Ice Run: An Alex McKnight Novel (Alex McKnight Mysteries)

by Steve Hamilton

  “Ms. Reynaud,” Maven said. “Did Alex tell you that he went looking for Chris Woolsey the day before the funeral? That he went to his apartment on campus and then to his mother’s house?”

  “He didn’t know,” Natalie said. “At the time, Alex had no idea Chris was related to Mr. Grant.”

  “Okay, fine,” Maven said. “But to the Grants and the Woolseys, here’s this man who they think drove old Simon Grant out into the snow. Now here he comes around bothering them, trying to … They don’t know what. He’s leaving private investigator cards around. Whatever he was harassing Simon Grant about, now he’s after them.”

  “For God’s sake,” I said. “Can we please—”

  “Then when this same man shows up at the funeral,” he said to her, “to harass them even further …”

  “You keep using that word,” Natalie said. “Alex wasn’t harassing anyone.”

  “It’s their word,” Maven said. “I keep trying to tell you that. This is what the Grants are saying right now.”

  “Listen,” I said. All of a sudden I was getting another big headache. “This is not even why we’re here, okay? We want to ask you something about Natalie’s father.”

  That stopped him cold. “I don’t understand.”

  “Natalie’s father was murdered right here in this town,” I said. “On New Year’s Eve, 1973.”

  “How do you know that?”

  I pulled out the old newspaper article and handed it to him.

  “The Ojibway,” he said when he was halfway through. He looked up at both of us and then finished the article. When he was done, he handed it back to me.

  “The hat that Alex gave you to give to the Grants,” Natalie said. “It wasn’t Mr. Grant’s at all. It was my father’s.”

  “Are you thinking that maybe Mr. Grant—”

  “Yes,” she said. “I am.”

  He looked back down at the article. He slowly ran his fingers over the paper’s surface, like he was reading the thing in Braille. “Good Lord,” he said.

  “Chief,” I said, “were you on the force back then?”

  “No, not yet. I was a county deputy that year. I remember how it was, though.”

  “Did you know the chief back then? The one who was arrested?”

  “He was gone by the time I got here. The state guys took him out in 1964. It took a while for things to settle down, though, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “How come I never heard about this stuff?”

  He looked up at me. “You didn’t grow up around here, McKnight. So of course you didn’t hear about it.”

  “Here we go. I’m just a troll.”

  “What does that mean?” Natalie said.

  “A troll, from under the bridge. The lower peninsula, get it?”

  “It’s not that,” he said. “It’s more like, if this kind of stuff happened out west, they’d make a big deal about it, you know? The lawless Soo-town, or the little city with the big sins, something stupid like that. They’d turn it into a tourist attraction. But people aren’t like that around here. This is Michigan, so nobody makes a big deal about it.”

  “So do you know anybody who might have been on the force then? Could you maybe find out who the lead detective was?”

  He thought about it. “It was probably old Mac Henderson. I don’t know if he’s even alive now.”

  “But you could locate the case file, couldn’t you?”

  Maven rubbed his forehead. “Oh man, where would those be? Maybe downstairs, maybe in that other storage building. No, wait, we moved everything out of there.”

  “Chief Maven,” Natalie said, “do you think you could have one of your men look for it? We’d really appreciate it.”

  “I can ask somebody to try, but I can’t imagine what you’re gonna do with it. The case has been dead for years. Even if you think Mr. Grant was involved somehow …”

  “Chief, you’re a cop, just like me,” she said. She was playing her trump card, and I don’t know how anyone could have resisted it. “No matter how long it’s been, you’ve got to find out the truth. You know what I mean.”

  “Just promise me,” he said. “Don’t go stirring up the Grant family again. With all due respect, ma’am, you don’t have a badge in this country. And McKnight, he’s not exactly a master of diplomacy.”

  “I can’t promise you I won’t talk to them,” she said, looking him in the eye. “Not if they know something about what happened.”

  He didn’t say anything. He sat there and watched her as she stood up.

  “Besides,” she said, “I want that hat back.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The sun was going down when we left the station, the snow coming harder, as if the daylight were abandoning us to the grip of winter.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” I said as we got back in the Jeep. “Any time I gotta talk to him in the future, I’m bringing you with me.”

  “He seemed all right to me,” she said. “A little hardheaded, but you want that in a chief.”

  “That wasn’t hardheaded for him, believe me. That was Maven the pussy cat.”

  “Men always have to turn things into a pissing contest,” she said. “Did you ever try just talking to him? Taking him out for a beer?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that one. I tried to imagine Roy Maven and me, sitting together at a bar. It made my head hurt even more.

  “So where is this place?” she said.

  “Which place?”

  “Grant’s Auto Glass.”

  I looked at her. “Are you serious?”

  “Tell me how to get there.”

  “It’s easy. Take a left out of here, go down a few blocks to Spruce. Another left, then maybe a half mile.”

