Misery Bay

by Steve Hamilton

  “Do me one favor,” Maven said. “Can you look him up in your records there? See where he’s been on the police force?”

  Coleman went back to his keyboard and his mouse and started going through the database.

  “He started out in St. Ignace,” he said. “He was a trooper on the road for what—seven years, I guess, until he transferred to forensics. He was probably taking a lot of extra classes at night or something, because I know that’s pretty heavy stuff.”

  “St. Ignace,” Maven said. “Where did we just see that?”

  Coleman hit a few more keys.

  “Right here,” he said. “Sergeant Steele was also stationed in St. Ignace. In fact…”

  He sat back in his chair and looked at us, one by one. The words and the numbers and the dates glowed on the screen and for the first time the whole thing was coming together before our eyes. It wasn’t just a gut feeling anymore. We had a hard connection now and I knew everything was about to change. I felt a sick cold wave rising from the bottom of my throat.

  “They were there at the same time,” Coleman said. “For seven years, it looks like. Steele and Haggerty were riding out of the same post for seven years.”

  And we’re rolling …

  … This is going to be a tricky shot, but let’s try it.

  … Get as close as you can to the blade of this knife.

  … Yes, even closer. I want to feel like I’m riding the edge.

  … Stay in focus, as much as you can. That’s it.

  … Feel that metal? Feel it on your skin? That’s how I want it to feel.

  … We’ll need the right sound mix here. A musical note, off-key. Grating and painful, until you’re begging it to stop.

  … All the way up the edge. To the very point. That’s right.

  … This will come across on film. This feeling. I know it.

  And cut.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nobody said anything for a long time. As Sergeant Coleman sat there looking back and forth between us, the other state policemen kept walking by, grabbing their coffee and heading outside to their cars, like it was just another normal day.

  “We have to talk to this guy Haggerty,” I said. “I mean, don’t we? Do we have any choice?”

  “He just lost his daughter two weeks ago. How the hell is he going to be able to talk to anybody?”

  “We have to find him. If we don’t, he may be next.”

  “It’s time to fill me in here,” Sergeant Coleman said. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Do you know anybody up in the Marquette lab?” I said. “We have to get to this man. Even if he’s retired, you must be able to find him, right?”

  “Probably,” the sergeant said. “But come on, guys. Give me the rest of the story.”

  Maven and I looked at each other.

  “This is going to sound crazy,” Maven said, “so promise me you’ll hear us out before you say anything.”

  “Uh, okay,” he said, not looking too certain about his ability to keep that promise.

  “It all starts with a suicide,” Maven said. “Another kid. A son of another former state cop. Out in Misery Bay.”

  * * *

  An hour later, we were outside the Soo post, shivering in the cold and wondering what the hell to do next. Sergeant Coleman had told us he’d call the Marquette lab and get back to us as soon as he could. But first, he had to figure out a tactful way to tell whoever answered the phone that he needed to contact a former lieutenant who was certainly just beginning to grieve his dead daughter.

  “How long do you think we’ll have to wait?” I said to Maven.

  He shrugged his shoulders. Then he leaned over to shelter his cigarette while he tried to light it.

  “You can’t do this again,” I said.

  “Do what?”

  “Go running off without me.”

  He looked up at me, his cigarette still unlit.

  “You have to trust me,” I said. “We’re both into this now.”

  “That line you gave the FBI about this still being your case. I know you were just trying to cover for us. You really don’t have to do this anymore.”

  “I told you, we’re both in this. Okay?”

  He got the cigarette going at last, then stood up and blew a thin plume into the cold air.

  “Those agents aren’t going to be happy if we keep sticking our noses in their business.”

  “I don’t consider this to be their business,” I said. “I don’t think they even believe there’s any connection here.”

  “You know we have to tell them. This new thing with Haggerty … it might change their mind.”

  “So you’re saying what, give this to them and then go home?”

  “I’m saying give this to them and see what they can do with it. But the hell with going home.”

  He gave me a nod and told me to follow him in my truck.

  “Where are we going?” I said.

  “It’s our turn to go ruin their day.”

  * * *

  I followed Maven across town, all the way north to the frozen St. Marys River. There on Portage Street sat the one and only three-star hotel in Sault Ste. Marie. The Ojibway. As I parked in the lot, I couldn’t help running through my own personal history with the place. I had come here a million years ago to spend the night with Natalie and to find out if we could make a future together. If I really wanted to break it down, I could probably trace back to this very building and find my last real happiness here, before it all went to hell. But that was something I didn’t have the heart to think about. No, better to just go find the FBI agents who were camping out here so we could share our new horrible secret.

  Agent Long was coming out of the business center as we stepped into the lobby. She had glasses on now, and she was holding several pages that had obviously just come off the hotel printer.

  “What are you guys doing here?” She couldn’t help but flinch as the blast of cold air made it to her side of the room.

  “We need to talk to you and your partner,” Maven said, stomping off the snow from his boots. “Why don’t you get him down here?”

