CHAPTER EIGHT

THE SUN WAS finally up when we got to the police station, the dawn coming later and later as winter approached. When was the last time I had actually slept through these cold raw hours? And now here I was at the police station again. My stomach felt like it had been turned inside out.

Maven led me into his office and sat me down in the hard guest chair again. “All right,” he said. He took out a pad of paper and a pen. He scratched on the pad a few times and then threw the pen into the corner of the room. He got out another one. “Goddamned pens, don’t last a week. All right, McKnight, what’s the guy’s name again?”

“Rose.”

“Did you ever find out his first name?”

“Maximilian,” I said. “It came out at the trial.”

“Maximilian? No wonder he didn’t tell you.” He started writing. “When was he convicted?”

“December 1984.”

“You know where they sent him?”

“Jackson,” I said.

He stopped writing. “They sent him to Jackson?”

“Maximum security,” I said. “They said he was, what did they say, ‘mentally deranged but functional.’ Not crazy enough for a hospital bed, but crazy enough to keep an eye on.”

“You’re telling me they sent this guy away to Jackson max, with no parole ever? Are you sure about that?”

“I’m sure,” I said.

“McKnight,” he said. “Then the guy is still there. He has to be.”

“So you would think.”

“What, do you think he escaped? When’s the last time someone escaped from Jackson? Has anyone ever escaped from there?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “All I know is what I read on that note.”

He ran his fingers through what was left of his hair. “I guess I should give them a call just to check it out. What time is it? Just after six?”

“I’m sure somebody will be there,” I said.

“You’re probably right, McKnight. Last I heard, they weren’t sending the inmates home at night.” He looked through the papers on his desk. “I suppose I should go through the state office. Where’s that number? I’ve got a woman who comes in around seven. She can always find things like that. No wait, here it is.” He picked up the phone and dialed. I just sat there watching him.

“Good morning,” he finally said. “‘This is Chief Maven at the Soo station. I need to contact the state prison in Jackson. Yes. Yes, it is. Yes, I’ll call your commander later and fill him in. Yes. All right, that would be good. Hey, is there any way you can contact them and patch me through? You know, give them the secret state password or whatever you do. So they know I’m not just some asshole off the streets calling them for kicks. Yes, I’d appreciate that, thank you. Yes, I’ll hold.”

While he was waiting he looked up at me. “You ever deal with the state troopers when you were a cop?”

“Not much,” I said.

“They’re damned good,” he said. “Problem is, they know it. But as long as you give them a little stroke when you talk to them, they usually cooperate. I suppose you Detroit cops were the same way.” He sat there tapping his pen on the desk for another long moment. “Ah, good morning. My name is Roy Maven. I’m chief of police in Sault Ste. Marie. We have an unusual question for you this morning. You have an inmate named Maximilian Rose. He checked in late 1984, into maximum security. Uh, I guess there’s only one way to ask this. Would you happen to know if Mr. Rose is still on the premises?”

Maven held the phone away from his ear. I could hear the guy myself from across the room.

“Goddamn it,” Maven said. “I’m just asking you a question, all right? You don’t have to get hostile. If you say he’s there, he’s there. That’s all I wanted to know.”

“Ask him to check,” I said.

Maven put his hand over the phone and looked at me. “Excuse me?”

“Ask him to go check on Rose,” I said.

“The man says there’s never been an escape from maximum security.”

“Maybe they let him go,” I said. “Maybe they got their orders mixed up. Just ask him.”

Maven rolled his eyes. “Excuse me, sir,” he said into the phone. “We were wondering if perhaps you could take a moment and go check on him, just to make sure. Yes, that’s what we’re asking. Yes, you heard it correctly. Your ears are working just fine, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Look, here’s what you do, okay? I’ll walk you through it. First, you put the doughnut down. It’s not polite to talk on the telephone with your mouth full. Next, you look up Maximilian Rose in your little book there, see what cell he’s in. Then you call one of your guards to go look into that cell. Or, you can go look yourself. I’ll leave that up to you. Then you come back on the phone and you tell me if he’s there. And I say thank you for the help, and you say, no problem, that’s why I’m here. And then you go back to eating your doughnut. All right? Do you think you can handle that? Oh, by the way, here’s a little tip for you. When you go to check on him, make sure you actually see his face. Sometimes a prisoner will pile up his clothes under his blanket to make it look like he’s in the bed. In fact, maybe this Rose guy has been escaped for months and you haven’t even noticed yet … . Yeah, same to you, buddy. It’s not my fault you’re sitting in a little room watching a prison ward at six o’clock in the fucking morning. You obviously made a bad career choice somewhere along the way. Now just go shine your fucking flashlight in Rose’s face before I have to talk to your superior.”

