Wingman Killer

By Susan Egner

A serial killer targets Stillwater, Minnesota on Lucy Ruediger's first day as Chief of Police. Crime of any type is unusual in Stillwater and the first of several killings hits hard. Repeatedly, a young blonde woman, topless, wearing nothing but aviator wings engraved with the word "wingman" pinned to her flesh is found leaning against a tree, overlooking the St. Croix River. Before the second victim is found, a girl of 17 matching the description of the others to follow is reported missing. But each new victim is not the missing 17-year-old.
Ruediger, with the assistance of local newspaper reporter, Dan Rimmer, follows clues in multiple directions, taking her to the arrowhead portion of Minnesota, to marinas on the St. Croix River, to Sioux Falls, South Dakota and ultimately to illegal puppy farms in Minnesota.
As a new police chief, she's perplexed by the matching appearance of the missing 17-year-old. Has the body not been found or was she looking at a second crime of kidnapping, unrelated to the serial murders now classified as the Wingman Killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Egner
• Release date: Jun 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463769560

Susan Egner

Minnesota Author Susan Egner followed her father’s footsteps into the life of a newspaper reporter before turning her pen to fiction. Her father, Lou Egner, was the well-known photojournalist for the Florida Times-Union and the former Jacksonville Journal. Now married and living in Burnsville, Minnesota, a suburb of Minneapolis, the mother of two and grandmother of four, fondly recalls, “Daddy gave cameras to my two sisters and me when we were still in elementary school saying, ‘Wherever you go, always remember to take your camera.’ He felt a story could unfold anywhere and he wanted us prepared. That training resulted in my writing about female photographers.”Encouraged by friends after hearing the stories she made up for her own children, Egner wrote and published her own children’s book series, Has Anyone Seen Woodfin? She has made multiple guest appearances with costumed characters in seven states and Shanghai, China; appearing in bookstores, elementary schools, children’s hospitals and the Mall of America. Her work was featured as one of ten programming initiatives at a gala event held in Chicago’s Field Museum by PBS affiliate, WYCC.Egner’s previous writing experience also includes writing and editing for the Dakota County Tribune, a weekly newspaper. In addition, she was a freelance writer for the Dayton Hudson Corporation Santa Bear series.Egner made the transition to e-B­­ook publishing in 2012 with her five-star rated novel, Scotoma. A gifted storyteller, Egner’s characters face challenges and often undergo personal transformation as they confront issues in contemporary society. Her stories are about ordinary people who find themselves in adverse circumstances that could face any of us. The choices each makes—and the resulting consequences—weave a tapestry of mystery, intrigue, and romance that will keep the reader wholly absorbed until the last page.Susan Egner proudly supports Operation eBook Drop, which provides free access to uniformed men and women deployed in service overseas. Learn more about Susan Egner on her website, EgnerINK, on Google+, and on Facebook.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the author’s written permission. Thank you for purchasing this Susan Egner eBook.

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Acknowledgments

Wingman Killer was inspired by my friend, Captain Jim Werner. Thanks, Jim.

Table of Contents

Copyright

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

About the Author

Other Books by Susan Egner

Wingman Killer

By Susan Egner

Chapter One

Looking down at a dead body propped against a tree was not Lucy Ruediger’s idea of a promising start to her first day as police chief. She was smart, attractive and now the person in charge of the Stillwater, Minnesota Police Department. Chief Donald Krill had unexpectedly retired after being diagnosed with lung cancer. Though the disease had not yet manifested into poor health, he said he wanted time to travel with his ‘sweetheart bride’, a term he was well-known for using whenever referring to his wife of thirty-eight years.

Suddenly Ruediger was promoted, translate pushed, into the former chief’s position whether she was ready or not. She wasn’t even the most senior officer in a squad of twelve, though she did have the most advanced educational credentials. Her brother Joe, though senior on the force by four years, held no interest in the position. He wanted more freedom than the job would allow. Though she had certainly aspired to someday becoming chief, she had not expected it for another fifteen years or so. When the time came, she figured it would also require a move to some non-descript, rural town probably on the iron range in northern Minnesota.