  She pulled out her cell phone, hit a speed-dial number and then made the customary cell-phone face as she watched the call trying valiantly to go through. When it finally bounced its way to a tower that was probably across the river in Canada and back to her partner’s cell phone upstairs, she told him to come down to the lobby as soon as he could. A month later, I knew she’d see the bill and wonder why it cost five bucks to make a call inside the very same building when she could have just picked up the house phone, but today that was the least of our problems. The elevator door opened and Agent Fleury stepped out, looking seriously unhappy to see us.

  “What’s this about?” he said. “Didn’t we set things straight enough at the station?”

  “No,” Maven said. “Not straight enough at all. Let’s go sit down somewhere.”

  We went into the dining room. The Freighters, they called the place. Yet more memories I could have dwelled on if I wanted to. There were a handful of people having a late lunch, so Maven asked for a quiet table on the far side of the room. As we sat down, we could see the frozen locks from the big windows. It made me remember standing up there on the observation deck with Raz, listening to him talk about his son. It was the last time I saw him alive.

  “We have a conference call in ten minutes,” Agent Fleury said, waving the waitress away without even glancing at her. “Make this quick.”

  “You’d better call and postpone it,” Maven said. “You need to hear about a new development in this case.”

  Agent Long looked at the ceiling and shook her head while Agent Fleury’s face went through several shades of red.

  “I thought we had reached an understanding,” he finally said.

  “Just get over yourself and listen to me,” Maven said. “We talked to one of the sergeants over at the state police post here in town and we believe we’ve found anoth
er suicide that appears to be connected.”

  “Why were you talking to the state police?”

  “The sergeant and I go way back. Besides, I didn’t exactly see you rushing over there to do the legwork, so give it a rest.”

  “You’re out of line,” Fleury said.

  “Everybody take it easy,” Agent Long said. “Chief, tell us what you found.”

  He laid it all out for them. The apparent suicide of the young woman in Marquette, now the latest of three. Her father a retired lieutenant from the state lab. Most importantly, the one vital link between Sergeant Steele and Lieutenant Haggerty—their seven years together at the St. Ignace post.

  “I still don’t see how this ties in with our man Razniewski,” she said. “He never worked up there, did he?”

  “No, he didn’t,” Maven said. “But at first we were thinking maybe he ran into them in the past few years, after he became a marshal. I’m sure he doesn’t work with Michigan state cops all the time, but maybe once in a while, right? Even that far north?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Yeah, but the time frame doesn’t work as well that way. If you go back ten to twelve years, that’s when Steele and Haggerty were still together in St. Ignace. And that’s when Raz was a state cop, too. You’ve got all three men in the same job at the same time, even if it was only for a couple of years.”

  “But you were on the job, too,” Agent Fleury said. “Am I right? How come you’re not involved in this yet?”

  I thought Maven had already stared this agent down as hard as a man can be stared down, but I was wrong. Maven had one more gear left and he used it now.

  “First of all,” he said, slowly, “yes, I was on the job at the same time. But as far as I can remember, I never ran into Steele or Haggerty. And I have a good memory. Second, who’s to say I’m not involved? Whoever’s doing this … if it really is one person doing this…”

  “Then he may have you next on his list? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

  “Haggerty’s the one I’m worried about. According to the pattern, he’d be next. And soon.”

  “But then what? After that? Does he move on to you?”

  Maven let that one hang for a moment. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “It’s possible.”

  “So this person who’s doing what, let’s go through the MO. He finds these old state cops from back in the day, and the first thing he does is make that person’s son or daughter commit suicide? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

  “That’s the worst possible thing you could do to somebody.” I hadn’t said a word yet and I figured it was about time. “Think about it. It’s even worse than killing somebody straight out. Kill their child first.”

  “But make it look like suicide.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Exactly. Make it look like suicide.”

  “Do you know how hard it is to really do that? To kill somebody and to fool everybody into thinking the person killed himself? Or herself?”

  “I understand,” I said, “but it might not be so hard to miss if you’re not looking for it.”

  “I don’t know, I’m still skeptical.”

  “I don’t have any kids, but if I did … that would be the worst thing you could do to me.”

  “Maybe.” He cocked his head back like he was thinking of what could be worse.

  “It would be right up there,” I said. “Believing your own flesh and blood doesn’t want to live anymore.”

  “Okay,” Agent Fleury said, “so if I buy that, and if Chief Maven is somewhere on that same list…”

  He turned his attention back to the chief. I had a bad feeling about what might come next.

  “What do you say, Chief? Do you have any kids?”

  “I have one daughter,” he said, his voice going robot-flat again, drained of all color and emotion as it had been in the interview room.

  “One daughter,” Fleury said. “Okay, then. So you better give her a call, huh? Tell her to stay away from open windows.”