Maven held the receiver in his lap and shook his head. “This is why I love my job,” he said. “I get to deal with so many wonderful people.” He looked at me like it was all my fault and then he went back to tapping his pen on the desk while he waited.

“Yes, hello again,” he finally said. “I was beginning to worry about you … . You did. He was. You’re sure about that. You’re absolutely sure. Okay, fine. Yes, fine. You’ve been so helpful. Thank you very much. Have a nice day at the prison. Don’t let anyone stick a knife in your back.” He dropped the receiver on the hook.

“I take it he was there,” I said.

“So they say.”

“So who left that note?”

“You tell me,” he said.

I raised my hands. “I have no idea.”

He looked on another piece of paper on his desk. “You sure you never heard of Vince Dorney,” he said. “Big Vince, they called him. Far as I can tell, Big Vince was into some other things besides running a little book now and then. He did some county time on a drug charge.”

“I never heard of him,” I said.

“He was shot up pretty good. He was lying there behind that restaurant in the garbage. Must have been some sight when the cook found him.”

Maven looked at me for a long time. I met his eyes and did not look away.

“So what do we have here, McKnight?”

“Sounds like we’ve got two murders,” I said.

“They sure train them right down in Detroit, don’t they.”

“What else do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me who you think is leaving you love notes,” he said. “Besides a man who’s been in prison for the last fourteen years.”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“This is going to look really nice in the papers, isn’t it,” he said. “Two murders in three days. My good friend the mayor is going to be so happy.”

“You don’t sound too broken up about two dead men,” I said.

Maven thought about that one for a moment and then he pulled his wallet out. “Here,” he said. “You see these pictures?” He held the wallet open so I could see the photographs of the two young girls.

“Your daughters?”

“This one is my daughter,” he said, pointing to the picture on the left. “The picture’s kind of old. She was seven years old when it was taken. This other one was my daughter’s best friend, Emily. She was seven years old, too. She was murdered. I had to tell her family myself.” He folded up his wallet and put it back in his pocket. “I still carry her picture. I know a lot of people say you shouldn’t do that. They say you should try to keep the job at a distance. Don’t let it get inside you. But I carry the picture because it reminds me why I’m here. Now these two guys, what have you got? Tony Bing was a bookmaker. He got picked up three times, paid his fine, and went right back to business, taking people’s money. Yeah, I know, it’s not like he put a gun to somebody’s head, but he took people’s money, just the same. Last year, I found out he was receiving food stamps! He’s got no official income, so he goes out and gets food stamps, for God’s sake. That’s the kind of guy he was. And this other guy, Big Vince Dorney, he was just downright evil. Bookmaking was just a hobby to him. It was just another way to get his hooks into you. He’d loan you money, he’d sell you drugs, whatever it took to get some leverage. Then he’d really hurt you. We’ve been trying to trip him up for two years. So you think I’m going to lose any sleep because he finally got whacked? And you think I’m going to sit here and take that kind of crap from you? A guy who couldn’t even get his gun out of his holster?”

“That was an impressive speech, Maven. Especially the part about the little girl. I bet those pictures came with the wallet, didn’t they.”

“McKnight, you and I are headed for a big problem. When we’re done with this case, remind me to take my badge off and have a little talk with you outside, okay?”

I looked at him. He was an ugly bastard, probably a good ten years older than I was. But I was sure he could fight. “I’ll make a note of it,” I said.

“All right, then. I’ll be looking forward to that. In the meantime, let’s see if we can figure out who’s killing all of our bookmakers, okay? You want to try helping me out a little bit here for a change?”

“I’m trying to be as cooperative as I can,” I said.

“You say this guy left you a rose yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do with it?”

