“Rental car agency. One location in town, one just outside of town. Solid, but not big enough to be responsible for his wealth.”
“Thanks, Sam,” I say, and prepare to leave.
He stops me. “Andy, there’s one other thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The guy’s married.”
“Laurie said he wasn’t,” I say.
He shrugs. “Maybe that’s what he told her. Got married three years ago February. Wife’s name is Susan.”
I nod and leave, considering what this news means. It’s a mixed bag. On the one hand, it could result in some pain for Laurie, but on the other hand, it could be used by me to get her to stay.
I wish all my bags were this mixed.
* * * * *
THE TEMPERATURE in Milwaukee when we land is eighty-seven, not quite what I picture when I think of this town. It’s in stark conflict with my mental image of Vince Lombardi prowling the sidelines, smoke coming from his mouth into the frigid air as the Packers march across the frozen tundra in nearby Green Bay.
The airport is modern and efficiently run, and within a very few minutes we’re in a rental car driving the two hours to Hemmings. I drive and Adam takes out his notepad, no doubt making sure he can keep track of how many rest stops we pass.
An hour from Hemmings we pass a sign telling us that we are three miles from the exit for Findlay. I haven’t yet decided whether to check out Laurie’s hometown, but the highway god is obviously throwing it in my face. Am I man enough to resist temptation? I never have been before, so I doubt it.
“Isn’t that where Laurie is from?” Adam asks.
“She told you that?” is my quick response.
Adam reacts to my reaction. “Sure. I didn’t know it was a secret.”
This is the last thing I want to talk about, so I switch the conversation toward Adam’s life. “You like LA?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I love it, but just for now. It’s especially great with my lifestyle; being a writer absolutely beats working. But if I hit it big, I’m out of there.”
“Why?”
“Because when they need you, and you don’t need them, you can work from anywhere. You hardly ever have to go to meetings and schmooze; all you have to do is write.”
“So where would you live?”
He points at the green fields we are passing. “Near my parents in Kansas. I want to have enough money to buy a house for them and one for me. After all these years they deserve a nice house.”
“You wouldn’t miss a big city?” I ask.
“Maybe a little, but I could always go there on vacations. I want to be somewhere I can raise a big family and not have to worry about drive-by shootings.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask.
“No,” he says, then laughs. “Why, do I need one of them first?”
We drive on for a while longer, at which point Adam apparently decides it’s my turn. “Are you and Laurie engaged or anything?”
“No,” I say. “I’m a swinging single.”
He laughs. “Yeah, right.”
The terrain gets more and more desolate as we reach Hemmings, which can’t really be called a small town, or a town at all. It’s really just three or four streets of houses in various states of disrepair, surrounding a cardboard box factory.
The houses have deteriorated over the years, yet most have well-kept small lawns and gardens separating them from the street. It is as if the residents do not have the bucks necessary to renovate their homes, but their gardens make the statement that they would if they could.
One of the better-kept homes belongs to Brenda and Calvin Lane, and they are standing on the porch waiting for us as we arrive. I had spoken to Calvin yesterday, alerting him to our coming to see them, and confirming that they would talk to us. He appeared anxious to do so, and their waiting for us on the porch would seem to confirm that.
Within two minutes we are inside on the couch, being barraged by homemade breads, jams, and pastries. Brenda could make a fortune running a bakery on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, but my hunch is that doing so is not on her radar screen.
Calvin thanks us profusely for coming, as if it had been his idea and we were doing them a favor. “When I saw what happened on television, I knew I had to talk to somebody about it.” He seems unconcerned when I tell him I’m representing Kenny; he just wants to tell his story to anyone who will listen.
“I told him it was silly,” says Brenda, “but he wouldn’t listen.” She laughs. “He never does.”
“I think getting things out in the open is always a good thing,” I say. “What is it that’s bothering you?”
“It’ll be five and a half years this November that we lost our Matt,” Calvin says, and for the first time I notice that some of the pictures on the wall are of a strapping young man. A few of them are in football uniform.
Now that the conversation has turned to their son, their movements are as if choreographed. Calvin moves his chair closer to me, and Brenda brings out a photo album to show Adam. Clearly, they think I’m the guy to talk to about this matter, and in this case they’re right.
I can hear Brenda start to identify the pictures that Adam is looking at; as if she has to entertain him while Calvin is telling me his story. They start in kindergarten and peewee football, so apparently, it’s going to take Calvin a while.
“He was a great kid… a great kid,” says Calvin. “Not a week goes by we don’t look at those pictures.”
“What happened to him?” I ask, trying to move this along, but feeling a little bad about doing so. Talking about their boy is clearly one of their favorite pastimes.
Calvin goes on to tell me the story of a fateful November weekend, just after Matt’s freshman season as a University of Wisconsin football player had come to an end. Matt had a fine year; he was a top player his entire young life, and the coach at Wisconsin was predicting huge things for him.
A bunch of guys whom Matt knew, mostly football players, had come up to do some camping. They weren’t all from Wisconsin-some were from big cities-but Matt was going to educate them in the ways of the wild. They’d do some camping, fishing, maybe a little hunting, and in the process drink far more than their share of beer.
It was a trip from which Matt never returned. He took a few of the guys hunting and was the victim of what was ruled a tragic accident. The police version is that a hunter must have shot at motion in the woods, thinking it was a deer when in fact it was Matt. This despite the fact that the hunter apparently fled and was never identified, and the additional fact that Matt was wearing the bright orange jacket designed to prevent just such accidents.
Kenny Schilling was there that day, having previously established a friendship with Matt through football. The police questioned each of the young men thoroughly, and Calvin did as well, trying to understand why this young life had been snuffed out.
Calvin says that Kenny had aroused his suspicions at the time, but Brenda’s slight accompanying groan indicates that she doesn’t share that feeling. Kenny had been tentative in describing his whereabouts and had not returned to the camp after the shooting until well after the others.
“And I heard him arguing with Matt about an hour before they left,” Calvin says.
This time Brenda’s groan from across the room is louder. “They were probably arguing about football,” she says. “They always argued about football. Big deal.”
Calvin gives me a slight smile and wink, in the process telling me that I should discount everything Brenda is saying. But I actually think she’s probably right, as the police did as well. According to Calvin, the police did not appear suspicious of any of the group, and the case never went anywhere.
I’m greatly relieved to hear what Calvin has to say; it’s not nearly the blockbuster that Vince led me to
