Ice Run

Chapter Eighteen

We crossed the bridge and found the police station. Staff Sergeant Moreland was standing at the door with his head outside, looking up at the snow. When he saw us coming, he held the door open without saying a word. He pointed down the hallway.

“In here,” he said, directing us to an interview room. The bright fluorescent lights hurt my eyes. “I was just watching the snow come down. It’s hard to believe there’s any left up there.”

I wasn’t sure if he was just trying to put us at ease with the small talk. He let Leon sit down next to me. Right away that told me something. If he wanted to put us through the ringer, he’d do us each separately.

“You would be Mr. Leon Prudell,” Moreland said, extending his hand. “Chief Maven tells me you were Alex’s old partner, back when he was a private eye.”

“Very briefly, sir.”

“I saw Alex just this morning,” he said. “I didn’t imagine I’d have the pleasure again so soon.”

“We’ll do whatever we can to help,” Leon said.

“That’s good to hear. As you know by now, we found Michael Grant. He ran off the road into a ditch. It didn’t take long for the snow to cover him. When the plow came by, it buried him completely. Somebody else ran off the road in the same spot this evening, bumped right into him. If that hadn’t happened, God knows when we would have found him.”

“Where was he found?” I said. I couldn’t help thinking about the whole family gathered at the Woolseys’ house.

“Just west of Iron Bridge.”

“He didn’t make it very far then.”

“I’m surprised he could drive at all,” Moreland said. “He basically had no left hand anymore. He had tried to wrap it up with an old rag.”

I could picture that rag in my mind. It was tucked into a pocket on the driver’s side door. Last time I used it was to check my oil.

“There were deep lacerations in his face and shoulders, too,” Moreland said. “He must have been losing a lot of blood, even with the low temperature.”

“Sounds like he never had a chance,” Leon said. “That shotgun ripped him apart.”

“We recovered your cell phone as well,” Moreland said. “It looks like he tried to call for help. There’s no record of the call ever going through.”

I wasn’t sure what to think at that point. It was a horrible way to die, bleeding to death, trapped in the snow. But if the gun hadn’t exploded, I would have been dead myself.

“That leaves Marty Grant,” Moreland said. “And Natalie, of course.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “In any case, Chief Maven tells me you two were busy today. You traced the nephew out to Mackinac Island?”

“Yes,” I said. “It looks like Marty was there. But not anymore.”

“I’m sure the Michigan guys will keep looking.”

“What about you guys? Have you found any leads here?”

He looked up at me. It seemed like he was more weary than annoyed. “We can’t find any trace of her,” he said. “All we can find are trucks and dead bodies.”

“I know this isn’t the most important thing in the world right now,” I said, “but when do I get the truck back?”

“We’ve already been through it. I don’t see why you can’t take it with you now.”

“Are you serious? In Michigan I probably wouldn’t see it for a month.”

“It’s around back,” he said. “I’ll take you to it.”

“I appreciate that.”

There wasn’t much more to say, so he showed us out. Leon waited for me in the parking lot while I went around to the back lot with Moreland. He unlocked the gate and led me to my truck. It was parked beneath a flood lamp mounted high on a wooden pole, the snow flying heavy now in the cone of orange light. My truck looked amazingly unharmed by its ordeal, aside from a dent in the snowplow.

“We cleaned it up a little inside,” Moreland said, “after we took some samples. But you might want to take it someplace for a better job.”

Only in Canada, I thought. They actually cleaned it up for me.

He gave me the keys. I opened the driver’s side door. My cell phone was sitting on the dashboard. The seat was still damp, and the heavy metallic scent of blood hung in the air.

“Did you guys happen to find a hat in here?” I said.

“That old hat you told me about? I think Grant had it on his head when they found him. I’m sure it’s in the lab right now.”

“That’s fine. It’s not important.”

“You still have my card?” he said. “You’ll call me if you get any more ideas? Maybe before you go chasing them this time?”

“I’ll try,” I said. “But I don’t think I can promise you.”

I wasn’t sure if he accepted that, but he let me go. I started it up and pulled around to the front, next to Leon’s car, and rolled down my window. As Leon leaned out, I could see his breath in the cold night air.

“Thank you,” I told him. “Again. I really owe you.”

“It’s nothing, Alex.”

“Go home to your wife,” I said. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

“We’ll be fine,” he said. “Call me tomorrow.”

I watched him pull out of the lot and head for home. I didn’t move. I sat there as the snow collected on my windshield. It was getting late, I was tired, and if I had had any sense at all, I would have gone right home and gone to bed.

I couldn’t. I had to do something.

I could go out to Natalie’s house, I thought. Drive all the way out there in the snow to look through her empty house again. Looking for what? I had no idea. The house and the barn would be closed up now, anyway, both places taped up as official crime scenes.

There’s nothing you can do, Alex. There’s nowhere else you can go.

I finally pulled out of the lot and started driving. I found a gas station and pulled in to fill up the tank. The snow kept falling. I watched the imperial gallons click by, five quarts apiece. I went in and paid the man. He looked at my bruised and taped-up face, asked me if the hospital knew I had escaped. I told him he was wasting his comedic talent working at a gas station.

