“Another friend of yours?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that.”
We went up Ashmun to the north end of town. When we hit Portage, we could see the Ojibway Hotel, three blocks down. The red awnings seemed to glow in the fading light.
“This way,” I said.
We turned right, away from the hotel. It was going on five o’clock when we got to the City County Building. We pulled around back, just in time to see Chief Maven leaving.
“Chief,” I said as I opened my door. “Can we have a minute of your time?”
“What is it, McKnight? I’m on my way home.”
“It won’t take long,” I said. “This is Natalie Reynaud of the Ontario Provincial Police.” I figured the official title wouldn’t hurt, but it probably didn’t matter. His face brightened as soon as he looked at her. Turns out he was human after all.
“Officer Reynaud,” he said, taking her hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise, Chief. If it’s not too much trouble, can we go back inside for a moment?”
“Certainly. Right this way.”
He opened the door and showed her into the building. I followed, watching this unnaturally charming clone of Chief Roy Maven asking Natalie which detachment she was based out of, and how long she had been in the OPP. We went straight to his office and he went a couple of doors down to get a comfortable guest chair for her. I sat in my usual rock-hard plastic chair.
“So,” he finally said when we were settled in, “what can I do for you? Alex, your face is looking a little better, at least. Relatively speaking.”
“About that,” Natalie said. “What’s happening to the men who assaulted Alex?”
She wasn’t wasting any time. Maven threw his hands up in surrender. “Let’s not get off on the wrong foot here,” he said. “I arrested all three of them, right after I saw Alex in the hospital.”
“How did you charge them?”
“Felonious assault, naturally.”
“What class is that in Michigan?”
“Well,” Maven said, “that’s actually a class three felony.”
“That’s one step away from a misdemeanor,” Natalie said. “Am I right? Is that how it works here?”
“It’s a mighty big step,” he said. “Believe me.”
“Three men beat him and left him for dead. You’re telling me that’s not a class two at least?”
“For a class two assault, you need intent to rob or else some sort of criminal sexual contact. For class one you need intent to kill or maim.”
“Chief Maven, if you’re telling me they had no intent to maim him
…”
“I know what you mean, but you’ve gotta understand how it works around here. Intent to maim is strictly interpreted. With no weapon, and no admitted intent, it just doesn’t get prosecuted as class one.”
“Can we stop talking about me like I’m not even here?” I said. “Just tell me what they said when you arrested them.”
Maven looked at me, then opened a file on his desk. “We arrested Mr. Woolsey at his residence, and the two Grant brothers at their place of business.”
“Where’s that?”
He hesitated for a moment. “It’s no secret,” he said. “It’s an auto glass shop over on Spruce.”
“Grant’s Auto Glass,” I said. “I’ve seen it.”
“That’s the place,” he said. “We arrested all three men without incident, questioned them here at the station, charged each of them with felonious assault. They were arraigned later that day and released on bail. The trial date is pending.”
“Go back to that questioning part.”
He cleared his throat. “If you’d like me to summarize-”
“Just tell me,” I said. “I want to know why they jumped me.”
“Mr. Woolsey and the older of the two Grant brothers exercised their Fifth Amendment rights,” he said, looking back down at the file. “Marty Grant, on the other hand, had a few things to say.”
“Marty Grant,” I said. “He was the big one, right?”
“He’s a big boy, yes. His hand was in a cast.”
“I seem to recall ducking and somebody hitting the brick wall.”
“Yes, well, according to him, the events of that day were caused by an account given to him by his nephew, Christopher Woolsey. Apparently, there had been an altercation at the Ojibway Hotel three days before.”
“That’s the day Simon Grant died. What kind of altercation was he talking about?”
“It involves you, McKnight. He says you contacted Mr. Grant and asked him to meet you at the hotel.”
“What?”
“Despite the fact that Mr. Grant is not supposed to be out alone, especially in bad weather, you told him to meet you at the hotel. Then you made him wait around there all day, and young Mr. Woolsey was unable to convince him to go back home.”
“You are kidding me, right?”
“Finally, you had words with him in the dining room. After which time you must have told him to leave the hotel immediately.”
“I must have told him? What does that mean?”
“Apparently, Mr. Woolsey was not present at that exact moment. When he came looking for his grandfather, he was gone.”
“Because I made him go out in the snow? An eighty-two-year-old man?”
“I’m just telling you the story as it was told to me, McKnight.”
“You got all of this secondhand from Marty Grant. Did you talk to Chris Woolsey directly?”
“I tried to, yes. So far, he hasn’t agreed to talk to us. He wasn’t charged, after all. Only his father and his two uncles. But I’m sure he’ll be subpoenaed for the trials.”
I didn’t have anything to say. I was completely dumbfounded.
“This kid is lying,” Natalie said. “Did you talk to anyone else at the hotel about this supposed altercation?”
“As yet, nobody else at the hotel can corroborate the story.”
“Yes,” she said. “Big surprise.”
“Chris is covering his ass,” I said. “His grandfather comes to the hotel and instead of keeping an eye on him he’s hitting on one of the maids or something. Then when the poor old guy wanders out and gets lost in the snow, Chris makes up this story so the rest of the family has someone else to blame for it.”
“I’m not saying I believe the story, McKnight. Okay? I’m not saying that. But if this is what he told his family, then it helps explain the state of mind those men were in the day of the funeral. They honestly believed that you were to blame for their father’s death. Not in a way that they could do anything about legally, but responsible just the same. Then later, when you were driving all over town trying to talk to them-”
“What does that have to do with it?” Natalie said.
“Ms. Reynaud,” Maven said. “Did Alex tell you that he went looking for Chris Woolsey the day before the funeral? That he went to his apartment on campus and then to his mother’s house?”
“He didn’t know,” Natalie said. “At the time, Alex had no idea Chris was related to Mr. Grant.”
“Okay, fine,” Maven said. “But to the Grants and the Woolseys, here’s this man who they think drove old Simon Grant out into the snow. Now here he comes around bothering them, trying to… They don’t know what. He’s leaving private investigator cards around. Whatever he was harassing Simon Grant about, now he’s after them.”
“For God’s sake,” I said. “Can we please-”
“Then when this same man shows up at the funeral,” he said to her, “to harass them even further…”
“You keep using that word,” Natalie said. “Alex wasn’t harassing anyone.”
“It’s their word,” Maven said. “I keep trying to tell you that. This is what the Grants are saying right now.”
