When I got outside I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath of the cold air. I got in my truck and sat there for a moment, waiting for everything to make sense. It didn’t happen. I started the truck and headed to Angelo’s restaurant.
There’s a hydroelectric power canal that cuts through town. Angelo’s was a little pizza place on the north side of the canal, just before the bridge. On the front door a sign read, “Temporarily Closed! We’ll be back as soon as we can!” I pressed my nose against the glass and looked inside. There couldn’t have been more than seven or eight tables. I saw one pay phone on the far wall. Was that where my mystery man saw Big Vince? Listen to me. My mystery man. I’m still not willing to call him Rose.
It can’t be Rose. It can’t be.
I went around to the back of the place. The whole alley was cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. There were two uniformed policemen standing there, drinking coffee. Everybody was getting to drink coffee that morning except me.
“Can we help you, sir?” one of the cops said. I recognized him from the motel. He was one of the two cops who showed up first, before Maven. I didn’t recognize the other man. Probably his new partner. The other man must have quit.
“I’m Alex McKnight,” I said. “We met at the motel the other night.”
“I thought you looked familiar,” he said.
“I’m just looking around,” I said. “I take it this is where the body was found.”
“Right behind that barrel,” he said. He pointed to a big metal grease barrel. I could see the blood still pooled on the ground. “We’re just waiting for our guy to come take another sample.”
“I understand the cook found him?”
“So they say.”
“You don’t know his name offhand, do you?”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “I’m not sure the chief would want me talking about it, anyway.”
“Don’t worry about the chief,” I said. “He and I are old buddies.”
“Uh-huh,” he said. He didn’t sound convinced.
“I’m just wondering if anybody saw anything suspicious last night. A new face in the restaurant or anything.”
“You’d have to talk to one of the detectives about that,” he said. “Or your old buddy, the chief.”
“No problem,” I said. “Just wondering. Say, can you do me one favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t tell Chief Maven I was here, eh?”
They were both smiling and shaking their heads when I left. I got in the truck, sat there for a long moment, tried to figure out what the hell to do next. Finally, I crossed the bridge over the canal, went down the business loop to Three Mile Road. The Riverside Motel didn’t look any better in the daytime. And it hadn’t moved any closer to the river.
I could see that room six was still off limits, the yellow tape still on the door. I didn’t imagine it was helping the man’s business any. I found him in the office, sitting behind his desk watching TV.
“Good morning,” he said. “Checking in?” I remembered seeing him that night, standing there in the cold night in his pajamas and boots.
“No sir,” I said. “My name is Alex McKnight. I’m a private investigator. I was… I was here on Saturday night. I’m the one who called the police.”
“I see,” he said. He turned the sound down on his TV.
“I don’t mean to disturb you,” I said. “I was just wondering if you had noticed anything unusual prior to that night. Did you see any strangers here?”
“Most everyone is a stranger,” he said. “This is a motel. The only person I ever saw more than once was Mr. Bing. He lived here for almost a year.”
“I understand,” I said. “But was there anyone here that day who looked… unusual or out of place in some way?”
“He always had men coming over at all hours of the day,” he said. “I told the police that. I knew he was a bookmaker, but beyond that it was none of my business. He paid his bill every week.”
“This may sound strange,” I said, “but have you seen anyone wearing a large blond wig lately? A man, I mean.”
“A man in a wig? What are you talking about? Why do I have to answer more questions, anyway? I told everything I know to the police.”
“I know, sir. I know how difficult this must have been. I’m just following up on something personal.”
“No men in wigs,” he said. “No women in wigs, either.” He turned the sound back up on his TV. I took the hint, thanked the man, and left.
Before I got back in my truck, I went over to the door to room six. I stood there and tried to imagine how it had happened. The door was unlocked, Edwin said. Bing looked like he had just stepped out of the bathroom. Was the silencer already on the gun, or did he stand right here on this spot and screw it on? Walk right in, shoot the man in the face. Take out the knife, cut his throat from ear to ear. I looked down at the ground. They had cleaned the blood off. I wondered what the room looked like now. Could they have possibly gotten all that blood off the floor? Could you walk into the room and not know that somebody had been killed there? I tried the doorknob. It was locked. I thought of going back to the office, asking the man if he could open it for me.
But then I thought, no, I don’t want to see that room again. In fact, I don’t ever want to see any motel room again.
I went back up to the north side of town, stopped at the Mariner’s Tavern again. I figured I’d try that bartender again, see if he had remembered anything about the night Edwin met Tony Bing there. That’s what I told myself anyway. When I got there, it was open and the bartender was there, but of course he hadn’t remembered anything else. I sat by the window again, looking across the locks into Canada. I finally had my morning coffee, with a little something in it just to get me going. It had been another long night. And it didn’t look like my nights were going to get any easier any time soon.
Lane Uttley was on the phone when I got to his office. He hung up as soon as he saw me. “There you are!” he said. “Get in here, for God’s sake! Sit down!” He grabbed me by both arms and stuck me in his guest chair. The chair was a lot softer than the one in Maven’s office. “Edwin called me and told me what happened. Did Maven really call you from your cabin?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Edwin said it had something to do with a knife. That’s all he knew about it.”
Uttley sat on top of his desk while I went through the whole story. When I got to the part about the letter on my door he blew up. “What the hell was he doing at your cabin, anyway?”
“He said that he called me when they found Dorney behind the restaurant. I wasn’t there, so he sent a man out to see if I was all right.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he was just looking out for you,” he said. “But you’re telling me he saw that letter before you did?”
“Yes.”
“Did he have a warrant?”
“No,” I said. “But the letter wasn’t in an envelope. It was stuck to my door in plain view.”
“It still stinks,” he said. “And then he dragged you down to the station to question you?”
“I went voluntarily,” I said. “I wanted to find out about Rose.” I told him the rest of the story. The shooting, how we finally caught Rose, up to Maven’s phone call.
“Are you telling me,” he said, “that Roy Maven called the prison this morning to see if Rose was still there?”
“That’s what he did,” I said.
“And he is there.”
“He’s there,” I said.
“This is incredible.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“Alex, I’m concerned about this whole business with Maven. Do you want me to talk to him?”
