It was twelve minutes past ten o’clock. Night had settled, but the blanket of clouds above had diffuse light in it, reflected from East Jordan to the south, Charlevoix to the north, Boyne City to the east. The white on the ground glowed back up at the sky.
In the rearview mirror, I was able to make out, just barely, the dark figure of a person wading through the snow toward me. I rolled down my window, wondering if it was Cutty or Strickland.
It was Cutty. Alan made a barely audible sound that I knew meant he thought she looked great in her white outfit. And she did, actually. “The men outside Blanchard’s house say he still hasn’t moved,” she advised.
“Okay.”
“For now the listening devices are turned off. My men will pop them back on when I tell them to. We’ll probably need to give it an hour before we make any decisions. You all right with that?”
“I’m fine.”
Cutty stamped her feet. She had an impatient expression on her face, which was lit from my dash lights. She wanted to get the show going. “How’s your dog?” she asked finally.
I was surprised. I hadn’t realized she knew I even had a dog. “He’s fine. He’s staying with my sister, Becky, tonight.”
“That’s good. What kind is he?”
“Jake? Basset hound, mostly. Maybe something else. Sloth, probably.”
“Basset.” Cutty nodded. “Amazing animals. Nose as good as a bloodhound’s.”
“He uses it to sniff out places to nap.”
She laughed. There was something intimate in her gaze, then, and she leaned more into the open window. Clearly, we were developing a more personal relationship. And there was no denying the attraction: Her forthright, honest character and commanding presence were very alluring to me. So this was why she’d turned off the listening devices. I struggled to think how I was going to introduce Katie into the conversation, which I needed to do fast, before things got out of hand.
“Could I ask you a personal question?” she queried in a low tone.
Here it comes. I took the cowardly way out and simply nodded.
“How well do you know Barry?”
I blinked. “Strickland?” I responded stupidly.
“I’ve known him for years. Always on a professional basis. I’ve dropped a few hints his way recently, but he’s not very good at picking them up. How do you think he would respond to being asked out by a woman? Is he too old-fashioned for that?”
Alan made a nearly inaudible noise, communicating disappointment. I thought about her question, turning it over in my mind. “Honestly? I think he’s feeling pretty low about himself, because of that thing, the affair. He’s not picking up hints because he just doesn’t see himself as worthy. So yeah, I think you’re going to have to take the initiative.”
“Tell her she’s extremely attractive and that any man would be lucky to be with her,” Alan babbled. I ignored him.
Cutty was nodding. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she confessed. She gave me a level look. “Thanks. I appreciate a man’s perspective.”
“It must be hard. With what you do, I mean. A lot of men might be intimidated.” Except maybe imaginary ones in my head.
“Oh, you have no idea.” She shook her head, and the simple loop of gold in her earlobe caught a flash of dashboard light. “To most men in the department, I’m a bossy bitch. Or I must have slept with someone to get to the top. Civilians treat me just as badly, either going all alpha on me to prove they’re more manly, or dismissing what I do as almost like an embarrassment.”
“Barry’s a good man, Cutty. Toughest guy I know, but completely fair.”
“Thanks,” she said softly.
We smiled at each other. “All right,” she said. “Well, let’s see if our banker friend shows up.”
“I think he will. Hey, Cutty, could I use your cell phone? I left mine at home.”
“No problem.” She handed it over and then walked away so I could have some privacy.
“Barry Strickland is too old for her,” Alan opined irrelevantly and incorrectly.
“And you’re too dead,” I pointed out.
I phoned Katie. It rolled to voice mail, and I told her I was working late on a repo but thought it would be wrapped up by midnight, and that I didn’t have my cell phone because I forgot it at home and was calling from a friend’s. Then I told her I loved her and would talk to her in the morning about our plans for dinner. It felt normal and stress free, and I disconnected with the optimistic sense that we were destined to fix everything that might be wrong between us.
Twenty past ten. I phoned the Bear.
“Black Bear Bar and Grille, Jimmy Growe speaking.”
“Hey, Jimmy.”
“Hi, Ruddy.”
His voice sounded funny to me. “What’s wrong?” I probed, concerned.
“Oh, it’s just that Alice hasn’t called. I’ve left a couple message on her phone, but I haven’t heard back.”
“I’m sure she’s okay, Jimmy. I’ll bet you she phones you by tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“It’s just not like her. Oh, hey, you got a message.”
I gripped the phone. “Same guy?”
“No, huh-uh. From Katie. She was really excited, said to tell you she scored her first appointment for a listing and was going to see the seller, so she can’t meet you tonight.”
