Mystery On Twin Lakes

Chapter 1

Mystery on Twin Lakes

Author:

Russell Warnberg

Chapter 1

There was nothing holding him back. He was finally going to leave for good, he thought, forgetting about the danger. The one thing he would miss, almost as much as his boys, was this beautiful little spot on the lake where he had caught so many fish and went swimming with so many young friends in those wonderful years before the war. As he looked westward across the moon drenched lake, he only wished it had turned out differently. Returning after the war in the Pacific, he struggled to find a way to provide for his family. Everything he tried, turned out badly. He knew the war had affected him and that he would never be right again. He was in deep debt due to gambling and could find no way out. Turning to leave, with downcast eyes he looked up and saw a shadowy figure standing at the edge of the road beside a black sedan. With gun drawn, the shadowy figure directed him toward the back door that was standing open. He dragged his feet along the gravel road crushing the gravel along the road knowing he had to act now, or it was all over. Turning to run, he slipped on that same gravel. His body was found two days later along the eastern shore of Twin Lakes.

Chief Keplar was bent over on the slippery edge of the lake, studying the body after the report came in. He first checked for any sign of life and found none. There was a lot of blood soaking the back of the victim’s head and down the back of his shirt. In his two years as the Chief of police in Brooklyn Center, he had never encountered such a grizzly scene. Standing, he looked down the shore line while wiping beads of sweat off his forehead. A lone loon made his presence known twenty yards off shore. Although it was late, the temperature hovered around eighty degrees with high humidity. Suddenly he heard a loud blast and he ducked, an instinct left over from the war. Looking up he saw the halo of light from some small fireworks set off across the lake. He slowly walked back up the small bank and through a stand of trees to his police car. Tree limbs slapped him on the face several times as he ducked and weaved. The police car was black and white with a red bubble on the top. Settling into the driver's seat he keyed his mic and called it into the Minneapolis Police Department. They would handle the forensic investigation. His department, a three man, two of whom are part time, operation was not equipped to handle a murder scene.

Michael (Mick) Keplar is a Marine World War II veteran who saw action in the Pacific. His worst experience was on Iwo Jima where he saw many comrades killed. He was injured in a fire fight that saw his best friend suffer a horrible death. Mick held him in his arms as life drifted away. At the same time blood was running down Mick's arm from a shrapnel wound that he got dragging a comrade off the beach that later earned him the Silver Star and Purple Heart. The images from that time haunted him daily. His nights were often interrupted by nightmares that brought him right back to Iwo and other horrible battles. He was reactivated for the Korean War, but due to his conditon, they decided he wasn't fit. Some nights he was so covered with sweat when he jolted awake that he needed to change his sheets and shower before returning to bed. As a result he wasn't always at his best, but right now adrenaline flowed through his body making him hyper alert and jittery. After making his call, he leaned back and raked his fingers through his short black hair.

Thirty minutes later, the Minneapolis police arrived with lights blazing, followed closely by Media from the Minneapolis Star and Tribune.

“Officer Keplar,” Detective Knutson said holding out his hand. “It's been awhile.” Looking around, “What do we have?”

Detective Craig Knutson stood tall and gangly with bushy silver hair that peeked out from under his brown Fedora hat. His immaculate gray suit hung loosely on his lean frame. A silver tie clasp reflected the flashing red lights now circling them.

Shaking his hand Keplar pointed toward the stream, “Over here, we have a body. Follow me, it's a little tricky getting down there.”

“Lead the way.”

At that moment, a reporter walked up and asked, “What's this all about Detective?”

Keplar looked over his shoulder and smiled at her. “Rosy, it's nice to see you again.” Brushing past Knutson, he took her hand, “What are you doing here?”

Smiling back, “I'm here to cover the story for the paper.”

“You're a reporter?”

“I guess I failed to tell you that last week. What's going on here?”

Knutson stepped forward, “Miss, you need to wait here.” Touching Keplar's arm, “Let's go.”

“We'll talk later,” Keplar said to Rosy.

“Not about this,” Detective Knutson offered. “I'll answer any questions the press has when my investigation is complete,” he continued staring at Rose.

