A Cold Day in Paradise

CHAPTER FOUR

The morning came slowly, darkness giving way to a muted November light, dulled by the perpetually gray clouds and then filtered through the pine trees outside the window. The light found me sitting in my bed, my back set against the rough contour of the log wall, my eyes half open.

I hadn’t slept since the phone call. After my heart had stopped racing, I had sat down on the bed and gone over every word he had said, every nuance of his voice, and still I could not come up with a face or a name. I finally settled into a sort of exhausted trance, just sitting there, staring at the phone.

And then it rang. I had never in my life heard a sound as loud. By the time I got my breath back, the phone rang a second time and then a third. I got off the bed and picked up the receiver without saying anything.

“Hello?”

I didn’t think it was the same voice. I waited.

“Hello, Alex?” It sounded like… Uttley?

“Lane, is that you?”

“Yes, Alex. Are you all right? Did I wake you?”

“No,” I said. “I’m fine. I just… I’m fine.”

“Sorry to call so early,” he said.

“I was already awake,” I said. “Believe me.”

“Good, good,” he said. “Say listen, I know this is going to sound strange. I just got into the office here, and I’ve got this phone message. This guy says he’s going to kill me.”

“Hold on, Lane,” I said. “This is very important. Tell me exactly what he said.”

“Let’s see, he said that he had one of my business cards, and he didn’t want me talking to his wife anymore, and that if he ever saw me, he would kill me.”

“What? One of your business cards?”

“That’s what he said.”

“He didn’t want you talking to his… oh, wait a minute. I think I might know what that was. When did he leave the message?”

“I think it was Friday night sometime.”

“Ah, okay,” I said. I let out a long breath. “I know who that is. You remember I was going to stop by the trailer park to see if I could get some statements on that accident.”

“Yeah, on the Barnhardt case. With the legs. Jesus, with all the excitement the other night, I forgot all about it. I should have stopped by the hospital, too. See how the poor guy is doing. Goddamn it.”

“I did talk to one woman who saw the accident. I left your card. That must have been her husband who called you.”

“Great,” he said. “Killed by a jealous husband, and I never even got to meet her.”

“He’s probably just thumping his chest. If he was really going to kill you, he would have just come by the office. He has your address, after all.”

“Jesus,” he said. “Why did I become a lawyer, anyway?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t sound so good.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “There was just this…” I stopped.

“What? What is it?”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” I said. “Listen, I’ll stop by the trailer park on my way over there. I’m sure I can smooth things over.”

“You’re coming into the office?”

“Thought I might.” I couldn’t bear the thought of staying here alone today. Just me and the telephone.

“Good,” he said. “When you’re in town, you can stop by and see Chief Maven. He wants to have a little chat with you.”

“Great,” I said. My life was getting more interesting by the minute.

As soon as I hung up, I picked the receiver up again and dialed Edwin. He answered on the fifth ring.

“Edwin,” I said. “It’s Alex. Is everything okay over there?”

“Alex? What time is it? What’s going on?”

“I just wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

“Alex, I told you I was coming straight home last night. And that’s what I did. I swear.”

“I believe you, Edwin. That’s not what I mean. I was just wondering if you had gotten any phone calls in the middle of the night.”

“No, I didn’t. What’s going on?”

“It’s probably nothing,” I said. There was no sense in scaring him yet. “Right now, I need to know about the bookmaker. Tony Bing was his name, right?”

“Yes, but why do you have to know about him?”

“Please, Edwin, you just have to trust me on this one for a little while. When you met with him, was it always at one specific place?”

“Yeah, there’s this bar in the Soo called the Mariner’s Tavern. That’s where he always was if I needed to see him. But usually, I just talked to him on the phone.”

“I understand. But when you did see him, it was always there?”

“Yes, as far as I can remember.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Let me see. I guess that would have been last Monday night. I stopped by to give him his money.”

“Edwin, if you paid the man on Monday, why were you going out to pay him again on Saturday night? And why were you going to his motel room? You just said you only saw him at that bar.”

“For Christ’s sake, Alex, what’s with the third degree here? I’m not even out of bed yet. The reason I went out to see him on Saturday is because I lost more money, okay? I lost the game on Thursday night. Colorado was just about to score, they had the ball on the five yard line, and then that idiot throws an interception.”

“Save it, Edwin.”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t get me started.”

“So why did you go to his motel room?”