Stillwater was known historically as the birthplace of Minnesota because the territorial convention that began the process of establishing Minnesota as a state was held right behind her on the corner of Main and Myrtle Streets. Right here, practically at the scene of this crime, history was made.

Stillwater was not a large town with a population of only 16,000 but it was located less than thirty minutes from the thriving metropolises of Minneapolis and St. Paul and considered a favorite location for sophisticated dinners, evening cruises on the St. Croix River and eclectic shopping. In the summer, it was a haven for boaters and tourists, expanding the population exponentially.

Expecting any longevity in her newly promoted position would require the same firm hand as that of the former chief who had kept the historic town relatively crime-free. On occasion, a Twin Cities-spawned drug dealer made the wrong decision to conduct business in the quiet seclusion of the river town but that was about the extent of crime in Stillwater. Until today.

Ruediger stood on a mound of earth overlooking the scenic riverfront. To her left stood the turn-of-the-last-century downtown of Stillwater, mostly three-story buildings housing upscale restaurants and elite shops and to her right, the moored boats of summer’s ever- expanding population, ending with the popular river cruise boats. The crime scene was also near popular restaurants that would be buzzing with lunch time business in a few hours.

Atop a mound, propped up by an aging oak tree, was the body of a young woman, naked to the waist. The angle of the sun glinted in the victim’s blonde hair that rustled lightly in the breeze and illuminated a composed face; the angelic look was not lost on those working the crime scene.

The Medical Examiner, Mike Towery, leaned over and photographed from various angles.

When he stood, Ruediger asked, What’s that on her chest?

Plastic wings, he said.

Ruediger bent over to take a closer look. How are they attached?

It’s a pin. The killer pushed it right through the skin.

What’s written on them? she asked.

Wingman, said the ME in a tone that said he’d now seen it all.

Wingman? What does that mean?

It can mean a couple of things. In the military, it’s the jet that flies slightly behind the lead aircraft, usually in combat, to watch his back.

You said a couple. What else?

Well, in today’s bar hopping lingo, it’s a second guy to distract a woman’s friend while the lead guy makes his move on the more beautiful girl.

They really do that? Kind of boring for the spare guy, isn’t it?

Wouldn’t know. Met my wife at a church social.

Ruediger smiled. She liked Mike Towery. He’d been the ME ever since she’d joined the force and was always available as a sounding board. She walked around the perimeter of the crime scene but when she found nothing of relevance, turned to one of the department’s junior officers and said, Hansen, check farther out. See if you can find the rest of her clothes.

I’ve never worked a murder before, said Hansen. Can I take pictures?

She studied the young officer with sandy blonde hair and a sprinkle of freckles across his nose, making him look younger than his years; too young to have graduated from the police academy. She remembered all too well what it was like to be young and eager, but she needed to maintain discipline from the start in her new position as chief.

Only as it pertains to work. This isn’t a side show. Get to work, snapped Ruediger.

Hansen turned on his heel in an exaggerated response before his new chief noticed the burn of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

Mike, come look at this, Ruediger called to the ME.

Towery ambled up onto an adjacent mound and followed her gaze across the St. Croix River. A group of sailboats was heading north, their colorful sails fluttering in the breeze. A black sloop was in the lead with white sails contrasting starkly against the riot of color behind it.

What am I looking at? asked Towery.

There’s a black or blue triangular flag at the top of the mast on the lead boat. Something’s written on it. Can you read what it says?

Towery shielded his eyes from the sun and squinted.

Sorry Chief, I left my sunglasses in the car. They’re prescription. Without them, I can’t make out anything at a distance.

I think it’s important. I don’t see another boat out there with a similar flag.

And you think that’s pertinent because…?

The wings on the victim say wingman and there’s a flag that is close to the crime scene with a word that I think begins with W. Could be connected.

That’s a stretch if you think it has something to do with this, he said, nodding toward the victim whom his assistants had now loaded onto a gurney and were pushing toward the ambulance. You think the killer waited around to watch from his boat. The body has easily been dead ten hours. The boat’s just a coincidence. Towery walked away, following the path of the gurney.

