“You got it,” I said. “I hope they’re paying you double overtime for this.” I signed off and put the walkie-talkie and my revolver on the table next to my bed. All I could do now was wait.
I lay on the bed, listening to the silence. It felt like a long time. I looked at the clock. It wasn’t even eleven yet.
And then the phone rang. I sat up and grabbed the gun.
Easy, Alex. For God’s sake.
I heard the machine click on automatically. The number would be traced before I even answered it. And the faint whirring sound meant that the tape recording had already started.
I picked up the receiver. “Yes?”
“Alex, it’s me, Lane. I’m at the Fultons’ house. We had a nice dinner, sorry you couldn’t be here. You were right, Mrs. Fulton is a great cook.”
“Say hello to her for me,” I said.
“I will. Listen, I just wanted to make sure you were all right over there. Is everything set up?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Good. Okay, I’ll get off the phone then. Hey, by the way, I tried calling the prison today. They were having a lockdown. There was some sort of disturbance on Rose’s block. The guy sounded like it happens once a week. Anyway, I couldn’t get through to Rose. I’ll try again tomorrow.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said. “I appreciate it.”
“No problem, Alex. You call me if anything happens, okay?”
“You got it.”
“I mean, call the police first, of course. Ha! Then call me.
“Of course,” I said.
“All right, I’m off to guard the palace. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I lay back down on the bed. The gun was still in my hand. I looked at it closely, checked that it was loaded. It looked exactly like the gun I once carried as a policeman. I suppose that’s why Lane bought it. He figured I’d be accustomed to a service revolver. But holding it in my hand only made me think of one thing. Why didn’t I go for my gun right away? Could I have gotten it out of the holster in time? Would he have shot me first instead? Maybe I’d be dead now and Franklin would still be alive. Would that be such a bad thing?
The phone rang again. The machine turned on. Another trace, another recording. I answered it.
“Mr. McKnight? This is Theodora Fulton.”
“Mrs. Fulton,” I said. “Is everything all right over there?”
“For the moment, yes. Although I have to say, I would feel much safer if you were here.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I said. “Lane is a good man.”
“He’s Edwin’s lawyer, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is, ma’am.”
“Do they allow lawyers to carry guns?”
“Uh … sure. Of course,” I said. “Why not?”
“It doesn’t seem right to me. Lawyers are dangerous enough without being armed, wouldn’t you say?”
“Ah, you’re being funny now, Mrs. Fulton.”
“Please forgive me,” she said. “I just had to hear your voice and to say good night to you, Alex…. You don’t think that person will show up here, do you?”
“No,” I said. “I really don’t think so.”
“All right, Alex. Do take care of yourself. Good night.”
I walked around the cabin for a while, stood looking out each window into the night. I picked up the walkie-talkie and hit the button. “You okay out there?”
“No problem,” he said. “I’m gonna just step out of the car a second to water the bushes, but don’t worry, I’ll have the radio with me at all times.”
I signed off and put the unit back on the table. I checked the gun again. Alex, you are going to drive yourself fucking insane before this night is over.
The phone rang again. It was almost midnight. I picked it up.
“Alex, it’s me, Edwin.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“Edwin, for God’s sake. Uttley already called, and so did your mother.”
“You’re kidding me. I didn’t hear them. I was in the Jacuzzi.”
“I’m fine, Edwin.”
“You should try this Jacuzzi sometime,” he said. “It really helps you to relax.”
“I can’t imagine what relaxed feels like right now,” I said. Truth was, I had been in his Jacuzzi. It was the one time I had actually spent the night over there with Sylvia, when Edwin had gone down to Detroit to accept some kind of humanitarian award. All the other times were just quick exchanges in the afternoon, or maybe a stolen hour in the night when we were sure he was out at the casinos. Just thinking about it made me feel bad again. It was guilt, yes. But also the horrible realization that I would do it again if I had the chance. And the equally horrible realization that I wouldn’t get the chance.
This is just what you need to be thinking about, Alex. While you wait for a killer to come pay you a visit. Now the night is complete.
“Are you still there, Alex?”
“Yes, sorry,” I said. “I guess I’m a little on edge here.”
“I shouldn’t wonder. I’ll let you go. Just wanted to say we’re all thinking about you.”
“You sure you guys don’t want to go back to Grosse Pointe for a while,” I said.
“No dice, Alex. You’re stuck with us. Good night.”
I put the phone down. Sylvia will be next, right? Just a quick good night and I hate your guts. Then I will have spoken to everyone in the house.
She didn’t call. I finally lay back down on the bed with my clothes on. I turned the light off. I knew that having a light on inside might make me feel better, but that it was better to wait in the dark, where I could see him as well as he could see me.
I drifted off, thinking about that day in Detroit again. Whatever I had said into my radio was enough for them to finally find us there. My memories shifted from the ceiling of that apartment to the ceiling in the hospital. A doctor looking down at me, shining a light into my eyes. More darkness. Then another doctor and a nurse.
