Let It Burn (27 page)

“Because it was a bad place, Alex. People sold drugs in that park in front of the station, and men would go down there if they were looking for young boys.”

“If he
was
there…”

“He loved his trains, Tremont did. Ever since he was little. But he knew he wasn’t supposed to go to that place.”

“I’ll ask you again,” I said, holding her hands tighter. “The things that went on at that station … If Tremont
was
there, is it possible that’s why?”

She looked away.

“Mrs. King, please answer me, no matter how painful this might be. It’s important.”

“If he was,” she said, “then I wasn’t able to see it. I’m ashamed to say that now, but it’s true. I just couldn’t imagine my boy doing something like that.”

“What about Darryl? Did he know?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe that’s why he was so hard on him.”

“As far as I know, Darryl never said anything about this to the police. Not when the detective was questioning him.”

“I don’t suppose that’s surprising,” she said. “I don’t suppose he’d be real proud to tell people why he was down at the station, if he was looking for his brother, and thought that he was…”

“Is it possible,” I said, thinking here was where I had to choose my words carefully, “that Darryl may have thought he was protecting Tremont when he confessed to that crime?”

“If he really confessed, then yes, I’d say that’s the most likely reason he’d do something so foolish. If he came back home and got his hands on Tremont, and asked him if he was down at that station on the same day that woman was murdered, and Tremont said yes, he was … Then by the time those police showed up to arrest Darryl, I can see him having it in his head that they were going to send
somebody
away, no matter what, so it should be him instead of his brother. I can see that all day, yes.”

No mention of taking the diamond bracelet while he happened to be there, I thought. No mention of the possibility that Tremont may have been involved in the murder of Elana Paige.

But no, I can’t even ask her this. I can’t say the words out loud, not in this kitchen.

“I’ll tell you this,” she said. “When Darryl got taken away to prison, sometime I’d think to myself, there’s a reason for this, Jamilah. In your darkest hour, this is a small blessing, that it’s Darryl in that prison instead of Tremont. Because Darryl’s a strong boy. Real strong. While Tremont wouldn’t last a day in that place. Not one single day. I know that sounds like a bad way to see it.”

“You never said anything about this before,” I said. “When you told me that you knew Darryl was innocent…”

“I didn’t say anything about Darryl saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, no. Or why he might have said it. Because I don’t care about that. I only care about the fact that
neither
of my two boys would kill anybody.”

“Okay, I understand. But tell me more about what happened to Tremont after Darryl went to prison. You said he ran away for good?”

“Yes, because Darryl wasn’t here anymore to go fetch him. Tremont just ran away and he never came back.”

“You never heard from him?”

“Oh, he’d call me sometimes. Those first few years, anyway. I’d wire him some money sometimes, but he always said he was fine. He said he was riding the rails, like he always wanted to. He got hooked up with some people who would hitch rides on freight trains, go all over the place, do some work if they could find it, or else just panhandle. Then hitch another freight train and do it all over again. I guess they’ve got this whole way of life.”

“Like hobos, you mean. Like modern-day hobos.”

“Doesn’t sound like any kind of life to me. But he said he was finally happy, riding the freight trains and never knowing where he’d end up next.”

She stopped. She finally took her hands from mine. She smoothed her dress over her knees and raised her head high.

“It was something else I just had to accept, Alex. One boy in prison, the other a homeless wanderer out on a freight train somewhere. My daughter in a grave. None of them going to school. None of them sleeping in their room at night.”

“When’s the last time you heard from Tremont?”

“It’s been a long time. I couldn’t even tell you if he’s alive or dead right now. I know a mother’s supposed to know such things. I’m supposed to
feel
if he’s still out there somewhere, but I guess I’m not feeling much of anything anymore.”

“But when you did hear from him,” I said, already dreading the answer, “you say he’d be in a new place every time?”

“Cincinnati, if I recall once. Somewhere in Pennsylvania. Chicago.”

“What about during the winter?”