I hesitated. “I put it in water,” I said.

“Interesting,” he said. “Is that how they trained you to handle evidence down in Detroit? If you had found a gun, would you have put that in water, too?”

I couldn’t take much more of this. I felt like jumping over his desk and strangling him. “Maven,” I said, “it was just a rose left on my doorstep. I had no reason at the time to believe it meant anything. If I had called you up and said, ‘Hey Chief, I think you should come get this rose. Somebody left it in front of my door. You know, I knew a man named Rose once. He shot me and killed my partner. I think he’s been in jail for the last fourteen years. But even so, I think this might have been him.’ What would you have said?”

“All right, save it,” he said. “Let’s just get you set up.”

“Set up with what?”

“A phone trace, genius. Don’t you want to find out where this guy is calling from?”

“I thought you didn’t need special equipment anymore. Isn’t there a special code you can dial now?”

“Yes, star five-seven sends an automatic trace record to the phone company. But we should also get a good tape recording of this guy. Do you have a good high-quality phone recorder in your private eye office?”

“I don’t have an office,” I said.

“A private eye who works out of a log cabin,” he said. “You’d make old Abe Lincoln proud, wouldn’t you.”

“Goddamn it, Maven, if you don’t knock it off—”

“All right, all right, take it easy,” he said. “Let’s just get you ready. I’ll have an officer bring the phone unit over when he comes to set up the stakeout.”

“Stakeout?”

“A man in a car, watching your cabin. Surely they taught you about stakeouts at the academy.”

“Why do I need a stakeout?”

“McKnight, if you’re not the dumbest man in Chippewa County. Somebody kills two people and then sticks a knife in your door in the middle of the night. Don’t you think we should be there when he comes back?”

“If he comes back, I can take him care of him myself.”

“Not a chance,” he said. “I’m going to have a man there every night until we catch him. Is there a neighbor’s house nearby where he can set up? We’ll use a plain vehicle, of course.”

“Nearest cabin is a quarter mile away. I suppose you could set him up just down the road a bit, around the bend.”

“Will he have a sight line?”

“Just barely,” I said. “If you give me a radio, that should help.”

“All right,” he said. “You can expect a man there by sundown.”

“The Fultons aren’t going to like this,” I said.

“Why’s that?”

“Mrs. Fulton is paying me to stay at the house. Just to watch over things.”

“Well, they’ll have to find another baby-sitter,” he said. “God knows they can afford anybody they want. I want you at your cabin in case he calls. It doesn’t sound like he’d say much to anyone else. You’re the chosen one, after all.”

I looked at him and shook my head. “Maven, all this time I have to spend here, and I still haven’t gotten a cup of coffee out of you.”

“It must be killing you,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve heard, I make a great cup of coffee.”

“I’m leaving now,” I said. “If that’s all right with you.”

“I’ll be talking to you,” he said.

“One more thing,” I said. “Where did you find the body? This Big Vince guy?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m just curious.”

“I don’t like curious private eyes,” he said. “Especially when I’m trying to solve a couple murders. Private eyes don’t touch murders, McKnight. Or have you been watching too many movies?”

“I’m not going to get in your way,” I said. “I just want to know. You have to admit, I am involved in this.”

“I suppose you’ll read about it in the papers, anyway,” he said. “We found him behind Angelo’s.”

“That little place by the canal?”

“That’s the one,” he said. “Just stay away from it.”

“Come on, Chief,” I said. “Why would I go there?”

“I’m serious, McKnight. Stay the hell away from there.”

“You’re the boss, Chief. I’ll see you around.”

When I got outside I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath of the cold air. I got in my truck and sat there for a moment, waiting for everything to make sense. It didn’t happen. I started the truck and headed to Angelo’s restaurant.

There’s a hydroelectric power canal that cuts through town. Angelo’s was a little pizza place on the north side of the canal, just before the bridge. On the front door a sign read, “Temporarily Closed! We’ll be back as soon as we can!” I pressed my nose against the glass and looked inside. There couldn’t have been more than seven or eight tables. I saw one pay phone on the far wall. Was that where my mystery man saw Big Vince? Listen to me. My mystery man. I’m still not willing to call him Rose.