  “Let’s do it.” She pulled out of the lot and onto Court Street, then took the left onto Spruce. We went over the power canal. She kept the wipers on to push the snowflakes off her windshield. A few minutes later, she pulled to the side of the road. Grant’s Auto Glass was thirty yards in front of us, the yellow sign glowing through the snow and the darkness.

  “What are we doing?” I said. The lights were on in the shop, but I couldn’t see any movement through the front windows.

  “I just wanted to know where this place was,” she said. She leaned forward on the steering wheel. “Not the busiest place in the world.”

  Just then, one of the two garage doors started to open. The rattle was so loud we could hear it inside the Jeep. When the door was chest high, a man ducked down under it and stepped out into the lot. He was a big man. He wore a down vest over flannel and denim. He had a bright white cast on his right hand.

  “That’s the younger brother,” she said. “What was his name? Marty?”

  “That’s him.”

  The man looked up at the snow falling all around him, shook his head, and ducked back into the garage. The door kept opening.

  “So let’s go,” I said. “Let’s go talk to him.”

  “No way, Alex. We’re not doing that tonight.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, first of all, there’s no way I can do this if you’re around.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Look at you,” she said. “Look at your fists. You’re ready to fight him, and you haven’t even gotten out of the car yet.”

  “I’m not going to fight them, Natalie. How dumb do you think I am?”

  “Admit it, Alex. You want to bust him up so bad right now. It’s all you can think about.”

  I took a long breath, making myself wait a few seconds before I said anything. “What you said before, about men …”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “If I said the same kind of thing about women … You know, women in general do this or that.. .”

  “I’d smack you, I know. This is not about that, Alex. If you and I go walking up there, those guys aren’t going to talk to either one of us. They’ll see you and they’ll get their hackles up right away.”

  “If we
just explain to them—”

  “That you really didn’t make their father walk out into the snow? Sure, that would work.”

  “Natalie—”

  “I’ll come back by myself,” she said. “I’ll try to approach them the right way, maybe flash the badge at them. See if I can get them talking.”

  “These are not nice people,” I said. “I don’t like the idea of you coming here alone.”

  “Tough shit, Alex. Now tell me how to get to the Woolsey’s house. I assume it’s back this way somewhere?”

  She pulled a U-turn and went back the way we came, toward downtown. I stared at her.

  “Which way, Alex?”

  “Straight for a while. Then take a left on Ashmun.”

  A few minutes later, we were on the other side of town, parked in front of the Woolseys’ house. The last time I had been here, I had plowed the driveway and asked to talk to Chris, and had gotten nothing but a blank look from Mrs. Woolsey. Of course, that was before I had learned she was Simon Grant’s daughter.

  “Okay, I got it,” Natalie said. “I’ll come talk to these people, too.”

  I knew better than to say anything.

  “I’m getting hungry,” she said. “How about you?”

  I kept looking at the house.

  “Come on,” she said. “You pick the restaurant. Anyplace except you-know-where.”

  “You don’t like the service there?”

  “No, I don’t like the fact that my father was killed there.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I needed another pain pill. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  “It’s all right, Alex. I’m sorry, too. But you know I’m right about this.”

  “The Antlers has good hamburgers,” I said. “Go back toward downtown.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  She swung the Jeep around. When we got to the Antlers, we grabbed a table. The waitress did her best not to stare at my beat-up face. Natalie sat across from me, marveling at all the stuffed animal heads on the walls.

  “Charming place,” she said.

  “Unless you’re any wild animal in North America, yeah.”

  We ordered cheeseburgers and beer. The more I thought about what she had said, the more sense it made to me. With me along, the Grant brothers wouldn’t say a damned thing. Of course, I wasn’t going to admit she was right.

  “What’s the matter?” she said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re getting tired.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “You’re still not well yet. You should be taking it easy.”

  “I’m okay, Natalie.”

  She looked at me again and shook her head.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I think you’re right. I am tired.”

  “Do you have your phone with you?”

  “Yeah.” I reached into my coat pocket and gave her the phone.

  “I should check my machine,” she said. She held the phone in front of her, took a deep breath, and then dialed. I watched her as she entered her code and then listened to the messages. The waitress brought us our beers.

  After a full two minutes, she turned the phone off and put it down on the table. “Should you be drinking beer, Alex? With the painkillers?”

  “Did your mother call?”

  She nodded.

  “And?”

  “She said she can’t wait to see me again. And that she quit drinking.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “No, just that she wants me to come over as soon as possible.”

  “Where does she live, anyway?”

  “North of the Soo,” she said. “Up in Batchawana Bay. I figure I’ll have the advantage now. I’m assuming she’s pretty drunk right about now, having left that message about quitting.”

  “Why do you have an advantage if she’s drunk?”

  “When she drinks, she loses her edge, Alex. Her lies are so ridiculous, you can see right through them. I remember once she actually told me that my father wasn’t really my father at all. You want to know who my real father was?”

  “Who?”

  “Pierre Trudeau.”

  “The old prime minister?”

  “That’s the one.”

  I tried to stop myself from smiling.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “You can laugh. What else can you do?”