Too big of a coincidence, called Ruediger as she switched on her shoulder radio.

Her receptionist answered back at the station. Hi Luce, err, Chief, what did you find?

Never mind that right now. I need you to check on something for me.

Pencil’s ready, said Vanda, mimicking Ruediger’s brusque manner.

Call the Harbor Master and see if you can find the registration number for a solid black sloop with white sails. It’s on the water right now.

Can you give me any other details. That’s not much.

Well, all the other boats appear to be white, red or blue and most have colorful sails. This one stood out with its austere black body and white sails.

Got it, said Vanda, clicking off.

Hansen walked up beside Ruediger. No trace of the clothes or anything else that might be related to the crime scene, Chief.

"OK, Hansen, after you finish putting up the crime scene tape, you can head back to the station.

Ruediger turned back to the river. The boats had traveled north around a bend and disappeared from sight.

Chapter Two

It was late morning when Ruediger returned to the office, driving through the quiet streets of Stillwater. It was early spring, too early for the summer crowds. A few die- hard boaters started as soon as the ice was gone on the river; like-wise the die-hard antique hunters who ambled between the half-dozen shops on Main Street, still clutching their morning coffee.

She thought about the dead young woman and wondered what was afoot. Was she a local girl? Instinct told her not likely. The scene looked staged and Ruediger had a hunch that the girl had been brought into town specifically for this purpose. Whether she was alive or dead before her arrival was the real question. The stripping of the clothes and the placement of the airman wings was some kind statement, but to whom and why?

As she pulled into the parking lot, she caught a glimpse of Rimmer exiting at the opposite end. Disappointment moved through her like a dark tide. She had missed his daily visit to the office. His job as the local newspaper reporter required him to check the ‘police initials’ every day, in search of a story. However, there was rarely much to report, always making his visit a short one. Stillwater had low instances of crime until the summer season when the influx of tourists brought occasional purse snatchings and car break-ins

To her knowledge, this would be the first local murder since two in 2009 and those had been tied to Austin, Minnesota, a town a little over a hundred miles south.

Ruediger released a long pent-up sigh. Dan Rimmer, she thought. Tall, good looking and cocky-as-hell, but also a damn good reporter. She was surprised he remained in Stillwater after receiving the Pulitzer for his coverage of the aforementioned murders. Perhaps it had to do with the murder victim being involved with his sister, Jamie. His news articles read like a Stuart Woods mystery. She didn’t know how many newspapers had made offers but she had learned through the very efficient, small-town grapevine that both New York and Chicago had tried to lure him away. Surely, they were tempting offers for a writer with his skills. Why had he declined and would he continue to do so? She had a hard time believing he would prefer to stay in Stillwater and yet fervently hoped he would. At least until she found the courage to explore her feelings for him.

His personality had been intoxicating from the start. Sometimes, in his presence, she forgot to take a breath and ended up coughing and sputtering just to breathe normally.

You should see about that cough, he said after about the fourth time it happened.

I’m fine, she stammered.

Well, and could she believe he actually winked at her, We don’t want Stillwater’s finest getting sick on us. Never know when we might have a crime wave, He flashed her his come-hither smile and she knew she was hooked.

That had been over a year ago, and still he had no clue how she felt about him. Well, why would he? They had never been on a date. They had chatted at a few local parties and run into each other at restaurants, both dining alone until they decided to share a meal. But that wasn’t a date either, was it? Their relationship remained professional.

A painful ache tugged at the edges of her heart whenever she saw him, though she had long since gained control of her erratic breathing and managed to remain aloof and detached in his presence, no matter how much she desired otherwise.

As she walked into the station, Vanda waved a handful of pink slips at her.

What’s going on? asked Ruediger as she approached her desk.

Don’t know, said Vanda. The Mayor called three times; two members of the City Counsel and Margaret Sherman once.

Who’s Margaret Sherman?

President of the PTA.

None of them gave you a reason for calling?

Nada, although the Mayor said something interesting.

What was that?

