I was taking the southwestern route out of Copper Country, so whether it was a completely conscious decision or not, I was making a slight detour through Toivola. When I got there, I took a right down that same lonely road to Misery Bay. I just had to see the place one more time. I wasn’t even exactly sure why.
Maybe it was because I felt as though I knew the kid so much better now. Like now it would hit me that much harder to see where he breathed his last breath. The new snow hadn’t been plowed, so I fishtailed my way down those sixteen miles until I got to the end. I parked in the same spot, got out, and walked over to the same tree with the red ribbon still tied around it. The whole place looked different now with the sun shining. Yet somehow I still had that same raw feeling of uneasiness just being there.
I stood under the same spot and looked up at the branch where he had looped his rope. It was sturdy enough to hold his weight. I could see that much. I had an urge to climb the tree, to work my way out on that branch so I could see the exact spot where the rope came in contact with the bark.
I didn’t end up climbing the tree. One fatality here was more than enough. Instead, I went back to the truck, reached in, and opened up the toolbox that was on the passenger’s side floor. I found the pair of scissors I used to cut the plastic sheets for the cabin windows. I got out and went back to the tree. There were a few inches of loose red ribbon on either side of the bow. I cut about two inches from one side and looked at it closely. The color was already beginning to fade.
This is all I’ll bring back to him, I thought. Just two inches from a red ribbon tied around the tree. I won’t bring back the great weight I’ve been given. I won’t bring back the truth about what was really bothering this kid that night. I’ll leave it right here forever. Right here on the shores of Misery Bay.
I hit Marquette about two hours later. I stopped to gas up and while I had an actual signal on my cell phone I figured I’d call ahead to Raz. I dialed his cell phone number, listened to it ring a few times. It went through to voice mail.
“This is Alex,” I said. “I’m on my way back. I should be in the Soo between two and three o’clock. I’ll give you another call when I get closer.”
There were a few seconds of dead air while I decided what to say next.
“I hope you’re doing okay today,” I finally said. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
I hung up the phone and hit the road again. The sun was still out, but on the open stretches the wind was whipping the snow back and forth across the road. I kept driving, back through all of the little towns I had passed on my way out the day before.
I drove straight through on M-28, all the way into Sault Ste. Marie. If I was going to lie to Raz’s face, I wanted to get it done with as soon as possible. I picked up the cell phone and called him again. Once again it went through to voice mail. I hung up and dialed the police department. I asked for Chief Maven. I had to wait a few minutes, but he finally came onto the line.
“McKnight! Where are you? What’s going on?”
“I’m just looking for Raz,” I said. “I’m almost back to the Soo.”
“Did you call him?”
“Yes, I did.” I resisted saying anything else. Like why the hell would I not do that first?
“He’s not answering?”
“No,” I said. Count to three in your head. “He’s not answering.”
“Well, he’s at my house. Give him a call there. Maybe his cell phone’s dead.” He gave me the number.
“Okay, I’ll try him there.”
“How did it go out there, anyway?”
“I found out a few things about his son. He had a lot of great friends.”
“Is Raz going to be okay with what you tell him?”
“Yes,” I said. “I think he will be.”
“McKnight, so help me God, if you add one more ounce of pain to that man’s soul…”
“Hey, you’re the one who asked me to help, remember? So save the attitude.”
“All right, relax. I’m just saying…”
“It was just like you were thinking, Chief. A total fluke thing. One bad day in his life.”
“Are you just saying what you think you’re supposed to say?”
You’re making this hard, I thought. There’s nobody else on this earth who can make things hard like you can.
“It’s the truth,” I said. “I’ll tell that to Raz.”
“Okay, then. Give him a call. Tell him I’ll be home in a few hours.”
“I will, Chief.”
I hung up before he could say another word, then dialed his home number. It rang a few times. Then the answering machine came on. It was Roy Maven’s wife, telling me they weren’t home just then but that they’d like me to leave a number so they could call me back. I’d met the woman exactly one time that I could remember. She seemed quite human and perfectly nice, and at the time I couldn’t help wondering how she had ever come to marry outside of her species. Maybe someday I’d get to sit down and ask her, but right now I had other matters to deal with.
For the hell of it, I tried calling Raz’s cell phone again. No luck there, so I called Maven again and told him there’d been no answer at his house.
“My wife helps out at the hospital,” he said, “so she might be there. But Raz should be at the house. I don’t know where else he’d go.”
“Where’s your house? I’ll stop by and see if I can find him.”
“McKnight, you’re giving me a bad feeling here. How come whenever you’re involved in anything, I end up getting an ulcer?”
“Just relax, Chief. Give me your address.”
He gave me a number on Summit Street.
“I’ll call you right back,” I said. As I hung up, I tried to shake off the same uneasy feeling. He’s out taking a walk, I told myself. Or he’s asleep. Or maybe he and Mrs. Maven are out having a late lunch somewhere. There were a hundred different possibilities.
I swung up I-75 and then got off by the college. Down Easterday, past the students outside taking advantage of what passes for a nice day in April around here. I’d seen so many young faces in just the past two days. I made the turn at Summit and went halfway up the block until I found the number I was looking for. I pulled into the driveway.
It was a nicely kept raised ranch. Nothing too extravagant, but then I wouldn’t have expected anything approaching extravagance from a man like Roy Maven. The walkway was clear. The shovel was leaned against the house, right next to the front door. I went up the steps and rang the doorbell. There was no answer.
I rang the bell again. Nothing.
I tried the knob. The door was unlocked. I pushed the door open and took one step inside. Under the circumstances, I didn’t think Maven would mind.
Okay, maybe he would have, but I did it anyway.
“Hello? Anybody here? Raz?”
The house was silent. I stood there for a while, thinking about what to do next.
That’s when the odor came to me. Something I’d smelled before. Organic and metallic at the same time. A basic, instinctive foulness. It was the smell of death.
The whole scene flashed before me in a fraction of a second. I imagined Raz hanging from a rope he had somehow tied to the ceiling. Taking the same way out. Following his own son into the abyss.
Or no. He’s a cop. Marshal, ex-trooper, whatever the hell. He’s a cop and he’d do it the cop way, by eating his own gun.
I went through the living room to the kitchen. As soon as I turned the corner, I saw Raz’s body laid out on the hard tile floor. There was blood all around him. His throat was cut open. He was lying facedown but his body was twisted as if he were still trying to get away. His eyes were still open. He stared right at me as if to accuse me of thinking even for a moment that he’d actually take his own life.