You’re gonna have nightmares about that dog, I said to myself. You’re gonna have nightmares about a three-pound Chihuahua.
A few hours later, I made my way down to the Glasgow Inn. Jackie was there behind the bar. He still looked a little tired, and every few minutes he’d stare off into nowhere, like he was watching something going on a million miles away. I figured he still wasn’t over it yet.
I didn’t tell him about my little lunch date with Vargas. That one I’d save for another day.
As I had dinner there, I caught up with the local paper, the Soo Evening News, “serving the Eastern U.P. daily since 1903.” I always start with the police beat on the second page. The man who writes up the crimes is a real character, and he always puts his own unique spin on everything he reports. My all-time favorite was still the item titled “Unlicensed Operator.” Somebody had gone into a store and left a dog in the car, who proceeded to knock the stick into first gear. The car rolled into the street, causing damage that was estimated at over five thousand dollars. The police beat reporter summed up the entry with a simple statement: “The dog was not cited.”
The crimes on the blotter are usually just drunk driving and the occasional vandalism, the petty thefts and the possession of drugs in small quantities-the “forbidden weed,” as the reporter once called it. It’s not often that he gets to take the lead story on page one, and write about something big, like what happened at Vargas’s house. The day before, he only had time for the bare details-break-in at local residence, armed intruders, nobody harmed, Soo police pursuing the case. In today’s paper, with more time to develop the story, the good readers of the Soo Evening News got the full treatment, complete with a trio of “costumed assailants,” who methodically ransacked one room of the house while five guests lay facedown on the floor. Mercifully, they didn’t list the names of the guests.
Anyone with information pertaining to the case was asked to contact Chief Roy Maven immediately.
“Quite a write-up, huh?” Jackie’s son said.
“I think some people will be locking their doors in Sault Ste. Marie tonight,” I said. “And keeping their shotguns loaded.”
Jackie just listened to us talk about it. He didn’t say anything himself.
“Jackie, are you gonna tell me what’s bothering you?” I said. “Or are you just gonna keep moping around the place?”
He looked at me without smiling. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to ruin your evening.”
“Relax,” I said. “If you’re still working on what happened, I understand.”
“Good,” he said. “I’m glad you understand. I gotta go change the tap.”
I looked at his son. He just shrugged his shoulders.
Two minutes later, Jackie was back. “I’m sorry, Alex,” he said. “I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
“Don’t apologize,” I said. “If you want to talk about it…”
“I will,” he said. “In a few days. Okay? Give me a few days.”
“Whatever you say, Jackie. I’ll be here.”
He smiled for the first time since I had walked into the place. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble finding you.”
I left a couple of hours later, after finishing the paper and another cold Canadian or two. Instead of turning onto my road, I kept going north, all the way to the top of Whitefish Point. I got out and walked past the Shipwreck Museum, out onto the beach. There was real sand here, unlike most of the rocky shoreline on this lake. I walked west, picking up driftwood as I went. The surf broke against the sand. The sun went down and put on its show for me. It was the right way to end the day.
When I got back to my cabin, I stood just inside the door, trying to figure out what was wrong. Nothing was missing. Nothing was out of place. And yet, somehow, I knew someone else had been there.
I looked at the door. There was no sign of forced entry. I looked at the windows, found two of them open and unlocked. I always left them open in the summertime, and never thought about intruders way the hell out here in the woods.
I walked around the place, trying to figure it out. If nothing was stolen, and I had nothing worth stealing in the first place…If nothing was destroyed or even moved…Then somebody was looking for something. And apparently didn’t find it. Assuming it happened at all. Assuming I wasn’t just acting paranoid after the strange day I had just lived through…
Vargas. Could he have sent somebody to search my cabin while I was out on the lake with him? I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Oh, Leon,” I said out loud. “You didn’t do this, did you?”
I called his number. I owed his wife a call back, anyway. When she answered, I realized I didn’t have much to tell her about my meeting with Vargas-we never did get around to talking about Leon.
“Is he home?” I said.
“No, he isn’t,” she said. “I don’t know where he is.”
“Was he gone all day?”
“Ever since this morning, yes. He left the house with a real black cloud over his head, Alex. I’ve never seen him like this. I thought he was supposed to be loving this private investigator thing.”
“Tell him to call me,” I said. “As soon as he gets in, no matter how late.”
She promised she would, and wished me a good night.
Leon never called.
The next morning, I worked out on the hard floor of my cabin, doing push-ups, sit-ups, whatever else I could think of. Then I went outside and ran down my road, all the way to the end and back. I was glad it was a deserted old logging road, with nobody around to see me walk the last quarter mile. I went inside and hit the shower. Then I went down to Jackie’s place.
As soon as I reached the main road, I saw the police cars. As I got closer, I saw more and more of them. They were all parked in Jackie’s lot. Maybe ten of them, maybe twelve. I couldn’t count at that point. I could barely think.
I pulled off to the side of the road, just before his lot began. I got out of the truck and walked to the front door of the place. I saw Soo police cars on one side, Michigan state police on the other. I was about ten feet from the door when a state trooper stepped right in front of me. He put his hands up like he was going to have to catch me.
“This building is closed, sir. You’re going to have to step back.”
“What happened?” I said.
“Please, sir. Nobody’s allowed on these premises. You’re going to have to leave.”
“Tell me what’s going on,” I said. “Where’s Jackie?” My imagination ran through all of the possibilities, none of them good. My stomach felt like it had been turned inside-out.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you again…”
“The owner is my friend,” I said. “Just tell me what happened.”
The trooper looked to the sky. He was just a kid, no more than twenty years old. “Your friend has not been harmed,” he said. “I hope that puts your mind at ease, sir. Now, please…”
The front door opened, and out stepped Roy Maven.
“Maven, what the hell’s going on here?” I said.
“Take it easy, McKnight. Unless you’d rather spend the rest of the day sitting in the back of a squad car…”
“Where’s Jackie?”
“He’s inside,” he said, stepping up next to the kid. “I’ll take care of this gentleman, Trooper. Thanks for the help.”
“I want to see him,” I said.
“You can’t do that. He’s under arrest.”
“Under arrest? For what?”
“Receiving stolen goods, for one,” he said. “Conspiracy to commit armed robbery. We’ll see what else comes up.”
I stood there and looked at him, the hot sun bouncing off the police cars. I waited for it to make sense. It didn’t happen.
“Maven, this is insane. This is something Vargas did, right? Is that what this is about? Because I gotta tell ya-”