had a pretty good idea of the reasons behind
the crimes they had committed. Desperate deeds performed
by desperate men.
Cullen Wentworth sped for the rear of the dilapidated building.
The structure had the look of a ghost town. Weeds were coming
up through cracks in the pavement, the few dirty windows were
either cracked, covered with cardboard or both. The loading
dock had several pallets and cardboard boxes laying by the
side of the overhead door. It looked like the place hadn’t been
used in years. The back of the lot had a fence, covered in vines
and obscured by scrub bush, with railroad tracks just beyond
the perimeter.
Wentworth skidded to a stop at the edge of the fence. “Get
out,” he growled. “Now.”
Susanna didn’t hesitate. Stepping down from the vehicle, she
thought this could end one of three ways; he could let her

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 1
go. He could rape her and then kill her. Or Wentworth could
just shoot her and leave her body in this deserted lot, to be
found and fed on by hungry crows and small animals. With the
imminent arrival of the first snowfall, it would be many months
before her body would be found. Funny how fast the mind
works under stress.
She figured she had a roughly thirty-three percent chance
of surviving this, but the odds were clearly not in her favor.
Wentworth came around the front of the vehicle, the brutal
automatic weapon still in his hands. Her only thought was the
odds have slipped to around ten percent.
They were both startled by the wrenching up of the warehouse’s
overhead door. There were three men standing in the doorway.
They had long hair and flannel shirts. One had an electric
guitar slung over his shoulder and a cigarette hanging from
his mouth; the other two held beers. Cullen Wentworth spun
towards them, the MP9 tracking towards them.
“Whoa,” the guitar man said, his hands coming up in a
placating gesture.
At just that moment, Wentworth was hit hard from behind with a
full body tackle. Cade’s left hand went for the gun, knocking it
loose. It was the same move the Vikings cornerback had used
against the Bears last weekend. The trick was to hit him hard,
and get your hand in to knock the football loose. Both men hit
the ground hard and rolled, continuing their struggle.
Cade had seen the Denali swerve into the parking lot and head
for the rear of the facility. Not wanting to drive head on into
a storm of bullets from a machine gun, Cade had ditched his
vehicle at the entrance. He had sprinted for the wall, pausing
to glance around the corner to assess the situation. The Denali
had stopped at the far end of the parking lot near the fence.
The tall man was already out moving around the front of the
vehicle, the distinctive automatic weapon in his hands.

1 2 A l l a n E v a n s
Because Wentworth had his back to Cade’s position, Cade took
the opportunity to break from the corner headed for the SUV.
There wouldn’t be any cover should the tall man turn around.
There wasn’t any other options; Cade didn’t feel he could risk
a shot from this range.
He heard the door being raised up on the loading dock. The tall
man’s attention shifted from Susanna to the three men standing
in the doors opening. Cade picked up his pace, now was not
the time for subtlety. He watched the gun move from Susanna,
tracking towards the men. He was all-out sprinting now. One
of the men said something, but it was beyond Cade’s focus and
he didn’t catch it. All of his concentration was solely on the tall
man with the automatic weapon. Just a few yards now. Cade
dove at the man.
The tall man was a fighter. Rather than go for his weapon that
had slid across the pavement, he started pummeling Cade
with a flurry of punches. Cade rolled hard to his left trying to
put some space between the two of them. None of the punches
had caused any real damage, as the man had zero leverage
punching from his prone position on the ground. The man
growled, gathered his legs underneath himself and launched
towards Cade. This guy is really pissing me off, Cade thought
as he tried to twist around on the pavement. Cade swung his
leg up like he was taking a shot on goal. Connecting hard with
the man’s face, he felt the nose go as the man’s momentum was
used against him. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, clearly
down for the count.
“You all right?” Cade called over to a shaken Susanna Song.
She nodded.
“Cade Dawkins, State Patrol Investigator,” he introduced
himself. “I believe we’ve spoken.”
He struggled to his feet, wiping a smear of blood from his face.
Kneeling down by the fallen man, he placed him in restraints.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1 3
“Your timing is impeccable,” Song said, looking surprisingly
cool and collected.
Cade shot her a grin. “Hey, half of life is just showing up. Glad
I could help.”
Cade bent over and scooped up the MP9, examining it briefly,
before turning his attention to the men on the loading dock.
They looked a bit shaken.
The guitar man protested, “Hey, we’ve got no beef with you
guys. Didn’t see a thing.”
Cade shook his head and held up his ID. “I’m a cop. Say, any of
you guys have a cell phone I could borrow for a minute?” All
three held out cell phones.
Within a few moments, Cade was connected with the 911
dispatcher. St. Paul dispatched several squads to his location.
Glancing in Susanna’s direction, he saw her talking animatedly
to the men. They were sitting on the end of the dock, thoroughly
engrossed with her retelling of her ordeal. She had always
been good at telling a story.
Cade was transferred to Lt. Commander Larry Johnson of St.
Paul’s SWAT team. Cade quickly outlined the situation, stressing
the need for urgency as well as caution. They agreed to meet
at Cade’s location to stage the assault on Bishop’s office.
Cade glanced back at Susanna, relief that she had survived
her ordeal. She was talking on a cell phone, most likely
borrowed from the loading dock men. Her family would be
relieved to hear from her after the five long days of no word
at all. He imagined what the conversation would be like, with
the shock and raw emotion of hearing her voice suddenly over
the phone. As Susanna handed back the phone, Cade walked
over to her side. He gave her the man hug—one arm over the
shoulder and a little squeeze.
“How are you doing?” he asked.

