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Authors: Steve Hamilton

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Let It Burn (23 page)

BOOK: Let It Burn
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I had Detective Gruley’s card in my pocket, with his cell phone number and a polite request to let him know if I was going to leave the state. To be available for more questions, and yes, I knew the drill.

When I was almost back to the freeway, I pulled the truck over in a gas station and just sat there for a while with my eyes closed. Then I picked up my cell phone and called Leon. As soon as he answered, I let him have it.

“He’s dead,” I said. “Detective Bateman was murdered.”

“Alex, slow down and tell me what happened.”

I took a breath and gave him the whole story. When I was done, there was a long silence on the line. I thought the call might have dropped.

“Leon, are you there?”

“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” he said. “You really need to hear this.”

“What is it?”

“Are you listening?”

“I’m listening. What is it?”

“This was not your fault.”

“I know that.”

“Like hell you do. I know exactly what you’re thinking right now, and you need to stop. Because it’s going to drive you insane. If this was Darryl King getting revenge, then he was plotting this for years.
For years,
Alex. It was set in motion long before you even started thinking about this case again. No matter what you did or didn’t do or were planning on doing today, it wouldn’t have mattered. This thing happened, and it had nothing to do with you.”

“Okay,” I said. “I hear what you’re saying.”

“I take that back. It
does
have something to do with you. Because you might be next. In fact, King could be on his way up to Paradise right now.”

“Or in Paradise,” I said, looking at my watch. “He’d have had plenty of time to get up there. Hell, if I hadn’t left this morning, I could already be dead by now.”

“I’m about to get off work. Let me go over and just check out your place. I’ll give Jackie and Vinnie a heads-up, too.”

“Okay, but be careful.”

“I will, don’t worry. I might take my Ruger, though. Just don’t tell my wife.”

“I promise,” I said. “And thank you.”

“What are you going to do now?”

I looked out at the road. The entrance to the freeway had two arrows. One for I-75 North, and the bridge to the Upper Peninsula. Another for I-75 South, and Detroit.

“I have absolutely no idea what to do next,” I said. Then my phone made a beeping noise I’d hardly ever heard it make before. I looked at the little screen. There was another call coming in.

“Somebody’s calling me,” I said, reading the caller ID. A 313 area code. “I should take this.”

I ended the call with Leon and answered a call from the last person in the world I would have expected.

Darryl King’s mother.

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

It took me a moment to remember. I had given Mrs. King my card, on that surreal afternoon I’d sat with her in her living room, eating her chocolate cake. Now, as I answered her call, I could barely make sense of what she was saying. All I could make out was that Darryl was gone, after just one night in the house, and the police had been tearing the place apart and asking ridiculous questions. I told her to sit tight, that I’d be there in less than three hours. A crazy thing to do on a day that had already gotten turned upside down. But what else was I going to say to her?

While I was driving down I-75, I gave Sergeant Grimaldi a call, just to let him know what had happened. Then I called Janet to do the same. They were both shocked. They were both worried about me. They both wanted to know what I was going to do next. I didn’t tell either one of them the truth.

I stopped for some gas. I hit a drive-through just so I’d have something in my stomach. I kept driving. Two and a half hours later, I crossed under Eight Mile Road. I was back in Detroit.

I cut over to the west side of town. I went to Ash Street. I parked the truck in front of that house. I sat there for a moment to get my bearings and to shake out the sound of the road from my ears. Then I got out and looked at the house. I could see where the weeds had all been trampled down by the police officers’ boots. The trail circled the house, and there were dirty footprints on the sidewalk.

Okay, I thought, so they were here looking for him. They probably turned this place upside down. But why aren’t they still here now? If they don’t have him in custody yet, surely somebody’s keeping an eye on the place.

