The sand slowed his pace, but he was in no hurry. The ridge of dunes, mostly covered by twisted trees, blocked everything but the lights from a few higher-floor windows. The beach itself was empty. It was too cold for secret lovers and too wet for the exercise freaks.
He closed in on the house from the south.
It was one of the new mansions for the new rich. Lots on the Point were narrow, so people built up, sometimes three or four stories. Big decks. Glass everywhere. If you had the money, you could build whatever you wanted. A million dollars. Two million dollars. Play money.
He recognized the weather vane on the roof, shaped like a lighthouse. He’d scouted the place in the daylight. With a quick glance up and down the beach, he made his way over the ridge and followed the grassy trail to the back of the house, where the steps of the deck were anchored on concrete footings that had been swept over by blowing sand. He could see the curving driveway. Empty. Lights glowed on the first floor but there was no movement behind the windows.
They weren’t home yet. That was good.
He remembered another house. Another night. The number of the alarm code stuck in his head: 1789. Weird, the things you couldn’t get out of your brain.
He stayed in the shadows at the base of the deck and slid out his phone. He made the call. ‘It’s me.’
There was silence on the other end. Finally: ‘I know.’
‘I’m at the house,’ he said.
‘Okay. Fine. Just get it over with.’
‘You better be right. You’re sure this is the place?’
‘That’s what I was told.’
‘I’ll call you when it’s done.’
‘Then it’s over. Right?’
‘Then it’s over.’ Except for you.
‘Thank God.’
‘I have to go.’
More silence. Then: ‘She’s not alone, you know.’
‘I know. You told me.’
‘So how will you … Jesus.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘There has to be another way.’
‘There isn’t. This is the best way. Trust me, there won’t be any more questions. She’ll disappear. Tomorrow she’ll be gone and no one will ever see her again.’
‘How will you …?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘A gun?’
‘I think it’s better to use a knife,’ he said. ‘That’s more appropriate, don’t you think?’
18
The bag of ice numbed Stride’s shoulder. He sipped a can of Coke and studied the pages in the weekly Compstat reports, which detailed calls for police services in Duluth. Vehicle break-ins and thefts. Burglaries. Domestic assault. Drugs. He was looking for connections to Cat among the reported crimes, but so far he hadn’t found one.
He sat in his office in the new police headquarters building. It was Saturday night, almost nine o’clock. The oversized windows looking out on the forest were dark. Most of the lights in the department were turned off, but he heard footsteps in the building hallway and recognized the cadence. Police Chief Kyle Kinnick had a peculiar open-toed walk, and his old brown shoes were worn down to the nails, making him sound like a tap dancer.
K-2 appeared in Stride’s doorway. He was short and skinny, with a bad comb-over and ears like two cabbage leaves.
‘Evening, Jon.’
‘Evening, sir.’
‘How’s the shoulder?’
‘If Harrison Ford is still looking for a one-armed man, that’s me,’ Stride said.
K-2 laughed, which sounded more like a snort, and sat down in Stride’s guest chair. He wore his dress uniform, which was unusual. Most of the time K-2 looked like a CEO in his business suit, with his tie perfectly knotted. The chief was nearly sixty years old. He’d led the department for five years and served as the deputy chief before that for as many years as Stride had been on the force. Generally, they got along well together. Stride hated politics, and K-2 ran interference for him. The chief defended Stride and his team like a pit bull at every city forum, but inside the office, K-2 wasn’t patient about getting results and had a sharp tongue when things went wrong. Stride had earned a long leash over the years, but at the end of that leash was a choke chain.
‘You getting careless, Jon?’ K-2 asked. His voice had a reedy quality, like a badly played flute. ‘Or just old? It’s not like you to get run over by an eighteen-year-old hooker.’
‘Yeah, she rolled me,’ Stride admitted.
‘What’s the girl’s name?’
‘Brandy Eastman.’
‘You get her yet?’
‘No, she’s probably holed up somewhere, hiding out.’