1 A l l a n E v a n s
Susanna turned towards him. Her green eyes looking into him.
“I owe you my life. The real story here is your heroics. People
should know that there are cops like you in the law enforcement
community. Cops that don’t give up, cops that will risk their
lives for a complete stranger. I think in these uncertain days,
these troubled times, this would be very welcome news.”
She reached out and held his hand. Somewhere in the back of
his mind, a flag was raised. His eyes were held by the intensity
of her green eyes and the flag was forgotten.
The St. Paul squads arrived, followed by a State Patrol unit.
Cade awkwardly separated himself from Susanna and her
hand. The officers converged on the fallen man in restraints.
The older of the four St. Paul officers knelt by his side, placing
two fingers on the side of his neck.
“He’s alive, but out cold.” Looking at the blood on the man’s
face and puddle of blood that he was laying in, he looked up
at Cade.
“Where’s the 2 x 4 you hit him with? His nose looks like its
been pulverized.”
Cade shook his head. “Not a 2 x 4, just my foot. The idiot dove
head first right into my foot. Not too bright if you ask me.”
The St. Paul officer nodded and rolled the handcuffed man onto
his side. He told his partner to call for a paramedic. The other
officers started to collect statements from Susanna and the
men on the loading dock. A siren started off in the distance,
drawing closer. An emergency vehicle came around the
building— followed closely by a television news truck. The
truck was from Susanna Song’s television station. Cade turned
on her.
“That was who you called?” The surprise and disgust dripping
from his voice.
Again she held his eyes. “This story is too big to hold onto. Our

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
community needs some positive news. And a story like this,
well, it can make a real impact on a reporter’s career.”
Cade was shaking his head. His anger was threatening to boil
over.
Susanna turned on him. “I do what I believe is the right thing.
Not everyone looks at life through your lens. You can’t judge
each individual by your frame of reference. People have
different priorities and we each do things for different reasons.
Do you think all of your co-workers,” she said pointing to the
other officers, “have the same agenda as you?”
Cade folded his arms across his chest. “My lens, my frame of
reference is all I have to work with. And yes, I believe, I have to
believe, we are all working towards the greater good.”
A uniformed man stepped to the pair. Cade turned from
Susanna. The officer stuck out his hand. “Commander Larry
Johnson.” He nodded toward the new truck. “It looks like we
are going to have move fast. Television news teams are not
known for keeping secrets.”
Cade filled Johnson in on the details, with Susanna describing
the layout and the men involved. Johnson looked at the news
truck and back to Susanna. “Nothing personal, but this situation
concerns me. I don’t want my men being unnecessarily placed
at risk by the story getting out and tipping off Bishop.”
“Hold on,” said Cade, holding up his hand. He moved next to
Susanna and put his arm around her.
“Okay, lets play nice. I’m willing to include you and a
cameraman.”
“Photojournalist,” she interrupted.
“Okay, you and a photojournalist will follow the SWAT team
onto Bishop’s floor. Your news team will get the exclusive story.
And to make it a bit more enticing,” Cade paused, giving her

1 A l l a n E v a n s
his best smile.
“I’ll agree to an on-camera interview when it’s all said and
done.” Cade held her eyes.
Susanna cocked her head. “Really?”
He nodded. “Really. You just have to agree to hold off on
broadcasting the story until the good guys—that’s us—arrest
the bad guys. On the other hand, you could go live right now
with a report. Never mind that nobody watches television on
Saturday evening. It is the lowest rated night of the week, isn’t
it? Also, I could and would, have one of the other stations join
the SWAT team for the biggest raid to ever happen in our fair
state. And come to think of it, my mom would love to get a copy
of the St. Paul Pioneer Press newspaper with my interview and
picture on the front page.”
Susanna folded her arms, “Is that all you’ve got? That’s your
hard sale?”
Cade held his ground. He looked her straight in the eyes.
“Yep.”
If he said any more, he would be handing her the advantage.
She shook her head. “Oh, all right. Deal, but you better be
interesting when I get you on camera.”
Cade laughed, “I’ll try my best. But I have only so much to
work with.”

Chapter thirty
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
The plan was to have Johnson’s entry team take the entire floor
from multiple entrance points. Susanna Song had detailed the
floor layout, giving the most likely location of Bishop and his
two remaining men. Because Bishop would be expecting his
man to return using the elevator, one entry team would use
the elevator. Other teams were coming in from both the south
and north stairwells. Susanna Song and the photojournalist
were standing by in the south stairwell, closest to the living
quarters.
This had better go down sooner than later, Cade thought. Time
is not on our side. If the news got out of her escape, these three
heavily armed men would be extremely dangerous.
Cade resigned himself to being a bystander for the operation.
Being a SWAT guy had never interested him. Cade would
wait out the raid on the ground level of the parking ramp. He
backed his Impala into an open space just inside the entrance,
parking among the restaurant patron’s vehicles. He was on
the opposite end of the building complex from Bishop’s office,
so he couldn’t even see the see the arrest. At least Johnson

1 A l l a n E v a n s
had been nice enough to leave Cade one of the team’s tactical
radios, allowing Cade to monitor the raid.
He turned up the radio’s volume and placed it on his dashboard.
Reclining his seat, Cade closed his eyes and willed himself to
relax. In all likelihood, this case would be over in less than
twenty minutes. It felt amazingly good to have the end in
sight.
Johnson had a man scale down the south side from the roof
to monitor the occupants. His heat imagining camera showed
several bodies in the living quarters. It was a go.
Cade heard the GO command given over the radio. He could
also hear the explosive breaths of the entry team as they ran.
Whispered voices called out “Clear.”
“Clear.”
Then a single gunshot, followed by a succession of louder
gunfire.
“One down.”
“Go, go.”
More gunshots.
“Second one down.”
“Paramedic requested.”
More breathing. “Clear.”
“Clear.”
A long pause. “All clear. Command, be advised we have
located two, repeat, two suspects.”
Cade sat up quickly, suddenly fully alert. Shit. There was
supposed to be three men. Bishop and his two goons.
Cade’s cell phone rang. Bad news traveled fast.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 1
“Cade, its Jodi. There’s been a break in. At headquarters.” Her
voice was hurried, her words staccato.
This was not the bad news he wanted to hear. “Cade, they took
it all. The safe, it’s empty.”
Cade’s head was spinning; he barely registered the flash of
black as it shot by. It took a moment for it sink in. The black
SUV, the driver’s face—it was Andrew Bishop. He had watched
the man come out of the restaurant entrance without really
noticing that it was the man everyone was looking for.
“Jodi, I’m going to have to call you back.” Cade hung up. His
mind still reeling from the one-two punch he had just received,
Cade pulled out after the fleeing SUV. This was getting to be
habit. The question was, where was Bishop going to go? With
his dream having just dissolved around him, and his support
gone—his men were either in the hospital or the morgue—
there were very few options left for Bishop.
Bishop piloted the SUV onto northbound Highway 280, pushing
the accelerator to dangerous speeds. Cade hung back, not
wanting to be spotted by Bishop. The black vehicle was still
easy to track from the increased distance on the flat highway.
Cade sensed that Bishop was just getting clear of the area,
not necessarily moving with a destination in mind. After a few
miles, Bishop backed off his speed, slowing down to around
seventy miles per hour.
The by-the-book approach would be for Cade to call in for
back up, allowing uniformed Highway Patrol officers to
make the arrest. Of course, Cade hadn’t always been known
for his by-the-book approach. He hadn’t been hired for his
blatant disregard of the rules either. He’d been hired for his
effectiveness as an investigator. If that meant playing on both
sides of the line, so be it. The important point—one that he
could always share with Internal Affairs at his hearing—was
that at least he knew where the line was. Not every cop did.

