A Cold Day in Paradise (Alex McKnight Mysteries)

by Steve Hamilton

  Uttley spent his night on the Fultons’ couch. I spent my night lying on my bed, looking over at the phone every five minutes. I got up a few times and looked outside.

  He didn’t call. Not even just to hear my voice. Not even just to let me hear the silence on the other end. The night passed without a sound. Even the wind stayed quiet.

  THE NEXT DAY I had no reason to go see Chief Maven. That gave me two choices. Either pick some daisies and show up at his office anyway, or give myself the day off. It was a tough choice, but I stayed home.

  I split some firewood and delivered it to the other cabins. On my first run I stopped at the bend in the road, just to see where Dave was spending his nights. It looked like he had chosen a thick stand of jack pine trees. You could just barely make out my front door.

  I came back to the woodpile and finished my last load. It felt good to swing the ax, but it didn’t make me forget my troubles. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a flash of something that looked like blond hair. It turned out to be a doe making a break through the brush. I had to stand there leaning with both hands on the chopping block for a full minute before I could move again.

  I gave Uttley a call at his office. “You sound pretty beat,” he said.

  “You sound a little rough around the edges yourself,” I said. “I was just wondering if you had heard anything from the prison.”

  “Just talked to them. The guy’s going to go check himself. I haven’t heard back yet.”

  “Did you tell them I want to visit him?”

  “Alex,” he said. “This man shot you. I gotta tell you, the man at the prison thinks it’s a bad idea to try to visit him.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “What’s he going to do to me in a prison?”

  “Alex, it just seems … unhealthy.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s unhealthy,” I said. “Somebody killing people and writing me love notes about it.”

  “But Alex, that can’t be Rose. You know that. A man can’t be in two places at one time.”

  “What if he has a twin brother?”

  “What? Are you serious?”

  “It’s just an idea,” I said. “What if his twin brother is in prison and the real Rose is up here?”

  “If he had a twin brother, why would he even… never mind. I don’t even know what to say.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know this sounds crazy, but I have to start somewhere.”

  “Look, I’ll see if I can locate any records. Birth certificate, school records, whatever. And I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back from the prison, okay?”

  “All right,” I said. “Thanks for humoring me.”

  “Maybe this will be the night,” he said. “Maybe he’ll show up at your front door.”

  “I hope so,” I said. “I know it sounds strange, but this is one murderer I really want to meet.”

  ONE MORE NIGHT. Dave in his car, me in the cabin, just waiting there. How long would we have to keep doing this? If this guy wanted to torture me, he had found the best way. Just make me sit there on my butt all night long.

  The wind started to pick up a little bit that night. Then it died down again. In the long hours I tried not to think about the past too much. I didn’t want to see Franklin dying again. I didn’t want to see that look in Rose’s eyes. And yet, who else’s eyes would I see at two o’clock in the morning, as I lay on my bed feeling the cold weight of my gun?

  And then suddenly, a light. It swept across the wall. Headlights.

  I reached for the walkie-talkie, pushed the button, and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Dave,” I said. “It’s a car.”

  Silence.

  “Dave. Come in.”

  Nothing.

  “Goddamn it, Dave! Are you there?”

  No answer. Outside I heard a car door shut. Then footsteps. I gripped the revolver with both hands. The footsteps stopped.

  I took a step toward the door. The floor creaked beneath me. I stopped.

  There was no sound except for my breathing and my heartbeat. What was he doing out there?

  Bang! The silence was ripped apart. My heart leapt into my throat. Bang! The pounding on my door sounded like he would smash it into splinters. I put my back against the wall, keeping clear of the door. Surely it would bust open with the next blast. Bang! I could feel the impact shake the entire cabin.

  And then a voice, bellowing in the night. “McKnight!” He was right there at my doorstep. I could practically feel the heat of his breath through the door. “Get out here, McKnight!”