“Alex, the man called me on Saturday. At home. He said he wanted the money that day. I told him I had a party that evening, and that I wouldn’t be able to get away. So he said I better drop it off at his motel room after the party, or he would never handle any more of my action. Okay?”

“I thought you said you were only betting five hundred or a thousand at a time. It sounds like you lost five thousand on that one game.”

“You’re busting my balls, Alex.”

“Sorry, Edwin. I can’t help it.”

“What’s the matter with you, anyway? Why are you asking me all these questions? You’re worse than Chief Maven.”

“Don’t worry about him,” I said. “I’ll put in a good word for you when I see him today.”

“Oh God. He wants to see you?”

“Yeah, and I don’t think he’s going to ask me to the prom.”

I heard Sylvia’s voice in the background, so I said goodbye and hung up. I woke up every other morning thinking I still might not be over her. I didn’t want to picture her lying there in bed next to him. Or standing next to the bed, putting her clothes on.

I put myself together and got out of there. While I was driving, I went over it again. He said he saw Edwin and the bookmaker at a bar, so it made sense to stop at the Mariner’s Tavern, see if anyone saw anything suspicious. It was unlikely, but worth checking out. Aside from that, what do I do? Tell the police about it? I couldn’t picture myself telling this story to Chief Maven, but he was the logical choice.

But first, I had this other stupid thing to take care of. I swung into the town of Rosedale and found the trailer park again. The capsized trailer was still there, untouched. A couple of the local women stood in the road, steaming mugs in their hands. They were staring at the trailer and then when I drove by in my truck, they stared at me. First a trailer tips over, now a strange man drives by. What was this neighborhood coming to?

The woman I had talked to lived two doors down. I pulled into the little driveway and got out of the truck, waving to the two women in the road. They looked away. When I knocked on the door, I didn’t hear anything. I knocked again, louder.

“Who is it?” It was a man’s voice from within.

“My name is Alex McNight. I’m a private investigator.”

“What do you want?”

“I work for Lane Uttley. I was here on Saturday. I spoke to your wife.”

“What were you doing bothering my wife?”

“I was just asking her a couple of questions about the trailer accident over here. Will you please open this door and talk to me?”

There was a small rectangular window in the door. I saw the man peek at me and then disappear. I heard his wife yelling at him, and then his own yelling in return. One thing for sure, this man was not the man who had called me the night before. He was a harmless lughead doing his overprotective husband routine, just like I told Uttley. I was about to knock on the door again when suddenly it opened.

The man had a rifle. He leveled it right at my chest. “Get the fuck out of here right now before I blow a hole right through you.”

It came back. As strong as the night before, when I was standing in that motel room. That day in Detroit. The gun pointed at me. I cannot stop him. He will shoot us, Franklin first and then me.

I took a step backward and fell. Stairs. I fell down some stairs. I’m on the ground. Get up and get out of here. I couldn’t move. I felt like I was up to my neck in wet cement.

Franklin next to me on the floor. He is dying. All that blood.

“Get going!” the man said. “If you ever come around here bothering my wife again, I’ll kill you! I promise you that, mister!”

Get in the truck. I got myself off the ground, remembered how to walk. Get in the truck. I fumbled with the door, opened it finally. Keys. I need keys. They were in my hand already. Which key goes in the ignition? I tried one, then another. Finally, I put the right key in, started the truck. I put it in reverse and punched it, almost backing right across the street into another trailer. I tried to put it into drive, but the engine just raced. It’s in neutral. I couldn’t breathe. Put it in drive. Why can’t I breathe? The two women in the road scattered like pigeons as I finally found a gear and then barreled past them.

When I was a few miles out of town, I stopped the truck. I sat there on the side of the road, both hands gripping the steering wheel. What in God’s name is wrong with you? Relax. Just relax. I made myself take a deep breath and then another.

All right, take it easy. You’re okay now. That asshole just wanted to scare you. And he picked a hell of a day to do it. You lost your cool for a moment. After the weekend you just had, it’s understandable.

And besides, that was the first time someone has pointed a gun at you since Detroit.

I remember sitting in an office with a psychiatrist. The department made me go see him, after the shooting. I thought it was a waste of time. I didn’t listen to much of what he was saying, but I did remember one thing. He said I’d always have this hair trigger in my head. One little thing and I’d be right back there in that room, lying on the floor with three bullets in me. A loud noise, like a gunshot or even a car backfiring. Maybe a certain smell, he said.