2 0 0 A l l a n E v a n s
If I were Andrew Bishop, Cade thought, I would be getting
back to England as quickly as I could. England was where his
network and support were. He could easily disappear with a
little assistance when he got over there.
On the one hand—and this was a really big hand—it couldn’t
be a coincidence that the money was stolen from the Patrol
headquarters today. In other words, the money wasn’t just
stolen, it had been stolen back.
The timing was interesting for Cade, as it made it impossible
for Bishop to have stolen it himself. After all, he had a great
alibi. Too good really. Cade had actually never came across a
more air-tight alibi in all his years in law enforcement. Was the
soccer rally simply one large diversion? That pointed to a third
party being responsible for the break in.
And that left only one clear course of action for Cade. He had
to stay with Andrew Bishop, because Bishop would lead him
to the money. Losing both Bishop and the money would not be
a good thing. As with most law enforcement agencies, seized
money was of vital importance. And politics being what they
are, losing that money could be the straw that could cost Cade
his job. If he could take down Bishop, catch the man behind
the break in and recover the money, Cade would be golden.
Anything less would leave Cade’s future a little less certain.

Chapter thirty-one
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 0 1
After Highway 280, Bishop had traveled north on Interstate
35, and taken the 694 loop headed east. The leader and the
follower had settled into a comfortable routine. Bishop was
no longer weaving through traffic at seventy miles per hour,
having slowed to just over the speed limit. Cade was trailing
a quarter mile behind, staying with a pack of cars. From all
appearances, Bishop had relaxed, believing that he wasn’t
being pursued.
At White Bear Avenue, Bishop took the exit. Cade followed,
forced to close up on Bishop with only a minivan between
them. Bishop took a right turn and immediately moved into the
left turn lane. Cade watched as he turn into a coffee shop and
head for the drive through lane. This could be a long night if
Bishop was taking the time to stop for some caffeine.
Cade pulled into the gas station across the street from the
coffee shop. Without knowing how long they would be on the
road, gassing up now would be a smart move. He would be in
a good position to watch for Bishop from here as well.

2 0 2 A l l a n E v a n s
Two minutes later, Bishop’s truck came around the side of the
coffee shop. Cade notched the gas nozzle and quickly climbed
into his vehicle, ready to pull out. Bishop crossed the street
pulling in behind Cade’s vehicle. Not wanting to be obvious,
Cade pulled out and drove the Impala across the street. After
a brief internal debate, Cade decided that he would have time
to grab a cup of coffee himself while Bishop filled up the SUV’s
large gas tank.
There was a single car in line before him. Cade quickly started
to feel impatient as the driver appeared to being carrying on a
conversation with the order taker. Cade thought about bolting
from the line, but the promise of caffeine kept him in place.
When did he get so addicted to the stuff?
After getting his order and fearing the worst he swung around
the building. There was no black SUV at the gas station. Andrew
Bishop was gone.
Cade floored the accelerator, spinning his tires as headed for
the freeway entrance. Unsure which direction to take, Cade
took the first entrance, which was eastbound, praying that
Bishop had continued in his original direction. The large engine
roared and by the time Cade hit the freeway, he was moving
over ninety miles an hour. Scanning the vehicles ahead, Cade
saw a large black SUV a half-mile down the road. Throttling
back, so as not to alert Bishop, he still continued to close the
distance between the vehicles. He had to make sure he was
behind the correct black SUV. Yes, thank God, it was Bishop.
Cade slid over, tucking behind a Ford F150 pickup truck.
Bishop drove on, blissfully unaware of the pursuit vehicle a
quarter mile behind him.
They continued to make their way around the 494/694 loop
that circled the Twin Cities metro area. By the Minneapolis-St.
Paul airport, Bishop exited again. Cade followed Bishop as he
drove north on Post Road, which ran along the western edge of
the airport. As Bishop slowed and pulled into a small parking

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 0 3
lot, Cade continued past, turning into the second entrance.
The sign by the entrance read, CELL PHONE PARKING LOT.
Finding a spot that had a clear view of Bishop’s vehicle, Cade
backed into the parking spot. He shut off the car, turned on the
radio and waited.
A half hour later his cell phone rang. It was Kim.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Her voiced sounding oddly tentative.
A thought popped into Cade’s head. She’s sounding unsure
because it’s the day after our first time sleeping together. This is
exactly when she would be feeling the most insecure. Maybe it
was a good thing I stopped for that caffeine, he thought, I’m not
usually this perceptive. “You know, I was actually just thinking
about you. I’m out by the airport, just sitting here in my car on
surveillance. It looks like I might be here all night.”
“So you’re just stuck out there?” she asked.
“I am. By the way, have you had dinner yet?” He continued
without waiting for her reply. “Why don’t you pick up some
dinner and join me at the airport for a romantic dinner in my
car?”
Kim laughed, a joyous sound. “You cops sure know the way
to a girl’s heart. I’ll call you when I’m getting close.” She was
gone.
Cade smiled; for once he had gotten it right. His track record
with relationships was littered with the broken hearts of women
that had suffered because he hadn’t understood their needs.
Hopefully, Kim would be different.
Remembering to first hit the domelight override, Cade slipped
out of the Impala. There was one drawback to having coffee on
a stakeout. After using the porta-potty, Cade walked to the front
entrance trying to get a look into Bishop’s vehicle. It appeared
the money transfer wasn’t especially imminent—Bishop was
sound asleep.

