Misery Bay (25 page)

“I still don’t understand how this guy even knew he was here in Sault Ste. Marie,” Agent Fleury said. “That part still bugs the hell out of me.”

“He obviously knows all about these people,” Agent Long said. “He’s been watching them all very carefully.”

“Or he has access to some special source of information,” Maven said, “bringing us back to the idea that he’s in law enforcement. Or used to be.”

“Yes, as you were saying before,” Agent Long said. “That’s starting to sound a little more likely now.”

I opened up the next folder. Now we were into the suicides. Or what had been considered suicides before this whole case started coming together. The first was Haggerty’s daughter, again moving backward through time. She was the most recent. After all the blood of the previous photographs, these were somehow even more disturbing. There was no blood. No signs of violence whatsoever. They were almost … I couldn’t even bring myself to think it, but yes, they were almost peaceful.

A woman in her bed. It was a double bed, with the woman on one side and on the other side, where another person should have been, instead there was a large helium tank. Like you’d use to blow up balloons at a birthday party. It was the most out-of-place thing I’d ever seen and it made me feel absolutely sick to my stomach. The worst thing of all was that the woman seemed to have her arms wrapped around the tank, like it was … damn, like it was a teddy bear or something.

I closed the folder for a moment. I took a few breaths. Maven’s face was white. He’d seen his share of crime scene photos over the years, too, but I was sure he had never seen anything like this.

I opened the folder again. Looking closer, I saw the clear plastic bag around her head. The kind of bag you’d find a suit or dress inside when you went to the cleaners. It was wrapped neatly around her head and it appeared to be tied off at the neck with a cord of some type. An electrical cord? No, it looked like fabric, like the cord you’d use to tie back your drapes. Hardly even visible at all was the clear tube that ran from the tank to the bag.

“I told you you didn’t have to look at those,” Agent Long said.

I didn’t answer her. I kept going. I opened the next folder.

It was Sergeant Steele’s son. He was lying on the ground, on his back, in the snow. You could tell that it was still snowing when the photographs were taken. The snowflakes were already collected on his face. The left side of his head was ruined from the exit wound and the blood was soaking into the snow beside him. The pistol was in his right hand, his finger still on the trigger.

His eyes were closed. Once again, this time despite the blood and the gore … the whole scene almost looked peaceful.

I closed the folder. There was one left. I opened it.

Misery Bay. When I had been there, it had been empty. Now as I looked back in time at this moment captured in the photograph, I saw young Charles Razniewski hanging from the tree. His body was limp, so devoid of life you’d think he was some kind of rag doll or hanging effigy or some other crudely fashioned
thing.
Not a person. This wasn’t a child, not a man’s beloved son hanging here in the cold. From the spot the photographer had chosen, you could see Lake Superior through the opening in the trees. It was late in the day, so the sun was setting in the western sky and from behind the hanging body was completely in shadow. In the next photograph it was nothing but a dark figure seeming to blot out the sun itself.

The photographer had moved around to the front for the next few shots. Charlie’s face was blue. His hair was crowned with snow. There, about three feet in front of him, was this car. It was covered with snow, too. The driver’s side door was open.

I kept looking at the photographs. Unlike the others … these, for some reason I couldn’t stop staring at them. This is where it all began, I thought. This was the first.

“I think that’s enough, Alex.”

I didn’t move. Agent Long had to reach over and close the folder.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” I said. “I think it’ll be a long time before I’m okay.”

*   *   *

We went over the three candidates they’d identified the day before, the three men who’d been arrested by Steele and Haggerty and who had lost children to suicide not long after. The thief, Henry Parizi, with the solid alibi from his current parole officer. The actor/filmmaker, Clyde C. Wiley, working on his next project sixteen hours a day, seven days a week. The ex-cop who had vowed revenge, Kenny Fraser, now deceased. All three had been eliminated, so it was time to pick up the search again, to go through the records with an even closer eye to find another candidate.

I didn’t actually see them get that far. By noon the big boys from Detroit had arrived and I was kicked out of the building.

So what the hell was I supposed to do?

I ended up driving around for a while, feeling numb and having no idea where I was going. Eventually, I ended up back in Paradise. I drove right by Jackie’s place. I put my plow down and went up my road, not even thinking to avoid looking at that first cabin. If nothing else, at least that particular hang-up had been displaced from my mind for a while.

I parked the truck and went inside. I got the fire going, then I looked around for something else that needed my attention. Eventually I went back outside and started chopping some wood. I had plenty, but swinging a big ax seemed like a good idea.

An hour later, I was tired and my shoulders were sore, but otherwise I didn’t feel any different. So I drove down to the Glasgow. Vinnie was sitting at the bar reading the newspaper. I sat next to him.

“How’s your mother doing?” I said.

“Not too bad today.”

“You got a shift at the casino today?”

“Later, yeah.”

I nodded my head. Eventually, I found myself tapping my fingers on the bar top.

“Something bothering you?” he said.

“You still got those boxing gloves?”

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“I need to hit somebody. And to have somebody hit me back.”

“What do you suggest, we box in the parking lot?”

“I don’t know, maybe. You still playing in that hockey league?”

“No,” he said. “Besides, you made me promise you I’d never ask you to play hockey again, remember?”

“Where’s Jackie, anyway?”

“He went out. Should be back soon.”

