A Cold Day in Paradise (13 page)

“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.

L
ANE
U
TTLEY 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.”

I
T WAS ANOTHER
calm night, the November winds mysteriously absent. I figured that was a good thing. I would be able to hear him outside if he came to my door.

The policeman had stopped by in his unmarked vehicle to set up the watch. I felt bad for the guy, having to sit there all night in his car. I remembered having to do that myself in Detroit.

I plugged in the phone unit Maven had given me. Any incoming calls would automatically trigger a trace record, and the recorder would turn on. All I had to do was pick up the phone and talk. If it was the same guy and he wanted to know what I thought of his latest murder, I would play along, get him to tell me all about it. That was the plan, at least.