‘You want to tell me why my lieutenant is busting teenage trespassers at the high school on a Saturday afternoon? Seems to me we have patrol officers to handle calls like that.’
‘I got a tip that Brandy was there,’ Stride explained. ‘She had some information I wanted.’
‘Uh huh.’
K-2 looked around the office, which smelled of fresh paint. Stride still had moving boxes on the floor that he hadn’t unpacked. The chief’s eyes lingered on the photograph of Stride’s late wife, Cindy, on the bureau. The two of them had been close friends.
‘So how do you like the new digs?’ K-2 asked. ‘No rats here, huh?’
‘No rats,’ Stride agreed. ‘I do miss downtown, though.’
‘Oh, hell, a few extra miles between us and the mayor is a good thing.’
Stride smiled. K-2 didn’t usually bother with small talk. When he did, he was working toward a subject that Stride wasn’t going to like. In this case, Stride had no trouble figuring out what was on the chief’s mind. Word of his visit to the Charles Frederick had made its way back to Lowball Lenny.
‘So what’s up, Chief?’ Stride asked.
K-2 scratched his big ears with his palms. ‘I was at a realtors cocktail party this evening. Half the Council was there. Leonard Keck pulled me aside. He wasn’t too happy with you.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it.’
‘I guess he did a little shindig for his top salesmen on the Frederick, and you paid them a visit this morning. Sounds like some of his boys didn’t like your tone.’
Stride shrugged. ‘I don’t lose a lot of sleep worrying about what car dealers think of my tone.’
‘Oh, come on, Jon, you know it’s not that simple. What the hell were you up to?’
‘They brought prostitutes to the party. At least one of them was under-age.’
‘You can prove that?’ K-2 asked, frowning.
‘If I push hard enough, I think so. I take it you’re not anxious for me to push.’
‘Was Lenny there?’
‘He was at the party, but the story is he left before the girls arrived. Meanwhile, I’ve got a pimp driving around town today in a brand-new Leonard Keck Ford Fusion.’
To his credit, K-2 didn’t look happy. ‘Okay, you’re right, that smells funny. However, you know as well as I do that if we run with it, this will turn into an ugly pissing match with a bunch of lawyers. After we dink around for months, we still won’t get any charges to stick. All we’ll do is churn up a lot of media gossip, and we’ll make an enemy out of someone who can make our lives miserable.’
‘I know that,’ Stride said.
‘I’ll talk to Lenny. I’ll tell him to cool it. Okay? Meanwhile, you need to give me a heads up before you start messing around with the people who pay our salaries. That understood?’
‘I don’t like politicians who think they’re untouchable.’
‘What politician doesn’t think that? You may not like the game, Jon, but one of us has to play it. I know you think Lenny gets away with crap because we go fishing together, and maybe he does. That’s life. Get over it. Besides, cut the man a little slack. When Cindy died, Lenny was on the phone every day to see how you were doing. He knew what you were going through.’
‘I realize that. I’m grateful.’
‘Good. Gl
ad we had this talk. Now let’s get back to you. You want to fill me in on what you’re really doing? I hear you have a young house guest.’
‘You hear?’
‘I corralled Maggie. She always knows what you’re up to. She didn’t want to rat you out, but I didn’t give her a choice. Besides, she’s not a big fan of this girl staying with you.’
‘That’s not her call. Or yours, sir. This is personal.’
K-2 leaned his elbows on Stride’s desk. ‘Personal? You think so? It’s personal until I read a headline about my lieutenant providing a bed for a sixteen-year-old prostitute. How’s that sound to you? Jesus, Jon, do you want to answer those kinds of questions?’
‘It’s complicated,’ Stride said.
‘Yeah, I know all about who this girl is and who her mother was. That doesn’t change anything.’
‘It does to me.’
‘You think I don’t remember Michaela Mateo? Of course, I do. Beautiful woman. Hell of a tragic case. You can feel bad about it if you want, but you didn’t screw anything up. The fact is, sometimes bad boys do bad things. You can’t always be there to stop it.’