“What, did he leave you in charge of the place?”

Vinnie did a quick scan around the room. We were the only two people there.

“I didn’t go to bar management school,” he said, “but I think today I can handle it.”

“He should be here,” I said. “He’s the only person I can drive crazy enough to make me feel better. Well, him and Chief Maven, but he’s kinda busy right now.”

“Alex, I know you’ve been through a lot lately, but—”

“I can’t just sit here, okay? I’ve got to do something. Anything. I’ll see you later.”

He watched me walk out the door like he was seriously wondering if I had lost my mind. Which was a fair question at that point.

Agent Long was right, I said to myself as I got back in the truck. I never should have looked at those pictures.

*   *   *

By five o’clock I was debating whether to call Chief Maven on his cell phone. I wanted to know what else had happened that day, if the additional agents from Detroit had helped develop any new breakthroughs. In the end, I decided it was still probably too soon for that. They were probably still catching up with everything.

Call him tomorrow, I told myself. He’ll tell you what’s going on. You know he will.

By six o’clock I was back at the Glasgow. Vinnie was gone, but Jackie was back. He stood behind the bar and watched me pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. He started yelling at me to knock it off, but even that didn’t make me feel any better.

By seven o’clock I had eaten dinner and had actually sat down in a chair for a while. The problem was I’d keep seeing those pictures whenever I was still for even a moment. I couldn’t even say why they bothered me so much. I mean, apart from the obvious fact that seven people were dead. There was something else about the photographs, some horrible thread that ran through all of them.

He’s still out there, I thought. I could feel him. He was breathing the same air I was breathing, and he was waiting to do this again.

By eight o’clock I was back in my truck, driving hard toward nowhere. Eventually, I pointed it east and headed into the Soo. I passed the state post and was tempted to park in the lot. Go inside, start asking around, see what was happening. I didn’t see Chief Maven’s car.

It was almost ten o’clock when I finally pulled in front of the Cineplex. I shouldn’t be bothering Leon again, I thought. I’ll probably get him fired this time, but I don’t know who else to talk to.

I sat there in the truck with the heater still going, looking out at the customers hurrying through the cold air into the theater. They’d sit in the dark and they’d forget all about everything else in their lives for at least that long.

Not a bad idea, I thought. I should try it myself. Maybe it’ll even work. But which movie?

I ran down the list on the marquee. All the movies had titles I didn’t recognize. Not that it mattered. I could pick one at random and give it a shot.

Then something came to me. I didn’t get out of the truck. I didn’t go bother Leon. I put it back into drive and I drove across town instead. To Chief Maven’s house.

*   *   *

His car was in the driveway. I knocked on the door. When he opened it, I could see that he had his service revolver in his right hand.

“McKnight, what are you doing here?”

“Sorry to bother you, but I figured you’d still be up. Can I come in for a minute?”

He held the door open for me. I went inside. He put the gun away, and as I took my coat off I could smell the bleach coming from one direction and the new paint coming from another.

“You’ve been busy here,” I said.

“Just trying to keep myself from going insane.”

“Yeah, I know how that one goes.”

“Come on in and sit down.”

He led me into the kitchen. It was as bright and clean as an operating room. As I sat down in the chair, I tried not to think about what had happened in this very spot. Right there at my feet.

“How did everything go today?” I said.

“After you left? Well, four more agents showed up, including Long and Fleury’s boss. So we blew the rest of the day getting them all up to speed.”

“That’s what I figured would happen.”

“Are you okay? You look a little rattled.”

“I’m fine. I’ll live.”

“Come on, McKnight. Why did you really come out here?”

“I’ve got something I want to run by you.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ve been thinking about those photographs we saw today.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

“Here’s the thing,” I said. “I know this is going to sound crazy. It already sounds crazy in my head and it’s going to sound twice as crazy when I say it out loud, but I’m gonna say it anyway, all right?”

He inched up his chair a notch and leaned forward.

“Those photographs,” I said. “You saw them, too. I mean, I know you’ve seen crime scenes before, but was there a little something, I don’t know,
extra
in those photographs?”

“Extra what?”

“I don’t know, it’s just like there was something a little bit too … what’s the word … a little too
composed
about them.”

“Composed. I’m sorry, I still don’t follow you.”

“When I run those pictures through my mind, which I can’t stop doing, it feels like each one of those scenes was somehow … I don’t know, like they were thought out in advance. You know what I mean? With everything in the perfect position. Even the bodies…”

“Go on.”

“Go back in your mind and picture every one of those bodies, especially the suicides. The so-called suicides. Whatever. Haggerty’s daughter in her bed, with the tank. Steele’s son in the snow. And more than anything, my God, Raz’s son hanging from that tree? The way he was looking out at the lake? Perfectly framed by those trees?”

“You’re saying, what … that he wanted each crime scene to
look
a certain way? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Think about it, Chief. If you were going to fake somebody’s suicide, why would you take him all the way down there to Misery Bay? You could hang him almost anywhere, couldn’t you? Why there?”

He didn’t say anything. I could tell he was thinking hard about it. He was running all the photos back in his mind, trying to see the same thing I was.

“I told you it was crazy,” I said, “but you were there. You stood right in that same spot. What did you feel?”

“At Misery Bay?”

“Yes. What did you
feel
when you stood there?”

“I felt like…”