That made me remember, of course. My own time watching this very house, all those years ago. Even with some of the houses gone, and the weeds grown up, there was still probably one prime spot for surreptitious surveillance, as they call it. I stepped back from the far side of my truck and looked down the street. Sure enough, there was the vehicle, right in that same spot on the other side of the fence, in the parking lot behind that apartment complex. It was a green minivan, not the panel truck we had used back in the day. I thought I spotted a little lens flash, probably from binoculars. I almost waved to him, whoever the lucky sap was who had drawn this duty, but I thought better of it.

I went up on the leaning front porch and was about to knock on the screen door. Then I looked inside and saw Mrs. King kneeling on the floor, her head on the seat of her chair.

I opened the door and went to her. “Mrs. King,” I said. “Are you all right?”

She looked up at me. Her face was wet.

“Oh, thank God, you came, Mr. McKnight. Thank you so much.”

“Do you need help? Here, let me help you to your feet.”

“It’s okay, I was just praying.”

She let me help her to a sitting position on her chair. I took the other chair.

“It was so good to have him home,” she said, wringing a handkerchief in her hands. “But it all went wrong so quickly. He didn’t even have one piece of his cake yet.”

“Tell me what happened. Tell me everything.”

She wiped her face, then took a moment to compose her gray hair.

“I waited all day for him,” she said. “I thought he’d be out in the morning, but by the time he did all his processing and such, it was nearly dinnertime when I finally got to see him. He looked so…”

She stopped and worked at her handkerchief again.

“He looked so tired, I guess. So used up by all those years in prison. He was so happy to be out, but I could tell he was feeling a little lost, too. Which I guess is understandable. All these years and suddenly you’re standing outside that prison, with no idea what you’re going to do with the rest of your life. Anyway, I had my sister’s car. I don’t drive that much anymore, but I still have a license. So I went to get him, and after all that waiting, I finally got to bring him home.”

“Did he say anything? About what he was going to do?”

“No, he didn’t. Not at all. He didn’t say much of anything. He apologized, said he was still just taking it all in, trying to get his feet under him. He wasn’t very hungry. He had a little dinner, but like I said, he didn’t even have any cake. He said he’d have some today.”

“Okay…”

“He sat with me for a while, then when it got dark, I asked him if he was going to go to bed. Up in his old room, just like old times. I thought he must have been pretty tired after the big day, but he said he wanted to go out for a little bit. I got kinda upset about that, because I know he’s on parole, for one thing, and they have all sorts of rules about where you can go and how late you can stay out at night. Then he asked me if he could borrow my sister’s car for a little bit, and I got
really
upset. Because I knew he still has to go down and get his license. But he insisted on going out. He just said, ‘I gotta do it, Mama. I’ve been cooped up all these years. I just gotta get some air in my lungs and move around a little bit.’ So eventually I just let him take the car for a while, as long as he promised to come right back.”

She stopped again. She smoothed the fabric of her dress over her knees.

“He never came back?”

She shook her head. A fresh tear ran down her cheek.

“So what happened today? The police came?”

“They rushed right in and started looking for him. Going up the stairs. I told them they had no right to do that, but they said on account of Darryl being on parole, they can do whatever they want. Go in anywhere and just drag him out.”

“I’m afraid that’s true,” I said. “You give up certain rights if you’re on parole.”

“Yeah, well, I never gave up my rights. They had no cause to do that.”

I looked around the room. “It doesn’t look bad right now. Did you have to clean things up?”

She dismissed that with one wave of her hand. “I don’t care about mud in the house. Not with Darryl in trouble again. If I cleaned today, it was just to keep my mind busy. I didn’t know what to do, Mr. McKnight. If I didn’t have your number to call, I don’t know who I would have turned to.”

“Mrs. King…”

“Thank you, by the way. Did I say thank you yet?”

“Yes, you did. It’s okay. But tell me exactly what the police said to you.”

She shook her head, like she didn’t even want to think about it. “Just nonsense, they were saying. They wanted to know where he was. They kept telling me I must know and that I’d better tell them or I’d get in trouble.”

“But you didn’t know? You had no idea?”

“Of course not,” she said, giving me a sharp look. “Do you think I’d be sitting here if I had any idea where he’s at right now?”

