Washed Clean - Book 1, Blood in the Bay

By David J Knutson. A mystery series set at Rice Street Car Wash in Saint Paul, Minnesota, where secrets hide in the suds and redemption waits in the light.

Washed Clean, Blood in the Bay by David Knutson

Chapter 1: The Midnight Wash

Alex Rivera’s truck rattled into Rice Street Car Wash at 1:03 a.m., its headlights slicing through the neon glow of the sign. The place was deserted, save for the hum of the pressure washers and the occasional drip of soap suds. He needed to clean his truck—fast. The delivery job for Tommy had gone south, and the cargo crate in the back had left a sticky, reddish stain on the floorboards. He didn’t ask questions. He never did. But tonight, his hands shook as he fed quarters into the machine.

The bay next to him was dark, its hose dangling like a limp snake. Alex sprayed his truck bed, the water turning crimson as it swirled down the drain. Then he saw it—a slumped figure in the shadows of Bay 3. A man, motionless, sprawled across the wet concrete, a pool of something darker than water spreading beneath him.

Alex froze, the hose spraying wildly. His heart thudded. Was that… blood? He stepped closer, the stench of copper hitting him. The man’s eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, a jagged wound across his throat. Alex’s stomach churned. He’d seen bad things in his life—bar fights, overdoses—but nothing like this.

His first thought: Run. His second: The truck. If the cops came, they’d find whatever Tommy had him hauling. He was already on thin ice with a rap sheet from his twenties. He glanced at the body again. A crumpled note stuck out of the man’s pocket, half-soaked. Alex hesitated, then grabbed it. Scrawled in pen: John 8:32—And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.

“What the hell,” Alex muttered, shoving the note in his pocket. Sirens wailed in the distance. He had minutes, maybe less. Clean the truck or check the body? He grabbed the hose, praying he could wash away his sins before the night swallowed him whole.

Chapter 2: The Stain Won’t Budge

Alex scrubbed the truck bed furiously, the water pressure maxed out. The reddish stain clung like guilt. He kept glancing at the body, half-expecting it to move. The sirens were louder now, maybe a mile off. He cursed under his breath. Tommy had said this job was simple—pick up a crate, drop it at a warehouse, get paid. But the crate had leaked, and now there was a dead guy ten feet away.

He didn’t know the man, but the face looked vaguely familiar—maybe someone from Tommy’s crew? The note burned in his pocket. The truth will set you free. What kind of psycho leaves a Bible verse on a corpse? He didn’t have time to think. Headlights flashed at the car wash entrance. Not cops—a beat-up sedan pulled in, its driver obscured by tinted windows.

Alex ducked behind his truck, heart racing. The sedan idled, then rolled toward Bay 3. A woman stepped out—mid-40s, short hair, wearing a jacket that screamed “cop.” She scanned the scene, her gaze locking on the body. “Damn it,” she muttered, pulling out a phone. “Cruz here. Got a homicide at Rice Street Car Wash.”

Alex’s breath caught. He had to move. He tossed the hose, grabbed a rag, and wiped down the truck’s tailgate. The stain was fainter but still there. The woman—Cruz—spotted him. “Hey! You! Don’t move!” she barked, striding over.

“I didn’t do anything!” Alex raised his hands, the rag dripping suds. His eyes darted to the note in his pocket. If she searched him, he was screwed.

Cruz’s hand hovered near her holster. “What’s your name? Why are you here at 1 a.m.?”

“Alex Rivera. Just… cleaning my truck.” His voice cracked. The sirens were close now. Would God help a guy like him? He hadn’t prayed since he was a kid, but the words slipped out silently: Please, get me out of this.

Chapter 3: Maria’s Light

Red and blue lights flooded the car wash as two squad cars screeched in. Alex’s knees buckled, but Cruz waved the uniforms back. “He’s a witness, not a suspect—yet,” she said, eyeing him. They took his ID, asked routine questions. He stuck to his story: just cleaning his truck, saw nothing until the body.

After they let him go, Alex drove two blocks and parked, hands trembling. The note was still in his pocket. He pulled it out, the ink smudged but readable. John 8:32. He didn’t know the Bible, but it felt like a taunt—or a warning.

The next morning, he returned to the car wash, needing answers. The place was open, buzzing with regulars. Maria, the owner, was wiping down the change machine. She was maybe 60, with warm eyes and a cross necklace that glinted in the sun. “Alex, you look like you saw a ghost,” she said, handing him a coffee.