‘I’m not going to let Michaela’s daughter wind up like her mother,’ Stride said. ‘She’s in danger.’
‘Is she? Someone’s out there stalking some little street girl? The whole thing sounds like a bad drug fantasy to me. Last fall, my neighbor called because her teenage son was out back with a shotgun. He said a freaking polar bear was attacking the family dog. Kid was doped out on bath salts.’
‘I don’t think this is a drug case.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t bet the farm on it. If she’s messed up or abused, the best thing you can do is to get her out of your house and into the hands of county child protection services.’
‘I want to make sure she’s safe before I simply hand her over to the county,’ Stride said. ‘Before this girl Brandy ran, she confirmed that someone was looking for Cat in the graffiti graveyard. That’s my first corroboration that something more is going on here.’
‘Corroboration? Another teenager hooker? A girl who attacked you? She was just telling you what you wanted to hear.’
‘I don’t think so. I have a bad feeling about this.’
The chief sighed. ‘Look, Jon, you’re a good man, but you’ve had a bad year. We both know it. I’m not saying this to be a son of a bitch, but I’m not sure you can trust your gut right now.’
‘Maybe not, but that’s all I can do,’ Stride said.
K-2 stood up. ‘Fair enough. I learned a long time ago that it doesn’t do me any good to try to get a stubborn idea out of your head. All I’m saying is, you’re a cop, and I don’t see any crime here. I just see a smart girl who’s figured out how to get you under her thumb. Think about that, okay? There’s no crime.’
*
‘Didn’t I leave a light on?’ Kim asked Cat as they pulled into the driveway. The lakeside house on the Point was so dark that it was nearly invisible. Not a single light shone inside.
‘It was still light outside when we left,’ Cat said. ‘Maybe you forgot.’
The young computer programmer nodded, but she squinted at the house and chewed her lip. ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right.’
She parked the Hyundai and they both got out. Cat followed Kim inside the house, which felt like a mansion, with high ceilings and plush carpet that made her want to go barefoot. There were delicate glass sculptures everywhere that looked as if they would shatter if you touched them. Immediately inside the foyer, a tight staircase with a wrought-iron railing wound like a corkscrew to the upstairs bedrooms. The rear wall of the staircase had tall windows looking out to the beach.
‘I can’t get over what a cool place this is,’ Cat said.
Kim laughed. ‘Yeah, it makes me and Bob feel rich.’
‘When do the owners get back?’
‘Next month sometime. That’s when we go back to our apartment in West Duluth. Kind of like Cinderella’s coach turning into a pumpkin, you know?’
‘Nothing good lasts, huh?’
‘Not some things,’ Kim agreed. She kicked off her sneakers; she was wearing thick black socks. ‘I’m going to make some coffee. You want anything? Pop or something?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘I’m stuffed,’ Kim said. ‘Man, that meatloaf is good.’
The kitchen smelled of fresh cookies. It gleamed with stainless steel appliances, and the countertops were black granite. Kim pulled a plastic jug of coffee from inside one of the cabinets and filled the carafe from the coffee maker under the faucet at the kitchen island. As she did, she popped a peanut butter cookie in her mouth from the cooling rack.
‘I thought you were stuffed,’ Cat said, smiling.
‘Dinner stuffed, not cookie stuffed.’
Cat stared through the kitchen’s bay window. The lake was out there, but she couldn’t see anything except her own reflection in the glass. When she leaned closer, she could barely make out the wooden floor of the deck, which was dusted with sand.
The coffee machine hissed and belched. Kim removed the glass pot, and a few drips sizzled as they fell. She poured coffee into a ceramic mug and replaced the pot, then she took a sip and licked her lips. ‘I work at night a lot, so I got used to caffeine in the evenings. Bob has to grade papers and stuff, so we sit around and do our thing. I’d rather work than watch Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. ’Cause let me tell you, there’s nothing real about those chicks.’
