The preliminary identifications were indeed Sergeant Donald Steele, age forty-three, from the Iron Mountain post of the Michigan State Police, and Donna Krimer, age thirty-eight, a waitress from the Starlight Bar and Grill up the road in Niagara. Both victims had been shot with Seargent Steele’s service revolver, Sergeant Steele in the back and Ms. Krimer in the head. The revolver had not been recovered.
They estimated that the two had been dead for approximately three days, but we didn’t stick around to see the medical examiner do his work. The police took full statements from each of us, and then we were free to go.
“Who’s notifying the next of kin?” Maven asked the state detective who seemed to be in charge.
“We’ve got a couple of men from Sergeant Steele’s post on their way down to talk to his wife,” he said. “Ms. Krimer is separated from her husband, but we haven’t located him yet.”
Maven thanked the man and promised him we’d both be available at any time if they needed us. Then we climbed in my truck and got the hell out of there.
“Are we going back to see her?” I said. I didn’t have to specify who.
“It was bad enough for her before,” he said. “Now she really needs somebody else to be there.”
I didn’t argue. We went back over the river, back to Michigan and to all of the misery waiting for us there. When we got to the Steeles’ farm, there was a state squad car in the driveway. It was getting late in the day now. We could hear the unhinged, almost inhuman sound of her crying before we got to the front door.
We introduced ourselves to the troopers. We stayed there for about an hour, trying to help them calm her down. In the end, I saw Maven grab one of the troopers by the collar and make him promise that they wouldn’t leave her alone. I’d known enough state cops in my time to know that you don’t grab them. Ever. And you don’t tell them what to do. Ever. But Maven did both and it seemed to work.
We left the place as the sun was going down. Back up that big curve to the top of the hill, where you could look down and see the whole farm laid out like an early American painting. I kept driving, back through the forest, back along the coastline, back to Sault Ste. Marie, with neither of us saying more than a few words the whole time.
There wasn’t much left to say.
It was almost midnight when we pulled up to Maven’s house. There was a Soo police car waiting in the driveway. A young officer got out, the very same officer who had been first on the scene when I found Raz on the kitchen floor.
“Good evening, Chief.” His eyes looked tired. He’d obviously been waiting there a long time.
“What’s going on, Ray?”
“I’m supposed to let you and Mr. McKnight know that the FBI agents will be back in town tomorrow. And that you should plan on making yourselves available to them.”
Maven let out a heavy sigh. It was so cold out now, we could see our breath as we stood there shivering in the driveway.
“I don’t suppose they gave you a specific time,” the chief said.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“You actually had to wait here until we got back, just to tell us that in person?”
“Those were my instructions, yes.”
“From the agents? They’re the ones who told you to do this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know, Ray, I know you’re new at this, but here’s one little tip for you. If somebody who isn’t in your immediate chain of command tries to tell you to do something, even if that person is a federal agent, you should always at least consider the option of telling that person to blow it out their ass.”
The poor young officer wasn’t sure what to make of that one.
“It’s okay,” I said, trying to help the kid out. I knew the chief was just as tired and just as shell-shocked as I was. The last thing he should have been doing was giving out career advice. “We’ll be around. Just have them call us and we’ll come right in.”
The officer thanked us and got back in his car. He drove off, presumably to sign off from his shift and go home to bed.
“Those agents are going to try to put us through the ringer tomorrow,” Maven said.
“They have no reason to. Not really.”
“Since when did that ever stop them?”
“Well, get some sleep,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”
“You can say that again.”
I left him there to open the door and to go into his empty house. Then I drove home, trying to keep my eyes open, feeling like I’d seen more than any man should have to see in one day.
Agent Long called me at seven o’clock the next morning.
“We’re on our way up,” she said. “We need you at the station at one. Please don’t be late.”
“Good morning to you, too. Thanks for calling so early. Six hours should be just enough time for me to get dressed.”
“We’ll see you there,” she said. Then she hung up.
I went back to sleep for a little while. I’d already spent the entire night dreaming of dead bodies and blood and an unholy smell that had somehow become like a living thing, snaking through a cracked door and trying to wrap itself around me. It was after nine when I finally got up, took a hot shower, and got dressed. I went down to the Glasgow and grabbed a late breakfast, fending off Jackie’s complaints about my erratic schedule and how I expected him to reopen the kitchen whenever I waltzed in the place-in other words, the usual routine. Vinnie stopped in and told me he wouldn’t be able to help me with the finish work on the cabin that day. His mother was feeling even worse, so he was on his way over to the rez to sit with her. I told him I wouldn’t be doing much work that day anyway, which got Jackie going again. By the time I got out of there, I was almost glad to be heading to my FBI grilling.
Chief Maven was already there waiting. As strange as it had been to see him out of uniform the day before, it was doubly strange to see him out of uniform and sitting in his own interview room. I sat down beside him and gave him a nod. He returned the nod and we both stayed quiet. I started to wonder how long the agents would make us wait, but at that very moment the door opened and the two of them walked in.
They put their coats and briefcases down and took all of thirty seconds to settle in before getting down to business. Agent Long sat down in a chair across from us. She had her hair pinned back tight today and I didn’t think it suited her, although I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her that. Agent Fleury stayed on his feet. He started pacing back and forth like a caged animal, which was our first indication that this particular meeting was not going to go well.
“Okay, so Chief Maven,” he finally said, still pacing. “You know, when we came up here the first time, I think we really did try to treat you like we were all on the same team.”
“That wasn’t my impression,” Maven said, folding his arms. “Thanks for returning my last call, by the way.”
“We’ve been very busy down in Detroit. You know that.”
“It takes one minute to return a phone call.”
“When we left here, I believe we had established that the FBI would be taking the lead on this case, did we not?”
“This was a different case,” I said. “This was my case.”
He stopped pacing. “What are you talking about, Mr. McKnight?”
“Mr. Razniewski hired me to look into his son’s suicide. Even though he’s dead, I felt it my duty to complete that assignment. Chief Maven came with me as a private citizen, out of uniform.”
It had sounded good when Leon had said it. In the light of day, with a federal agent standing over me, it was maybe not quite as convincing. But now that I’d hit my ground ball, I had to run it out.
“You are joking, right?”
“No, I’m not.”
“And you needed the chief to come with you… because you’re such good buddies?”
“He was good friends with the young man’s father. It’s natural he’d have an interest. And since he was asked to go on leave and had a lot of time on his hands…”