“Something like that,” he muttered. He didn’t know why he trusted her, but Maria had a way of making people spill. He told her about the body, leaving out the truck and the note. She listened, nodding.

“God puts us where we need to be, Alex,” she said. “Even in the dark.” She invited him to a prayer group that night at the car wash, part of her community outreach. He shrugged it off, but her words stuck. Was this God’s doing? Or just bad luck?

Back home, he found an old Bible in a box of his mom’s stuff. He flipped to John 8:32. The verse hit him like a punch: truth, freedom. He thought of the stain in his truck, the body, Tommy’s lies. What truth was he supposed to find?

Chapter 4: Tommy’s Call

Tommy’s voice crackled through Alex’s phone that afternoon. “You keep your mouth shut, Rivera. That job? It never happened.” Alex’s gut twisted. Tommy knew about the body—how? He demanded to meet at the car wash, midnight.

Alex spent the day jumpy, checking his truck. The stain was still there, faint but damning. He considered torching the vehicle but couldn’t afford to lose it. At 11 p.m., he drove back to Rice Street. The car wash was quiet, the bays glowing under fluorescent lights. He parked, clutching the Bible he’d brought for reasons he couldn’t explain.

Tommy pulled up in a black SUV, his grin all teeth. “You didn’t talk, right?” he asked, leaning close. Alex shook his head, but Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “Good. ‘Cause that guy in Bay 3? He talked too much.”

Alex’s blood ran cold. “You killed him?”

Tommy laughed. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.” He handed Alex an envelope—cash, but less than promised. “Clean your truck good, man. Cops are sniffing around.”

As Tommy drove off, Alex opened the Bible, hands shaking. A marked page fell open: Psalm 51. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity. He stared at the words, feeling exposed. Was this a coincidence? Or something more?

Chapter 5: The Prayer Group

Against his better judgment, Alex went to Maria’s prayer group that evening. It was held in the car wash office, a cramped room with folding chairs and a coffee pot. Six people sat in a circle—Maria, a couple of regulars, and a wiry guy named Pastor Elias. Alex felt out of place, his jeans still smelling of car wash soap.

Elias read from Matthew 11:28: “Come to me, all you who are weary, and I will give you rest.” The words hit Alex hard. He was weary—tired of running, of Tommy, of the stain that wouldn’t quit. Maria shared a story about losing her husband, how Jesus carried her through grief. Alex stayed silent, but the note in his pocket felt heavier.

After, Maria pulled him aside. “You’re carrying something, Alex. Let God take it.” He wanted to tell her about the note, the truck, everything—but Cruz’s sedan rolled into the lot. She stepped out, her face grim.

“Rivera, we need to talk. Found your fingerprints on that note.”

Alex’s heart stopped. How did he mess that up? He glanced at Maria, who mouthed, “Pray.” For the first time in years, he did.

Chapter 6: The Interrogation

Cruz took Alex to the station, the note bagged as evidence. In a gray room, she laid it out: the dead man was Ricky Voss, a lowlife tied to a smuggling ring. The note with John 8:32 was a lead, but Alex’s prints made him a person of interest. “Why’d you take it?” she demanded.

“I panicked,” Alex said, half-true. “Didn’t want to get involved.” He left out Tommy, the truck, the stain. Cruz didn’t buy it but had no hard evidence. She let him go with a warning: “Don’t leave town.”

Back at his apartment, Alex tore through the Bible, looking for clues. Why that verse? He found a website linking John 8:32 to truth exposing corruption. Was Ricky trying to snitch? He called Tommy, demanding answers. Tommy’s voice was cold: “You’re in deep now, Rivera. Keep quiet, or you’re next.”

Alex slammed the phone down, fear morphing into anger. He wasn’t a killer, but he was no saint either. He knelt, awkward, and prayed: “God, if you’re real, show me what to do.” The silence was deafening, but a strange calm settled over him.

Chapter 7: The Second Clue

The next day, Alex returned to the car wash, unable to stay away. Maria was there, hosing down a bay. She handed him a flyer for a free car wash event for the homeless, run by Pastor Elias. “Help out,” she said. “It’ll clear your head.”

While scrubbing a van, Alex found a key taped under the driver’s seat. It wasn’t his, but the van’s plates matched one he’d seen Tommy’s crew use. His hands shook as he pocketed it. Was this another setup? He slipped into the office and found a locked box under Maria’s desk—same key fit. Inside: a ledger with names, dates, cash amounts. Ricky Voss’s name was circled, with “John 8:32” scribbled beside it.