“Okay. That’s funny, our messages must have crossed each other. I called her to tell her I couldn’t meet her either.”
“She said your phone is rolling straight to voice mail.”
“Yeah, I left it at home.”
“I can’t even find mine,” Jimmy complained petulantly.
I told him I thought things would be fine in the morning, and rang off. Then I put the phone back to my ear in case the hidden snowmen were watching. “Hello, Alan? It’s Ruddy McCann. Hey, did you hear the good news, Katie being called out to look at a listing?”
“It’s really tough at first. But she’s so beautiful, anyone sees the ad with her picture, they’d call her right away.”
I frowned at this. I didn’t want some creep listing his house with her just because he thought she was hot.
“I half expected Jimmy to say that Blanchard called to say he couldn’t make it. He’s what, ten or fifteen minutes from here? Why hasn’t he left his house yet?” Alan pondered.
I thought about Blanchard’s call to Jimmy. The message had been clear as to the time and place. Then I sat bolt upright. “Oh no,” I moaned.
“What is it?”
I hastily punched in the number to the Black Bear.
“Black Bear Bar and Grille, Jimmy Growe speaking.”
“Jimmy,” I said urgently. “I need you to think. When the guy called earlier today and said to meet on Holy Island, is that how you answered the phone? ‘Jimmy Growe speaking’?”
“That’s how I always answer,” he replied simply.
“Okay. Thanks, Jimmy.” I hung up.
“That’s why he just breathed the first time, and then disconnected. When Jimmy answered, he realized you not only lied about knowing him, but that you work with him.”
“Not good!” I shouted out the open window. “Not good!”
29
I Do My Best Work at Midnight
For a moment nothing happened—it had to be confusing, since Blanchard hadn’t yet arrived. But then the snow convulsed into several cops who rushed the truck, their rifles drawn. I sat, my hands conscientiously in the surrender position, until Strickland and Cutty came running up.
“He knows,” I told them. “Blanchard knows.”
Cutty reacted first, holding a walkie-talkie to her mouth. “Hit the house. Arrest the suspect.” She turned to the circle of snow-camouflaged officers. “Stand down.” She looked at me. “How?”
I told her how Jimmy answered the telephone at the Bear. Cutty’s shoulders slumped.
“I think the D.A. is going to be pretty angry about this,” Alan commented.
“It??
?s all right, Ruddy. These things never go exactly as planned,” Strickland assured me.
Everyone waited tensely, watching Cutty. “Captain Wells,” her radio finally crackled.
“Go for Wells,” she answered.
“Ma’am, we’ve searched the house. Suspect is not here.”
“Repeat that.”
“Suspect is not here.”
“Not there?”
“No, ma’am. His car’s in the garage, and there are no foot tracks in the woods, but he’s not in the house. I got a man checking the backyard right now, lots of tracks back there.”
“Is there a road in the back of that house?”
“No, ma’am, just woods for miles. If he’s on foot, we’ll have an easy trail to follow. But the snow’s pretty deep—I can’t see anyone wading through it very far.”
Strickland and I exchanged puzzled glances. Cutty raised the radio to say something but then just stood there, looking exasperated.
“Captain?” the walkie-talkie called.
“Go.”
“There’s a shed in the back and snowmobile tracks heading out into the woods.”
Several of us groaned. Cutty keyed her mic. “How the hell could you miss a snowmobile?” she demanded icily.
“Ma’am, sorry, but there are snowmobiles whizzing all over the place here. His was probably just one of those that went by in the woods.”
“All right,” Cutty said. “Wells to base, pack it in. Suspect has fled. He could be anywhere.”
“The Black Bear,” I blurted urgently. “Maybe he’s gone after Jimmy!”
Cutty nodded at me. “I’ve got two officers in the place. I’ll tell them to stay alert.”
Within ninety seconds police vehicles were hurtling down the narrow lane toward us, their light bars strobing so that blue and red beams bounced off the snow, seeming to touch the clouds. Under any other circumstances, it would have been pretty.
“Wells! This is District Attorney Darrell Hughes,” the walkie-talkie squealed. “What the hell is going on? How could you let Blanchard get away?”
“No names,” Wells barked back. She rolled her eyes at us.
“I asked how in the hell you could let the suspect get away,” D.A. Darrell repeated harshly.
“What’s important at this moment is finding him,” Cutty snapped back angrily. I didn’t hear what else the D.A. had to say because Cutty turned away and got into a vehicle. The evacuation of the rest of the state police proceeded quickly, until it was just Strickland and myself. After all the activity, it felt oddly still and empty, the two of us just standing there on that lonely single-track road.
“I’ve got a thermos of coffee in my vehicle,” he offered.