2 0 A l l a n E v a n s
An hour later, Kim called and he directed her into his location.
She pulled in right next to his unmarked vehicle and climbed
in to his passenger seat, a large shopping bag in her hand.
“Hello officer,” she smiled. “I brought Chinese.”
Cade thought the smell of the food was heavenly. He put a hand
to her cheek, kissing her tenderly. “Thank you for coming all
the way out here.”
Looking into his eyes, Kim said, “I’m sure you’ll make it worth
my while.”
“Oh, so you want me to pay for your gas?”
Kim punched his shoulder. “Goofball.” But she was smiling.
It seemed like a never-ending procession of little white cartons
that emerged from Kim’s shopping bag. She said that she
wasn’t sure what to get, but had wanted to make sure he got
something he liked. She flashed him a little smile.
Kim turned out to be a master of the chopsticks. They positively
danced in her fingers. Cade stuck to his fork; he had no desire
to starve.
Cade leaned back in his seat. “That was terrific. Thank you so
much.”
“There is desert …” She let the pause just hang there. “… in
my truck.”
With a quick glance at the still-sleeping Andrew Bishop, Cade
was out of the Impala in a flash. Kim gestured toward the
passenger side. It felt like he was back in high school—but in
a good way this time. He opened the door and was genuinely
surprised. There really was dessert.
Laid out across her Jeep’s dashboard were two china plates
with a thick slice of cake, cloth napkins and dessert forks.
“I hope you like dessert from Café Latte,” Kim said.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 0
“Actually,” Cade said, “I’ve always heard good things, but I’ve
never had the chance to try Café Latte.”
She smiled. “Looks like you’re in for a treat.”
Kim climbed over the center console, sitting on Cade’s lap. She
offered him a bite of the chocolate cake. Her every movement
slow, deliberate, sensual. Kim’s eyes held his as he opened his
mouth, accepting her offering.
He reached for her, pulling her close, his lips brushing her
neck. After a long moment, his heart racing dangerously fast,
he pulled back from Kim. His eyes locked with hers. Starting
with her top button, he slowly, ever-so-slowly, unbuttoned
her blouse. The swell of her large breasts strained the fabric
of her blouse, making it difficult to work the middle buttons.
Cade’s eyes lowered, drawn to her breasts. Each button that
was undone exposed more of Kim’s black lace bra. With the
last of the buttons, Cade slid her blouse off her bare shoulders.
Kim, caught up in Cade’s passion, reached back and undid the
clasp of her bra.
Her breasts came free, surprisingly firm for their obvious
weight. Cade cupped them, feeling their heft, his lust taking
away his gentleness. Kim pulled his head to her breasts, a moan
escaping as he flicked his tongue across her rigid nipples. She
leaned backward, arching, her large breasts thrusting up into
Cade’s mouth and hands. He devoured her.
Kim’s hands reached into his lap, feeling for him, setting him
free. A loud moan escaping from his lips now. Kim’s skirt was
riding up to the top of her thighs. Not willing to wait, he slid
her panties aside as she guided him in. His moans drove her
passion as she moved against him. The raw physicalness of
his lovemaking igniting her inner animal as their mutual lust
consumed them.
When the movement ended, their intense heat dissipating,
the only sound in the Jeep was their heavy breathing as their

2 0 A l l a n E v a n s
bodies fought to regain oxygen. Cade gave her a playful grin,
“Now I know why everyone’s raving about their desserts.
“Funny guy,” she said smiling brightly.
They talked of his career and her dreams, and just after 2 a.m.,
they made love again. This time it was a little slower, a little
gentler. It was still amazing.
At 4 a.m., Cade said goodbye and walked back to his car as
Kim pulled out of the lot headed for home. Glancing over, he
saw that Bishop was still asleep in his truck. Apparently his
conscience didn’t keep him up at night.

Chapter thirty-two
Sunday, day ten
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 0
A little after 7:30 in the morning, Bishop’s truck pulled out of the
lot. Cade was behind him, grateful for some activity. Bishop led
him down the Bloomington strip to a breakfast spot that looked
like it was popular with both churchgoers and truckers. Bishop
grabbed a newspaper from the paybox on his way inside.
Cade swung across the street to get a greasy breakfast
sandwich and a cup of bad coffee from the drive thru. He found
a spot in the restaurant lot and backed the unmarked Impala
in next to one of the semi trucks, sticking out just far enough to
have a clear sightline to Bishop’s truck. Cade flipped the radio
over to the public radio station and listened to the announcers
argue fiscal policy as he hungrily ate his breakfast.
After about a half hour of waiting, feeling his greasy breakfast
sandwich expanding uncomfortably in his stomach and fighting
some serious fatigue, Cade exited his vehicle. Maybe Bishop
had the right idea, so Cade bought a newspaper from the
paybox as well. Tossing it into the passenger seat, he leaned
against the vehicle’s frame and stretched his legs. Sitting in
the car for such extended periods can really take its toll.