Alex’s mind raced. This was bigger than a body—a smuggling ring using the car wash as a front. He wanted to tell Maria, but what if she was involved? He didn’t trust anyone, not even himself. That night, he read Psalm 23 in the Bible: Though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil. The words felt like armor.

Chapter 8: The Confrontation

Alex met Tommy at a diner, the ledger burning a hole in his jacket. “What’s this?” he demanded, sliding it across the table. Tommy’s face paled. “Where’d you get that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Ricky was gonna talk, wasn’t he?” Alex’s voice was steady, surprising himself. Tommy leaned in, his breath sour. “You’re playing with fire, Rivera. Burn that book, or you’ll end up like Ricky.”

Alex left, heart pounding. He drove to the car wash, needing Maria’s advice. She was closing up, her cross necklace catching the light. He spilled everything—the ledger, Tommy, the key. She didn’t flinch. “God led you to that ledger, Alex. Trust Him to lead you out.”

She suggested talking to Pastor Elias, who knew people in law enforcement. Alex hesitated. Turning in the ledger meant risking his life—and Tommy’s wrath. But as he looked at Maria, he saw something he hadn’t in years: hope.

Chapter 9: The Trap

Alex agreed to meet Elias at the car wash at dawn. But when he arrived, the place was trashed—hoses cut, soap tanks spilled. A note was pinned to the office door: Keep quiet, or Maria’s next. Alex’s blood ran cold. He called Cruz, no longer caring about his own skin.

Cruz arrived with backup, the ledger in her hands. “This ties Voss to a smuggling ring,” she said. “You’re lucky you came clean.” Alex didn’t feel lucky. He felt trapped. Tommy’s crew was watching, and Maria was in danger.

That night, Alex sat in his truck, Bible open. He read Romans 8:28: All things work together for good for those who love God. Did he love God? He wasn’t sure, but he wanted to. He prayed for Maria’s safety, for courage. A text from Cruz buzzed: We’ve got a lead. Stay put.

Chapter 10: The Showdown

Against Cruz’s orders, Alex went to the car wash. Tommy was there, waiting in Bay 3, a knife glinting in his hand. “You couldn’t let it go, could you?” he sneered. Alex stood his ground, the Bible in his pocket like a shield.

“You killed Ricky,” Alex said. “And you’ll kill me. But it ends here.” He tossed the ledger at Tommy’s feet. As Tommy lunged, Cruz and her team swarmed in, guns drawn. Tommy dropped the knife, cursing.

In the chaos, Alex slipped away, collapsing in his truck. He opened the Bible, tears blurring the pages. Thank you, he whispered, not sure who he was thanking—God, Cruz, or both. The stain in his truck was gone, washed clean in the melee. A sign? He didn’t know, but he felt lighter.

Chapter 11: Rock Bottom

Tommy was arrested, the smuggling ring exposed. But Alex wasn’t free. Cruz had enough to charge him as an accessory—transporting that crate linked him to the crime. In a holding cell, Alex hit rock bottom. No job, no family, no way out. He clutched the Bible, reading John 3:16: For God so loved the world…

He prayed, raw and desperate: “Jesus, I’m a mess. If you’re there, save me.” The cell door clanged open. Maria stood there, her eyes soft. “I posted your bail,” she said. “Come to church with me.”

Alex nodded, tears falling. For the first time, he felt seen—not by Maria, but by something bigger.

Chapter 12: A New Rinse

Sunday morning, Alex sat in a pew, Maria beside him. Pastor Elias preached on grace, how Jesus washes away sins like water cleans a car. Alex didn’t understand it all, but he wanted to. After the service, he joined Maria’s Bible study at the car wash, the bays gleaming in the sunlight.

Cruz stopped by, her face softer. “You did good, Rivera. Case is closed.” She handed him a card for a mechanic job—her cousin’s shop. A second chance.

Alex looked at the car wash, at Maria’s cross necklace, at the Bible in his hands. The stain was gone—not just in his truck, but in his heart. He wasn’t fixed, not yet. But for the first time, he believed he could be.

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To be continued in Book 2: Shadows in the Suds…

Thank you for reading! Check back next week for Book 2: Shadows in the Suds on ricestreetcarwash.com. What will Alex face next?

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