  I quickly weighed my options. Stay put, see what he does next? Throw the door open and surprise him? What if he’s armed? Am I prepared to shoot? Goddamn it all to hell, can I shoot him this time?

  I checked the gun. All right, you fucking lunatic. This is it. I’m opening this door right now. And if I see a gun in your hand I’m gonna shoot you right between the eyes. On the count of three. One. Two.

  “Freeze!” Another voice. Outside. “Get down now! Put your hands behind your head! On the ground! Now! Move it!”

  I threw the door open. There was a man facedown on my doorstep. Dave was standing above him, both hands on his gun. “Mr. McKnight, put the gun down!”

  I just stood there.

  “Mr. McKnight! Please put your gun down!”

  I looked down at my hand. The gun was shaking. I pointed it to the ground.

  “Are you all right?”

  “What?”

  “Are you all right, Mr. McKnight?”

  “Yes,” I said. I looked at the man on the ground. He was fighting for breath. I couldn’t see his face. “Where were you? I tried to call you on the radio.”

  Dave kept his gun trained on the man. “I didn’t hear you,” he said.

  I didn’t take my eyes off the man on the ground.

  “Backup is on the way,” he said. And then to the man, “You just keep lying right there. Don’t move a muscle.”

  The man groaned.

  He looked familiar. That hair. “Wait a minute,” I said. I bent down to look at him.

  “Mr. McKnight, don’t go near him!”

  “It’s all right, Dave,” I said. I grabbed the man’s red hair and pulled his face up into the light of the doorway. “I know this man.”

  “Goddamn you, McKnight,” he said. He was drunk.

  “Dave,” I said. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Leon Prudell.”

  “You must be pretty goddamned afraid of me, McKnight,” he said. A thin line of drool ran from his mouth to the ground. “You went out and got police protection just in case I showed up?”

  “Yeah, that’s right, Prudell. I was afraid you’d use your chin to bruise my knuckles again.”

  THEY DRAGGED PRUDELL’S sorry drunken ass down to the station for the night. The next morning, I still hadn’t started to feel sorry for him yet. I figured he deserved at least a few more hours with Chief Maven.

  I stopped by Uttley’s office around ten o’clock. He was just finishing a good phone slam. For the first time in memory, his hair was messy.

  “I can’t take too much more of this,” he told me. “Everything’s falling apart here. I’m losing clients. You remember that guy at the trailer park? I missed a couple of calls from him so he went out and got somebody else.”

  “You don’t look so good,” I said.

  “I hope I don’t look as bad as you do,” he said.

  “You might want to stop in at the station today,” I said. “They’ve got your man Prudell there.”

  “He is most definitely not my man,? Uttley said. “What did he do?”

  “He came by my cabin last night. I think he wanted to continue our discussion from last week.”

  “Oh for God’s sake,” he said. “Does he actually blame you for him losing his job?”

  “He’s out, I’m in,” I said. “That’s all he cares about.”

  “What a jackass,” he said. “So I suppose Maven thinks he’s our killer now? Because he came to your plac
e last night?”

  “He did for about five minutes,” I said. “I set him straight.”

  “So why’s he still there?”

  “I think he’s just drying out,” I said.

  “Fine, let him stay there,” he said. “God, what a jackass.”

  We both let ourselves laugh a little bit. It was the kind of laugh that comes out when you haven’t slept in days and you feel like one big exposed nerve.

  “Where are we on Rose today?” I said.

  He held up a pad of legal paper, taking a moment to focus his bloodshot eyes. “Maximilian Rose, born in 1959.” He looked up at me. “He did not have a twin brother. Sentenced in December of 1984. Life plus twelve years, no parole. I told you I talked to a corrections officer down there yesterday. It took a little while to make him understand our situation.”

  “Did he have a picture? A mug shot or something he could use to positively identify him?”

  “Yes, he did. He told me that he went to Rose’s cell personally and double-checked on him. As far as he’s concerned, that man in the cell is Maximilian Rose.”