It can’t be Rose. It can’t be.

I went around to the back of the place. The whole alley was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. There were two uniformed policemen standing there, drinking coffee. Everybody was getting to drink coffee that morning except me.

“Can we help you, sir?” one of the cops said. I recognized him from the motel. He was one of the two cops who showed up first, before Maven. I didn’t recognize the other man. Probably his new partner. The other man must have quit.

“I’m Alex McKnight,” I said. “We met at the motel the other night.”

“I thought you looked familiar,” he said.

“I’m just looking around,” I said. “I take it this is where the body was found.”

“Right behind that barrel,” he said. He pointed to a big metal grease barrel. I could see the blood still pooled on the ground. “We’re just waiting for our guy to come take another sample.”

“I understand the cook found him?”

“So they say.”

“You don’t know his name offhand, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “I’m not sure the chief would want me talking about it, anyway.”

“Don’t worry about the chief,” I said. “He and I are old buddies.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. He didn’t sound convinced.

“I’m just wondering if anybody saw anything suspicious last night. A new face in the restaurant or anything.”

“You’d have to talk to one of the detectives about that,” he said. “Or your old buddy, the chief.”

“No problem,” I said. “Just wondering. Say, can you do me one favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t tell Chief Maven I was here, eh?”

They were both smiling and shaking their heads when I left. I got in the truck, sat there for a long moment, tried to figure out what the hell to do next. Finally, I crossed the bridge over the canal, went down the business loop to Three Mile Road. The Riverside Motel didn’t look any better in the daytime. And it hadn’t moved any closer to the river.

I could see that room six was still off limits, the yellow tape still on the door. I didn’t imagine it was helping the man’s business any. I found him in the office, sitting behind his desk watching TV.

“Good morning,” he said. “Checking in?” I remembered seeing him that night, standing there in the cold night in his pajamas and boots.

“No sir,” I said. “My name is Alex McKnight. I’m a private investigator. I was … I was here on Saturday night. I’m the one who called the police.”

“I see,” he said. He turned the sound down on his TV.

“I don’t mean to disturb you,” I said. “I was just wondering if you had noticed anything unusual prior to that night. Did you see any strangers here?”

“Most everyone is a stranger,” he said. “This is a motel. The only person I ever saw more than once was Mr. Bing. He lived here for almost a year.”

“I understand,” I said. “But was there anyone here that day who looked … unusual or out of place in some way?”

“He always had men coming over at all hours of the day,” he said. “I told the police that. I knew he was a bookmaker, but beyond that it was none of my business. He paid his bill every week.”

“This may sound strange,” I said, “but have you seen anyone wearing a large blond wig lately? A man, I mean.”

“A man in a wig? What are you talking about? Why do I have to answer more questions, anyway? I told everything I know to the police.”

“I know, sir. I know how difficult this must have been. I’m just following up on something personal.”

“No men in wigs,” he said. “No women in wigs, either.” He turned the sound back up on his TV. I took the hint, thanked the man, and left.

Before I got back in my truck, I went over to the door to room six. I stood there and tried to imagine how it had happened. The door was unlocked, Edwin said. Bing looked like he had just stepped out of the bathroom. Was the silencer already on the gun, or did he stand right here on this spot and screw it on? Walk right in, shoot the man in the face. Take out the knife, cut his throat from ear to ear. I looked down at the ground. They had cleaned the blood off. I wondered what the room looked like now. Could they have possibly gotten all that blood off the floor? Could you walk into the room and not know that somebody had been killed there? I tried the doorknob. It was locked. I thought of going back to the office, asking the man if he could open it for me.

But then I thought, no, I don’t want to see that room again. In fact, I don’t ever want to see any motel room again.

I went back up to the north side of town, stopped at the Mariner’s Tavern again. I figured I’d try that bartender again, see if he had remembered anything about the night Edwin met Tony Bing there. That’s what I told myself anyway. When I got there, it was open and the bartender was there, but of course he hadn’t remembered anything else. I sat by the window again, looking across the locks into Canada. I finally had my morning coffee, with a little something in it just to get me going. It had been another long night. And it didn’t look like my nights were going to get any easier any time soon.

