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

by Steve Hamilton

  “Do you know where she lives?”

  “Up the road a bit,” he said. “Within walking distance. Which is actually … well, let’s just say it’s a good thing on most nights. But anyway, I’ve called her a couple of times today.”

  “Did you go over there?”

  “Yeah, I did. At lunchtime. Nobody was there.”

  “Her daughter was coming up to see her,” I said. “Last night.”

  “You mean Natalie?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve never met her,” he said. “I guess she wouldn’t bring her around here, eh? That would sorta ruin the story about the bad clams.”

  I was about to smile for the first time that day when I happened to look over the man’s shoulder. Outside the window, at the gas station, a man was finishing up at the same pump I had just used myself. He was using his left hand. His right hand was in a cast.

  It was Marty Grant.

  “What the hell…” I said.

  The bartender looked out the window. “What is it?”

  “Over there, at the gas station.”

  “You know that guy?”

  I didn’t have time to answer him. I was already on my way out the door. When I got around to the gas station, Marty Grant had already pulled out. He was heading south. I ran back to my truck and fired it up, skidding my way out of the icy parking lot and onto the road.

  You son of a bitch, I thought. What the hell are you doing up here? There’s no way it could be a coincidence. No way you’re up here doing a windshield job. There were probably a dozen auto glass shops in Soo Canada. Nobody would hire a man from Michigan to drive all the way up here.

  I accelerated until I could finally see his truck ahead of me. I’m gonna run you off the road, Marty Grant. I’m gonna run you into the snow and then drag you out of that truck …

  Wait a minute, Alex. Take a breath. Maybe I should go back, get Don the bartender, go find Grace’s house.

  No. You heard the man. She’s not there.

  God damn it, Grant, if you’ve done something to her. Or to Natalie. I swear to God …

  I could feel my grip getting tighter on the steering wheel.

  Okay, Alex. Take it easy. Just follow the man. Don’t do anything stupid. At least not yet. Just settle in and follow him.

  But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. This is one of the men who beat me half to death. This is the man who swung at me the hardest, so hard that when he missed he’d broken his hand on the bricks.

  He’s the worst of them. He’s the biggest. He’s the strongest. God damn it to hell.

  I kept following him. It wasn’t even an hour on the road, but it felt like an eternity. I stayed a quarter mile behind him, all the way back down the Queen’s Highway to Soo Canada. The sun was going down as he finally reached the bridge with me behind him. I didn’t think he had spotted me, even as I pulled in right behind him at the toll booth. He pulled out of the booth and onto the bridge. Another car got between us. When he hit customs, he took one lane and I took another.

  I could see that Marty got a quick once-over and was already pulling out onto the road. Meanwhile, I had to wait while the car ahead of me got the full treatment. I was expecting the agent to come out and start ripping the door panels off the guy’s car, when finally he was given the all clear.

  I pulled up, trying to calm myself down before I spoke to the agent. Looking like a homicidal maniac wouldn’t do me much good right now, even though that’s about how I felt. The agent asked me the usual questions. I gave him the right answers and was on my way, but by the time I hit I-75, Marty Grant was long gone. No matter, I thought. I knew exactly where to go.

  I took the exit and headed downtown, past the Ojibway Hotel, and onto Spruce Street. It was dark now. I pulled into the driveway, right in front of the garage door. I didn’t see Marty’s truck there, but so what. I parked and got out. After everything that had happened, it was finally time for my own little showdown with the Grant family.

  When I opened the door, I saw Michael Grant, the other brother, working on a car. I didn’t see Marty anywhere. Michael looked up from his job—it looked like he was doing a full cutout, scraping all the old adhesive out of a windshield bed before putting in the new glass—just in time to see me come through the doorway.

  “McKnight?” he said. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Where is he?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Tell me where he is.”

  “Where who is?”

  “Your brother Marty,” I said. “I saw him in Batchawana Bay.”

  “What?”

  “He was up there. I just followed him back.”

  “What was he doing up there?”

  “That’s what I wanna know.”

  “Look, McKnight…” He stepped away from the car and approached me. He still had the scraper in his right hand. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Tell me where to find your brother and I’ll leave.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Ain’t gonna happen,” he said. “You need to turn around and get out of here right now.”

  “What happens if I don’t?”

  He looked at me for a long moment. His eyes were steady until he was about to make his move—the oldest “tell” in the book, the eyes getting wider just before your man pulls the trigger. Apparently, it works for glue scrapers, too. I ducked as he swung it at me and put my elbow into his ribs. That knocked the wind out of him just long enough for me to grab something myself.

  There, a crowbar leaning against the garage wall. This will do nicely, Alex.

  I picked it up just in time for him to come at me again. He took one look at it and dropped his scraper. “All right,” he said. He raised both hands. “All right. Just take it easy.”

