The Land of Dreams (Minnesota Trilogy)

by Vidar Sundstøl

  IT WAS ONLY SEVERAL HOURS LATER that the full significance of the diary entries occurred to Lance. He was sitting in front of the TV, trying to find some program that would interest him, but without success. The first shock had begun to wear off. Now he mostly thought the whole thing was exciting. He couldn’t rid himself of the image of a small, stooped Ojibwe woman sitting in the dim light inside a birchbark wigwam. His great-great-grandmother. Every once in a while he had to laugh, but only because it was so surprising and new. And it would continue to feel that way for a long time. But it wasn’t unpleasant. On the contrary, there was something about this discovery that suited him perfectly. He felt both conspiratorial and elated.

  Was this something he could tell other people? Should Inga know about this? How would she react? It was difFicult to predict, but, considering her age, it might be best to avoid giving her such shocking news. And what about Andy?

  Andy . . . Lance discovered that he’d gotten up from his chair. On the wall in front of him hung all the family photographs. Faces smiling into the room. Andy’s too. His high school picture. Lance remembered the look on his brother’s face when he came around the corner of the building on that day. It was the expression of someone who could not be reached. Someone nobody could save. He stood there with the baseball bat in his hand, ready to start pounding Clayton Miller, the boy everyone said was homosexual. Lance went over to look at the photo of his brother. He had a strange feeling that no time had passed since they’d stood across from each other on that day in the schoolyard. He raised one hand to touch the picture but stopped when he saw that his hand was shaking. Surprised, he held up both hands. It was impossible to make them stop trembling. At last I’ve started shaking, he thought.

  Andy had Indian genes. That meant that the blood evidence could not rule him out. “A man with some percentage of Indian genes,” he clearly remembered Eggum saying on the phone. “Not necessarily full-blooded.” Now that discovery no longer pointed more strongly to Lenny Diver than to Andy. They both belonged to the group of men who could have done it. But Diver was the one who had been arrested and would have to spend the rest of his life in a prison cell. For a murder Andy Hansen had committed. Lance was now positive about that. Georg Lofthus had suffered the blows Clayton Miller had just barely escaped.

  27

  IT HAD TO BE MORE THAN TWO YEARS since Lance had called Mary to talk about something other than their son. He had no idea how she was going to react. She was the one who had wanted the divorce, after all. And that was also why she had been so skeptical about having any form of contact afterward, other than what was strictly necessary so that Lance could spend time with Jimmy every other weekend. Occasionally they would exchange a few words when he picked up the boy or dropped him off. Always about purely practical matters. Otherwise they hadn’t talked to each other in over two years. And he had never tried to pump Jimmy for information about how his mother was doing. Or who might be coming to visit her. He was sure that if he did, sooner or later that sort of thing would come to her attention.

  By now it was Wednesday evening. He hadn’t slept at all last night. While he lay in bed, tossing and turning, he realized that from now on, each day represented another opportunity to rescue Lenny Diver from the nightmare in which he had landed. And each day he would decide not to make use of that opportunity. Sin was the only appropriate word he could come up with. He was a man who would have to commit a terrible sin every single day for the rest of his life. The same sin, over and over again.

  Finally he decided he ought to call Mary. Not to tell her about the situation he found himself in. But Mary was a teacher. A teacher in Grand Portage. She’d held that job for more than a decade now. So he was thinking she must have taught Lenny Diver. Or at least a brother or sister of his. In other words, Mary must know something about the man who was now about to do time for a crime that Andy had committed. At the very least, she must know who he was. Maybe she could tell Lance what Lenny had been like in school.

  As he lay in bed and watched the summer morning dawn outside the window, he felt a great need to hear someone talk about Lenny Diver. Tell a story about him, no matter how slight.

  She picked up the phone after only two rings.

  “Yes?”

  Her voice was exactly the same.

  “Hi. It’s Lance.”

  A few seconds of silence.

  “What is it?”

  He didn’t think he heard either a rebuff or a welcome in her voice.

  “Uh, well . . . this isn’t about Jimmy, at any rate. I was wondering if you’d heard that they’ve arrested somebody.”

  Silence again. He could almost hear her thinking.

  “You mean Lenny Diver?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I heard about it.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Lance could hear from her voice that it wasn’t that simple.

  “Was he one of your students in school?”

  She gave a brief laugh, but it wasn’t a friendly sort of laugh.

  “What is this? An interrogation?”

  He could tell that things were about to take a wrong turn before he even got to the point.

  “No, sorry . . . it’s not . . . I didn’t mean to . . . but you know I was the one who found the victim, right?”

  “Yes. Yes, I know that.”

  Her voice instantly lost some of its edge.

  “Well, the truth is that things haven’t been that easy for me since then.”

  “Oh?”

  “It was an unusually brutal murder. The body looked horrible. Did Jimmy tell you I got sick when he was here last weekend?”

  “He said you threw up.”

  “That’s right. I threw up when he showed me his baby teeth that he’s been saving.”