 

LANE UTTLEY WAS on the phone when I got to his office. He hung up as soon as he saw me. “There you are!” he said. “Get in here, for God’s sake! Sit down!” He grabbed me by both arms and stuck me in his guest chair. The chair was a lot softer than the one in Maven’s office. “Edwin called me and told me what happened. Did Maven really call you from your cabin?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Edwin said it had something to do with a knife. That’s all he knew about it.”

Uttley sat on top of his desk while I went through the whole story. When I got to the part about the letter on my door he blew up. “What the hell was he doing at your cabin, anyway?”

“He said that he called me when they found Dorney behind the restaurant. I wasn’t there, so he sent a man out to see if I was all right.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he was just looking out for you,” he said. “But you’re telling me he saw that letter before you did?”

“Yes.”

“Did he have a warrant?”

“No,” I said. “But the letter wasn’t in an envelope. It was stuck to my door in plain view.”

“It still stinks,” he said. “And then he dragged you down to the station to question you?”

“I went voluntarily,” I said. “I wanted to find out about Rose.” I told him the rest of the story. The shooting, how we finally caught Rose, up to Maven’s phone call.

“Are you telling me,” he said, “that Roy Maven called the prison this morning to see if Rose was still there?”

“That’s what he did,” I said.

“And he is there.”

“He’s there,” I said.

“This is incredible.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“Alex, I’m concerned about this whole business with Maven. Do you want me to talk to him?”

“About what?”

“About not harassing you,” he said. “I wish you’d at least let me go with you the next time you go talk to him.”

“Maven’s harmless,” I said. “He’s just an old blowhard cop. I’ve seen a million of them.”

“It sounds like he’s got a major hard-on for you, Alex. I’d watch him very carefully.”

“I’m not worried about Maven,” I said. “I’m worried about Rose.”

“You mean whoever this guy is who’s pretending to be Rose.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I said.

“This can’t be Rose himself,” he said. “You said that yourself. Rose is in prison.”

“I know, it’s just …”

“What, Alex?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s just a funny feeling. Is there anything more we can do? To find out if he’s really still in prison?”

“What are you talking about? Maven called them, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did. But I don’t know, maybe somebody made a mistake. Maybe the man they think is Rose isn’t really Rose.”

“What, Rose has a stand-in doing his jail time?”

“I know it sounds crazy,” I said. “It’s just that note … . Some of the things he said in that note …”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Can we file a habeas corpus or something?”

“You file a writ of habeas corpus if you think somebody’s being illegally detained,” he said. “I don’t think you could file one just because you want to make sure a man is really who they say he is.”

“We can contact him, can’t we? Can I talk to him on the phone?”

“Maybe,” he said. “He’d probably have to agree to it.”

“Can you try?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “If you really want me to.”

“Yes, I do. Just to make sure.”

“I think you should go home,” he said. “You look awful.”

“I will,” I said. “Although I think I should stop in at the Fultons’ first. You said you talked to Edwin? How are they doing?”

“They’re just worried about you. You ran out of there last night after Maven called.”

“I asked them to think about leaving the area for a while. You know, just go back downstate until this thing is over. Do you think it would do any good if they heard it from you, too?”

“I told them the same thing,” he said.

“No go?”

“They’re staying put, Alex. I think they just don’t want to leave you here to face this by yourself.”

“That’s crazy,” I said. “Hey, Mrs. Fulton is probably expecting me to spend the night there again. But I have to be at the cabin. Do you know somebody else who can stay there?”

“Not off the top of my head, no.”

“How about your old investigator, Leon Prudell?”

“Oh God,” he said. “I’d rather do it myself.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. “I’ve got a nice little Beretta.”

I was surprised to hear that. I wouldn’t have expected Lane Uttley to own a gun. Although if he did have one, it figured it would have to be an expensive little Italian import. “Can you shoot?”

“I’ve been to the range with it a couple times,” he said. “I’m not a bad shot.”

“Sounds like you’re talking yourself into it,” I said. “It could be worse. It’s a nice house, and Mrs. Fulton will make you dinner. You just sleep on the couch and keep half an ear open.”

“What happens if he shows up?” he said. “What if he comes into the house?”

“That’s easy,” I said. “You kill him.”