“That’s when he’d head south. Hitch a train to someplace warm. That’s what he told me, anyway.”

I closed my eyes. It all fit together now. Including why Darryl said he had to try to make things right, while he had the chance.

He was going to go try to find his brother, one last time.

*   *   *

I went outside to make the call, pacing back and forth on the grown-over sidewalk in front of Mrs. King’s house. If I felt any sense of betrayal, I got over it in about two seconds, imagining all of the women who’d been killed across the country. Not to mention Detective Bateman.

When Janet Long answered, she didn’t waste any time.

“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re not calling me from Paradise.”

“I need to tell you something. It’s very important.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“You need to find Darryl King’s brother. Tremont.”

A long silence.

“Where are you?” she said.

“I’m still in Detroit.”

“Where in Detroit?”

“At Mrs. King’s house.”

“Can you come down to our office?”

“And have your partner get hold of me? I’ll be there all day.”

“Come and talk to me in person,” she said. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

I ended the call, took one more look at the house, and got in the truck. I drove down to Michigan Avenue, then headed east, past my luxurious little motel, toward downtown. I pulled into the lot next to the federal building. It hadn’t been that long since I was last here. That night when I took Janet to dinner and I actually thought that’s why I had come down to Detroit. How different things can look in just one week.

I saw Janet standing outside the main entrance. When I got out of the truck, she came over and gave me a quick hug.

“Let’s go take a walk,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

“We don’t have to do that. I just wanted to tell you what I know.”

“I need to get away from this place for a minute. Come on.”

She took me by the arm and pointed me down Cass Avenue. With everything else on my mind, it was still good to see her. We walked down past the Free Press Building, toward the river.

“Where are we going?” I said.

“I’ve got a craving for a Coney, and only Zef’s will do.”

“Is that place still there? My partner used to drag me there all the time.”

“Well, now it’s my turn.”

We looped around by Hart Plaza, where the great sculpture of Joe Louis’s fist hung in its triangle. Then back up Woodward, into the heart of my old precinct. We passed the Municipal Center with the famous
Spirit of Detroit
statue out front. The big green bronze man holding the sun in his left hand and a family in his right. That got me thinking of the building itself, renamed to honor Coleman Young, who was mayor when I was a cop. His hand-picked police chief would be convicted of stealing over two million dollars of undercover funds, a few years after I left the force. That’s always a fun conversation, getting ex-cops to talk about our beloved mayor and our beloved police chief.

A conversation I never got to have with Arnie Bateman.

“This is nice,” I said. “It’s like a little time-out before life gets crazy again. But now you really need to get back and do something about this new information.”

“Are you that sure about what you’re telling me?”

“I think I am.”

“So Darryl King’s brother, you say. What was his name? Tremont?”

“Yes. Tremont King.”

“Tell me what you know about him.”

“Well, he’s a couple of years younger. Very different kind of kid. He ran away from home, right after Darryl got put away. He’s hasn’t been back since. He rides on freight trains.”

“Say that again?”

“He rides on freight trains, all over the country. He goes south when it’s cold.”

I could see her working this over in her head. The list of cities, north at certain times of the year, south at others.

“What about Detective Bateman?” she said. “Do you think he killed him, too?”

“I don’t know for sure. Maybe. Tremont’s a total mystery to me, but somehow I think he found out that Bateman was looking into the case again. Hell, for all I know, Bateman knew exactly where to find him. Which reminds me…”

“What?”

“Bateman said he had a copy of the case files. You should take a look at those. I didn’t see the case at the very end, so maybe he turned up something else. I don’t know. But you should also find out if he made any phone calls in those couple days before he was murdered. Besides to me, I mean.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’m on it. Suddenly I’m not so hungry anymore.”

We started walking back to the office.

“I’m officially no longer surprised by anything you do,” she said. “Although I will remind you, not that it will do any good, that you promised me you were going to let this go.”

“I thought I was.”

“You promised me you were going home. Do you remember?”

