I just looked at him.
“I got one thing to say to you, McKnight. I hope to God that you’re at least giving these people a nice discount on your rates.”
“Are you done?” I said.
“I’m done,” he said. “Now go home and stay out of the way. Let the real cops do their jobs.” And then he picked up his phone and waited for me to leave. Just like that.
I got up and left. There was nothing I could say to him, nothing I could do short of going over the desk and strangling him. I just left him sitting there and went out and closed the door behind me.
I walked up and down the hallway a few times, not even sure if I was more angry or confused. The whole exchange with Maven had a spin to it that just didn’t feel right. Besides the insults and the stonewalling and the whole tough guy act, that much I expected. There was something else. But I couldn’t figure it out.
When I got back to the front lobby, I saw Leon Prudell coming in the door, shaking the snow out of his red hair. He had on a down coat that looked maybe two sizes too small on him. It probably fit him right when he wore it in high school twenty-five years ago.
“Alex,” he said when he saw me. “I’m just on my way to the clerk’s office. I have the bail right here.”
“How’d you get here so fast?” I said.
“I was in town, anyway,” he said. Then after a long moment, “I’ve got a new job. For the winter, at least.”
“Yeah?”
“I sell snowmobiles,” he said.
“Oh God,” I said.
“In the summer, I’ll probably have to sell outboard motors. What can I say, it’s a job.”
“I know,” I said. “Because I took your old private investigator job. We’ve been through this before.”
“No, no,” he said. “That’s ancient history. We’re partners now.”
I looked at the ceiling. “Prudell…”
“Time’s a-wasting,” he said. “I gotta bail out our man. Vincent LeBlanc, right? City charges, you said?”
“Yes,” I said. “Go bail his ass out while I go use the bathroom.”
He went on his way while I found the men’s room. I walked in and found Bill Brandow standing at a urinal. I stepped up next to him.
“You’re having a tough day,” he said without looking at me.
“Bill, what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” He still didn’t look at me.
“Something’s not right here. Maven’s acting funny. You’re acting funny.”
“I wasn’t aware that I was acting funny,” he said. “It’s not the kind of day to be acting funny.”
I didn’t know what else to say. I did my business and he did his, and then he washed his hands and left.
I went back out to the lobby and looked out the front window at the snow. It was coming down in flakes as big as cotton balls. When I finally turned around, Prudell was leading Vinnie out through the door to the holding cells. I saw a nice purple bruise on Vinnie’s right cheek that I had missed before.
“The trial is in seven days,” Prudell said. “I trust you’ll be here in court?”
Vinnie looked at him without saying anything.
“Please don’t make me come find you,” Prudell said.
“He’ll be here,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Good enough, Alex,” he said. “I’ll leave him in your hands.”
“Did you hear that, Vinnie?” I said. “You’re in my hands now.”
Vinnie just stood there looking miserable.
“Okay, partner,” Prudell said. “What’s next?”
“What do you mean, what’s next?”
“We have work to do,” he said. “We’ve got seven days to prove his innocence.”
“He’s not innocent,” I said. “He broke a hockey stick over a police officer’s nose.”
Prudell looked around the lobby and winced. “Jesus, Alex. Keep your voice down.”
“It’s not a secret,” I said. “Just ask him.”
Prudell looked at Vinnie, waiting for a reaction. He didn’t get one.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. But still. There must have been extenuating circumstances. Were there witnesses?”
“Can we stop talking about me like I’m not even here?” Vinnie finally said. “And can we get the hell out of here?”
We all stepped out into the snowflakes. There had to be nine inches on the ground already. I led Vinnie to my truck, kicking up clouds of white powder with every footstep. Leon followed us. “So what should I do, Alex?” he said. “Give me something to do.”
I stopped next to the truck and thought of all the things Prudell could do. And then I felt bad, because the man had just done me a favor. “You want something to do?”
“Anything, Alex. Let me help you.”
“There’s a man named Lonnie Bruckman,” I said. I gave him the five-minute version of what had happened. Playing hockey, seeing him later at the bar. Dorothy coming to me for help. And then Bruckman taking her in the night. “I believe he lives here in Sault Ste. Marie,” I said. “Or at least, he was living here. I’m sure he’s gone now. But if you could find out where he was staying, that would help.”
“Consider it done, Alex. I’m on the case.”
“Okay, good.”
“I’ll call you with a report,” he said.
“Good,” I said.
“I’ll find the place,” he said. “You can count on it.”
“Okay,” I said. “Go find it.”
He finally turned to go.
“Hey, and thanks,” I said. “For the bond.”
“What are partners for?” he said. Then he was gone, shuffling through the snow to his car.
Vinnie and I got in the truck and waited for the heater to warm things up, our breath fogging up the windshield.
“Why did you tell that guy about what happened?” Vinnie said. “He’s an idiot.”
“That idiot just bailed you out of jail,” I said. “Besides, what have we got to lose? He might find out where Bruckman was living, even if he has to bother everybody in town.”
Vinnie shook his head. I pulled out of the parking lot and headed south toward M-28. The midday light was muted by the heavy clouds and snow, giving everything we saw a dreamlike quality. On a different day it would have felt peaceful.
“When you gonna get this window fixed?” Vinnie said. He wrapped himself tight in his coat as the wind whipped at the clear plastic.
“You sure have a lot of complaints for a man who just got bailed out,” I said.
“I didn’t ask you to bail me out,” he said. “You should have left me there.”
“Don’t start that again,” I said. “Just start talking. What else do you know about Dorothy Parrish?”
“I told you everything.”
“What about relatives? I looked in the phone book. There’s gotta be thirty Parrishes on the reservation.”
“That’s her family,” he said. “They all are.”
“I know that,” I said. “What about close relatives? What about her parents? Do you know her parents?”
Vinnie hesitated. He looked out the plastic window at the snow as we barrelled through it. “Yes,” he finally said. “I know her parents.”
“Do they still live on the reservation?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Good, then that’s where we start.”
He nodded his head slowly. “Okay,” he said. “That’s where we start.”
We made our way west, back toward the reservation. I couldn’t go more than thirty miles an hour in the snow. There weren’t many cars on the road, but I did notice one car following us all the way down M-28. Once again, I wondered for a moment if I was being followed. Once again I swore at myself for being stupid enough to wonder.
When we turned north to go up to the reservation, the car kept going west toward Paradise. See, Alex, I said to myself, you’re gonna drive yourself crazy if you keep thinking like this. Why on earth would anybody be following you?
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Bay Mills Reservation is just north of the town of Brimley, on the shores of Whitefish Bay where it starts to narrow into the St. Marys River. The tribe is just one of several that make up the Ojibwas, or the Chippewas as the white people call them. There was a time when you’d drive onto the reservation and see nothing but run-down little shacks. Now with the money coming into the Bay Mills Casino, those shacks are gone. The reservation is all ranch homes now, with yards and paved driveways and decorated mailboxes. If you didn’t see the sign on the way in, you wouldn’t know that you were on a reservation at all. You’d just think you’re in another modern subdivision.