Cat laughed.
Kim took another swallow of coffee, but then she put down her mug on the stone countertop. ‘Did you hear that?’ she asked.
‘What?’
‘I thought I heard something upstairs,’ she said.
Cat shook her head. ‘I didn’t hear anything.’
Kim’s head swung toward the ceiling. She wandered into the hallway, eating another cookie. Her feet made imprints on the deep carpet. She stayed there, listening, as if there were rats overhead, scurrying between the floors. Cat hated rats.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘Sometimes Bob forgets to close the window and the wind blows stuff over. If anything’s broken, I’ll kill him.’
‘Maybe we should call Stride.’
‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ Kim said.
She finished the cookie, licked her lips, and marched toward the foyer. Her footfalls made a heavy thud as she jogged upstairs. Cat backed up into a corner of the kitchen with an odd sense of dread. Ice from the automatic machine dropped in the freezer, startling her. The coffee-maker kept spluttering. She eyed the door on her right that led outside to the cedar deck, with steps down to the thin strip of beach. When she looked outside again, she thought she saw footprints in the sand.
‘Kim?’ she called.
There was no answer from upstairs.
On the kitchen island, steam rose from Kim’s mug like a smoke signal. Near the sink she spotted an expensive block of knives with shiny black handles jutting from the slits in the wood. The largest knife was gone. The wide slash in the wood was empty. Cat thought to herself: Did I steal it and not remember? She reached into her boot, but she had nothing hidden there. The comforting feel of a blade near her fingers was missing.
She slid one of the other knives out of the wooden block into her hand.
‘Kim?’ she called again.
Kim didn’t reply.
Cat tiptoed down the hallway. When she reached the foyer, she stared up through the twisted iron railing of the staircase at the hallway on the second floor. She saw doors and paintings and the black windows. No one was there.
‘Kim,’ she said again, but she whispered this time.
Noise groaned from above her. The floorboards wailed, as if a nail were being pounded into a hand. Cat jumped. She wanted to close her eyes but she kept them open, staring. She listened, and in her brain, she heard a voice. It was her mother’s voice, talking in her ear as she held her.
‘Hide under the porch,’ her mother to
ld her. ‘Hide under the porch, and do not come out, no matter what you hear, no matter who it is, no matter who calls you, do not come out, do not come out.’
That was what Cat did that terrible night. No matter how loud the screams got, she hid, and she didn’t come out.
Now, as she waited for Kim, she heard another scream, loud and long and desperate. She knew that scream. It was the sound a person made when a knife violated their body over and over and over. The sound of agony. The sound of death. This wasn’t an echo; this wasn’t a warning from her mother’s soul.
This was real. This was happening over her head.
Kim’s ragged voice cried from above her, as if from heaven.
‘Cat, run!’
19
‘Sorry, boss,’ Maggie said.
Stride saw his partner’s pixie-like silhouette in the doorway. He’d just turned out the office light and slipped on his leather jacket to go home. He leaned back, propping himself against his desk. Maggie joined him in the shadows and pulled herself up to sit beside him.
‘Sorry for what?’ he asked, but it didn’t matter what she said. They were both sorry for things that had gone wrong between them.
‘K-2. I told him more than he needed to know.’
‘Forget it.’
Stride didn’t bother turning on the light. It felt normal to be with her in the dark. Throughout the winter mornings, before sunrise, they’d talked in bed. That was when they’d made love, too, as if it were better not to see the other’s eyes too clearly.
‘We need to talk,’ Maggie said.
‘About what?’
‘Cat.’
He knew something was wrong. He could hear it in her voice.
‘It’s Saturday night, Mags. Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be doing something with Ken McCarty?’
‘I should,’ she said. ‘He’s pissed at me, but he’s a cop. I told him I found some things that bothered me and he offered to go back to Minneapolis and do some digging.’
‘Digging into what?’ Stride asked.
‘Vincent Roslak.’
Stride frowned at the name. ‘Why him?’
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