“I didn’t go out looking for a serial killer. I just stumbled into this. You should be happy I’m bringing it to you. You’ve got a solid lead now. You can watch the rails and pick this guy up.”

“If this pans out,” she said, “then yes. You’re right. It’ll break this case wide open. After all of those man-hours, we’ll finally have this guy.”

“He won’t kill anyone else. That’s all that really matters.”

She looked at me and shook her head. “I don’t even know what to do with you. I’d tell you to go home now, but clearly you’re not going to listen to me.”

“This time,” I said, “I think I will.”

*   *   *

When we got back to her building, she thanked me and gave me another little kiss on the cheek. She told me to drive safely. I told her I’d see her again soon.

I got in my truck and drove back to Mrs. King’s house. I debated with myself all the way there. How much was I going to tell her? In the end, I decided to just tell her I didn’t think I could find Darryl. It hit her hard, I could see that, but she let me off the hook. She thanked me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. The same cheek that Janet had kissed.

“I’ll be in touch,” I said to her. “The second you hear from him, give me a call, okay? When he comes back, you let me know and I’ll come right back down here. Whoever I need to talk to, I’ll do everything I can to make sure he doesn’t get in big trouble over his parole violation.”

I didn’t say anything about Tremont. I didn’t say, oh, by the way, your other son might be a psychopathic serial killer, and the FBI is out looking for him right now. I figured she’d find out all about that soon enough. At that point, just having Darryl back home would be all either of us could ever hope for.

I drove away in my truck, knowing that she’d be in tears as soon as I left the street. She’d be back down on her knees praying. I knew I’d feel that in my gut, all the way home.

As I drove back to the motel to check out, I decided to take one last detour. I turned the other way on Michigan Avenue and went west, to the train station. I wanted to see that towering wreck one more time.

I stopped by Roosevelt Park. I got out and walked around the Cyclone fence. Maybe they’ll really fix this place someday, I thought. Maybe then I’ll be able to come back and marvel at just how beautiful this building is. Maybe I won’t think about what happened inside on that abandoned balcony.

Yeah, maybe, but I kinda doubt it.

As I stood there, a freight train came by on the tracks. It was going west, so that meant it had come out of that long tunnel from Canada. From here it would keep going west to Chicago, or else turn south into Ohio. You could get anywhere in the country by hopping aboard, as long as you knew where the train was going. As long as you didn’t kill yourself in the attempt.

Fate couldn’t be more obvious, I thought. What a heavy-handed touch, to see this freight train going by, just as I’m about to leave the city behind.

He could be on this train right now, I thought. This very train going by.

He’s not on this train. There are thousands of freight trains moving all over the country at any moment. He could be on any one of them. That’s why you need the FBI to throw a blanket over the whole thing.

You’re not looking for a serial killer. You’re looking for Darryl.

Who, in turn, might be looking for a serial killer. So no, thanks.

You promised her you’d find him, Alex.

That was before.

Since when do you walk away like this? No matter how futile this may seem, you never, ever walk away.

“Okay, just stop,” I said out loud. An actual argument with myself, maybe the product of living alone for too long. “There is nothing else you can do here. So you have to go home now. You have to go back to Paradise.”

The train kept rumbling by.

“There’s nothing you can do,” I said to myself, “that they can’t do better.”

Car after car after car.

“You’ve got no angle that they don’t.”

The last car passed by.

“Except…”

The train disappeared down the tracks.

“Maybe one.”

I took out my phone and called Leon.

“I’ve got a question for you,” I said as soon as he picked up. “I know it’ll take you all of five minutes to look up the answer.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“How many rail yards are there around Metro Detroit?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

If you look at a map of Michigan, and you look at those railroad lines that people usually ignore, you’ll see that they all converge on the southwest corner of Detroit. It took Leon all of twenty seconds to see this, and another twenty seconds to figure out that this was the CSX Livernois Yard, the biggest rail yard in the state of Michigan. It felt like something beyond a shot in the dark, but I figured I had to try it.