Or maybe the sight of blood.

The Mariner’s Tavern looked just like you would expect it to look. It had the fishnet with the shells and starfish in it hanging from the ceiling, an old whaling harpoon stuck to the wall. It was on Water Street, right next to Locks Park, with big windows on the north side of the building. During the summer you could sit there and see a freighter or two going though the locks every hour, getting raised or lowered twenty-one feet, depending on which way they were going. Now that November had arrived, the freighter season was almost over.

I meant to just stop in and have a quick word with the bartender, but I ended up sitting at a table for a while, the only customer in the place, looking out that window at the St. Mary’s River and on the other side of that, Soo Canada. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a drink before noon, but this day seemed to need it.

I made a little toast to myself. Here’s to your brilliant decision to become a private investigator.

Lane Uttley had found me at the Glasgow Inn one night that past summer. He told me that Edwin was one of his clients, and that Edwin had told him all about me, the fact that I had been a cop in Detroit, even the business about getting shot.

“A man who takes three bullets has to be one tough son of a bitch,” he said. “Edwin tells me you still have one of the bullets in your chest. Do you ever set off the metal detector at the airport?”

“It happens,” I said.

“What do they say when you tell them about the bullet?”

“They usually just say, ‘Ouch.’”

“Ha,” he said. “I imagine they do. Anyway, Mr. McKnight, I won’t waste your time. Reason I’m here is, I have a big problem and I’m wondering if you can help me out. You see, I have this private investigator working for me named Leon Prudell. Do you know him?”

“I think I’ve seen him before.”

“Yeah, well, at the risk of speaking unkindly, I have to say that the situation with Mr. Prudell is not working out. I imagine you’re familiar with what a private investigator really does?”

“Mostly just information gathering, I would think. Interviews, surveillance.”

“Exactly,” he said. “It’s very important to have someone who’s intelligent and reliable, as you can imagine. I’ve done a little bit of criminal defense work. And I have some long-standing clients like Edwin, you know, for wills, real estate, and so on. But a lot of my work is negligence, accidents, malpractice, that sort of line. That’s where I really need a good information man.”

“What does this have to do with me?” I asked. “I’m not a private investigator.”

“Ah,” he said. “But you could be. Have you ever thought about it?”

“Can’t say as I have.”

“The private eye laws are pretty loose in this state. All you need are three years as a police officer and a five-thousand-dollar bond. You were an officer for eight years, right? Spotless record?”

“Are you asking me,” I said, “or did you already check me out?”

“You’ll have to forgive me,” he said. “I told you I value good information.”

“Well, I’m going to have to pass on your offer. Thanks just the same.”

“I sure wish you’d think about it. I’m prepared to make this well worth your time.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “FU think about it.”

He was back two nights later, this time with one of Prudell’s reports in his hand. “I want you to read this,” he said. “This is what I have to deal with every day.”

Prudell had apparently been sent to a resort out on Drummond Island to document some haphazard life-guarding in support of a suit over a drowning. The report was a jumble of irrelevant notations and misspellings.

“Listen to this, Alex,” he said. “Twelve-fifteen. Subjects back on duty after eating lunch under a medium-size tree. Subjects become aggravated upon observation of my picture taking with the camera.’ I assume that when he says subjects, he means lifeguards. Why can’t he just say lifeguards, Alex? I tell ya, this guy is killing me.”

“What makes you think I could do a better job?” I said.

“Alex, come on. Don’t make me beg.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Uttley.”

“Alex, you work when you want to work, and you name your price. I’ll even put up your state bond myself. You can’t beat it.”

The truth was, I had been thinking about it. As a cop, I was always good at dealing with people, making them feel at ease, making them feel like they could talk to me on a human level. I was pretty sure I could make a decent private investigator. And I still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of drawing three-quarter disability pay and not having much else to do except cut wood and clean up after deer hunters.

“There’s just one condition,” I said. “No divorce cases. I’m not going to go following some guy, waiting to get a picture of him with his pants around his ankles.”

“It’s a deal,” he said. “I haven’t done divorce work in ten years.”

A month later, I had my license. He apparently knew someone in Lansing, was able to get the forms through that quickly. One day in late August, after I had just received the license, he gave me a piece of paper with a name and address on it.

“Who’s this?” I said.