2 0 A l l a n E v a n s
Another half hour passed uneventfully, Cade having one eye
on the Pioneer Press newspaper, the other on the front door
of the restaurant. Bishop would be quite easy to spot, being
so large. It was a busy place, with many people coming and
going. A lot of them dressed for church.
He paused from his newspaper, something about the dark
haired woman with the envelope leaving the restaurant. There
was something familiar, something about the way she moved.
She quickly glanced to her left—in Cade’s general direction—
to check for traffic before crossing the parking lot. That was
enough, you don’t work with someone every day without
studying them, especially someone as striking as Jodi.
His mind racing, Cade was struck by the obvious question:
what was Jodi doing here? It couldn’t be a coincidence, could
it? She lived in St. Paul, in the Highland neighborhood. That
was what, maybe ten to fifteen minutes away? There had to
be closer breakfast spots. Cade could think of several in the
Macalester area that consistently received great press and
were probably within five minutes of her home.
Was she he by herself? Jodi hadn’t walked out with anybody.
He hadn’t noticed her going in and he thought he certainly
would have recognized her. She got into her personal vehicle,
a blue Nissan Altima, and drove out of the lot.
Why was she here?
Bishop walked out, the newspaper folded under his arm. He
walked slow and measured, his eyes scanning the parking
lot methodically. Cade continued reading his newspaper, not
wanting to move and draw attention to himself. He watched
Bishop move to his truck and climb in. Apparently nothing
triggered a warning for Bishop.
They drove out of the lot and made their way to 494, headed
east. Cade keeping the distance a quarter mile between
vehicles. In a routine surveillance operation, there would be

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 0
a team of vehicles that would rotate so the suspect would not
have the opportunity to identify an officer. However, seeing his
partner Jodi—here of all places—raised too many questions.
He couldn’t call for assistance, what if she was involved? Cade
was clearly on his own.
Bishop made his way along 494, crossing the river valley just
south of the airport. They stayed on the winding 494 highway
through Mendota Heights, Eagan, South St. Paul, Maplewood
and into Woodbury. Bishop took the interstate 94 exit, making
his way west towards the city of St. Paul. As the interstate
curved through the heart of St. Paul, where much the Bishopdirected
carnage had taken place, Bishop took the Marion
Street exit. He crossed over the interstate, heading in the
direction of downtown, the Excel Center directly down the
hill. At John Ireland Boulevard, Bishop signaled a right and
turned, the imposing St. Paul Cathedral just up the hill. As they
drew alongside the Cathedral, Bishop took another right onto
Selby Avenue.
Sunday morning directly in front of the city’s largest catholic
church, as one might guess, was a busy location. It looked
to Cade like a service had just let out, with a second service
following shortly. Cars were pulling out onto the already busy
avenue, while other vehicles waited for their spots. Almost
two blocks down from the cathedral, Bishop slid into a freshly
vacated spot. Almost immediately Bishop was exiting the SUV
as Cade cruised by. Using his rearview mirror, he saw Bishop
making his way towards the cathedral.
Cade found an empty spot on the street a block further down.
He hustled back towards the cathedral at a light jog, making up
the ground between them. After a nerve-wracking minute, he
picked out Bishop up ahead. Bishop was walking alone, hands
in the pockets of his long wool coat, headed for church.
Perhaps Bishop’s conscience was getting the better of him.
Maybe he’d had a revelation, a life changing moment during

2 1 0 A l l a n E v a n s
the night in the airport’s cell phone lot. It certainly had been a
life-changing night for Cade.
A lot had happened to Bishop in the last week. If there was
ever a week with drastic highs and lows, this had to have it. No
doubt Bishop had felt like he was at life’s bottom after losing
the money needed to realize his dream. Then to feel like he
was back on top after being in the spotlight at the rally, all the
while knowing his money was being recovered. Then finally
Bishop would be back to feeling like he was at the bottom when
his dream dissolved around him. Dramatic circumstances like
this had broken other men, some finding solace in the Lord.
Cade was pretty sure for Bishop, this wasn’t the case.
Picking a crowded public area for a sensitive meeting was
usually good strategy. And from the looks of things, this
had to be most crowded spot in the Twin Cities on a Sunday
morning. At least until the Vikings game started at noon at the
Metrodome, anyway.
Knowing that Bishop was meeting someone, and in all
likelihood, it would be the man behind the currency theft
energized Cade. He would be watching Bishop like a hawk.
The transfer couldn’t happen here at the church. Logistically,
the currency took too much space. One couldn’t hand over a
half dozen suitcases on the steps of a church. No, the money
would be transferred away from this many eyes, but something
would be passed to Bishop. Perhaps a map, key or an address.
Cade would be watching for the exchange.
People were heading for the entrance in droves. Checking his
watch, Cade saw it was 10:30; the service would be just getting
underway. Cade was about twenty feet diagonally separated
from Bishop. Cade preferred to be diagonal from his quarry; it
allowed a direct sightline and reduced the obviousness of his
stalking.
Cade watched Bishop enter the sanctuary and moved to enter

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 1 1
from the opposite entrance. Inside, he scanned the crowded
room, finding Bishop right away. Leaning against the wall,
arms folded and fidgeting, Bishop didn’t look comfortable at
all. Cade checked his watch and thought there was nothing
for him to do but wait. Glancing down, Cade saw that the night
spent in his vehicle had left him worse for the wear. He was
rumpled, wrinkled and in need of a shower. He didn’t exactly
blend in with the church-going folks dressed in their Sunday
best. They would just have to accept him as he was.
It had been a long twenty four hours and hopefully, this would
all be over soon. He had felt like things had shifted recently
and his luck had changed for the better. The turn of events
yesterday had caught him by surprise and he wondered if the
shift had started the other way again. His life was hanging in
the balance here. Cade sincerely hoped he would still have
his job when it was all over.