He said, and I quote, ‘This cannot happen again in an election year. The last time almost cost me re-election.

Do they already know about the murder? I just left the crime scene.

It’s a small town, Luce. Word gets around fast. How was it?

Not good, she said. Come into my office.

After Vanda followed her into her office and closed the door, Ruediger related the events of the morning, giving a broad-brush description of the crime scene.

No ID on the girl? said Vanda.

None.

Want me to start checking missing person reports?

Yes, that might help. For the time being, hold my calls except from the Mayor.

Chapter Three

The second topless female victim was found nine days later in Afton, a town with a population of 2800 located eleven miles south of Stillwater. Like its larger neighbor, it boasted two marinas on the St. Croix River. It also had a charming park in the old village.

As Ruediger and Towery drove into the familiar hamlet, Ruediger couldn’t help but remember all the fun adventures she had shared with her brother, Joe, when they were kids. In the summer, there were festivals in every small town in Minnesota. For Afton, the strawberry festival offered lots of summer fun and plenty of delicious, strawberry desserts; but, Ruediger remembered Afton most for its ski hills, Afton Alps, on which she and her brother had spent every spare hour in the winter time. Both accomplished skiers, they earned extra money as ski patrols. Ruediger chuckled, remembering that Joe had set the stage for ski patrols to be on snowboards as well as the typical Nordic and Alpine skis.

World to Lucy, come in, said Towery.

What…oh, sorry. I was lost in a memory of my brother and me at Afton Alps.

Sorry to dump water on your fun, but we’ve arrived at the crime scene.

Ruediger spotted the body ahead, also leaning against a tree. Like the last, the victim’s face, framed by blonde hair, was calm and composed. A pair of wings was pinned to her naked chest.

The Washington County Sheriff’s Office, which provides police services for townships without their own police departments, was already present when Ruediger and Towery climbed out of the patrol car. Ruediger noticed that Dan Rimmer had beaten them to the crime scene, too. He was standing off to one side scribbling in his notebook. Towery went right to work while Deputy Sheriff Todd Gunderson walked over and introduced himself to Ruediger.

Any witnesses? asked Ruediger.

No witnesses that we know of yet. She was found by an older gentleman out walking his dog around seven this morning.

Who took his statement?

I did, he said, flipping open his notebook.

Einer Josephson says he walks his lab, Nellie, from six thirty to seven thirty every morning, except in the winter when temperatures dip below fifteen.

Sounds like he’s Minnesota born, commented Towery dryly.

Why’s that? asked Gunderson.

I moved here from Tennessee and thought I was going to freeze my ass off. Locals told me that temperatures were good at fifteen or above. I thought they were nuts, but after living here twenty years, I found it to be true. That’s all.

Anyway, continued Gunderson, returning to his notes, Josephson said he saw no pedestrians and the only vehicles were morning delivery trucks like the bread truck for the bakery, a garbage truck and the dog catcher.

Afton has a dog catcher? said Ruediger.

It’s county. Serves Stillwater and Hudson, too.

She’s been dead about six to eight hours, said Towery over his shoulder, as he continued examining the victim. There’s no blood at the scene. No drag marks but she was definitely brought here, probably after death.

That means we’re talking about a strong individual who was able to carry her to this site.

Or two people, suggested Gunderson.

Possible but it would draw more attention, said Ruediger.

Cause of death looks like it will be the same, said Towery. A date rape drug followed by something lethal.

Have you already taken pictures? asked Ruediger of Rimmer. You know you can’t use them.

Rimmer patted the air in a conciliatory gesture.

I took a shot from the other side of the tree. All it shows is a small portion of her head and one shoulder.

A naked shoulder, said Ruediger tersely.

So?

I don’t want the public to panic and jump to conclusions.

Lucy, the public already knows about the first one. How can they possibly jump to other than one conclusion?

Which is what? she snapped tersely.

We have a psychopath; a serial killer.

Not yet, we don’t, countered Ruediger. First we have to rule out a copy-cat murder.

Not much chance of that. If you remember, you asked us to leave out the details about the plastic wings. This body has the same plastic wings stuck into her bare chest.