“It’s a dealer in the Soo,” he said. “I’ve ordered a gun for you. You have to pick it up yourself, of course. Fill out the paperwork. You know some guys in the county office, right? You’ll need your permit, too.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “What kind of gun are we talking about?”

“A. 38 service revolver. That’s what you used when you were a police officer, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said. “But I really don’t want to carry one again, if you don’t mind.”

“Hey, no problem,” he said. “Just keep it at home. You never know.”

It took me a while to figure out why he ordered that gun. Then it came to me. He probably just liked the idea of me having it. I could see him sitting across the table from a prospective client, saying, “Yes sir, I’ve got a good man working for me now. He packs heat, of course. It’s a rough world out there. My man took three bullets once, still has one in his chest. That’s the kind of man we both need on our side…”

When I had finally picked up that gun, I took it home and put it in the back of my closet. I hadn’t touched it since.

The bartender was no help. I asked him if he had been there that past Monday. It took him a full minute to figure that one out, so I didn’t think he’d be able to remember if there were any suspicious characters there that night. So I just paid the man and headed down to Uttley’s office. It was right around the corner from the courthouse, between a bank and a gift shop. The whole downtown area was starting to smell like money again, thanks to the casinos. Uttley was doing well, as were a lot of the other local businessmen. The strange thing was that, for once, a lot of the money was coming to the Chippewa Indians first and then trickling down to everyone else. I knew a lot of people around here who had a hard time dealing with that.

Uttley was on the phone when I came in. He gave me a little wave and motioned me into a big overstuffed guest chair. His office was classic Uttley: a desk you could land an airplane on, framed pictures of hounds and riders ready for the foxhunt, a good ten or twelve exotic houseplants that he was always misting with his little spray bottle. “Jerry, that number doesn’t work, and you know it,” he was saying into his phone. “You’re going to have to do a lot of work on that number before we talk again.” He gave me a theatrical headshake and double eyebrow raise as he covered the receiver with his hand. “Almost done here,” he whispered to me.

I picked up the baseball that was sitting on his desk, read some of the signatures. Without even thinking about it, I turned the ball over into a four-seam grip, ready for the throw to second base.

“Okay,” he said as he hung up. He rubbed his hands together. “How are you doing?”

“Can’t complain,” I said.

“Wouldn’t do you any good if you did complain, eh?”

“I did receive an interesting phone call last night,” I said. By the time I told him everything, he was just staring at me with his mouth open.

“Did you tell Chief Maven about this?” he said.

“I haven’t stopped by to see him yet,” I said. “I thought I’d try the bar first, see if the bartender remembered anything from Monday night.”

“I take it he didn’t.”

“No.”

“Well,” he said. “I don’t know what to say. Do you want me to come to the police station with you?”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll go see him right now.”

“Chief Maven can be a bit… blustery,” he said.

“That’s one word for it.”

“Oh and, by the way,” he said. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

“What would that be?”

“Mrs. Fulton would really like to speak with you as soon as possible.”

I swallowed my surprise. “Sylvia Fulton wants to see me?”

“No no,” he said. “Theodora Fulton. Edwin’s mother. She came up from Grosse Pointe yesterday. She’s staying with them for a couple days.”

“Why does she want to see me?”

“She’s worried about her son. She thinks you might be able to help him.”

“What does she expect me to do?”

“Mrs. Fulton is a great old lady, Alex. A little eccentric maybe. Only rich people are eccentric, by the way. Everyone else is just crazy.”

“So I’ve noticed,” I said.

“Anyway, she’s very protective of her son. She came up as soon as she heard about what happened. She seems to think he’s in some sort of danger up here.”

“Then I probably shouldn’t tell her about our new friend the killer, huh?”

“I’d find a way to leave that out of the conversation,” he said. “Alex, I should warn you, this is a very intense woman we’re talking about. She has a different way of looking at things. She wants to talk to you about a dream she had.”

“What kind of dream?”

“She dreamed about what happened on Saturday night. It got her very upset, Alex. She thinks Edwin is next.”

“Are you serious?”

“I don’t know what to think of it, Alex. All I know is, while we’re standing there in that parking lot, Edwin’s mother is down in Grosse Pointe, three hundred miles away. And she’s dreaming about it. She saw it, Alex. She didn’t see who did it or anything. She just saw the way it looked afterward.”

“What, you mean…”

“The blood, Alex. She says she saw the blood in her dream.”