2 1 2 A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter thirty-three
It was supposed to go down like this:
The arrangement was that Martin Clements and Andrew
Bishop would meet just before noon outside of the St. Paul
Cathedral, St. Paul’s largest church. The church would be just
letting out after the busiest service of the morning. Martin was
to park nearby along John Ireland Boulevard on the north side
of the cathedral leaving the balance of the money—Martin had
already subtracted his fee—locked in the trunk. Bishop was to
park his car on Selby Avenue, which was around the corner.
They would swap car keys and leave in each other’s vehicles.
The meeting would take place in front of the cathedral just
after the service let out. There would be plenty of activity to
blend in with.
Having never met each other, Martin was to wear a blue work
shirt and an orange vest, the uniform of the church’s traffic
control volunteers. He would be waiting at the bottom of the
front steps. They would meet long enough to swap the keys
and then go their separate ways. Just two friends meeting in

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 1 3
a chance encounter, no suspicious transfer of large bags, just
a handshake to pass the keys. Absolutely nothing to raise an
eyebrow in even the most observant of bystanders.
_________________________________________________________
It actually went down like this:
Martin arrived just after the 10:30 a.m. service had started.
Even though the street was lined with parked cars as far as he
could see, Martin was able to park just around the corner from
the Cathedral. Martin moved the orange traffic cones and the
road construction sign that held his preferred spot and placed
them in the roadway just behind his parked car. This would
block the lane and effectively bring traffic to a standstill after
the service let out, sending a thousand people out onto the
local roads.
Martin locked his newly rented Ford Fusion; he hadn’t wanted
to part with his Land Rover just yet. In just over an hour, he
would pass this very car key to Andrew Bishop, completing his
arrangement with Bishop. The money would allow Bishop to
realize his dream of owning a world-class soccer team. Martin,
for his trouble, would pocket approximately 20 million Euros.
Not that he could possibly come close to having a pocket that
would hold that amount of money.
But what about fulfilling his own dream? Martin didn’t think he
had any dreams left to realize. He had a life that most people
could only dream of. Travel to exotic destinations, the ability
to take on the most difficult challenges using only his cunning,
bravado and intellect. Martin had enough money, more than
enough actually, after this job was completed.
So what was missing for Martin? He had loved the life he lived
in London, when he happened to be there. The nightlife, the
women, the constant go, go, go. But this was such a different

2 1 A l l a n E v a n s
place. The simplicity of life here appealed to Martin. If he could
find something to keep him here, Martin could still enjoy his
work when he traveled. Maybe he did have his dreams, even
if they happened to be opposite of everyone else’s.
Martin made his way down to the corner of John Ireland
Boulevard. The Cathedral was immense and took up the entire
city block. Built over a century ago, it stands on the highest
ground in the city of St. Paul. In his youth, Martin had been
brought up in the Catholic Church. Though it had been years
since he been inside a church, it was not difficult to get caught
up in the memories of his youth. His family were fixtures at
their local church, just outside of London. Each Sunday he
would climb the front steps of their small church holding his
father’s hand. Simpler times.
Martin slipped off his vest, neatly folded it and tucked it under
his arm. Glancing at his watch, Martin saw it was 11:15 a.m. He
went through the doors, crossed the atrium gathering area, and
went into the sanctuary. The immenseness of the sanctuary was
the first thing he noticed. The pews were full and there were a
number of people standing in the back as well. Standing room
only. Church was big business here in St. Paul.
Martin stood in the back, listening to the congregation sing.
As in much of his life, he was an observer, not a participant. He
was comfortable with that role, though. His careful observation
and preparation had served him well over the years. And
an important part of that was his observation, not only of the
scene, but also of the people that were part of that scene. It
allowed him to blend in and to anticipate their movements and
reactions.
Martin scanned the crowd that stood at the back of the sanctuary.
For the most part, it was individuals and most were males.
They were of varying social and economic statuses—based
on their appearances. Some even appeared to be homeless,
drawn here for both the comfort of the religion and the warmth

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 1
the large church offered. As he looked over the people,
Martin found Andrew Bishop near the opposite entrance. The
large man stood out. His arms folded, he was still wearing his
overcoat. Bishop didn’t look as if he was comfortable there
at all. He fidgeted, checking his watch every few minutes
and kept glancing around. Martin fought the urge to move in
behind the large sweat-smelling man next to him. Because
Bishop had never met Martin, there would be no reason to
hide from Bishop.
He forced himself to keep turned toward the front where the
priest was giving the message. Some may find it odd that
Martin wouldn’t remember a word the man was speaking. His
thoughts solely on the plan that would be unfolding shortly.
What Martin did find odd was the man next to him. It looked
as if his attention was not on the priest speaking in the front,
but fully on the opposite wall. Right where a certain Andrew
Bishop was standing. This man was one of Bishop’s men or he
was a cop. Either way, a complication.

2 1 A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter thirty-four
It was now 11:40, and time was growing short. Martin studied
the man in his peripheral vision. Beside the unpleasant odor,
he looked unshaven and rather rumpled. His clothes and shoes
were in good repair, not like the half dozen homeless men
scattered around the rear of the sanctuary. He looked like he
had spent the night in his car. It occurred to Martin that this was
exactly what he looked like after returning from an overnight
surveillance. If he was a betting man—and he definitely was—
he would say this was a policeman he was standing next to.
The priest was giving his blessing, the service drawing to
a close. Several of the people that had been standing in the
back pushed through the doors, leaving early to beat the rush.
Martin left with a small group of twenty-somethings that were
laughing and talking about getting some coffee. He stayed
close, appearing to be part of their group.
Martin separated and moved to the side as they made their
way out the front doors. He slipped into his orange vest and
moved down the steps. The crowd was flooding out the front
doors, a sea of people moving in a single direction.

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 1
From his vantage point at the bottom of the stairs, Martin saw
the flash of recognition on Bishop’s face when he saw Martin’s
orange vest. There was no hesitation as Bishop made his way
quickly down the steps. Looking past Bishop, Martin saw the
policeman also making his way down the steps.
Martin had the key in the palm of his left hand, ready for
Bishop.
Bishop waved to Martin. “Thomas, old friend, how are you?”
he asked Martin as came up to Martin.
They shook hands, Bishop pressing a key into his hand,
while Martin’s key went into Bishop’s other hand. It was a
quick exchange, not likely to be noticed by anyone, even the
policeman that was quickly approaching.
“Life is good, my friend,” Martin said. “Stay safe,” he added.
Martin moved a step away from Bishop, looking down Selby
Avenue for the black Denali that Bishop had left for him. He
was looking towards his escape.