  “How about the request to visit him?”

  Uttley looked at me and exhaled. “This guy did pass that request along, yes.”

  “And?”

  “And Rose refused to see anyone.”

  “What? Are you kidding?”

  “That’s his right,” he said. “He doesn’t have to receive any visits if he doesn’t want to.”

  “But can’t we make him?”

  “We can’t, no. I suppose the police can.”

  “Great,” I said. “I’m sure Maven will love mis idea.”

  “I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Can I talk to this guy? The corrections officer?”

  “If you really want to,” he said. “He seemed like a good man. But I don’t know how much patience he’s going to have with this.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe I should just forget it. I mean, it’s crazy, right?”

  Uttley sat down behind his desk and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t know what’s crazy anymore, Alex.”

  I STOPPED BY Angelo’s restaurant again. The owner had opened the place up again. He was sweeping the floor when I went in and ordered a couple slices. He had been there the night of the murder, but he didn’t remember anything out of the ordinary. I sat there at a small table, maybe in the same chair as the murderer, the would-be Rose, whatever I wanted to call this guy. Vince Dorney was here, I thought, maybe over there by the bathroom, talking on the phone. He overhears Dorney talking, thinks he hears something about microwaves. Wasn’t that what the note said? He decides Dorney is a bad man, a man who needs to be removed. But how does he get him into the back alley? The owner of the restaurant didn’t have any ideas about that. He didn’t seem too anxious to even think about it anymore.

  A couple hours later I was still in town, sitting on the hood of my truck on Portage Street, looking out at the vast expanse of Lake Superior. I sat there for a long time, thinking about the night before. Dave didn’t hear me calling him because the radio wasn’t even on. Didn’t I even notice that the unit was dead? No static, even?

  And then when Prudell was knocking on my door, the way I grabbed that gun. What if I had opened the door before Dave got there? Would I have shot him? Prudell could be dead right now, on top of everything else. What was happening to me?

  And why in God’s name won’t Rose see me? It doesn’t make any sense. Unless … unless it’s not really Rose. The man is afraid I’ll know it’s not him if I see him.

  Listen to yourself, Alex. Listen to what you’re saying.

  But what else can explain it? Rose is the only person who could have written that note.

  Stop it. Just stop it.

  I could see the dark clouds building in the western sky. The wind began to pick up. It stung my face and brought tears to my eyes.

  I FINALLY MADE it into the Glasgow for dinner, after killing a few more hours driving around, going nowhere. I didn’t want to go back to the cabin yet. I dreaded the thought of another long night there.

  Jackie was behind the bar when I got there. “What the hell happened to you?” he said. “You look worse than I do, and that’s saying something.”

  “It’s a long story, Jackie. I’m not going to tell you until you slide a beer this way.”

  He cracked a Canadian for me. “Couple men in here asking about you last night.”

  “One of those men would be Leon Prudell, I take it.”

  “Yeah, he came in later. Said he had some unfinished business with you. Drank a good twenty dollars’ of whiskey before he finally left. I keep overcharging that guy but he doesn’t seem to notice.”

  “Who else was here?”

  “What’s his name, the chief of police over in the Soo.”

  “Roy Maven?”

  “Yeah, that’s the guy. He was asking all sorts of questions about you. You know, how often you come in, who you hang out with.”

  I raised my bottle. “Here’s to Roy Maven,” I said.

  “So are you going to tell me what’s going on or aren’t you?”

  “Get your no-good son out here so we can go sit down,” I said. “This is going to take a while.”

  His son poked his head out of the kitchen. There was a phone in his hand. “Hey, is McKnight here?”

  “Depends on who’s calling,” I said.

  “Do you know a woman named Theodora Fulton? She sounds like she’s ready to kill you.”

  I jumped off the barstool and grabbed the phone from him. “Mrs. Fulton?”