“Mrs. King,” I said, knowing this next part would be tough. “Did they say anything to you about what they thought Darryl had done?”

“Yes.” Her voice was dead calm. “They said some foolishness about an old retired detective being killed. Way up north. Like a three-hour drive. I told them Darryl couldn’t have had anything to do with that.”

“Did they mention that that old retired detective was the man who arrested your son?”

She looked away from me, shaking her head. She can’t handle this, I thought. She can’t let herself even think about what this might mean.

“He didn’t do it,” she said, looking back at me. “Whoever got killed, wherever it was, up north or just down the street, I don’t care. Darryl’s spent half his life in prison and he’s not about to throw away whatever time he has left. It’s that simple.”

“Okay, I understand.” What could I even say?

“You have to help me, Mr. McKnight. I know I have no right to ask, but I don’t know who else to turn to. Will you please go find my son and bring him back to me so we can get this whole mess straightened out?”

“Mrs. King…”

I may not have to look for him, I thought. He might end up finding me first.

“Please, Mr. McKnight. Alex. I’m begging you.”

On the other hand … Given the choice between waiting for him to show up on my doorstep and actually doing something …

I didn’t get the chance to say anything else, because at that moment I glanced out the front window and saw the Detroit police car pulling up behind my truck. There were two officers in the car. One was looking at my license plate and talking on the radio. The other was opening his door to get out. He looked both confused and unhappy, never a good combination in a cop.

“This is going to sound a little strange,” I said to Mrs. King, “but do you have a dollar?”

“I do, yes…”

“Can you give it to me?”

“Right now?”

“Yes, please.”

She reached into the waist pocket of her dress and pulled out a dollar bill. She gave it to me.

“You just hired me as a private investigator,” I said. “I now have the right to be here, no matter what the police say. And anything we say to each other is protected by client privilege. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

“Good, it’s nice to be working for you. Stay right here a minute, okay?”

I left her there in the house and walked out the front door to meet the officer.

“Stop right there,” he said. “I’m going to need some ID.”

“You just ran my plate,” I said. “You already know who I am.”

“Some ID, please. Right now.”

I took out my driver’s license and handed it to him.

“What precinct are you guys from?” I said. “Oh no, wait, you don’t even have precincts anymore, right? It’s all districts now?”

“Can I ask what you’re doing here?”

“Look, I’m a former Detroit cop myself. So can we start over?”

He gave me back my license. “I just need to know why you’re here. I also need to know if you have any connection to Darryl King.”

“No, I don’t. I’ll be honest and tell you that I’m looking for him, too.”

“Mr. King is the subject of a murder investigation, Mr. McKnight. Not to mention the fact that he’s already violated his parole. We’re going to need to know any information you might have in regards to his current whereabouts.”

I dug around in my wallet, thankful that I hadn’t cleaned it out in a while, and found another of my old PI cards. “I’m currently a licensed private investigator. I’ve been hired by Mrs. King.”

“You’re supposed to let the police know if you’re working in our jurisdiction,” he said, looking at the card with a frown. “You know that.”

“I do know that. I was just hired thirty seconds ago. So consider this your heads-up.”

The other officer, done with whatever he was doing on the radio, got out of his car and joined us.

“Mr. McKnight,” he said, “I just talked to a Detective Gruley from the Michigan State Police. Is it true you’re the one who found Detective Bateman’s body this morning?”

“Yes,” I said, looking back at the house. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

“The detective has a message for you,” the cop said. “He wants to know, with all due respect, if you’ve lost your mind.”

“I wouldn’t bet against it,” I said. “But let me ask you guys something.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but who’s coordinating your surveillance these days?”

The two officers looked at each other. They clearly had no idea what I was talking about.

“You can’t pull up in a squad car,” I said, “and announce to the world that you’re here, while at the same time you’ve got your other man down the street…”

“What man is that, Mr. McKnight?”

BOOK: Let It Burn
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