  I didn’t feel like taking it easy. Not yet. A new windshield was sitting on a special felt-padded stand, waiting to be fitted onto the car. I swung the crowbar and hit it dead center, sending a spray of glass pebbles all over the floor. What was left collapsed together into a heap, like some sort of folded-up modern sculpture.

  He took that in stride. I had to give him credit. “Okay, that’s enough,” he said. “Put that thing down.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I said put it down.”

  There was a box leaning against the wall, just the right shape and size. I was pretty sure I knew what was inside. I swung the crowbar and heard the muffled sound of more glass breaking.

  “Shit!” he said. “What are you doing?”

  “What does one of these babies cost?” I said. “Four hundred dollars? Five hundred?”

  I swung at another box and heard more glass breaking.

  “I’m calling the police,” he said. “You’re insane.”

  “I think you’re right. I get that way when people gang up and beat the shit out of me.”

  I hit another box. It was utterly and completely the most stupid thing I had ever done. I was committing a felony myself and probably screwing up the whole assault case against the three men who had attacked me. I was throwing everything right out the window. Grant made another move, but stopped himself short when I raised the crowbar at him.

  “You’re a real tough guy with a club in your hand,” he said.

  “That’s good coming from you,” I said. “Why don’t you call your brother and your brother-in-law over here so we can have an even fight again.”

  He kept his hands up as he backed away from me. “You’re making a big mistake, McKnight.”

  “I’m sure I am,” I said, dropping the crowbar on the floor with a loud clang. “Now it’s your turn. Let’s see what you’ve got, Grant.”

  He took one look at my empty hands and came right at me. I gave him a side step and slipped a punch into his midsection. I followed that with an overhand left that sent him bouncing off the wall. He tried to wrap me up on the rebound, backing me up hard against the car. I got an elbow under his chin and pushed him away, just far
enough to hit him again. He started punching back, but I didn’t care anymore. I had been carrying this rage around inside me for days, a secret even to myself, subconsciously nursing it and promising it that I’d give it some release. That time had come.

  He hit me in the face a few times, hard enough to tear out some of my stitches. I could feel the blood running down the bridge of my nose. But I stayed close to him. I kept driving my fists into his stomach. I could feel him weakening.

  He pushed me away and grabbed something off the workbench. A screwdriver. I backed up as he swung it at me. Once, then twice. A man with any sense would have checked out right then, but instead I timed the third swing and locked up his arm. I bent his elbow back, my face just inches from his.

  “Drop it,” I hissed in his face. “Or I’ll break your arm in two.”

  The screwdriver fell to the ground. When I let go of him, he tried to take one more swing at me. His last. I caught him right under the ribs with everything I had left. That sent him onto his hands and knees. He stayed that way for a long time, trying to breathe.

  I stood over him, watching. I wiped the blood off my nose. He kept sucking air, trying to get something into his lungs. He sat down on the cement floor. Finally, he was able to speak.

  “Enough,” he said. “God damn, enough.”

  “Just stay right there,” I said. “Or I’ll kick your head in.”

  “What the fuck. God damn.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “You can’t.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “I’m telling you, McKnight, he’ll kill you.”

  “Sure, whatever,” I said. “Just tell me where he lives. He needs to tell me what he was doing up there.”

  He was still breathing hard. “You still haven’t told me what you’re talking about.”

  “Natalie was up there,” I said. “That’s where her mother lives.”

  “Natalie who? Who are you talking about?”

  “Natalie Reynaud. The woman who was with me at the hotel that night.”

  “That night.. .” he said. “She was with you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I went up there looking for her, because I hadn’t heard from her since yesterday. Before I could find her, I saw Marty at the gas station.”

  “No, it must have been someone else. What would he be doing up there?”

  “It was him.”

  “Just hold on,” he said. “There has to be some explanation. What did you say her name was again?”

  “Natalie Reynaud.”

  “Reynaud,” he said. “Reynaud.”

  “You recognize the name?”

  “Reynaud,” he said. “Yeah, it’s familiar.”

  “Your father apparently left that hat for Natalie,” I said. “Do you have any idea why he might have done that?”

  He stayed there on his butt. He shook his head slowly and didn’t say a word.

  “The hell with it,” I said. “I’ll find his house.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Natalie Reynaud. You said her mother lives in Batchawana Bay. Where does Natalie live?”

  “A little town,” I said. “A couple of hours northeast.”

  “Blind River?”

  That stopped me cold.

  “Yes,” I said. “How did you know?”

  “That’s where the devil lived.”

  “Say that again?”

  “The devil of Blind River,” he said. “That was something my father used to say. That’s where I remember the name. Somebody named Reynaud was the devil of Blind River.”

  “When did he say this?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. It was… toward the end there. When I’d go see him. I thought he was just talking nonsense. He was sort of getting that way.”

  That made me think of Mrs. DeMarco, all alone in her house, living in some phantom version of the far past.

  “What else did he say, Grant?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Tell me.”