2 1 A l l a n E v a n s
Chapter thirty-five
Cade Dawkins saw Bishop move towards the man in the vest.
He looked like a road construction worker dressed in a blue
denim work shirt and an orange vest. Bishop waved to the man
and they shook hands. There was something about the way
they shook hands, with both hands like old friends might do.
Except Bishop would not have an old friend here, thousands of
miles away from home. Something had passed between them,
and Cade was sure about it. The man with the vest was starting
to move away from Bishop.
“Hold on, you two. State police,” Cade called out, quickly
covering the ground between them.
The man with the vest changed direction, darting behind
a cluster of older women. Bishop spun towards Cade, a gun
appearing in his hand.
A nearby woman let out a scream. Cade was jostled by a
panicked man, pushed off balance falling head long down the
remaining few steps.
Bishop’s pistol fired several times, the bullets hitting the

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 1
concrete steps just behind Cade, his forward momentum
saving him. He curled into a ball, his left hand protecting his
head, his right hand firmly hanging onto his Glock.
As he hit the sidewalk, Cade yanked his pistol freeing it from
his jacket. In slow motion he saw Bishop’s pistol tracking toward
him for the killing shot.
No way, no how, was this asshole going to get the best of him.
Cade’s thought was of the freeway carnage this man had caused
as he pulled the trigger. The first bullet going into Bishop’s
chest, the second catching the underside of his chin. The blood
flow instantaneous, the death obvious as Bishop went down.
There were more than a few screams as the crowd panicked,
many fleeing, many others diving for the ground. Cade
looked to his left and saw a flash of orange as the fleeing man
went around the corner of the Cathedral onto John Ireland
Boulevard.
Cade quickly got to his feet, calling to an older, professional
looking man. “Call 911 and stay here with him,” indicating
Bishop, “until the police arrive.”
He sprinted for the corner, thinking that the vest should make
this an easy pursuit. It wasn’t.
Cade stopped dead in his tracks. There were easily a dozen
men in orange vests spread around the street. Though there
was a road construction sign blocking half the street—which
he didn’t remember seeing earlier this morning—it didn’t
appear that any of the men were actually working. The men in
vests stood around in small groups, appearing to be waiting.
Cade ran to the first group of men, scanning their faces. He
couldn’t be certain, he had focused on the vest, not the man’s
face—but he didn’t think the man was here. He spun around
taking it all in. The sidewalks were full of people heading for
their vehicles after church. There wasn’t anyone wearing a

2 2 0 A l l a n E v a n s
vest that was running.
He headed back for the corner and spotted an orange vest
laying in the grass. This was a dead end.

Chapter thirty-six
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 2 1
Martin turned the Land Rover onto Highway 94. It had been a
bit harried back there for a few moments, but as ever, Martin’s
planning had saved him. Hiring the road construction workers
had been a masterstroke of diversion. Earlier in the week,
he had placed an ad on Craig’s list offering $28 an hour for a
one-day project on Sunday. Working through a bogus Hotmail
account, Martin had arranged for the men to arrive a little
before noon. He had requested that the men wear blue shirts
and orange vests. It had guaranteed plenty of suspects for the
police to focus on.
There was another layer to Martin’s contingency plan. There
were some things you didn’t want to leave to chance, like not
relying on using Bishop’s vehicle. You wouldn’t want to get
to your escape vehicle and find the gas tank on empty, for
instance. At times, some of Martin’s clients have gone a bit
wiggy during the stress of the endgame. So Martin had left
his own vehicle—he loved this Land Rover—at the end of the
block, near the entrance to the freeway.
And the money? Glancing back, it was safely stowed in the

2 2 2 A l l a n E v a n s
back of the Land Rover. He hadn’t planned on stiffing Andrew
Bishop. The Ford Fusion’s trunk, though not containing the
currency as they had agreed on, had a cell phone and a brief
note: “Don’t worry. Call me: Press TALK twice.” Martin’s plan
was to make sure Bishop hadn’t been followed and then meet
up at the Farmer’s Market in St. Paul. There were plenty of
exchanges being made there.
Now what? Martin was driving around with over $300 million
and no one left to give it to. With Bishop laying in a pool of his
own blood, clearly dead, Martin had no one to pass the Euros
off to. He didn’t need the money. He would have to think about
this. He piloted the Land Rover towards Stillwater. Towards
home.

Chapter thirty-seven
Monday, day eleven
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 2 3
The papers and television carried the story in great detail.
The death of businessman Andrew Bishop on the front steps
of the Twin Cities largest church sparked a lot of attention.
As the details came out, and the fact that not only were both
freeway shootings related, but the kidnapping of television
reporter Susanna Song as well. And then the stunning news
that Andrew Bishop was behind it whipped the media into a
frenzy. The national media descended on the area in a wave
not seen since the Republican National Convention was held
in St. Paul.
Susanna Song was a star. Her face and story were all over the
internet, television, as well as the newspapers and magazines.
She was on Good Morning America, Larry King interviewed
her, and People magazine had her on the cover—though she
had to share it with Brittany.
And because the story involved one of Europe’s most prominent
soccer clubs, the international media also took up the story.
The BBC in particular liked the angle that the policeman who
shot and killed Andrew Bishop was also a footballer (as they

2 2 A l l a n E v a n s
called a soccer player across the pond). Oh, the irony.
The Minnesota State Patrol went from being the goat in the
story—with the killings taking place on the metro area
highways—to being the darlings of the media. Cade Dawkins
was consistently brought up as an example of what was right in
today’s law enforcement.
Cade took some teasing from his fellow troopers, but on the
whole, the other troopers were thankful for the appreciation
that was being showered on the Patrol. The really interesting
part was that state officials had decided—behind closed
doors—not to release the news concerning the break in at Patrol
headquarters. With the Patrol’s raised profile and standing in
the law enforcement community, it was decided that it would
be best if that part of the story didn’t get out. And after all, it
was found money that had been, well, lost again.
_________________________________________________________
Cade rolled over, pulling Kim on top. “My hero,” she said
with a proud smile. “You really are a hero. All that worry last
night was for nothing. I just can’t believe it, but they are just
conveniently forgetting about the stolen money?”
With her laying on him like this, it was hard to keep his eyes on
hers. He made what he thought was a superhero-like effort.
“At least publicly, anyway,” Cade said. “There is a team from
the DEA quietly looking into the theft, but I have my doubts
that anything will come of it. It was clearly the work of a
professional, the few small clues we have point to a mysterious
European thief for hire.”
He continued, “The ironic thing here is that because I’ve
been front and center in all the media attention—the BBC
interviewed me today, if you can believe it—is that I’ve now
became bullet proof. A case like this can make a career, I’ve

