out where he is. I promise.”
She looked back out the door. A car rumbled by. It was Buck on his way home to make phone calls, or maybe over to the Sault Reservation to make the rounds in person.
“His cabin,” I said, an idea coming to me. “Do you have a key?”
She nodded her head, turned and went down the hallway. A minute later, she came back with a single key.
“Here,” she said. “I’ve never given it to anyone before.”
“Thank you, Mrs. LeBlanc.” I kissed her on the cheek again and left. For the second time that month, I went out to find one of her sons.
Detroit. I said it over and over in my mind as I drove back to Paradise. It was once my hometown, at least in the sense that I lived right next to it and grew up rooting for the Tigers and Lions and Pistons and Red Wings. People ask you where you’re from and you say Detroit, because that’s the simple answer. You don’t tell them that you never actually lived in the city itself, that hardly anyone lives in the city itself if they can help it.
Later, I worked in Detroit as a police officer. Eight years of my life. And even then I didn’t live there, which was technically illegal. But I knew the city inside and out, through hot summer nights and cold winter mornings.
There is crime in Detroit. There is crime in Detroit like there are fountains in Paris, like there are canals in Venice. People all over the world know this about Detroit. It might not be fair to think that way. You can look at the art museum and the new ballpark and the casinos and restaurants and believe it’s all part of the Detroit Renaissance, and maybe you’d be right. You can even love the place like I do. But it’s still Detroit, and always will be.
That’s where Albright came from, Red and his men, driving twelve hours due north to go hunting for moose in Canada, or whatever the hell they were doing. That’s where his brother came from, days later, driving up the same way, looking for some answers. The way it sounded, he went right back home thinking maybe the answers were all down there to begin with, that he didn’t have to leave town to find out the real story.
Now that Vinnie had buried his brother, it looked like he had gone down there, too. If he was looking for his own answers, it was the best place to start.
And also the worst place.
Which reminded me-I already had Dallas Albright’s address and phone number, courtesy of Leon and his computer. They were right here in the truck, in the manila folder Leon had given me. While I circled around Whitefish Bay, I pulled out the piece of paper and dialed the number. I got a recorded voice from the cell phone company-the party was not available and I could leave a message. I hung up.
I drove past the Glasgow. The lights looked warm and inviting, but I had something else to do that night. I turned onto the access road, and then into Vinnie’s driveway. I kept the headlights on for a moment, got out, and looked at the ground. I would have had to see it in the daylight to be sure, but it looked like Vinnie had driven his truck around the side of his cabin.
God damn you, Vinnie. You didn’t even want me to know you were here? Wherever you are, you better be in one piece, so I can personally kick your ass all the way home.
I turned the truck off and used the spare key to open his front door. I felt bad about letting myself in for exactly half a second. “Okay, Vinnie,” I said out loud. “I hope you left something lying around here to let me know what you’re up to.”
I picked up Vinnie’s phone to call Dallas Albright again. I stopped myself just in time. Instead, I hit the redial button to find out where Vinnie’s last call had gone. I got another recording. This time it was the Archive and Reprints Department of the Detroit News. Their regular business hours were 8:30 to 4:30, and I needed to either call back then or leave a message.
I kept looking around his cabin. It was a great-looking place, small but perfectly put together. The bed was made, one of his mother’s quilts folded tight on top. The wood stove looked as clean as a rifle barrel, and the wood was stacked next to it in a perfect triangle. A copper kettle gleamed on the cooking plate. His place made mine look like a henhouse.
This is why he moved off the reservation, I thought. This is why he left all that heat and noise behind, even if it was happy heat and noise. This is how he wanted to live-straight and sober and clean, and alone, with everything in its place.
The one thing that surprised me was the computer on his desk. I didn’t even know he had one, yet here it sat next to a printer. I stood there looking at the dark screen on the monitor. I knew it was my best hope. I also knew there was no way I could make it talk to me.
It was 8:30 at night. I pictured Leon at home, maybe putting his kids to bed. The phone ringing, and Leon telling Eleanor he had to go out again, to go help Alex with one more thing. The look on her face.
I picked up the phone and dialed the number.
Leon told me he’d be right over. Just like I knew he would.
While I waited, I kept poking around the place. I found only one more interesting thing in the whole cabin-a piece of crumpled-up paper in the wastebasket. When I smoothed it out, I saw that it was a fax cover sheet. It told me that Vinnie had received a fax from the Detroit News, which made perfect sense. But whatever the News had faxed to him, he had apparently taken it with him.
I tried calling Dallas Albright again. I got the same message.
Leon showed up about twenty minutes later. “What did you do?” I said as I let him in. “Drive a race car over here?”
“I may have flexed the speed limit a little bit.” He looked around at Vinnie’s cabin.
“I know what your wife said, so I’m not even going to ask.”
“This is a nice place,” he said. “What have you found so far?”
“Just one thing,” I said. I told him about the redial and showed him the paper I had found.
Leon read the cover sheet and ran his free hand through his orange hair. “He found something in the newspapers. Something we didn’t find.”
“He went right to the News, ” I said. “Maybe he found somebody down there to help him out. They might have tried looking up some other combination of words.”
“Or they might have looked further back into the past. Beyond what LexisNexis could find. You think he’s down in Detroit right now?”
“He’s gotta be. I tried calling the number you found for Dallas Albright, but I keep getting a recording.”
“Did you leave a message?”
“My gut tells me not to do that yet. If Vinnie hasn’t gotten to him yet, or even if he has and he’s just lying low, I don’t want to give him away.”
“You think he went down there to find out what really happened,” Leon said.
“And why it happened,” I said. “And who else might still be around who Vinnie could blame for it.”
“If anybody.”
I shook my head. “It’s not a good state of mind to be in, all by himself down there. He’s gonna do something crazy.”
“Let’s try his computer,” Leon said. “See if that tells us anything.”
He turned it on. While he waited for it to come up, he looked at Vinnie’s printer. “It’s an all-in-one,” he said. “With a fax machine. Very nice.”
“I had no idea he was into all this stuff.”
“Most people have computers now, Alex.”
On another night I would have smacked him, but tonight he was doing me a big favor. “That fax,” I said. “There wouldn’t be like a copy of that on his computer, would there?”
“No, not with this external fax machine. An online fax, that’s another story.”
“Well, what are you gonna be able to find out then?”
“I can’t log on to his ISP, but let’s see… Yeah, I can log myself on as a guest. If he was using an outside browser, I might be able to follow his tracks.”
“You’re kinda losing me, Leon. But go ahead.”
“I’ll bring up the browser,” he said. “See, if I click right here, it shows the last few Web sites he went to.” He