  He thought about it. “He didn’t talk to me much. He spent a lot more time with Marty the last few years.”

  “So maybe Marty has more of the story, you’re saying.”

  He pushed himself up off the floor. “You can’t do that, man.”

  “Says who?”

  I was waiting for his last run. When he came up at me, I spun him around and sent him right back into the workbench. He hit the thing hard and started an avalanche of tools.

  “You might as well give him a call,” I said. “Tell him I’m coming.”

  I left him there to dig himself out from under the tools and went back outside. The cold air stung my face like all hell. I was still bleeding. When I got to the truck, I was already starting to feel dizzy. As the adrenaline slipped away, I held on to the door handle, hanging my head, watching the drops of blood collect in the snow.

  I got in the truck, grabbed an old fast-food napkin and held it against my eyebrow. I closed my eyes and took a few long breaths. Time to call Leon, I thought. He can find out where Marty Grant lives. The phone rang just as I picked it up. I looked at the incoming number.

  It was Natalie’s.

  “Hello!” I said after I fumbled to hit the talk button. “Is that you?”

  “Alex, what’s the matter?”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at home,” she said. “Why are you breathing hard?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “But you first. Tell me what’s going on. Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m a little tired, but—”

  “Where have you been? You never called.”

  “Alex, you knew I was seeing my mother last night. I stayed over there.”

  “Okay,” I said. I tried to make myself slow down. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound crazy about it. But I saw Marty Grant today. He was in Batchawana Bay.”

  There was a long silence on the line. “Say that again, Alex. Marty Grant is one of the two brothers. ..”

  “The younger one, yes.”

  “And you saw him in Batchawana Bay?”

  “Yes. I don’t know what he was doing. I still haven’t talked to him yet.”

  “What were you doing up there?”

  I hesitated. “I told you,” I said. “I was worried about you.”

  “So you drove all the way up there?”

  “It’s not that far. It’s closer than your house even.” Now that I was saying it out loud, it was starting to sound a little ridiculous.

  “So what, you saw Marty Grant, but you didn’t ask him why he was there?”

  “I didn’t get a chance. I followed him back here.”

  “Where are you now, Alex?”

  “I’m in front of the Grants’ place,” I said, looking out at the building.

  “You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?”

  “Too late. Look, Natalie—”

  “Alex, I can’t believe you.”

  “Just stop,” I said. “This is coming out all wrong. After everything that’s been happening, you gotta understand … I thought you were in some kind of trouble.”

  “Alex …”

  “What’s happening with your mother, anyway? How did that go?”

  Silence.

  “Come on, Natalie. Please tell me.”

  “It wasn’t good,” she said. “It really wasn’t. I mean, I thought I knew just how bad it could be, but… my God.”

  “What is it? What happened?”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I’m too tired to think about it right now. ”

  “You want me to come over?”

  There was another long pause.

  “She’s here, Alex. I brought her with me.”

  “She’s there right now?”

  “I couldn’t leave her in that house. I had to either try to clean the place up or just bring her here.”

  “So the two of you we
re already gone,” I said. “If Marty Grant was going up there to find her …”

  “We weren’t there, Alex.”

  “So I’ll come on over. I’ll bring some food.”

  “No,” she said. “Please. Give us a little time, okay? I don’t think she’s ready to see anybody yet. And I need to get some sleep so bad right now. I was up all night. I think I should just call you tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” she said. “What are you going to do now?”

  I was afraid to say.

  “Alex, I want you to go home. If you go find Marty Grant right now, you’re going to get into big trouble.”

  “I want to know why he was up there. Don’t you?”

  “Alex, listen to me. I can’t imagine why he’d go up there looking for my mother, but if that’s what he was doing, then we’ll get to the bottom of it. We’ll do it the right way, okay? I’ll call him and see what he says. If I don’t like what I hear, then I’ll contact the police in Michigan.”

  I let out a long breath. I couldn’t think of a good argument.

  “You can’t be the one doing this, Alex. You know that. You’re the one they assaulted. If they’re up to something else, I swear, I’ll be even more mad than you are. I’ll come down on them like the hammer of God. Just promise me you’ll go home now and I’ll call you tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Damn it, Natalie.”

  “Promise me.”

  “I’m going.”

  “Promise.”

  “I promise,” I said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Alex.”

  “Natalie?”

  “What?”

  “The hammer of God. That’s a good one.”

  “Good night, Alex.”

  I hit the end button and sat there for a while. I watched the garage, wondering if Grant would come out after me again. He had to see my truck sitting here.

  He never did. The sky got darker and the snowflakes started to drift down slowly. The bright light from the garage glowed through the windows. Finally, I put the truck in gear and drove off, back through town, past the Ojibway Hotel again, out onto the open road, toward Paradise.

  She had sounded so tired. Beyond that, there was something else in her voice, some great weight of trouble and sadness. I had to wonder if she’d ever let me help her carry it.