Rose Hanson is 5'2” and weighs about 105 pounds soaking wet. Her eyes are a deep striking blue that hung over a perky small nose. Her straight dark brown hair was pushed back behind her small ears that carried no ear rings. One small dimple on her left cheek was barely noticeable, but drew you in when noticed.

Being dragged off, Keplar said, “You busy Friday night?”

“No.”

“I'll pick you up at seven, okay?”

“That should work,” she said waving at waist level.

With his right hand he lifted his hat and with his left, pushed his hair back, “Let's go, we have a body to look at,” Knutson said.

Looking surprised, “A body?” Rose asked, trying to follow.

Spinning around, “Stay here,” Knutson nearly growled. His body language said it all.

Keplar led the way through the trees and down the slippery bank.

Rose moved to the edge of the road and followed them with her eyes.

Two other Minneapolis police officers stepped up beside her. “Hi,” one of them said.

Without looking at them, “Hi.”

Officer Keplar led Knutson through the thick wood and down the slippery bank to the waters edge.

“Don't get too close,” Knutson said grabbing Keplar's arm. “I don't want to disturb the area anymore than you already have. There might be some evidence.”

“Sorry,” Keplar said, “I did my best to be careful, but had to check to see if he was still alive.”

“Understood,” Knutson said as he walked a wide berth around three sides of the body. “Are those your footprints near the feet of the body?”

“No, I approached from the other end near the head.”

“Good, we can get some casts of those prints, might be helpful,” Knutson said crouching down near the prints. He continued to study the area for anything else that might be helpful.”

“Looks like he was shot once in the back of the head,” Keplar said pointing at the entry wound.

“We need to get him turned over to see if there are any other wounds,” Knutson said. He then stood and both knees let out a muffled cracking sound. “Not as young as I once was.”

Keplar smiled, “I'm not looking forward to that.”

To no one in particular, “Where is the Doc?” He asked looking back toward the road.

A couple moments later rustling could be heard, “What do we have here?” Doc Armstrong asked as he approached. His unbuttoned brown suit jacket could not reach around his ample belly. Nor could his tie be properly knotted around the folds of flesh below his chin. He was wearing black loafers that hadn't seen a shine in months and his brown Fedora sat idly atop his bald head.

Knutson shook his head slightly and smiled at his old friend. “We have a situation that is right up your alley here Doc. Have you met Chief Keplar?” He said without looking at him.

Sticking out his hand, “Nice to meet you Chief.”

Taking his hand with a firm grip, “Good to meet you Doc.”

Breaking free from Keplar he bent at the waist to get a better look, squinting at the body. Standing back up, he fumbled in his vest pocket, “I'd better put my glasses on.” After doing so, he bent once again shuffling around the body without getting too close. “Did you notice the two different sets of foot prints?” he asked without looking up.

“Yeah, the set near the head belong to Officer Keplar here. The other set may be our killer. We will get casts of those.”

“I think you may be on to something, they certainly don't match the soles of our victim,” he said pointing at the victims shoes.

“Can you roll him over?” Knutson asked.

Studying the area and the body for a few moments, “I don't see why not. We just need to make sure we don't disturb the shoe prints.”

Detective Knutson gingerly walked around the body to the lake side being careful not to slip into the water. Once he had solid footing, he put both hands under the body and rolled it slowly.

Chief Keplar moved up close near the head and bent low to study the face. “I don't see an exit wound.”

Knutson remained standing while studying the whole body. “It looks like a single shot to the back of the head.” Shaking his head, “It doesn't take much and another life is stamped out.”

“I'll get my guys up on the road to bag him and make some casts so I can get him to the lab for further analysis,” Doc Armstrong said straitening up painfully. “Not a job for us old guys. Retirement is looking better with each day.” He then walked back through the trees.

Knutson moved over beside Keplar, “I'll take it from here. When we find out more, I'll give you a call. If you hear anything, you know what to do.”

“What would you like me to do to help?”

“Just go about your regular duties. The investigation is in my hands. I don't want you doing anything to muck things up.”

Taking one last look at the body and avoiding looking at Knutson, “Yes Sir.” Chief Keplar then turned and walked back to his car and drove off after checking in with Rosy about their date.