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 2
gained redemption, all my past issues have been forgotten.”
“You’re bulletproof?”
“You know it,” Cade said. “But no worries, I’ll be using my new
found powers for good and not evil.”
Kim smiled, a warm smile that conveyed her adoration for him.
Life is good. Cade went on, “The ironic thing—and by ironic,
I mean totally hilarious—is that my number one nemesis at the
Patrol, Lt. Dickey, has taken the fall for this.”
“Why’s that?” Kim asked, her darling forehead creased with
bafflement.
“Lt. Dickey, my old friend, was responsible for operations
at our facility. And because this happened on his watch, he’s
gone.”
“They fired him?” she asked incredulously.
“Even better. He’s been transferred to Cloquet to work the
overnight shift as a road trooper. Couldn’t have happened to
a better guy.”
“But what about…” Kim started to ask, but quickly realized
Cade’s attention had shifted south. She gave in to the moment.
_________________________________________________________
“So what happens to the Chelsea America team?” Kim asked,
now that Cade was clearly basking in the afterglow.
“It looks like we will be keeping the team after all. At the last
moment, a business man from London has stepped up to buy
the team.”
“Really?” she asked, “All the way from England? It seems so
unlikely that someone from, what, 3600 miles, would invest so
substantially in a business here in Minnesota.”

2 2 A l l a n E v a n s
“I know. But I read that the businessman, Martin Clements, had
been over here recently on business and absolutely fell in love
with Minnesota. He said that for sheer natural beauty, nothing
beats the sights in the Twin Cities.”
Kim had a sly smile. “That Martin guy sure has good taste.”
Cade pulled back Kim’s sheet. “Can you imagine if he saw the
sheer natural beauty I’m looking at? He probably would have
bought the Twins and the Vikings too.”
They both were laughing, though possibly for different
reasons.

Chapter thirty-eight
A week later
K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 2
Sitting in Cade’s unmarked Chevy Impala, Cade and Jodi were
waiting for someone to pick up the Ford Taurus. The Taurus had
left Gary, Indiana, two days ago driven by a retired couple.
The authorities in Indiana had put it together: the bad guys
find retirees struggling on a fixed income, pay them several
thousand to drive a vehicle up to Minnesota. It’s dropped off at
a Walmart parking lot a few miles inside the border. At some
point, the car will be picked up to complete the delivery of
illegal drugs to Minnesota.
The Taurus was dropped off almost two hours ago, having been
followed by the Wisconsin state police and then handed off to
Cade and Jodi at the Minnesota border. The retiree’s had taken
a cab to the Mall of America and were shopping in the Sear’s
store at the moment. Cade and Jodi waited near the Taurus in
silence, their small talk exhausted in the first hour.
Jodi looked straight ahead, her voice coming out quiet and
monotone. “Why didn’t you say something? I know you saw
me.”

2 2 A l l a n E v a n s
Cade paused a full thirty seconds, debating his response. “I
thought you might have seen me. Something about the way
you hesitated. I wasn’t sure why you were there and I didn’t
want to throw my partner under the bus by asking awkward
questions.”
“I appreciate that,” Jodi said, still avoiding eye contact.
Cade looked at his partner. “You get to know a lot about the
people you risk your life with, week after week. At least you
think you do. By now, I’m sure you know a lot about me. I
suppose you know that I love photography and that I take
a lot of pictures. I do know that you are aware of my love of
soccer and how I excited I was about the Chelsea team coming
to Minnesota. What you might not know is that I was at the
Chelsea America rally on Saturday taking pictures. Taking a
lot of pictures.
“After the case ended, I went through each picture, frame by
frame. Bishop was still my hero when I was taking pictures at
the rally, and he was in a lot of the pictures. Shortly before he
came out to introduce Beckham and the players, I had used my
zoom lens to try to get some shots of the players and Bishop
behind the stage. Looking at these pictures, I saw Bishop. I
also saw you in the pictures with Bishop. You were talking to
him.”
Jodi was still staring straight ahead, a single tear making its
way down her cheek.
Cade continued. “A man like Bishop doesn’t take unnecessary
risks. He would always have a contingency plan or two up
his sleeve. Business can get quite rough. You always need to
have a leg up on your competition. You have to have the ability
to know the things they don’t want you to know. And having
someone on the inside could be a real asset. I would have to
say, Jodi, that you’d be a mighty fine asset.”
Jodi was an emotionless wall, other than her tears. “You don’t

K i l l i n g T i m e o n t h e H i g h w a y 2 2
know what I’ve been through. Don’t you judge me, Dawkins.”
She was pointing at him emphatically. “Don’t judge me.”
Cade was shaking his head. “It’s not my job.”
He gently took her gesturing hand and nodded towards the
passenger window. Standing next to her window was a pair of
DEA agents.
“Its their job to put you in front of a judge. Look Jodi, we’ve all
made mistakes. You need to put this behind you and get on
with your life. Now you need to own up to them. The thing is,
the guilt can eat at you, it can kill you. You need to make things
right. Now.”
Murphy had her in restraints, leading her to his vehicle.
Jodi Capistrano stopped and looked back to Cade. Her eyes
searching his. “Why now?”
Cade shook his head, “Like I’ve always said, you never know
when your time’s going to be up.”
Jodi nodded her head in agreement and allowed herself to be
led away.
After a long moment, Cade looked up. The Taurus was still
there waiting. It could be a long evening.
He reached for his cell phone and made a call.
“It’s me. Would you like to join me for another stakeout?” Cade
asked. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he added, a big grin on
his face. After all, life isn’t what happens to you, it’s what you
make of it.