And then my wife looking down at me, biting her lip. I tried to speak, but I could not. I closed my eyes. The next time I opened them, she was gone.
And then a reporter, I think, trying to ask me questions. And then a nurse shooing him away.
I don’t know how many days I spent in that hospital bed. Finally I was able to focus my eyes for more than a fleeting moment. And then soon after that I could lift my head up. I felt a thick wrapping of bandages on my right shoulder. A doctor came in and sat in a chair next to my bed.
“Mr. McKnight,” he said. “How do you feel today?”
“How long has it been?” I said. “What happened?”
“It’s been six days,” he said. “You were shot three times.”
“My partner,” I said. “Franklin.”
“He was gone when they found him.”
“Yes,” I said. I let my head fall back on the pillow. “I thought so.”
“They had the funeral on Sunday,” the doctor said.
“What about the man who shot me. Us. Did they catch him?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t believe so.”
I nodded. “Was Mayor Young there? At Franklin’s funeral?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Good,” I said. “Franklin always liked Mayor Young. It was one of the things we argued about.”
“Mr. McKnight, I need to tell you what’s going on. We were only able to remove two of the bullets.”
“Two of them? Where’s the third one?”
“It’s still inside you,” he said. “As a matter of fact, it’s right next to your heart. It apparently bounced off your collar bone and stopped just outside the pericardial membrane.”
“What does that mean?” I said.
“What that means is that you are a very lucky person. Although I don’t suppose you feel very lucky right now.”
“Not really.”
“If the b
ullet had gone maybe a quarter of an inch more, it would have ruptured the membrane. Your heart would have drowned in its own blood.”
“Why can’t you take it out?”
“Well, we may be able to. We’re going to have to think about this. You had lost a lot of blood when they brought you in. It took a long time just to stabilize you. Later we went in and took the two bullets out. One of them just nicked your lung and stopped at your shoulder blade. The other went into your rotator cuff. I’m afraid you’ll never pitch again.”
“I’m a catcher,” I said.
He looked up from his chart. “Excuse me?”
“Never mind,” I said. “Go on.”
“I don’t like where that third bullet is, Mr. McKnight. It’s in what we call a retrocardiac location in the inferior media stinum, which means that it’s between the heart and the spinal cord. An operation would be a matter of risk versus benefit at this point. We decided to hold off on it, see how you’re doing. If there had been any sign of danger, we would have gone right in, of course.”
“So now what?”
“Believe it or not, that bullet doesn’t seem to be doing you any harm right now. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time we left a bullet in somebody. When it’s imbedded deep in a muscle, for instance, we often decide that we’d cause even more damage going in to get it.”
“But this is next to my heart,” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s a little unusual. Like I said, you’re very fortunate to be alive.”
Very fortunate. That’s me, all right.
Five months later, my right arm was still in a sling. I had just left the police force. My marriage was all but over. And then they caught Rose one night over at the other hospital across town. My old commanding officer came to my house and picked me up, drove me to the station. They led five men into the lineup room. I had stood on the other side of the glass a few times while a witness looked at all the faces. Now I was the witness.
Rose was the second man from the left. Even without the big blond wig, I would know him anywhere.
At the trial, I sat in the box and I pointed to the man named Maximilian Rose sitting at the defense table, and I said, that’s the man right there. He looked at me with those same penetrating eyes.
They found him guilty and they sent him away. I watched the two bailiffs lead him out of the courtroom. He was going to prison for the rest of his—
A sound. The phone.
The phone was ringing.
I woke up. I grabbed the gun off the table, my heart pounding. The clock read 2:57.
The phone rang again. The machine went on. The call was traced. I could see the number right there on the readout.
I picked up the receiver. I didn’t hear anything.
“Hello?” I said.
Silence.
“Are you there?”
Silence.
“Say something,” I said.
Silence.
“Goddamn it, say something!”
Silence.
“Tell me about what you did,” I said. “I want to hear about it. Tell me everything.”
Silence.
“You motherfucking piece of shit, who are you?”
He hung up.
I was just about to throw the phone, but stopped myself. I picked up the walkie-talkie. “Come in,” I said.
“Right here, Mr. McKnight. Is everything all right?”
“He just called.” I gave him the number from the machine.
“Hold on,” he said. I heard him calling in the number. I knew it would only take a few seconds for them to look it up, then another couple minutes to get to the phone. Something in my gut told me that it would be a pay phone. Two squad cars would come racing into the deserted parking lot of a gas station or a restaurant. The pay phone would stand alone under a street lamp, not a soul in sight.
I thought about what the note had said. I didn’t have it with me, of course. I couldn’t look at it to convince myself that it was real. I couldn’t read it to try to make sense of it. What did it say? What were the exact words?
It can’t be Rose. He can’t be here. He’s in prison. There’s no way he could be anywhere else.
