“It’s all right, Dave,” I said. I grabbed the man’s red hair and pulled his face up into the light of the doorway. “I know this man.”
“Goddamn you, McKnight,” he said. He was drunk.
“Dave,” I said. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Leon Prudell.”
“You must be pretty goddamned afraid of me, McKnight,” he said. A thin line of drool ran from his mouth to the ground. “You went out and got police protection just in case I showed up?”
“Yeah, that’s right, Prudell. I was afraid you’d use your chin to bruise my knuckles again.”
T HEY DRAGGED P RUDELL’S sorry drunken ass down to the station for the night. The next morning, I still hadn’t started to feel sorry for him yet. I figured he deserved at least a few more hours with Chief Maven.
I stopped by Uttley’s office around ten o’clock. He was just finishing a good phone slam. For the first time in memory, his hair was messy.
“I can’t take too much more of this,” he told me. “Everything’s falling apart here. I’m losing clients. You remember that guy at the trailer park? I missed a couple of calls from him so he went out and got somebody else.”
“You don’t look so good,” I said.
“I hope I don’t look as bad as you do,” he said.
“You might want to stop in at the station today,” I said. “They’ve got your man Prudell there.”
“He is most definitely not my man,? Uttley said. “What did he do?”
“He came by my cabin last night. I think he wanted to continue our discussion from last week.”
“Oh for God’s sake,” he said. “Does he actually blame you for him losing his job?”
“He’s out, I’m in,” I said. “That’s all he cares about.”
“What a jackass,” he said. “So I suppose Maven thinks he’s our killer now? Because he came to your place last night?”
“He did for about five minutes,” I said. “I set him straight.”
“So why’s he still there?”
“I think he’s just drying out,” I said.
“Fine, let him stay there,” he said. “God, what a jackass.”
We both let ourselves laugh a little bit. It was the kind of laugh that comes out when you haven’t slept in days and you feel like one big exposed nerve.
“Where are we on Rose today?” I said.
He held up a pad of legal paper, taking a moment to focus his bloodshot eyes. “Maximilian Rose, born in 1959.” He looked up at me. “He did not have a twin brother. Sentenced in December of 1984. Life plus twelve years, no parole. I told you I talked to a corrections officer down there yesterday. It took a little while to make him understand our situation.”
“Did he have a picture? A mug shot or something he could use to positively identify him?”
“Yes, he did. He told me that he went to Rose’s cell personally and double-checked on him. As far as he’s concerned, that man in the cell is Maximilian Rose.”
“How about the request to visit him?”
Uttley looked at me and exhaled. “This guy did pass that request along, yes.”
“And?”
“And Rose refused to see anyone.”
“What? Are you kidding?”
“That’s his right,” he said. “He doesn’t have to receive any visits if he doesn’t want to.”
“But can’t we make him?”
“We can’t, no. I suppose the police can.”
“Great,” I said. “I’m sure Maven will love mis idea.”
“I don’t know what else to do.”
“Can I talk to this guy? The corrections officer?”
“If you really want to,” he said. “He seemed like a good man. But I don’t know how much patience he’s going to have with this.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe I should just forget it. I mean, it’s crazy, right?”
Uttley sat down behind his desk and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t know what’s crazy anymore, Alex.”
I stopped by Angelo’s restaurant again. The owner had opened the place up again. He was sweeping the floor when I went in and ordered a couple slices. He had been there the night of the murder, but he didn’t remember anything out of the ordinary. I sat there at a small table, maybe in the same chair as the murderer, the would-be Rose, whatever I wanted to call this guy. Vince Dorney was here, I thought, maybe over there by the bathroom, talking on the phone. He overhears Dorney talking, thinks he hears something about microwaves. Wasn’t that what the note said? He decides Dorney is a bad man, a man who needs to be removed. But how does he get him into the back alley? The owner of the restaurant didn’t have any ideas about that. He didn’t seem too anxious to even think about it anymore.
A couple hours later I was still in town, sitting on the hood of my truck on Portage Street, looking out at the vast expanse of Lake Superior. I sat there for a long time, thinking about the night before. Dave didn’t hear me calling him because the radio wasn’t even on. Didn’t I even notice that the unit was dead? No static, even?
And then when Prudell was knocking on my door, the way I grabbed that gun. What if I had opened the door before Dave got there? Would I have shot him? Prudell could be dead right now, on top of everything else. What was happening to me?
And why in God’s name won’t Rose see me? It doesn’t make any sense. Unless… unless it’s not really Rose. The man is afraid I’ll know it’s not him if I see him.
Listen to yourself, Alex. Listen to what you’re saying.
But what else can explain it? Rose is the only person who could have written that note.
Stop it. Just stop it.
I could see the dark clouds building in the western sky. The wind began to pick up. It stung my face and brought tears to my eyes.
I finally made it into the Glasgow for dinner, after killing a few more hours driving around, going nowhere. I didn’t want to go back to the cabin yet. I dreaded the thought of another long night there.
Jackie was behind the bar when I got there. “What the hell happened to you?” he said. “You look worse than I do, and that’s saying something.”
“It’s a long story, Jackie. I’m not going to tell you until you slide a beer this way.”
He cracked a Canadian for me. “Couple men in here asking about you last night.”
“One of those men would be Leon Prudell, I take it.”
“Yeah, he came in later. Said he had some unfinished business with you. Drank a good twenty dollars’ of whiskey before he finally left. I keep overcharging that guy but he doesn’t seem to notice.”
“Who else was here?”
“What’s his name, the chief of police over in the Soo.”
“Roy Maven?”
“Yeah, that’s the guy. He was asking all sorts of questions about you. You know, how often you come in, who you hang out with.”
I raised my bottle. “Here’s to Roy Maven,” I said.
“So are you going to tell me what’s going on or aren’t you?”
“Get your no-good son out here so we can go sit down,” I said. “This is going to take a while.”
His son poked his head out of the kitchen. There was a phone in his hand. “Hey, is McKnight here?”
“Depends on who’s calling,” I said.
“Do you know a woman named Theodora Fulton? She sounds like she’s ready to kill you.”
I jumped off the barstool and grabbed the phone from him. “Mrs. Fulton?”
“Alex! My God, where have you been? I’ve been calling you for two hours.”
“Take it easy, Mrs. Fulton. What’s the problem?”
“It’s Edwin!”
I felt a needle in my gut, sickly and cold. “What about Edwin? What’s the matter?”
“I knew this would happen,” she said. “I had such a horrible feeling when I woke up this morning.”
