I stood there for a long moment while it all washed over me. Then I pulled out my cell phone and called 911.
I went outside and sat down on the front step. The voice on the other side of 911, a woman’s voice, wanted me to stay on the line with her until the police showed up. I told her to send somebody and that I’d wait right here and she started to argue with me so I hung up on her. I sat on the step and I looked out across the street at the other houses. All of them sealed up tight against the winter. We live in such a frozen wasteland for much of the year. That’s the strange thought that came to me as I sat and waited. It feels so cold sometimes, you wonder how anyone would choose this place. Yet we do. We live here, some of us for our whole lives, and the one benefit we should receive in return is that the violence from the rest of the world should leave us in our frigid state of peace.
That doesn’t seem like too much to ask.
The thought was interrupted by the first squad car. It was a Sault Ste. Marie police officer who got out and came hustling up the walkway. I knew the state police would be here soon, too. For a crime this big in a city this small, they’d all come running.
I didn’t recognize this officer, and he turned out to be a youngster right out of the academy, so we had to go through the whole song and dance, with me putting my hands up and him patting me down. I was even thinking he might feel uncertain enough to go ahead and put the cuffs on me and I wasn’t about to complain because I knew that’s exactly what they taught this kid. He had no idea who I was and he hadn’t checked inside the house yet. For all he knew, I could be the killer myself, and I could even have an accomplice waiting inside to jump out and surprise him. So just like they drilled it into his head, whenever you’re alone and there’s any doubt at all, you put your man in cuffs, even if it’s just for a minute while you secure the scene. Even if you have to apologize while you’re doing it, you “hook” your man until the backup arrives.
But that’s when Maven’s car pulled up and I suddenly had bigger things to think about than a pair of handcuffs.
“Chief,” I said. “Don’t go in the house.”
“What’s going on here?”
He came up the steps and I tried to block him.
“McKnight, get the hell out of my way.”
“Chief, don’t. He’s dead.”
He pushed past me and into the house. I stayed where I was. I didn’t follow him inside because I didn’t need to see it again, and there was nothing I’d be able to do to help him now. A few seconds passed. When he came back out, his face was white.
“What the hell happened?” He wasn’t facing anyone. He was staring out into the middle distance and it looked like he was trying hard to swallow.
“My God,” he said. “My God, what the hell-”
Then he stopped dead.
“Where’s my wife?” he said. “Has anybody seen my wife?”
There were three more city cops on the scene now. Another car was pulling up, with two state cars close behind. The whole street was fast becoming a riot of red and blue flashing lights.
“Where’s my wife, God damn it! Somebody find her right now!”
“Chief,” I said, grabbing him by the shoulders, “take it easy. You said she might be at the hospital. Remember?”
He pushed past me again and went into the house. I heard him running up the stairs.
“Call the hospital,” I said to the young cop, the same first cop who’d responded, and who was experiencing a hell of a first major crime scene. “I think she volunteers there or something.”
“Where is she?” Maven, careening back down the stairs. Halfway down he almost fell and broke his neck. “Somebody find her!”
He ran around the house into the backyard. Finally, the young cop heard back on the radio that they’d located his wife at the hospital. She’d been sitting next to an old woman’s bed, reading to her. The other cops had to practically tackle Maven to convince him that his wife was safe. When he finally sat down on the front steps, he was breathing hard and rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. He looked totally undone, something I’d never even imagine seeing from him.
“Tell me,” he said to me when he finally got his wind back. “Give me an explanation for why Raz is lying there in my kitchen like that? Huh? Can you tell me, please?”
I didn’t have an answer for him. I just sat there next to him on the cold steps while the madness went on all around us.
I had no idea this was just the beginning.
PART TWO
And we’re rolling…
… Establishing shot. Nice and wide. Here it is. This is where our story begins.
… See the normal-looking neighborhood? There are trees and a sidewalk and a blue mailbox on the corner.
… Here’s a house, here’s a house, here’s a house.
… HERE’S HELL!
… Here’s a house, here’s a house, here’s a house.
… Here’s that blue mailbox again.
… End of the street.
And cut.
CHAPTER SIX
It was after nine o’clock at night when they finally interviewed me. I had no idea why I had to wait so long. I sat in that little interview room in the City-County Building, the very same interview room where Chief Maven himself had once tried to give me a good workout. Back when we first found out how much fun it was to have the other as a mortal enemy.
Now the circumstances were a little different. I mean, we weren’t going to be picking out china patterns together anytime soon, but at least we seemed to be on the same side for once. We were both trying to help out his old friend Raz, and now we both wanted to know why he ended up slaughtered in Maven’s kitchen.
But I didn’t see the chief anywhere. That was the first strange thing. Then there was the fact that they had been making me wait around for more than six hours. They were perfectly nice about it. They even brought me some dinner from Frank’s Place, one of the better restaurants in town. They apologized a hundred times for keeping me there, but nobody would give me a reason.
Finally, the door opened and a woman came in. She was wearing a dark blue business suit and I could tell in about two seconds she was a serious player. Not from around here, that was for sure. She had a cup of coffee in each hand. She nudged the door shut behind her with her foot, put both cups down on the table, and then reached out her right hand.
“I’m Agent Janet Long,” she said. “From the FBI. You must be Alex.”
“FBI?”
“Please, have a seat. I’ll explain why I’m here.”
We sat down and she slid one of the coffees to me. She had brown hair, cut in a short, no-nonsense style. She had nice eyes, but again, everything about her was business first, second, and third. It was hard to imagine her doing anything else but wearing this suit and sitting on the other side of this table.
“I have to apologize, first of all, for making you wait so long. I know this was already a horrible day for you. The wait couldn’t have made it any easier.”
“It’s all right. I understand.”
“We had to drive all the way up here from Detroit. Almost six hours.”
A hell of a trip, I thought, one I’d made many times myself. But I could never remember looking this alert and ready to go when I got there.
“So let’s get right to it so we don’t have to take up any more of your time. If you’ll start at the beginning and tell me everything that happened-”
“Can I just ask you first why the FBI is involved in this case?”
“Because Charles Razniewski was a U.S. marshal. Any murder of a federal agent, from any law enforcement branch, is automatically under the jurisdiction of the FBI.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I think I knew that, once upon a time.”
“You were a police officer.” She didn’t have any notes in front of her, but I wasn’t surprised she knew that. She had obviously been brought up to full speed on me and I was sure she could tell me a lot more about myself. She probably even knew my career batting average.