“All the cops you got in Detroit, you never caught the guy?”
“Well, Chief,” I said. “You see, that’s the part I haven’t told you yet.”
“What part?”
“We did catch the guy. About six months later.”
“What are you talking about?”
“They caught him hanging around another hospital across town. I had just left the force, but I came back in to identify him. I testified at his trial.”
“Let me guess,” he said. “Not guilty by reason of insanity.”
“No,” I said. “His defender gave that a good try, but it didn’t wash. Not for a cop-killer. Rose got life for Franklin, plus twelve years tacked on for me. No parole.”
“So you’re telling me that this Rose guy…”
“Is in prison,” I said. I looked out the window. “Or at least, I thought he was.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The sun was finally up when we got to the police station, the dawn coming later and later as winter approached. When was the last time I had actually slept through these cold raw hours? And now here I was at the police station again. My stomach felt like it had been turned inside out.
Maven led me into his office and sat me down in the hard guest chair again. “All right,” he said. He took out a pad of paper and a pen. He scratched on the pad a few times and then threw the pen into the corner of the room. He got out another one. “Goddamned pens, don’t last a week. All right, McKnight, what’s the guy’s name again?”
“Rose.”
“Did you ever find out his first name?”
“Maximilian,” I said. “It came out at the trial.”
“Maximilian? No wonder he didn’t tell you.” He started writing. “When was he convicted?”
“December 1984.”
“You know where they sent him?”
“Jackson,” I said.
He stopped writing. “They sent him to Jackson?”
“Maximum security,” I said. ‘They said he was, what did they say, ‘mentally deranged but functional.’ Not crazy enough for a hospital bed, but crazy enough to keep an eye on.”
“You’re telling me they sent this guy away to Jackson max, with no parole ever? Are you sure about that?”
“I’m sure,” I said.
“McKnight,” he said. “Then the guy is still there. He has to be.”
“So you would think.”
“What, do you think he escaped? When’s the last time someone escaped from Jackson? Has anyone ever escaped from there?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “All I know is what I read on that note.”
He ran his fingers through what was left of his hair. “I guess I should give them a call just to check it out. What time is it? Just after six?”
“I’m sure somebody will be there,” I said.
“You’re probably right, McKnight. Last I heard, they weren’t sending the inmates home at night.” He looked through the papers on his desk. “I suppose I should go through the state office. Where’s that number? I’ve got a woman who comes in around seven. She can always find things like that. No wait, here it is.” He picked up the phone and dialed. I just sat there watching him.
“Good morning,” he finally said. “This is Chief Maven at the Soo station. I need to contact the state prison in Jackson. Yes. Yes, it is. Yes, I’ll call your commander later and fill him in. Yes. All right, that would be good. Hey, is there any way you can contact them and patch me through? You know, give them the secret state password or whatever you do. So they know I’m not just some asshole off the streets calling them for kicks. Yes, I’d appreciate that, thank you. Yes, I’ll hold.”
While he was waiting he looked up at me. “You evei deal with the state troopers when you were a cop?”
“Not much,” I said.
“They’re damned good,” he said. “Problem is, they know it. But as long as you give them a little stroke when you talk to them, they usually cooperate. I suppose you Detroit cops were the same way.” He sat there tapping his pen on the desk for another long moment. “Ah, good morning. My name is Roy Maven. I’m chief of police in Sault Ste. Marie. We have an unusual question for you this morning. You have an inmate named Maximilian Rose. He checked in late 1984, into maximum security. Uh, I guess there’s only one way to ask this. Would you happen to know if Mr. Rose is still on the premises?”
Maven held the phone away from his ear. I could hear the guy myself from across the room.
“Goddamn it,” Maven said. “I’m just asking you a question, all right? You don’t have to get hostile. If you say he’s there, he’s there. That’s all I wanted to know.”
“Ask him to check,” I said.
Maven put his hand over the phone and looked at me. “Excuse me?”
“Ask him to go check on Rose,” I said.
“The man says there’s never been an escape from maximum security.”
“Maybe they let him go,” I said. “Maybe they got their orders mixed up. Just ask him.”
Maven rolled his eyes. “Excuse me, sir,” he said into the phone. “We were wondering if perhaps you could take a moment and go check on him, just to make sure. Yes, that’s what we’re asking. Yes, you heard it correctly. Your ears are working just fine, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Look, here’s what you do, okay? I’ll walk you through it. First, you put the doughnut down. It’s not polite to talk on the telephone with your mouth full. Next, you look up Maximilian Rose in your little book there, see what cell he’s in. Then you call one of your guards to go look into that cell. Or, you can go look yourself. I’ll leave that up to you. Then you come back on the phone and you tell me if he’s there. And I say thank you for the help, and you say, no problem, that’s why I’m here. And then you go back to eating your doughnut. All right? Do you think you can handle that? Oh, by the way, here’s a little tip for you. When you go to check on him, make sure you actually see his face. Sometimes a prisoner will pile up his clothes under his blanket to make it look like he’s in the bed. In fact, maybe this Rose guy has been escaped for months and you haven’t even noticed yet… Yeah, same to you, buddy. It’s not my fault you’re sitting in a little room watching a prison ward at six o’clock in the fucking morning. You obviously made a bad career choice somewhere along the way. Now just go shine your fucking flashlight in Rose’s face before I have to talk to your superior.”
Maven held the receiver in his lap and shook his head. “This is why I love my job,” he said. “I get to deal with so many wonderful people.” He looked at me like it was all my fault and then he went back to tapping his pen on the desk while he waited.
“Yes, hello again,” he finally said. “I was beginning to worry about you… You did. He was. You’re sure about that. You’re absolutely sure. Okay, fine. Yes, fine. You’ve been so helpful. Thank you very much. Have a nice day at the prison. Don’t let anyone stick a knife in your back.” He dropped the receiver on the hook.
“I take it he was there,” I said.
“So they say.”
“So who left that note?”
“You tell me,” he said.
I raised my hands. “I have no idea.”
He looked on another piece of paper on his desk. “You sure you never heard of Vince Dorney,” he said. “Big Vince, they called him. Far as I can tell, Big Vince was into some other things besides running a little book now and then. He did some county time on a drug charge.”
“I never heard of him,” I said.
