I went back out to the lobby and looked out the front window at the snow. It was coming down in flakes as big as cotton balls. When I finally turned around, Prudell was leading Vinnie out through the door to the holding cells. I saw a nice purple bruise on Vinnie’s right cheek that I had missed before.
“The trial is in seven days,” Prudell said. “I trust you’ll be here in court?”
Vinnie looked at him without saying anything.
“Please don’t make me come find you,” Prudell said.
“He’ll be here,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Good enough, Alex,” he said. “I’ll leave him in your hands.”
“Did you hear that, Vinnie?” I said. “You’re in my hands now.”
Vinnie just stood there looking miserable.
“Okay, partner,” Prudell said. “What’s next?”
“What do you mean, what’s next?”
“We have work to do,” he said. “We’ve got seven days to prove his innocence.”
“He’s not innocent,” I said. “He broke a hockey stick over a police officer’s nose.”
Prudell looked around the lobby and winced. “Jesus, Alex. Keep your voice down.”
“It’s not a secret,” I said. “Just ask him.”
Prudell looked at Vinnie, waiting for a reaction. He didn’t get one.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. But still. There must have been extenuating circumstances. Were there witnesses?”
“Can we stop talking about me like I’m not even here?” Vinnie finally said. “And can we get the hell out of here?”
We all stepped out into the snowflakes. There had to be nine inches on the ground already. I led Vinnie to my truck, kicking up clouds of white powder with every footstep. Leon followed us. “So what should I do, Alex?” he said. “Give me something to do.”
I stopped next to the truck and thought of all the things Prudell could do. And then I felt bad, because the man had just done me a favor. “You want something to do?”
“Anything, Alex. Let me help you.”
“There’s a man named Lonnie Bruckman,” I said. I gave him the five-minute version of what had happened. Playing hockey, seeing him later at the bar. Dorothy coming to me for help. And then Bruckman taking her in the night. “I believe he lives here in Sault Ste. Marie,” I said. “Or at least, he was living here. I’m sure he’s gone now. But if you could find out where he was staying, that would help.”
“Consider it done, Alex. I’m on the case.”
“Okay, good.”
“I’ll call you with a report,” he said.
“Good,” I said.
“I’ll find the place,” he said. “You can count on it.”
“Okay,” I said. “Go find it.”
He finally turned to go.
“Hey, and thanks,” I said. “For the bond.”
“What are partners for?” he said. Then he was gone, shuffling through the snow to his car.
Vinnie and I got in the truck and waited for the heater to warm things up, our breath fogging up the windshield.
“Why did you tell that guy about what happened?” Vinnie said. “He’s an idiot.”
“That idiot just bailed you out of jail,” I said. “Besides, what have we got to lose? He might find out where Bruckman was living, even if he has to bother everybody in town.”
Vinnie shook his head. I pulled out of the parking lot and headed south toward M-28. The midday light was muted by the heavy clouds and snow, giving everything we saw a dreamlike quality. On a different day it would have felt peaceful.
“When you gonna get this window fixed?” Vinnie said. He wrapped himself tight in his coat as the wind whipped at the clear plastic.
“You sure have a lot of complaints for a man who just got bailed out,” I said.
“I didn’t ask you to bail me out,” he said. “You should have left me there.”
“Don’t start that again,” I said. “Just start talking. What else do you know about Dorothy Parrish?”
“I told you everything.”
“What about relatives? I looked in the phone book. There’s gotta be thirty Parrishes on the reservation.”
“That’s her family,” he said. “They all are.”
“I know that,” I said. “What about close relatives? What about her parents? Do you know her parents?”
Vinnie hesitated. He looked out the plastic window at the snow as we barrelled through it. “Yes,” he finally said. “I know her parents.”
“Do they still live on the reservation?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Good, then that’s where we start.”
He nodded his head slowly. “Okay,” he said. “That’s where we start.”
We made our way west, back toward the reservation. I couldn’t go more than thirty miles an hour in the snow. There weren’t many cars on the road, but I did notice one car following us all the way down M-28. Once again, I wondered for a moment if I was being followed. Once again I swore at myself for being stupid enough to wonder.
When we turned north to go up to the reservation, the car kept going west toward Paradise. See, Alex, I said to myself, you’re gonna drive yourself crazy if you keep thinking like this. Why on earth would anybody be following you?
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Bay Mills Reservation is just north of the town of Brimley, on the shores of Whitefish Bay where it starts to narrow into the St. Marys River. The tribe is just one of several that make up the Ojibwas, or the Chippewas as the white people call them. There was a time when you’d drive onto the reservation and see nothing but run-down little shacks. Now with the money coming into the Bay Mills Casino, those shacks are gone. The reservation is all ranch homes now, with yards and paved driveways and decorated mailboxes. If you didn’t see the sign on the way in, you wouldn’t know that you were on a reservation at all. You’d just think you’re in another modern subdivision.
“Where’s the house?” I said.
Vinnie had been silent for most of the trip, dozing against the side of the car despite the rattling of the plastic. Now he stirred and told me to stay on the main road all the way to the north end of the reservation.
We went past the Bay Mills Casino, the bigger and newer of the two casinos on the reservation, then the health center and then the original Kings Club Casino. Then the gym and the community college, more fruits of the casino business. A little further down the road we saw a few children sledding down the road that led up to the graveyard on Mission Hill.
Vinnie pointed out a house on the left. I pulled into a freshly cleared driveway. A snowblower sat in the open garage, still caked with slowly melting snow. Vinnie went to the front door and knocked. I stood behind him on the porch as Mr. Parrish answered the door. “Mr. Parrish, good to see you,” Vinnie said. “Do you remember me? My name is Vinnie LeBlanc.”
“Vinnie,” the man said. “Of course. I know many of your cousins. I see them at the college”
“Mr. Parrish, this is Alex McKnight. Do you think he could ask you a few questions? It’s about Dorothy.”
Mr. Parrish looked at me for the first time with slow, careful eyes. He didn’t say anything.
“Please, Mr. Parrish,” I said. “This won’t take long. It’s very important.”
“Very well,” he said. He opened the door all the way and let us in. We stepped into the house, after
