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.
“I was,” I said. “For eight years.”
“Do you mind me asking why you left?”
Okay, I thought, so she doesn’t know everything.
“I got shot,” I said. “Is this important information for this case?”
“I’m just curious. I apologize.”
“No apology necessary.”
“Very well, then. So can you tell me what happened? I understand you were out in Houghton, interviewing people about his son’s suicide?”
“Not really interviewing. Nothing that official. He just asked me to find out what I could.”
“And what did you learn out there?”
I hesitated. “According to Charlie’s friends, he and his father got into an argument about Charlie switching his major from criminal justice to forestry. Nothing his father had said to me made me believe it was such a big problem between them-nothing more than ordinary father-son stuff-but apparently it was. But I wasn’t going to come back and tell him that.”
“Why not? Isn’t that what he asked you to find out?”
“I don’t think it would have done anybody any good. Not that it makes any difference now.”
“You didn’t get the chance to speak to him before you found him today? You didn’t call him?”
“I tried to, but he wasn’t answering his cell phone.”
“I noticed the cell service isn’t very good up here.”
“Some days it works better than others, depending on where you are. I did get through to his voice mail.”
“Okay,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “That’s all in line with what I’ve heard so far. Apparently, you called him just after noon today. You were in Marquette.”
“How do you know that?”
“The signal from your cell phone went through the tower there. You called him again around two o’clock, just outside Sault Ste. Marie.”
“You guys work fast,” I said. “So I’m sure you know the approximate time of death, too.”
“Right around noon. So obviously you’re eliminated as a suspect.”
“That’s not why I was asking. I just want to know when it happened.”
“Once a cop, always a cop,” she said. “So yes, the murder occurred right around the first time you called him. It’s possible the killer was still in the room when Mr. Razniewski’s cell phone rang.”
I thought about that one for a moment. I imagined Raz on the floor, already bleeding, his phone ringing and being unable to answer it. One of the last things he heard before he died.
“So if you’ll just go through the entire thing one more time…” She pulled out a small black recording device of some kind, no bigger than a matchbook. She spoke into it, said her name and the time. Then as she looked around the room she said she was at the police station in Sault Ste. Marie with Mr. Alex McKnight of Paradise, Michigan. She gave me a quick smile and a nod of her head and then it was my turn to speak. I went over the last forty-eight hours, beginning with Chief Maven’s visit to the Glasgow Inn. His request for my help. Meeting Charles Razniewski Sr. and learning more about his son’s suicide. Driving out to Houghton, the detour to Misery Bay, my conversation with the undersheriff, then Charlie’s friends. Coming back the next day. Finding Raz dead on Chief Maven’s floor.
She listened without interrupting. She didn’t ask any questions until I was done.
“So just focus for a minute on what actually happened here in Sault Ste. Marie, before and after your trip.”