  “Natalie, I’m sorry you have to deal with this.”

  “I do want to ask you one favor,” she said. “I know I’ve already put you off once tonight…”

  “Twice, actually.”

  “I’m just thinking—”

  “You don’t want me to go with you when you see your mother?”

  “There are reasons why I haven’t seen her in five years, Alex. The lies are just one part of it. I had to stay away, for my own health and sanity. She’s toxic to me. I don’t want to inflict that on you, too. Besides, she was pretty young when she had me.”

  “So?”

  “So if you do the math, she’s not that much older than you are. She’d have something colorful to say about that, believe me.”

  “Natalie, there’s nothing your mother can say that’s gonna bother me. You’ve already told me not to believe a word she says anyway.”

  “It’s going to be hard enough seeing her,” she said. “I’m just asking you, let me do it alone this time. The next time, you come with me. I promise.”

  “All right,” I said. “I understand.”

  She picked up her glass and clinked it against mine. I was about to lean over and kiss her, but then the bells went off. They’ve got these bells behind the bar that are loud enough to give you a heart attack, and they set them off a couple of times every night, with no warning. I had forgotten all about the damned things. The only good news was that I had already drained most of my beer, so Natalie didn’t end up wearing too much of it. She laughed. It was the only real laugh I had heard in the short time I had known her. The way things were headed, I had to wonder when I’d ever hear it again.

  After dinner, she drove me back to Paradise. We didn’t talk much on the way. As we passed Jackie’s place, I looked at the warm light in the windows and wished we were headed there for the rest of the evening, to sit by the fire with hot drinks before going to my cabin. Instead, she was going to leave me here alone, then drive all the way back to Canada.

  When she pulled onto my access road, I saw that it had been plowed. Good old Vinnie. My truck was outside my cabin, no snow on the windshield. We must have just missed him. He was probably at the Glasgow, wondering how long I’d be away.

  “You’re gonna be careful,” I said. I didn’t want to get out of the Jeep.

  “I’m always careful,” she said.

  “Will you call me tonight and let me know how it went?”

  “I will.”

  “No matter how late.”

  “I promise.”

  I looked at her. In the dim green light from the dashboard her face was so beautiful yet so full of trouble, it turned me inside out.

  “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time,” she said. She kissed me, then gave me a little push, gentle but firm. I opened the door and got out. I watched her drive away. I watched the snow swallow her until I was standing there alone.

  I went inside. I took my coat off and looked in the bathroom mirror, freshly shocked by how much damage a man could take and still be standing. The left side of my mouth was still swollen, the bruises making a raccoon’s mask around my eyes, the tape still covering the stitches. How a woman like Natalie could even look at this face and say those words. The best thing that’s happened to her in a long, long time.

  I took my pills. I was more worn out than I cared to admit. I had nothing left. When I went to lie down, it felt like the bed had become a conveyor belt, the Vicodin taking me smoothly away into a land of brightly colored narcotic dreams.

  I saw the picture in my mind. It was coming to life. Three
men, the dust hanging in the air on a hot afternoon. The older man smiling. The other man, the best friend, watching from the opposite side of the frame. The man in the middle, Natalie’s father, in his prime, on a perfect summer day, moving right out of the frame, vamping for the camera, the hat held up with both hands now. Showing off the hat, like he was performing some vaudevillian song and dance.

  The whole picture fell apart, then came back together with snow on the ground now. It is New Year’s Eve. The men are standing in the snow with no coats. But the hat is perfect, the perfect thing to wear on New Year’s Eve. The older man standing behind him is saying something. Somehow I know it is important, but I can’t hear what the man is saying.

  The other man is gone. It’s just the old man and the young man now, father and son, grandfather and father. I need to hear what is being said. But it is drowned out by the sound of a car starting. The car from the picture, a detail I had forgotten about. It is started now. Someone is gunning the engine.

  I woke up. I sat up in my bed. Outside, an engine had come to life. It was my truck. Someone was stealing my truck.

  No, it was Vinnie. I rubbed my eyes, looked out the window at the snow. Vinnie had come back to plow again. He didn’t even know I was home. How could he?

  I looked at the clock. That crazy bastard, plowing at three in the morning. Had I slept that long? It felt like I had just lain down. I heard Vinnie pulling out of my driveway, heard the scrape of the plow against the road.

  Then it hit me. Natalie hadn’t called.

  I got out of bed and picked up the phone. Then I put it down again. She’s asleep, I told myself. She didn’t call because she got in late and she didn’t want to wake you.

  The hell with it. I picked it up again and dialed. Outside, the snow kept piling up. It brushed against my windows. The phone rang and rang. Her machine finally answered.

  I left a message, told her to call me when she could.

  I tried to go back to sleep, but now it was useless. I kept waiting. I listened to the night and the soft snow falling and Vinnie running my truck up and down the road.

  I called her again in the morning. I left another message, told her I was wondering how things went with her mother. “Give me a call when you get back in,” I said. “I’m worried about you.”