  “Are you saying that it had something to do with . . . ?”

  “Yeah, but I won’t go into detail. I saw something that day. It was a shock, plain and simple. Please don’t tell him I threw up because of his teeth.”

  “Of course not.”

  “This whole business has been a big shock for me. Much more than I thought at first. And now . . . maybe it’s stupid, but . . . ”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know . . . I just feel a need to hear something about Lenny Diver. Now that they’ve discovered who did it. Maybe then I’ll be able to put this whole thing behind me. If I realize that the murderer has a face and a past.”

  “But what do you want me to do? I really don’t know Lenny Diver at all.”

  “But wasn’t he in your class in school?”

  “Sure, but that was a long time ago.”

  “When exactly?”

  “Ten or eleven years ago. In junior high. But I don’t remember anything in particular about him. I think he was a rather anonymous boy.”

  “Do you know anyone else in his family?”

  “I’m not sure I should answer that question.”

  “I promise not to tell anyone that we’ve talked about this. Ever.”

  “Okay . . . His little sister is in my class. She’s fifteen.”

  “So he has a sister. Have you ever met the parents?”

  “Yes, his mother has come to some of the parent–teacher meetings. I think Bess is actually Lenny’s half sister, by the way. Different fathers.”

  “Mary, I know this sounds strange. Maybe even weird. But I swear to you this has nothing to do with . . . us . . . or, well, you know . . . it’s nothing like that, but . . . ”

  “What is it?” she asked, a bit impatiently.

  “Would you consider meeting with me so you could tell me a little about Lenny Diver and his family? I need to know his story, I need to put a face on what happened. You have no idea what this whole thing has been like. I’m begging you, Mary.”

  “But I don’t know anything about Lenn
y or his family except what I’ve already told you. They’re not the sort of people I socialize with. And I only know Lenny from his school days. So I don’t think—”

  “Please, Mary. And no one will ever hear about this. You have my word of honor.”

  “So where did you want to meet?”

  “Anywhere is fine. We could have a bite to eat at the same time. But this is not about anything personal. It’s not about us. It’s just about the murder. I have to try to put the whole thing behind me once and for all.”

  He could hear her breathing as she weighed the pros and cons.

  A LIGHT DRIZZLE was falling over the North Shore. The lake was a leaden gray beneath the low cloud cover. His windshield wipers were monotonously moving back and forth. Lance was on the road heading north toward Grand Marais. Even though the birch trees along the way were a leafy green, he felt as if it were fall. That must be because it had been so long since they’d had overcast skies and rain. He liked this kind of day, when he couldn’t see more than a couple of hundred yards out over the lake. There was something comforting about that, something closed in, and he liked that feeling. Or at least he used to like it, before all this happened. At the moment it made him think of fall, which was still a couple of months away. And he didn’t want to think about the future. Didn’t even want to think about the fact that there was a future. Right now he just needed to make it through one day at a time. He glanced at the picture of Jimmy in the middle of his steering wheel. He would soon be starting second grade. And before long that toothless smile would be a thing of the past. Receding further and further into memory. Something that existed only in old pictures. And Lance himself would be an old man who sometimes took out those photos to look at them. An old man living with an old sin. No, a sin that had to be repeated each day, which meant that it would never grow old. Every single day he would once again have to condemn Lenny Diver to life in prison.

  He crossed the Cascade River. In spite of the drizzle, tourists were out on the footbridge over the river. There they stood, admiring the series of foaming white waterfalls in the deep chasm the water had dug out as it flowed into the lake over thousands of years. Lance knew that anyone who stood on the footbridge would feel the cold, wet gusts from the force of the water inside the chasm. Someone was almost always standing there. The waterfalls of the Cascade River were among the most photographed scenes on the North Shore. Only in the winter was the bridge deserted for long periods of time. That was when ice would practically fill up the chasm. Only a distant roar could be heard from deep inside the masses of ice.

  A short time later he drove down the long, gentle slope toward Grand Marais, where it looks as if Highway 61 runs right into the lake. At the bottom of the hill, before he reached the center of town, he took a right and parked in front of the restaurant called the Angry Trout. It was in an old warehouse from the days when commercial fishing was done on a grand scale in the area. He saw that Mary had already arrived. There was no mistaking her old Toyota. It still had the bumper sticker that said: “Proud to be Anishinabe.” As he walked past her car, he noticed a little dream catcher hanging from the rearview mirror. He didn’t remember seeing that before.

  There were always a lot of people in the Angry Trout, but he caught sight of Mary as soon as he stepped inside. She was sitting alone at a window table, with a glass in front of her, and she hadn’t yet noticed him. She looked good. Her hair was cut in the usual tousled, boyish style, and she seemed just as slender as always. As Lance walked toward her, she turned her head and saw him approaching. She smiled, but it wasn’t the big, welcoming smile that he knew. It was a brief, matter-of-fact smile.

  “There you are,” she said as he came over to the table.

  Lance didn’t know if he should give her a hug or not. It seemed so formal to offer to shake hands. He sat down without doing either. “Have you been here long?”

