“I’m not going anywhere,” Leon said. “If you don’t know either of these men, why are you willing to go to jail for them?”
“You’re crazy.”
“Chris I can understand,” Leon said. He got even closer to the kid. “Chris is their nephew. He has to do something stupid to try to protect them.”
“But you don’t,” I said. I figured it was about my turn. I stayed on the couch and kept my voice even. I smiled at the kid. “Why would you mess up your whole life for two guys you’ve never even met?”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’ve got nothing to do with this. I told you.”
“You know where he is,” Leon said. “I can tell you’re lying. If I can tell, imagine what’s gonna happen when the police take you in?”
The kid looked at Leon for one second, then back at me. Perfect. I’m your man, Russ. Talk to me.
“Why would the police take me in?” he said.
“I’m surprised they haven’t already,” Leon said. “You’re the roommate, for God’s sake. They always bring the roommate in.”
Easy, I thought. Don’t overdo it.
“He’s right,” I said. “The police will know in a second. I’m telling you, Russ…”
Say his name. Make eye contact.
“You gotta let us help,” I said. “Come on, Russ. Be smart. Tell us where Chris is so we can help both of you.”
“Oh man,” he said. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
Leon took a step back. A little positive reinforcement.
“He told me his uncles were in trouble,” Russ said. “Marty disappeared and Michael went looking for him. Then I guess Michael freaked out and shot somebody. That happened yesterday. Now Marty and Michael are both missing.”
“Yes,” I said. “Go on.”
“Chris was all upset. He was thinking maybe they were hiding out, you know, like they were afraid to come home.”
“Yes?”
“He said he wanted to find them, so he could help them. Whatever that meant.”
“Yes?”
“He even took my car, in case somebody was watching him.”
“Where did he go, Russ?”
The question hung in the air for a long moment. Russ closed his eyes again.
“He didn’t say where he was going.”
Leon took a step forward again. “But you know where.”
“Mackinac Island,” he said. “Okay? I think he went to Mackinac Island. His family has a place there.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “Mackinac Island? In February?”
“It’s a good hiding place,” Leon said. “Who’d think of looking there in the dead of winter?”
“You know where this house is on the island?” I said.
“I was there once,” Russ said. “Last summer. I don’t know the address or anything.”
“Just give us the general idea.”
He described going up the long hill toward the Grand Hotel, passing the hotel and then going farther up, beyond the string of million-dollar homes overlooking the water. There in the woods were a few older, smaller houses. As best as he could remember, the Grants’ place was just past the fork in the road, the third or fourth house on the right.
“We appreciate it,” I said. “I promise you, if Chris is there, we’ll bring him back.”
Russ thanked me, looking a little like a wrung-out dishrag. Then we left.
“The old good cop, bad cop routine,” I said as he got back in his car. “Guess it still works.”
“It works on smart-ass college kids who don’t know any better,” Leon said. “You hear that crack about the Civil War?”
I shook my head. “Mackinac Island, huh? What do you think?”
He put the car in gear and pulled away.
“Only one way to find out.”
Chapter Seventeen
Mackinac Island. That’s where we were headed. If it wasn’t February, we’d be taking one of the ferries leaving from St. Ignace, and we’d be two people out of the thousands that make the crossing every day. We’d be going there because it’s a great place to be on a warm summer day, this island with no cars whatsoever, just bicycles and horse-drawn carriages, with the Victorian houses and Grand Hotel, with the main section of Huron Street where you can buy the world famous fudge in every other store. This was the place my father took me to when I was eight years old, the place I could have dreamed of taking Natalie to for a long weekend, back when I thought we’d still be together past Memorial Day. But in February, Mackinac Island was the last place I’d think of, for the simple reason that the place doesn’t really exist at that time of year at all.
“Is anybody gonna be there?” I asked him. “Isn’t it deserted now?”
“I think there’s a couple hundred people who live there year-round,” he said. “They keep a few of the horses around, just watch over things until the season starts again.”
“I know they’ve got some sort of Christmas festival over there, but after that…”
“It’s pretty dead, yeah. By now, the ferries can’t even run anymore.”
It was fifty miles to St. Ignace, straight down I-75, an easy trip for a change, with no snow falling. The sun was even trying to come out. When we got down there, we drove over to the little airport and saw a plane leaving just as we pulled in.
“Son of a bitch,” I said. “Was that our plane?”
“Might have been. We’ll have to ask.”
There was only one small building, so it wasn’t hard to find the ticket counter. The woman told us they were sending out two more planes today, the first in about an hour.
“With all the snow we’ve been having,” she said, “we’ve had to cancel a lot of flights this week. We only had one flight yesterday. And there’s more snow coming tonight. So we thought we’d better move some people while we can.”
We bought our tickets for twenty-five bucks apiece and sat down in the little waiting area. There was a big window where we could watch the runway, and a kiosk full of pamphlets for all the local attractions. I picked up one and looked at it. Something about the Antique Wooden Boat Show. I put it back. Just for the hell of it, I went over to the pay phone and tried Natalie’s number again. The phone rang and rang until I hung up.
“I wish I knew where she was,” I said to Leon. “She’s a cop, for God’s sake. It’s not like she doesn’t know how to get help if she needs it.”
“We’re doing what we can,” he said. “If we find either of the Grants out there, maybe he’ll have some answers.”
“God, I hope so. I swear, Leon, I can’t help imagining the worst.”
“Don’t think that way,” he said. “You’ll use up your energy. Just stay in the moment.”
Stay in the moment, another Leon-ism. But as usual he was right. The hour passed like slow death, but finally the other plane was ready to leave. A few other people had arrived by then, and we all piled into the little twelve- seater Cessna. The last time I had been in a small plane like that, it had been up in Canada when everything was getting turned inside out. I tried not to think about it. Meeting Natalie had been the only good thing that had come of that whole nightmare.
The little plane took off and banked hard into a stiff wind off the lake. “Another storm coming!” the pilot yelled to us. “Just what we need, right?”
The other passengers looked at each other with good-natured Michigan smiles. I stared out the window and
