He was making Molotov cocktails, LaDue said, but a deadlier variant of the traditional kind, using motor oil and tar instead of gasoline. LaDue replied, “It’s going to be hard for me to talk about.” The interview began at 7:49 P.M. “What’s going on today, John?” Schroeder asked. The four went back to the Waseca police station, and LaDue and Schroeder sat down together with a tape recorder between them. LaDue admitted that he was, but said that he didn’t want to talk about it in the storage locker. Another of the officers, Tim Schroeder, said he thought LaDue was making bombs.
According to the police report, “LaDue immediately became defensive, stating that it is his storage unit and asked what I was doing and pulling away.” The officers asked him to explain what he was up to. One of the officers started to pat LaDue down. In the years since Columbine, school shootings changed they became ritualized. Scattered around his feet was an assortment of boxes and containers: motor oil, roof cement, several Styrofoam coolers, a can of ammunition, a camouflage bag, and cardboard boxes labelled “red iron oxide,” filled with a red powder. He was slight of build, with short-cropped brown hair and pale skin.
The young man was standing in the center. A group of three officers arrived and rolled up the unit’s door. He fiddled with the lock of Unit 129 as if he were trying to break in. Why was he going through her yard instead of using the sidewalk? He walked through puddles, not around them. He was wearing a backpack and carrying a fast-food bag and was headed in the direction of the MiniMax Storage facility next to her house. On the evening of April 29th last year, in the southern Minnesota town of Waseca, a woman was doing the dishes when she looked out her kitchen window and saw a young man walking through her back yard.
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