Ruediger pushed past Rimmer to view the body for herself. It was almost an identical match to the first, and as was true of the first, this girl was most likely not from Afton or Stillwater.

She looks younger than the last, said Ruediger.

She has her second maxillary molars, called out Towery.

Those are the twelve-year molars, tutored Rimmer. In case you’re wondering.

Ruediger ignored him.

Also, no sign of a struggle just like the last. I’m sure an autopsy will show she was also poisoned, added Rimmer.

Ruediger studied the reporter, trying to reign in her heart. What kind of power did this man have over her? She became a stuttering idiot in his presence, at least on the inside. As she looked into his gorgeous eyes, she tried to focus on the staggering reality of what he had just said. There could be a serial killer in their midst. It seemed unreal like something from a television series.

There’s always a chance that the murder of these two girls could be something else, said Ruediger.

Like what? asked Rimmer in disbelief.

They could be former girlfriends of the same man, now a killer. If so, he’s obviously drawn to the same type. Maybe when the second one jilted him, he became enraged and killed her. Perhaps that didn’t satisfy his anger and he went looking for the first.

Rimmer listened, a skeptical look inching across his face. Well, let’s hope he didn’t get dumped by three girlfriends. Working on your assumption, what direction will your investigation take?

Identification of the victims will answer a lot of questions. I plan to start there.

Chapter Four

When Ruediger walked into the office the day after the second victim had been found, she ran into Rimmer.

Got a minute, he asked.

His appearance was so unexpected that she had no time to get flustered.

Yes, do you want to come into my office?

Let’s walk down the street for coffee? Can you spare the time?

Ruediger glanced at her watch, knowing full well she had nothing on her calendar other than investigating a double murder.

I can take the time, she said.

They walked down Main Street to The Daily Grind, the oldest coffee shop in Stillwater. Neither spoke until they had received their orders and taken their seats. Ruediger sipped hers and waited for Rimmer to speak first.

I was thinking, he said, stopping to add more sugar to his coffee. She waited patiently though her heart had started its familiar double-tap whenever Rimmer was around.

It’s about those wings. Seems like a clue.

Seems? she said. Seems obvious to me.

Obvious? In what way?

It’s just apparent that it means something, that’s all. I don’t know what, yet.

Well, said Rimmer, As you probably know, wingman usually means one of two things; the aviation connection or the bar-talk connection.

So, Mike told me but I don’t want to make any assumptions in this case, said Ruediger, taking another cautious sip of coffee that scalded her tongue. Oh, that’s hot.

Do you know anything else it could mean? said Rimmer.

No, I don’t, so I’ll follow the two premises you mentioned to see where they lead. See what surfaces.

Mind telling me what your game plan is?

Is this off the record, or are we in a formal interview? I’m not ready to be quoted on anything by the press.

Ok, off the record. Maybe I can help.

Ruediger’s heart lifted and soared at the thought of working side-by-side with Rimmer, eager to say yes, until she realized how inappropriate it would be. It would be considered highly unprofessional to involve the press, giving him first look at an ongoing investigation.

Instead she said, Help in what way?

I thought we could put our heads together over dinner and talk through the possibilities, that’s all. Maybe we’ll come up with something.

She was caught off-guard by his manner, so similar to an unsure high school boy asking someone out on a first date that she almost giggled. It was a look of vulnerability that she’d never witnessed before in the overconfident Rimmer. Her heart melted a little more if that were even possible. Then the thought occurred to her that he had asked her for a date. Or was this just another newspaper ploy to get the inside story? As acting chief, she needed to be extremely cautious about her decisions.

I’m not sure I should be discussing the investigation in what some might consider a social event. I am the new chief with all its…

Political ramifications, finished Rimmer, when she had failed to find the right word to complete her sentence.

She nodded and smiled. Something like that.

I have some ideas I thought I could share. You can take them or leave them, and you certainly don’t have to reveal anything regarding your current findings. Scouts honor, he said, holding up two fingers.

Ruediger studied his lopsided smile and incredibly blue eyes; eyes that seemed to twinkle with