The Cold Nowhere

39

Under cover of clouds, night fell like a stone.

The cold air resurrected winter, and wet April snow descended in streams from the black sky. He could hear its quiet hiss outside the open garage. Under the shelter of the roof, he could barely see the pines that grew near the old house, and the rural highway was empty.

It was safe to move.

He climbed into the Charger and revved the powerful engine. He backed down the rutted driveway, tires crunching, until he reached the highway. Martin Road was in the far north of the city. Most of the terrain around him was desolate woodland. The snow was heavy; soon it would cover his tire tracks and leave a virgin bed between the trees.

He turned right. In the mirror behind him, his tires kicked up a white cloud like a tornado. For four miles, he didn’t see another soul. When he finally saw headlights he slowed, but the other vehicle was nothing more than bright eyes behind a curtain of snow. He reached Rice Lake Road and turned south toward the city. Traffic thickened, but to anyone other than the police, a black Dodge Charger was just another cool sports car. He felt secure as he closed in on the urban corridor. Cars around him slipped and slid through the intersections, and he was careful to give them plenty of space. He couldn’t afford an accident.

He kept a tight grip on the wheel. His hands were covered in hospital gloves, and he wore leather gloves on top of those. His hair was completely covered by a wool cap. He was conscious of everything that might shed from his body. Every cough. Every flake of dry skin. Every mucus dribble from his nose. The odds of the Duluth Police recovering trace evidence from the vehicle for a DNA match were slim. This was the real world, not CSI. He was cautious anyway.

The steep downtown streets, when he reached them, belonged in San Francisco, not in the Midwest winter. He glided downhill, coasting through yellow lights, keeping an eye for patrol cars. This was the place where cops congregated, the place where he stood the greatest chance of being seen. Every cop was looking for a dark Dodge Charger. If the plates didn’t match, it wouldn’t matter. They’d follow anyway. They might even pull him over and spot the bloodstains on the leather interior. He couldn’t let that happen.

He held his breath, but the storm gave him cover. He passed through the hub of downtown and crossed over the interstate toward Canal Park. Like a ghost in the snow, he took the back street to the lift bridge and across to the finger of the Point.

It was three miles to Stride’s house.

*

‘We have to find Dory,’ Stride told Cat.

The girl sat cross-legged on one of the twin beds in the small room facing the street. She squeezed the gold chain around her neck between her fingers. ‘I don’t know where she is. I don’t understand any of this. You found the knife that killed Kim in Dory’s room?’

‘Yes, we did.’

‘I don’t know how it got there.’

‘Did you open the bottom drawer of the dresser?’ Stride asked her. ‘Did you look inside?’

‘I can’t remember. I don’t think so. I didn’t put the knife there. Really, I didn’t.’

‘What about Dory?’ Serena asked from the other twin bed in the room. ‘Could she have had the knife?’

‘No, why would Dory hurt Kim?’ Cat said. ‘She wouldn’t do that.’

Stride stood over her. She was scared to see his face dark with suspicion and concern. She felt his distance. He was the same as everyone; he didn’t trust her anymore.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said, ‘but we need to talk to her right away. Dory’s sick. You know that. Drugs can change people in terrible ways.’

‘She always told me she was a bad person,’ Cat said, ‘but not like this. She wouldn’t do this.’

Serena got up from the bed. She knelt in front of Cat and stroked her hair. Serena was strong; there was something about her that drew Cat in the way a mother would. A connection. A need.

‘Cat, listen to me. I know she’s your aunt. I know you love her, but you have to think about this very carefully. Is it possible that something could be wrong with her? Is it possible she could be violent?’

Oh, Dory. Tell me it’s not true.

‘I–I don’t think so.’

‘You don’t sound sure,’ Serena said softly.

‘I am. I’m sure. Dory didn’t do this. Neither did I.’

Stride sat down on the bed beside her. ‘We don’t believe you did, Cat.’

She hooded her eyes from both of them. ‘I know I’ve lied sometimes. I’ve kept things from you, and I’m sorry. I’m not lying now. Someone else is making this happen.’

Stride slid a photograph from his pocket and held it front of her. ‘Do you know this man?’

She stared at it. He was one of those middle-aged men who leered at her, like hundreds of other men. They were all the same, but he looked familiar. ‘I think I’ve seen him on television. Who is it?’

‘His name is Leonard Keck,’ Stride said.

‘Oh, Lowball Lenny. The car guy. Yeah, I’ve seen his commercials. When you’re looking for a deal, Lowball It! That’s him, right?’

‘That’s him. Have you ever met him?’

‘In person? No.’

‘Are you sure?’

Cat stared at the photo again. ‘Pretty sure.’

‘You never had sex with him? He was never a … customer?’

Her eyes widened. ‘No!’

‘You told me once you don’t usually look at their faces. Is it possible you don’t remember him?’

‘Well, I try to forget faces, but him, I’d know him. I wouldn’t forget. I never slept with him.’

Stride stood up again, and Cat thought he looked disappointed.

‘Do you think he did this?’ Cat asked. ‘Is he the one who’s trying to hurt me?’

‘I don’t know,’ Stride said. ‘I thought you might know something that could be a threat to him.’

‘I really don’t think I’ve ever met him,’ Cat said. ‘I’m sorry if that’s the wrong thing.’

Serena stood up, too. ‘Don’t be sorry. If you never met him, that’s good.’

Cat nodded. ‘Okay.’

‘If you need anything, we’ll be right outside,’ Stride said. ‘Try to get some sleep.’

Cat reached for Serena’s hand. ‘Will you still take me to see Dr. Steve in the morning?’

Serena smiled. ‘I promise.’

The two of them left her in the bedroom and closed the door. Cat wasn’t tired, but she turned off the light. She preferred the darkness; she could hide inside it. On the other side of the window, snow danced in the wind. She climbed off the bed and stared outside. The grass was already white.

She opened the window and squeezed her head and shoulders into the night air. She wore a pink sweatshirt and pajama bottoms, and her feet were snug inside slippers. Snowflakes made moist drops on her cheeks. She felt them in her hair. A couple of houses had turned on their holiday lights, making the neighborhood look like Christmas again. Not far away, a dog barked; it was small, with a tiny yipping howl, like a terrier pretending to be a Great Dane. It made her smile.

Cat looked at the ground and her smile bled away.

Beneath her window, there were footprints in the snow.