He took a quick glance behind him. “They’re fine in there. Everybody’s just looking.”
It made me feel a little guilty again, taking up his time like this. But he was already off and running.
“I’ve got a copy of the article right here,” he said. He took a piece of paper out of a manila folder.
I took it from him and started to read it.
“Leon,” I said. “This isn’t a fax. It’s a photocopy. How did you-”
“I ran over to the newspaper office and got it. Only took me a minute.”
I shook my head and kept reading. It was a front page article dated January 1, 1973, with the same lighthouse that had been on the masthead of the Evening News since forever. The headline read “Canadian Man Slain,” and the text went on to describe the discovery of a frozen body on Water Street, behind the Ojibway Hotel. The man was identified as Jean Sylvain Reynaud of Blind River, Ontario. His wallet was still on his person, robbery ruled out, no suspects at the time. It was all pretty straightforward reporting, and I wasn’t sure if it gave us anything we could use. Except for one detail.
“Leon, it says here he was seen drinking in the hotel bar that evening. I don’t remember there being a bar in the hotel.”
“There was, way back when. I remember my dad going in there when I was a kid.”
“Where the dining room is now?”
“Yeah, I think it was on that side of the building. They redid the place a couple of times since then.”
I passed the paper to Natalie. She read through it quickly and gave it back to me. “Shot in the back of the head,” she said, “behind the bar. That doesn’t sound like he was protecting somebody.”
“No,” Leon said. “Did you have reason to believe he was?”
“Just part of my mother’s story,” she said. “Another lie.”
“I’m sorry,” Leon said to her. “This can’t be easy.”
She pulled her coat closer to her body. “I’m okay.”
“Leon, how can we find out more about this?” I said. “You think the police record is still lying around somewhere?”
“I’m sure it is,” he said, “in some storage room. Probably take forever to find it. You know any old Soo cops who might have been around back then?”
“You don’t suppose…”
“One way to find out.”
“Sure,” I said. “This’ll be fun.”
“You know, if you’re talking about the seventies, you’re going back to a pretty strange time around here. Like I said, I was only a kid then, but I heard about it later.”
“What do you mean?”
“You gotta remember, the air force base was still open then. There were a lot of men stationed up here. You add up everybody, I think it was like ten thousand. That’s a lot of people, Alex. With a long hard winter. You can imagine…”
“So you’re saying, what, there were a lot of prostitutes around, and what else?”
“You name it,” he said. “You remember what happened to the chief of police up here.”
“No, what?”
“He was arrested by the state police for taking bribes from the Detroit Mafia. I forget what year that was.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said. “I was downstate back then.”
“What my grandfather said about this town,” Natalie said. “I guess he knew what he was talking about.”
I looked at the article again. “It’s hard to even imagine.”
A man stepped out of the shop and stared daggers at Leon’s back.
“I think you’re wanted inside,” I said. “Thank you again, Leon. You’re the best.”
“Yes,” Natalie said. “Thank you. Alex told me you were a good partner.”
That seemed to make Leon’s day, even though he was headed back inside to deal with an unhappy boss.
We got back in Natalie’s Jeep. “So now what?” she said.
“Take a right here,” I said. “It’s time for you to meet somebody.”
“Another friend of yours?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that.”
We went up Ashmun to the north end of town. When we hit Portage, we could see the Ojibway Hotel, three blocks down. The red awnings seemed to glow in the fading light.
“This way,” I said.
We turned right, away from the hotel. It was going on five o’clock when we got to the City County Building. We pulled around back, just in time to see Chief Maven leaving.
“Chief,” I said as I opened my door. “Can we have a minute of your time?”
“What is it, McKnight? I’m on my way home.”
“It won’t take long,” I said. “This is Natalie Reynaud of the Ontario Provincial Police.” I figured the official title wouldn’t hurt, but it probably didn’t matter. His face brightened as soon as he looked at her. Turns out he was human after all.
“Officer Reynaud,” he said, taking her hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise, Chief. If it’s not too much trouble, can we go back inside for a moment?”
“Certainly. Right this way.”
He opened the door and showed her into the building. I followed, watching this unnaturally charming clone of Chief Roy Maven asking Natalie which detachment she was based out of, and how long she had been in the OPP. We went straight to his office and he went a couple of doors down to get a comfortable guest chair for her. I sat in my usual rock-hard plastic chair.
“So,” he finally said when we were settled in, “what can I do for you? Alex, your face is looking a little better, at least. Relatively speaking.”
“About that,” Natalie said. “What’s happening to the men who assaulted Alex?”
She wasn’t wasting any time. Maven threw his hands up in surrender. “Let’s not get off on the wrong foot here,” he said. “I arrested all three of them, right after I saw Alex in the hospital.”
“How did you charge them?”
“Felonious assault, naturally.”
“What class is that in Michigan?”
“Well,” Maven said, “that’s actually a class three felony.”
“That’s one step away from a misdemeanor,” Natalie said. “Am I right? Is that how it works here?”
“It’s a mighty big step,” he said. “Believe me.”
“Three men beat him and left him for dead. You’re telling me that’s not a class two at least?”
“For a class two assault, you need intent to rob or else some sort of criminal sexual contact. For class one you need intent to kill or maim.”
“Chief Maven, if you’re telling me they had no intent to maim him
…”
“I know what you mean, but you’ve gotta understand how it works around here. Intent to maim is strictly interpreted. With no weapon, and no admitted intent, it just doesn’t get prosecuted as class one.”
“Can we stop talking about me like I’m not even here?” I said. “Just tell me what they said when you arrested them.”
Maven looked at me, then opened a file on his desk. “We arrested Mr. Woolsey at his residence, and the two Grant brothers at their place of business.”
“Where’s that?”
He hesitated for a moment. “It’s no secret,” he said. “It’s an auto glass shop over on Spruce.”
“Grant’s Auto Glass,” I said. “I’ve seen it.”
“That’s the place,” he said. “We arrested all three men without incident, questioned them here at the station, charged each of them with felonious assault. They were arraigned later that day and released on bail. The trial date is pending.”
“Go back to that questioning part.”
He cleared his throat. “If you’d like me to summarize-”
“Just tell me,” I said. “I want to know why they jumped me.”
“Mr. Woolsey and the older of the two Grant brothers exercised their Fifth Amendment rights,” he said, looking back down at the file. “Marty Grant, on the other hand, had a few things to say.”
“Marty Grant,” I said. “He was the big one, right?”
“He’s a big boy, yes. His hand was in a cast.”
“I seem to recall ducking and somebody hitting the brick wall.”
“Yes, well, according to him, the events of that day were caused by an account given to him by his nephew, Christopher Woolsey. Apparently, there had been an altercation at the Ojibway Hotel three days before.”
“That’s the day Simon Grant died. What kind of altercation was he talking about?”