The note. What did it say? Something about microwaves, about the chosen one, about me being in disguise.
I never told anyone about that.
I didn’t tell my wife. I didn’t tell the shrink the department sent me to. I never told anyone.
There were only three people in that room when he said those things. Rose, myself, and Franklin. And Franklin is dead.
CHAPTER TEN
I STOPPED BY to see Maven the next day. He had the phone record on his desk. “It was a pay phone on Ashmun Street,” he said. “It’s only a block away from the second murder site.”
“I don’t understand why he didn’t say anything,” I said.
Maven rubbed his chin. “It’s almost like he knew he was being recorded.”
“How would he know that?”
“You tell me,” he said.
I shook my head. “You’re something else, Chief.”
He picked up the piece of paper and looked at it again. “Funny, you got three other calls last night. They’re all from the same number.”
“The Fultons’.”
“Yes.”
“So what?”
“It’s just funny,” he said.
“Uttley called me, and then Mrs. Fulton, and then Edwin.”
“Mr. Uttley is baby-sitting them now?”
“We didn’t have much choice, Chief,” I said. “I’m stuck in my cabin now, remember? And you didn’t seem too willing to post an officer over there.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re safe,” he said.
“I don’t follow you,” I said. I felt the acid building in my stomach again. How long would I have to keep seeing this bastard every morning?
“This is your own personal psycho, McKnight. Why would he bother your friend? He even said in his note that he likes the guy, didn’t he?”
I just looked at him. “Am I ever going to get a coffee in this place?”
“Maybe some day, McKnight. The next time I’m in a good mood.”
That was enough of Maven for one morning, so I got myself out of there. While I was in town, I stopped by to see the pay phone. A detective was still there, finishing his work. He had dusted for fingerprints. I could still see traces of the powder on the phone.
There was a little bookstore nearby, a gift shop next to that. But I didn’t imagine there would have been anyone around at three o’clock in the morning. And even if there was, would they have noticed a man making a call at a pay phone?
If the man was wearing a big blond wig, maybe. Ha ha.
Angelo’s restaurant was just down the street, so I walked down to see it again. It was still deserted. I walked around to the back alley. The police had cleaned the place up pretty well. I had to get down on my hands and knees to see the faint residue of blood on the bottom of the grease barrel.
What was I doing here? Here I was in a dirty little alley, on all fours like a dog. My pants were probably ruined. What was I looking for? I didn’t even know. All I knew was it was driving me crazy, just sitting around wondering who this person was and what he would do next.
On the way back to Paradise I gave the Fultons a call on my cell phone. Everyone was fine, although Uttley had a stiff neck from sleeping on the couch. He told me he’d try the prison again when he went in to the office.
I went home and slept for a couple hours. Later I stopped in at the Glasgow. Jackie was the only person in the place, but that was fine by me.
“Haven’t seen ya in a couple days,” he said as he cracked a cold Canadian for me. God bless him.
“Things have been a little crazy,” I said.
“Have you seen the paper today? They had another murder in town.”
I took the newspaper from him. The headline read, “Local Man Slain Behind Restaurant, Second Murder In Thr
ee Days.” I read the story, but it didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. They tried to get Maven to say something about it, but he gave them the usual line about it being too early in the investigation to comment. Maven’s picture was on page two. He didn’t photograph well.
“Damnedest thing,” Jackie said. “Hey, didn’t I read something about Edwin and that first murder? The one in the motel?”
“He just found the body,” I said. I was about to tell him all about it. He certainly knew how to listen. But I didn’t. I just felt too tired and confused to go through it all again. Maybe next time, I thought. We’ll go sit at a table and I’ll lay it all out for him. He might be able to help me make some sense of it.
I went back to the cabin and called Uttley. “The lockdown’s over,” he said. “I was able to get a message through today.”
“Great, so what happened?”
“Well, I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I just asked them to double-check on Rose, make sure they take a mug shot with him.”
“Maybe I should visit him,” I said.
“You actually want to go down there and see him?”
“Maybe that’s the only way I’ll know if it’s really him,” I said. Although I couldn’t imagine actually being in a room with him again. Even with four inches of wire-reinforced glass between us.
“I can give it a try,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said. “Are you spending the night at the Fultons’ again?”
“Mrs. Fulton wants somebody there. As long as they refuse to leave, I figure I’ll keep staying there with them.”
“You’re doing a good thing,” I said.
He laughed. “Just wait until they see my bill.”
THE NIGHT CAME again, and with it another small dose of the fear. I found myself thinking about those pills in the back of the medicine cabinet. But I couldn’t afford to take them. I had to be ready.
The same cop waited all night in the same place. His name was Dave. He had a wife and two kids at home. I felt for the guy, having to spend all night sitting in his car. I made him some coffee and a couple sandwiches this time. It was the least I could do.
A Cold Day in Paradise (Alex McKnight Mysteries) Page 11