  “Alex! My God, where have you been? I’ve been calling you for two hours.”

  “Take it easy, Mrs. Fulton. What’s the problem?”

  “It’s Edwin!”

  I felt a needle in my gut, sickly and cold. “What about Edwin? What’s the matter?”

  “I knew this would happen,” she said. “I had such a horrible feeling when I woke up this morning.”

  “Mrs. Fulton, tell me!”

  “He’s gone,” she said. “He told me he’d be back in a little while. But he didn’t come back, Alex. He … “Her voice broke for an instant while she struggled with the panic. “He’s gone, Alex. Edwin is gone.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MRS. FULTON WAS already standing in the doorway when I got there. She grabbed the front of my coat and pulled me into the house. “What in God’s name took you so long?” she said as she steered me onto the couch. “I called you twenty minutes ago.” She didn’t sit next to me. She just stood there looking down at me.

  “I came as fast as I could, Mrs. Fulton.” I wasn’t about to tell her that it had only been fifteen minutes. “Please, you have to tell me exactly what happened.”

  “He’s gone,” she said. “My son is gone.”

  “Gone where? When did he leave?”

  “It was around noon. He said he needed to go into the office for a little while. He said he’d be back for dinner.”

  I looked at my watch. It was almost seven o’clock. “He’s not that late,” I said. “It’s just starting to get dark out.”

  “No, no,” she said. “He’s never late. Edwin is never late for dinner. He should have been here two hours ago.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” I said. “Did you call his office?”

  “Yes, of course I did.” She made a fist with her right hand and rubbed it with her left, like she was getting ready to belt me.

  “Then he’s probably on his way home right now.”

  “I called at five-thirty. Don’t you understand? He should be home by now!”

  I grabbed her hands and pulled her onto the couch. “Please, Mrs. Fulton. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

  “He shouldn’t have left the house,” she said. “He should have stayed here. It’s too dangerous.”

  “No, Mrs. Fulton, no. You can’t think that way.”

  “He had a fight with her” she said. Her voice turne
d cold. “She was yelling at him. I could hear them from down here. That’s why he had to leave. He just had to get away from here.”

  “He had a fight with Sylvia?”

  “Yes,” she said. “That woman drove him out of the house.”

  “Well then, that explains why he hasn’t come back yet, doesn’t it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s probably just sitting in a bar somewhere.”

  “Do you think so?” Finally, the first hint of hope in her voice.

  “Of course,” I said. “He’s talking to a bartender right now, telling him all about it. You know, trying to figure women out. We’ve all done that.”

  From behind me a voice said, “He’s at the casino.” I turned and saw Sylvia standing there.

  “How do you know that?” I said.

  “Because he told me that’s where he was going,” she said. The expression on her face was totally unreadable. I didn’t know if she was angry or smug or God knows what. “That’s why we were fighting.”

  Mrs. Fulton just stared at her. For the first time, I sensed some of the history between them.

  “Edwin told me that he was through with gambling,” Mrs. Fulton said.

  “He told that to everyone,” Sylvia said. “But it was only a matter of time. He needed his fix. I couldn’t stop him.”

  “Which casino is he at?” I said.

  “He starts at one casino and then moves on when he thinks his luck is turning bad,” she said. “You know that. You’ve gone and found him before.”

  “Alex,” Mrs. Fulton said, “you know how to find him? You’ve done it before?”

  “Yes,” I said, looking at Sylvia. I remembered the last time I had gone looking for him. It was a summer night, as warm as it ever gets up here on the lake. Sylvia had wanted me to spend the night, to use this rare chance to wake up in the same bed together. He won’t come back, she had told me. You know he’ll be gone all night. And even if he does come back, then so what, so he finds out. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

  I told her it was time for us to put an end to it. And then the warm night got even warmer.

  “Please,” Mrs. Fulton said, “go find Edwin. Will you do that please?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ll go find him.”