Alone at Night by K. J. Erickson

Author:K. J. Erickson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

20

“I was in Minneapolis a week ago on business,” Baker said. “I heard a news story about The Get List doing a segment on the convenience-store abductions.

“The news piece mentioned that Minnesota Senator Alan Campbell had renewed a twenty-five-thousand-dollar reward offer for information leading to the victim’s return or identification of her body. The piece I heard didn’t say much more about the victim or about Campbell’s connection to her, but I got a kind of sick feeling in my stomach. I made it a point to watch The Get List program. When I saw the picture of the girl, heard how young she was—well, all I could think was if I’d done something about Alan Campbell thirty-two years ago, that girl would probably still be alive.”

Mars shook his head. “I can’t imagine being in the situation you were in back in Vietnam. Or that you’d know then that Campbell could possibly get involved in something like this when he got back to the States. For that matter, we’re a long way off from establishing Campbell’s connection to Andrea Bergstad…”

Baker said, “But you weren’t surprised when you found out Al Dente was Alan Campbell. You knew who I was talking about before I said his name. You must think…”

The phone rang. Mars looked at his watch, and was startled to find it was after midnight. Then he remembered that Nettie had gone over to the History Center.

“I’ve got to get this,” he said to Baker.

* * *

“Well, partner,” Nettie said, “our pop art forensics just went fizz.”

“Meaning…”

“Meaning I’ve got an article from the Duluth News-Tribune that says on the October 1984 night in question, Alan Campbell was the keynote speaker at the annual St. Louis County Republican Bean Feed.”

“Damn,” Mars said, his warm, prickly feeling drying up fast, “I didn’t even know Republicans ate beans.”

“It was too much to hope for,” Nettie said. “Not that Republicans eat beans—I mean that our pop art soup can was a message from Andrea. It seemed providential at the time, but…”

“Nettie, I can’t talk just now. Something has come up—but given what you’ve just said, I’m not sure anymore what it means. Can you be at the office at seven?”

“Like what has just come up?”

“Not what. Who. A guy from Iowa who drives a blue Buick has come up. To my condo, as a matter of fact. Talk to you in the morning.

“You’re right,” Mars said, returning to the living room and to the point Baker had been making before Mars took Nettie’s call.

“We have been looking at a possible connection between Campbell and Andrea Bergstad’s abduction. But what we had to establish that connection was thin. Very thin. And now”—Mars nodded in the direction of the kitchen—“the call I just got pretty much blows even that connection, thin as it was, out of the water.”

Baker said, “I know what I’ve told you doesn’t help much, but every instinct I have is telling me there is a connection. I’m just sorry I can’t give you anything else…”

“Tell me,” Mars said, “what happened after you got back to base camp.

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