  It was several days in the brewing, but that finally did it. Maven came out of his chair, faster than I’d ever seen him move. Faster probably than anything he’d done in twenty years. He was already around the table by the time I could get to my feet. He grabbed Agent Fleury by the collar and pulled him close. With his face one inch away he said something that I couldn’t hear. I caught up to him and pulled him away, and as I did I could see the fear written clear on Fleury’s face.

  “You’re out of control, Maven!” The fear was gone as quickly as it came. He was upset now. Upset and embarrassed and I knew this was something that wouldn’t go away quietly. “It was just a stupid joke, you idiot. I could throw you right in jail, you know that?”

  “I’d like to see you try,” Maven said.

  “What the hell is wrong with you people up here?”

  “Hey,” I said. “Just knock it off, all right?”

  “I just make one stupid little crack and you turn into a maniac?”

  One stupid little crack, I thought. Pretty standard cop humor, actually. I’d heard a lot worse, but Fleury picked the wrong man on the wrong day.

  “Everybody cool down,” I said. “Okay? Can we all just relax?”

  Maven shook free from me and straightened his shirt. “If you ever say another word about my daughter, I swear to God…”

  “You swear to God what? What will you do?”

  “Knock it off,” Agent Long said. She stood in front of him and pushed him backward. She was strong, I had to give her that much.

  Fleury was about to say something, but thought better of it and turned away.

  “Who did you guys talk to at the state police post?” Agent Long said.

  “A sergeant,” I said. “An old friend of the chief.”

  “Yeah, you already told me that. Give me a name.”

  “Sergeant Coleman.”

  “Okay. So we’ll go over there right now and get up to speed. We’re all over this, and you don’t have to worry about it. Is that understood?”

  I didn’t say anything. Maven sure as hell wasn’t going to say anything, either.

  “I asked you if it was understood.”

  “Yes,” I said. “We got it. Although I think we’ve already heard this line once before.”

  “You have my word,” she said. “We’ll give it our full attention. Right now.”

  “Okay,” I said, putting my hands up. “In that case, it’s all yours.”

  “Take the chief and get out of here before these guys start throwing chairs, all right?”

  I put one hand on the chief’s back and he pushed it away. He gave Agent Fleury one more hard look, then turned and walked out of the room. Agent Long gave me a grim smile and a roll of her eyes as I followed behind him. By the time I caught up, he was already through the lobby and out the front door.

  “Chief, wait!”

  He got into his car, put the key in the ignition, and gunned it. His tires spun a few times on the frozen road. When they finally gained some purchase he veered out into traffic, horns honking all around him.

  Then he was gone.

  * * *

  I went home. I didn’t hear a word from the chief for the rest of that day. I kept thinking about the retired lieutenant up in Marquette, wondering if he had any idea what kind of mortal danger he might be in. Even as I went down to the Glasgow Inn that night, I kept looking at the phone sitting on the bar. Call information, I thought, get his number, give him a call, tell him to keep his head down or to get the hell out of town, or something. Anything.

  Just relax, I told myself. There’s nothing you can do right now. The agents are on top of this. Better late than never, but still. They went to the state police post, they got all the information they needed. Surely they’ve been in contact with the lieutenant by now. Agent Long promised you personally that they’d give this their full attention.

  I’d tell myself all of that and it would hold me over for approximately one minute.
Then I’d go back to staring at the phone.

  There was still no word from the chief when I went home to bed that night. In the morning I broke down and called the Soo post. I asked for Sergeant Coleman, but they told me he was unavailable and would probably remain so for the rest of the day. I asked if he was meeting with the FBI, but whoever was on the phone would not go down that road with me. In the end, I hung up, went outside, and got in the truck.

  When I hit the Soo, I tried Maven’s house first. He wasn’t home. His car was gone. I wrote out a note asking him to call me and wedged it in his front door.

  I tried the City-County Building. Nobody had seen Chief Maven that day.

  “You know, the chief is on administrative leave,” the receptionist reminded me. “He’s not supposed to be here at all.”

  “Like that would stop him.” I thanked her and left.

  I drove aimlessly around town for the next hour or so. Eventually, I stopped at the state police post and looked for his car in the lot. It wasn’t there. I stepped inside, knowing it was probably useless. Sergeant Coleman was not in the building and had not left any word on how to contact him.

  As I drove back to Paradise, it was all I could do to not keep going west. Two hours and I’d be in Marquette. At least I’d be doing something then, no matter how ill-advised. But I made myself take that last turn north toward home.

  There were no messages on my machine. I plowed my road and then went down to the Glasgow to see if I could drive Jackie half as crazy as I was, but that didn’t seem to help at all. The sun went down. The wind picked up and started howling and I knew the wind chill would be something like thirty below. Another beautiful April night in Paradise. Then the door opened, just like it had that first night. The night Chief Maven walked in and got me into all of this.

  This time, on an even colder night, Maven knew exactly where to find me. He came over to my chair by the fire. He stood looking down at me. After searching for him all day, now that he was here I had no idea what I wanted to say to him.