I sat in their interview room. I answered some more questions. I wrote out my statement. I sat some more. I had some coffee. I declined the offer of lunch, because I couldn’t stand even the thought of eating. I had some more coffee. It was late afternoon by the time Detective Gruley finally drove me back to my truck. By that time, the crime scene unit had descended upon Detective Bateman’s property. I took one more look around the place, including the pontoon boat docked on the lake. Then I left.
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…”