bag.
She had tried to leave him. How many times did they tell us? When the woman decides to leave, that’s the most dangerous time. That’s the flashpoint. When a woman is murdered, the detectives always start with the same question: Where’s the husband or the boyfriend?
“Bruckman followed us,” I said out loud. My voice sounded small in the winter stillness. “He had to. How else would he know she was here?” Was he at the bar? He could have followed my truck all the way down the main road, but then how would he know which cabin she was in? He couldn’t have followed me all the way down my access road, could he? Could I be that fucking oblivious?
I didn’t call the police. I didn’t stay with her. I left her alone in a cabin with no phone.
The county car pulled in then and saved me. A few more minutes alone with my thoughts and I would have killed myself.
They came out of either side of the car, their Chippewa County hats worn just right, a young man and a young woman. The both of them put together weren’t as old as me.
“Where’s the sheriff?” I said.
“He’s busy,” the young woman said. Her dark hair was tucked up beneath her hat.
“Call him,” I said. “I want him out here.”
“I told you, sir,” she said. “He’s busy.”
“Busy, my ass,” I said. “He needs to be here.”
“Take it easy, sir,” the young man said. He had the standard-issue police buzz cut. He approached me with his hands up, the way you’d approach a dog you think might be rabid. “Are you Mr. McKnight?”
“I told the dispatcher I wanted Bill himself,” I said. “And nobody else.” Bill Brandow was the county sheriff, if not exactly my best buddy then at least a friendly acquaintance. I had bought him a couple Canadians one night, traded a few cop stories. There was something fundamentally competent and trustworthy about the man. It was his face I needed to see right now, not these two kids who looked like they were on their way to a high school costume party dressed as deputies.
“I told you, Mr. McKnight. The sheriff can’t be here. You’re gonna have to calm down a little bit here.”
“A woman has been kidnapped,” I said. “Do you have anybody out looking for her? Is Bill going to do anything besides sending two teenagers out here to tell me to calm down a little bit?”
“Has it occurred to you that maybe the sheriff is out looking for her right now?” he said. “And this guy, what’s his name?”
“Bruckman,” I said. “Lonnie Bruckman.”
“Where do you want him to be, Mr. McKnight? Out there looking for them or standing here in the snow making you feel better?”
I clenched my gloved hands into fists, looked up into the winter sky, then I took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay,” I said. “You’re right. Let’s just…”
“Tell us what happened,” he said. “Where’s the cabin she was staying in?”
“This way,” I said. “Right around the bend.”
We all got into the county car, the two deputies in the front, me in the back. It wasn’t more than a quarter mile to the first rental cabin, but we rolled slowly down the road, the tires scrunching over another half inch of snow that had fallen since I plowed. I gave them the quick version of what had happened. Dorothy meeting me at the bar, asking for my help. The way she talked about Lonnie. The genuine fear in her voice when she told me he’d kill her if he ever found her.
We got out of the car and stood there a moment, the deputies looking up and down the road. Nothing to see but trees. “She stayed alone in this cabin last night?” the woman asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I really don’t have much room in my cabin. And besides…” I didn’t finish it.
The deputies traded a quick look at each other while they walked through the snow to the cabin.
“No footprints here,” he said.
“I didn’t see any,” I said. “It snowed too much last night.”
“No tire tracks either?”
“No,” I said. “None at all.”
“Even with the snow,” he said. “You’d see something, wouldn’t you? It didn’t snow that much.”
“When I plowed the road it looked totally untouched,” I said. “Like nobody had driven on it for days.”
“This unlocked?” he said when he got to the door.
“Yes,” I said. “It was unlocked this morning.”
“Was it locked last night?”
“Yes, she locked it when I left.”
The deputies looked at each other again. I felt a sudden urge to knock their heads together. “Can we get something straight right now?” I said. “She slept in this cabin by herself last night. And I slept in mine.”
“Nobody’s suggesting otherwise,” he said.
“If we were in the same cabin,” I said, “then none of this would have happened.”
“We hear you,” he said. “Please. Let’s work together on this.” The deputy pushed the door open and looked inside.
“Careful,” I said. “Don’t contaminate anything.”
“I won’t.”
“I’m serious,” I said. “What if there’s evidence here?”
“If we see something, we’ll bag it.”
“No, I’m talking about hair or fibers or…”
They both looked at me. He’s seen this stuff on television, they’re thinking. He expects us to set up a crime laboratory and start picking up little strands of stuff with tweezers.
“I was a cop once,” I said. Back when dinosaurs ruled the earth. “Never mind. Go ahead.”
“We’ll be careful,” she said.
I followed them as they entered the cabin. There was a complete silence in the place that made me feel sick to my stomach.
At least we’re not looking at a dead body, I said to myself. If he wanted to kill her that badly, he would have done it right here. It was the only positive thing I could think of.
The troopers walked around the overturned table, looked at the scattered chairs. The young man stopped at the bed where the blanket had been turned back. “Looks like she went to bed,” he said. “Then got up later. Doesn’t look like she left anything behind. Did she have a backpack or a suitcase or something? You said she was running away from this guy.”
“She had a bag,” I said. “A white duffel bag.”
“She must have taken it with her,” he said. “Or he did, I mean. This Bruckman guy. You say you played hockey with him a couple of nights ago?”
“Yeah, I did.” It felt like a lot longer.
“He a big guy? How easy would it be for him to take her out of here?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “He’s a lot bigger than her, but I can’t imagine her going with him without a fight.”
“So why is the door unlocked?” he said. “She must have opened it, right? There’s no sign of forced entry.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” I said. “She wouldn’t have opened that door if she knew it was him.”
“Maybe he comes to the door and says he just wants to talk to her. Then when he’s inside he starts busting up the place.”
“Impossible.”
“You said you were a cop once. You’ve seen these situations, right?”
“I know where you’re going,” I said. He was right, I had seen it before, more times than I could count. The man begging for forgiveness, the women caving in. “But I just can’t see it here.”
“Then why did she open the door?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “The way she talked about him last night, I just don’t know.”
I looked down at the table leg that had been broken off, almost bent over to pick it up before I stopped myself. Then I noticed something else.