The hospital, I thought as I got back in the truck. I could go see how Mrs. DeMarco is doing. That would be one small thing, at least, instead of driving straight home. The General Hospital wasn’t far away, so I figured what the hell. Even though it was late, I could at least ask about her.

I drove over and parked in the emergency room lot, went inside, found an elevator, rode it up to the sixth floor. I walked up to the nurse’s station.

“Sir, can I help you? If you’re a visitor, you really need to come back tomorrow.”

“I’m just wondering about Mrs. DeMarco,” I said. “Is she still on this floor?”

“I recognize you now,” she said. “You’re the one who brought her in.”

“Yes, ma’am. How is she doing?”

“Not too bad, considering. Celia will be sorry she missed you. That’s Mrs. DeMarco’s day nurse. She was here a little earlier, dropping off some things.”

“Well, I was just driving by, anyway. I don’t want to disturb her.”

“Why don’t you go peek in her room? She was awake a little while ago.”

“Maybe I’ll do that,” I said. “Although it’s a little hard to have a conversation with her. I think she’s pretty much just living in the past now.”

“That’s actually a very common symptom of dementia,” she said. “As the memory breaks down, you get stuck in one particular time of your life. Sometimes it’s a good time. Sometimes not so good.”

I thought about that for a second. I imagined myself as an old man, living one traumatic day of my life over and over.

“She was talking about a funeral,” I said. “In fact, she was getting dressed for it.”

The nurse shook her head. “The one thing you really can’t do is try to talk her out of it, if you know what I mean. You can’t try to convince her she’s being delusional. The best you can do is just reassure her that everything’s going to be okay.”

“I understand,” I said. “Thank you.”

I went down the hall to her room and knocked softly on the door. I didn’t hear anything, so I pushed the door open and looked inside. Mrs. DeMarco was in her bed, the back tilted up so she could see out the window.

“Mrs. DeMarco?”

Her eyes were open. She didn’t say anything. For a moment I thought she was dead.

“Mrs. DeMarco?”

She turned her head slightly. “It’s you again.”

“Yes,” I said. “How are you feeling?”

“Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital, ma’am.”

“Did I faint?”

“No, not really. You just had a bad day. The power went out.”

She nodded her head and looked back out the window. “It’s been a bad winter.”

I thought about what the nurse had said. “Mrs. DeMarco,” I said, “what year is it?”

“It just turned 1930, dear.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “That was a silly question.”

“No, I get the same way,” she said. “The years go by so fast.”

I wasn’t sure what else to say. I stood up and went to the window. I watched the snow falling. I thought about Natalie, wondered again for the thousandth time where she was at that moment.

Wait a minute. She said 1930.

“Mrs. DeMarco,” I said, turning back to her, “when you were talking about New Year’s Eve before…”

Her eyes were closed.

I stood there for a while. Just as I was about to leave she moved again.

“Where’s Albert?” she said. She picked her head up, like she was about to try to get out of the bed.

“Your son?”

“Where is he?”

She thinks he’s a little kid, I thought. This man who had already lived his entire life, this man who had done horrible things to Natalie and God knows who else. He was dead now, and the world was undoubtedly a better place without him. But what could I say to her?

“He’s just fine,” I said. “Don’t worry about Albert.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

She seemed to accept that. She laid her head back down.

“Mrs. DeMarco,” I said, “do you feel like talking about what happened on New Year’s Eve?”

“I told them not to go,” she said. “I told them.”

“Who did you tell?”

“Warren and Luc. I had a bad feeling about it. You should be with your family on New Year’s Eve.”

It was the same thing she had told us before, the first time I had met her. We’d thought she was talking about the night Natalie’s father was murdered. But that would happen a good forty years later.

“Who are Warren and Luc?” I said.

“My husband, Warren,” she said. “And Luc Reynaud.”

Luc Reynaud. That would have to be Natalie’s grandfather.

“Mrs. DeMarco, do you know anyone named Grant?” It was a shot in the dark, but why not?

“Yes. They were there, too.”

“Where is this, ma’am?”

“Out on the ice,” she said. “The ice run.”

“The ice run?”

“I told Warren and Luc not to go. They didn’t listen to me.”

For the first time, I was seeing some connection between the Grants and the Reynauds, but it didn’t go back to a murder in Sault Ste. Marie three decades ago. It went back a lot further.

“They never listened to me,” she said, as she started to shake. I took her hand. It felt like the most fragile thing I had ever held.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s okay.”

She took a long ragged breath and then laid her head back on her pillow. I tucked her blanket around her neck.

“I’ll let you rest,” I said. “I’ll come back and see you again soon.”

She didn’t say anything else. She closed her eyes and was still.

When I went back out, I confessed to the nurse that I might have put some stress on Mrs. DeMarco with my questions.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” the nurse said. “She’s an amazing woman. If you think about it, she’s seen most of the twentieth century. You should see some of these pictures.”

“Which pictures?”

“In here,” she said, pointing to a cardboard box behind her. “Celia brought this over. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen now, if Mrs. DeMarco would even be going home or if she’d ever work for her again. She didn’t want all this to get lost, you know, if somebody comes in to clean out the house.”