  “Ten minutes, maybe.”

  “What are you drinking?” He nodded at the glass on the table. “Just water.”

  A young waiter came over and handed them menus, which they immediately began to peruse. Lance was glad to have something to occupy his eyes and hands. It also gave him time to think of something neutral to say to her. He glanced up from the menu. She was looking out the window.

  “Some weather, huh?” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “But we need the rain, considering how dry it’s been all summer.”

  “Sure, but this is nothing. We need a couple of weeks of steady downpour before it’ll make any difference.”

  Neither of them spoke for a moment. Around them the hum of voices rose and fell from the other guests in the crowded restaurant. A sudden burst of laughter at the next table made their silence seem even more noticeable.

  “So, where’s Jimmy tonight?” he asked.

  “With his grandfather.”

  He noticed a few tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. They hadn’t been there before.

  “I went to see Willy a little while ago.”

  “He told me that.”

  “Is that okay with you?”

  “You and Dad are both grown men. You make your own decisions,” she said.

  Lance wanted to have a nice, easy conversation, like they used to have, but Mary seemed wary and restrained.

  “I noticed something when I arrived,” he said. “You have a dream catcher hanging from the mirror in your car.”

  “And?”

  “Well, it’s just that I don’t remember seeing it there before.”

  “Do you usually peek inside my car?”

  “Of course not, but . . . ” He didn’t know what to say.

  “Well, you’re right, it’s brand new. Why? Were you thinking of getting one for yourself?”

  “No, I just happened to be reading about dream catchers the other day.”

  At that moment their waiter returned.

  “I’ll have the trout with wild rice and vegetables,” said Lance. “And a Mesabi Red.”

  “I’ll have a house salad,” said Mary. “And ice water.”

  He felt a twinge of disappointment. A simple salad and ice water indicated that she wasn’t planning to stay very long. Not that he’d had any expectations, other than hearing something about Lenny Diver, but it was still a letdown.

  After ordering, they fell silent again. Lance watched the rain pelting the gray surface of the water outside the window. He remembered one time many years ago when they sat here and saw an otter diving for fish right near the restaurant. The place had been packed with people, and everyone was watching the otter. He remembered that they’d been so happy together back then. Now there was nothing to see out there. Just the rings made by the raindrops. It was starting to rain harder.

  “So what about Lenny Diver?” she said. “Are they positive that he’s the murderer?”

  “That’s what they’re saying, anyway. What do you think?”

  “I really don’t know . . . It’s hard to imagine anyone doing something like that, killing another person.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Lance.

  “And you were the one who found the dead man. Was it awful?”

  “You’d better believe it.”

  It looked as though she was waiting for him to say more, but that wasn’t what he wanted to talk about.

  “You’d better believe it,” he repeated.

  “But I wonder what Diver was doing there,” said Mary. “Do you think he went there with those two tourists?”

  Lance shrugged. He was convinced Lenny Diver had never been anywhere near the crime scene.

  “Don’t you think that sounds more plausible?” she went on. “That all three of them went there together for some reason? What other explanation could there be? That the two Norwegians pitch their tent in the woods, and then Lenny Diver just happens to show up at that very same spot and murders one of them? It’s
a long way from Grand Portage to Baraga’s Cross. Diver must have had a specific reason for going there.” She frowned, the way she usually did whenever something didn’t seem right.

  “They found the murder weapon at his place,” Lance said. “A baseball bat with Lenny’s fingerprints on it, plus blood from the victim.”

  “So then there can’t be any doubt that he’s guilty,” said Mary. “No.”

  He gratefully eyed the bottle of Mesabi Red that appeared on the table in front of him at that moment. The waiter poured the beer into his glass and then handed Mary her ice water.

  Andy must have found some way to get Lenny Diver’s fingerprints on the bat, thought Lance. Maybe Diver was telling the truth when he said that he’d been with some woman that night, but he was so drunk he couldn’t even remember her name or what she looked like. Could Andy have stumbled upon the dead-drunk Indian by accident and then planted the bat at his place?

  Lance raised his glass and took a gulp of beer. His hand was shaking badly. Mary looked at him but didn’t say a word.

  “Is there anything you can tell me about Diver?” he said after he set his glass back on the table.

  “I haven’t spoken to him since he left junior high. And that was nine years ago. I’ve asked around a bit, but there’s still not much to tell.”

  “What about his family?”

  “His father was originally from the Leech Lake reservation. I have no idea where in the world he is now. Lenny’s mother is from Grand Portage. His parents got divorced when he was a kid. Then she had a daughter fifteen years later. Bess is one of my students. I don’t know who her father is. Bess and her mother live alone. Lenny rents a little house for himself. Or rather, rented. Now he’s in jail, I suppose.”

  “Did he have a job?” asked Lance.

  “No, he’s never held a permanent job. But when he was done with school he actually spent a year apprenticed to Hank Morrison. Hank builds birchbark canoes in the old way. Lenny was supposedly a good apprentice.”