I wasn’t sure what to think at that point. It was a horrible way to die, bleeding to death, trapped in the snow. But if the gun hadn’t exploded, I would have been dead myself.
“That leaves Marty Grant,” Moreland said. “And Natalie, of course.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “In any case, Chief Maven tells me you two were busy today. You traced the nephew out to Mackinac Island?”
“Yes,” I said. “It looks like Marty was there. But not anymore.”
“I’m sure the Michigan guys will keep looking.”
“What about you guys? Have you found any leads here?”
He looked up at me. It seemed like he was more weary than annoyed. “We can’t find any trace of her,” he said. “All we can find are trucks and dead bodies.”
“I know this isn’t the most important thing in the world right now,” I said, “but when do I get the truck back?”
“We’ve already been through it. I don’t see why you can’t take it with you now.”
“Are you serious? In Michigan I probably wouldn’t see it for a month.”
“It’s around back,” he said. “I’ll take you to it.”
“I appreciate that.”
There wasn’t much more to say, so he showed us out. Leon waited for me in the parking lot while I went around to the back lot with Moreland. He unlocked the gate and led me to my truck. It was parked beneath a flood lamp mounted high on a wooden pole, the snow flying heavy now in the cone of orange light. My truck looked amazingly unharmed by its ordeal, aside from a dent in the snowplow.
“We cleaned it up a little inside,” Moreland said, “after we took some samples. But you might want to take it someplace for a better job.”
Only in Canada, I thought. They actually cleaned it up for me.
He gave me the keys. I opened the driver’s side door. My cell phone was sitting on the dashboard. The seat was still damp, and the heavy metallic scent of blood hung in the air.
“Did you guys happen to find a hat in here?” I said.
“That old hat you told me about? I think Grant had it on his head when they found him. I’m sure it’s in the lab right now.”
“That’s fine. It’s not important.”
“You still have my card?” he said. “You’ll call me if you get any more ideas? Maybe before you go chasing them this time?”
“I’ll try,” I said. “But I don’t think I can promise you.”
I wasn’t sure if he accepted that, but he let me go. I started it up and pulled around to the front, next to Leon’s car, and rolled down my window. As Leon leaned out, I could see his breath in the cold night air.
“Thank you,” I told him. “Again. I really owe you.”
“It’s nothing, Alex.”
“Go home to your wife,” I said. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
“We’ll be fine,” he said. “Call me tomorrow.”
I watched him pull out of the lot and head for home. I didn’t move. I sat there as the snow collected on my windshield. It was getting late, I was tired, and if I had had any sense at all, I would have gone right home and gone to bed.
I couldn’t. I had to do something.
I could go out to Natalie’s house, I thought. Drive all the way out there in the snow to look through her empty house again. Looking for what? I had no idea. The house and the barn would be closed up now, anyway, both places taped up as official crime scenes.
There’s nothing you can do, Alex. There’s nowhere else you can go.
I finally pulled out of the lot and started driving. I found a gas station and pulled in to fill up the tank. The snow kept falling. I watched the imperial gallons click by, five quarts apiece. I went in and paid the man. He looked at my bruised and taped-up face, asked me if the hospital knew I had escaped. I told him he was wasting his comedic talent working at a gas station.
The hospital, I thought as I got back in the truck. I could go see how Mrs. DeMarco is doing. That would be one small thing, at least, instead of driving straight home. The General Hospital wasn’t far away, so I figured what the hell. Even though it was late, I could at least ask about her.
I drove over and parked in the emergency room lot, went inside, found an elevator, rode it up to the sixth floor. I walked up to the nurse’s station.
“Sir, can I help you? If you’re a visitor, you really need to come back tomorrow.”
“I’m just wondering about Mrs. DeMarco,” I said. “Is she still on this floor?”
“I recognize you now,” she said. “You’re the one who brought her in.”
“Yes, ma’am. How is she doing?”
“Not too bad, considering. Celia will be sorry she missed you. That’s Mrs. DeMarco’s day nurse. She was here a little earlier, dropping off some things.”
“Well, I was just driving by, anyway. I don’t want to disturb her.”
“Why don’t you go peek in her room? She was awake a little while ago.”
“Maybe I’ll do that,” I said. “Although it’s a little hard to have a conversation with her. I think she’s pretty much just living in the past now.”
“That’s actually a very common symptom of dementia,” she said. “As the memory breaks down, you get stuck in one particular time of your life. Sometimes it’s a good time. Sometimes not so good.”
I thought about that for a second. I imagined myself as an old man, living one traumatic day of my life over and over.
“She was talking about a funeral,” I said. “In fact, she was getting dressed for it.”
The nurse shook her head. “The one thing you really can’t do is try to talk her out of it, if you know what I mean. You can’t try to convince her she’s being delusional. The best you can do is just reassure her that everything’s going to be okay.”
“I understand,” I said. “Thank you.”
I went down the hall to her room and knocked softly on the door. I didn’t hear anything, so I pushed the door open and looked inside. Mrs. DeMarco was in her bed, the back tilted up so she could see out the window.
“Mrs. DeMarco?”
Her eyes were open. She didn’t say anything. For a moment I thought she was dead.
“Mrs. DeMarco?”
She turned her head slightly. “It’s you again.”
“Yes,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
“Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital, ma’am.”
“Did I faint?”
“No, not really. You just had a bad day. The power went out.”
She nodded her head and looked back out the window. “It’s been a bad winter.”
I thought about what the nurse had said. “Mrs. DeMarco,” I said, “what year is it?”
“It just turned 1930, dear.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “That was a silly question.”
“No, I get the same way,” she said. “The years go by so fast.”
I wasn’t sure what else to say. I stood up and went to the window. I watched the snow falling. I thought about Natalie, wondered again for the thousandth time where she was at that moment.
Wait a minute. She said 1930.
“Mrs. DeMarco,” I said, turning back to her, “when you were talking about New Year’s Eve before…”
Her eyes were closed.
I stood there for a while. Just as I was about to leave she moved again.
“Where’s Albert?” she said. She picked her head up, like she was about to try to get out of the bed.
“Your son?”
“Where is he?”
She thinks he’s a little kid, I thought. This man who had already lived his entire life, this man who had done horrible things to Natalie and God knows who else. He was dead now, and the world was undoubtedly a better place without him. But what could I say to her?
“He’s just fine,” I said. “Don’t worry about Albert.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
She seemed to accept that. She laid her head back down.
“Mrs. DeMarco,” I said, “do you feel like talking about what happened on New Year’s Eve?”
“I told them not to go,” she said. “I told them.”
“Who did you tell?”
“Warren and Luc. I had a bad feeling about it. You should be with your family on New Year’s Eve.”
It was the same thing she had told us before, the first time I had met her. We’d thought she was talking about the night Natalie’s father was murdered. But that would happen a good forty years later.