“Would you mind if I took a quick look?”

“I don’t see why you couldn’t,” she said. “Here.” She picked up the box and put it on top of the desk.

The contents weren’t organized in any way. The photographs were jumbled together among the old newspaper clippings, sports ribbons, report cards, Mrs. DeMarco’s marriage license from 1923- the whole mess a tattered paper trail from a long, long life. Just looking through it made me feel sad. This was all she had left. She didn’t even have most of her memories anymore. They were cut off at 1930. A lot of this stuff in the box she wouldn’t even recognize now.

I found some of the color photographs. They were the same kind of washed-out old Polaroids, like the one Natalie had of the three men. A young girl was blowing out birthday candles. I looked at it for a few seconds before I realized the young girl was Natalie, maybe twelve years old. It hit me in the gut like a sucker punch. I recognized her mother in the picture, and her stepfather, Albert DeMarco. A younger Mrs. DeMarco stood behind them, next to a woman who must have been Natalie’s grandmother.

“Are you okay?” the nurse said.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry. It’s just…” I shook my head. At that moment I would have given everything I owned just to see Natalie one more time, and to know that she was safe.

“I should get out of your way,” I said. I flipped through a couple more pictures, the colors getting brighter and clearer as the subjects got older. The last one I looked at was a picture of Mrs. DeMarco standing next to a man. It took me a moment to realize it was her son, Albert. That sick feeling hit me in the stomach again, the same thing I’d felt every time I had seen this man’s face. Someone had made them pose together in front of a fireplace, Albert wearing a grim, impatient smile.

I put the picture back in the box. Then I picked it up again. I looked at the two faces again. Mrs. DeMarco looked old, but there was a fullness and a color in her face. I was guessing this picture was taken maybe ten years ago. So Albert DeMarco had to be about sixty years old here. A rich and successful man, looking bloated with food and success and an easy life. And that “hurry up and get this over with” smile.

I stood there and looked at the picture for a long time. Something about it bothered me. I couldn’t figure out what it was.

“I hope you’ll come back and visit her,” the nurse said. “I don’t imagine she’ll be getting too many visitors.”

“I’ll do that,” I said. I kept staring at it. God damn it, I thought, there’s something about that face…

“It’s such a shame,” she said. “She should live in Nevada. God knows he could afford to move her there.”

I looked up at her. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying, it’s a shame.”

“You said he could afford to move her there. Who are you talking about?”

“Her son,” she said. “Mr. Moneybags.”

“Albert DeMarco?”

“That’s the one.”

“I thought he was dead.”

“That would be news to Celia. He’s the man sending her the checks every month from Nevada.”

I looked at the picture again. In one sickening moment it all came together.

I knew this face looked familiar. I had seen it somewhere, not long ago.

When I was standing there at the airport, looking carefully at each person to see if one of the Grants was getting off that plane… The young couple first, looking up at the sky. Then the older man behind them, with that same look of impatience, the exact same face as in the picture I was holding in my hands.

I thanked the nurse and ran. She must have thought I was crazy, but I didn’t care. I ran down the hospital corridor, pressed the elevator button, waited for all of two seconds and then hit the stairs. I went down the six floors and then out into the night. I got into my truck and picked up my cell phone.

The snow was coming down hard now. There was already a thick coat of it on my windshield. I waited to see if the phone would pick up a signal. When it did, I dialed a number. Then I stopped. I hit the end button before the call could connect.

No, I thought. I can’t call Leon again. He just got home. He’s explaining everything to his wife. Now I’m gonna call and ask him to come out again in the middle of the night? I can’t do that.

There’s only one other person I can call. Maybe a better choice anyway. Leon’s a good friend, a good ex-partner, but there’s one other person in this world who’s gone down the line with me even farther.

I dialed the number. He answered on the second ring.

“Vinnie,” I said. “I need help.”

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

“I need a snowmobile.”

“You hate snowmobiles.”

“Not tonight. Does your cousin Buck still have one?”

“He’s got two.”

“He’s got a trailer?”

“Yes. Where am I going?”

“St. Ignace, by the point,” I said.

“Where the trail leads out onto the lake?”

“Yes, that’s the place. Vinnie, I know it’s a tough night to come out, but it’s important.”

“I’ll be there,” he said. Then he hung up.

I cleared off the windshield, pulled out of the lot, and drove into the falling snow.

He’s alive, I thought. God damn it, he’s alive.

It didn’t make any sense to me. Natalie wouldn’t have lied about that. She wouldn’t have lied about anything. But her mother…

That’s it. Of course. Somehow her mother made her believe he was dead. Another lie, like Natalie’s dead dog, like the story she told those men in the bar about Natalie dying from food poisoning. This lie was the worst of all. But why?

I gunned the accelerator, pushing the truck as fast as it could go on the icy road.

The hell with it, I thought. I can figure it out later. Right now I have to get out there. Not only is Albert DeMarco very much alive, he’s out on Mackinac Island right now.

And if I had to guess, I’d say that probably means one thing…

Natalie’s out there, too.