“Why not?”
I followed him to his SUV, which he had parked at the very tip of the island, pointing toward East Jordan. “It’s actually sort of pretty,” I noted, nodding at the ice and taking a sip of not-very-hot coffee from the paper cup Strickland had handed me.
“I like the way it is never quite dark, unless it is snowing,” he responded, nodding. “Not out on the lake. Full moon tonight, too, even though we can’t see it.”
“What will happen with the case now?” I asked.
Strickland shrugged. “I can’t imagine Blanchard will get very far on a snowmobile. He’ll probably find a place to hole up, maybe break into someone’s summer cabin, but eventually he’s going to come out into the world, and we’ll get him. Then it’s up to the D.A. I think we’ve got enough to convict, myself. Screw the physical hand-over of money; that’s just Hughes trying to be the big dog.”
“Sorry about the way it went down. If I had remembered to charge my cell phone, none of this would have happened.”
“That’s okay. I don’t know what I thought would come of it, anyway. For me, I mean.” He was gazing at the lake but peering into himself. “Felt good to be involved in something important again.” He looked at me. “That’s why I’m interested in what you’re doing, the thing with the missing women. Though I don’t guess that this little party is going to earn me the favor I wanted, which is to see the files on those other ones. And you know, eventually I’ll just be back to skip tracing for Kramer Recovery again.” He sounded forlorn and empty.
“Well, we’ve got the current sheriff at the scene of a gambling party on a boat with hookers; seems to me there might be an opening in the department,” I pointed out suggestively.
“No, we’ve got Blanchard claiming Porterfield was there. Not the same thing.”
“Did you hear what Blanchard said? That you didn’t need to resign? Most people feel that way, Barry.” It still felt weird to call him by his first name.
Strickland just shook his head sadly. “I disgraced the office.”
“But you were a good sheriff. The man we have now, he’s the disgrace. I think the public is more than willing to forgive you. You just need to forgive yourself.”
Dark humor glinted in his eyes. “So what should I run on, the success of this operation?” He looked at me more closely. “You still have the hat.”
“Oh. Yeah, it’s turned off, Cutty said.”
“It still records locally—to the chip, I mean. If anyone cares to review it.”
“Great.” I mentally reviewed everything we had said.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” Alan assured me. “Pretty innocuous talk.”
“I guess I should take off the Kevlar,” I said, fingering the bulletproof vest through the borrowed coat. I reached up to unzip it, and as I did my eyes caught the flicker of a light, bouncing a bit, far out on the ice.
“What’s that?” Alan asked.
The light was getting closer, moving fast and straight toward us.
“Sheriff,” I said slowly, “do you see what I see?”
* * *
The snowmobile was still more than a mile out. “No way to avoid him spotting my vehicle,” Strickland declared tensely. “He’d see the lights when I backed up.”
“You think it’s Blanchard?”
“I think we have to assume it is.” Strickland reflexively reached for his belt and then gave me a rueful look. “I don’t have a radio.” He pulled out his cell phone and punched his speed dial. I looked out on the ice—the snowmobile was closing fast.
“Cutty, it’s Barry. I’ve got an inbound snowmobile. I think it might be the suspect, coming to make his payment. Yeah. No, he’s two minutes away, maximum. Copy that.” He hung up. “This isn’t good. They’re twenty minutes out. He’ll be here in one. If I open my door, the dome light will come on and he is going to see me sitting here. He’ll take off, and we’ll be back to where we started.”
“Why don’t you just duck down and wait here, and I’ll go pull him off the snowmobile and sit on him until the rest of the team gets here?” I suggested. “He doesn’t know this isn’t my personal vehicle.”
“Open the glove box and hand me my weapon, would you please, Ruddy?” he responded calmly.
“Oh God,” Alan blurted in alarm.
The Glock in the glove box had a trigger lock jammed into it. Strickland pulled out a key as I handed it to him. “Turn on your headlights,” I suggested suddenly.
“What?”
“Your lights. I’ll walk down, leave my door open, you crawl out the door after me. He won’t be able to see you with the headlights in his eyes. I’ll meet him on the ice.”
Strickland nodded and flipped on his beams. Instantly, the world changed, flaring white in front of us, the surrounding landscape seeming to plunge more deeply into darkness. Strickland hid below the dashboard, and I popped open my door and stepped out and walked down to the ice, waving my hand.
The snowmobiler was wearing a helmet and goggles, so I really couldn’t tell if it was our man. He slowed down as he came closer, stopping about twenty yards away, so that I had to trudge that far out to meet him. He turned off his machine.
“Mr. Blanchard?” I called.
He sat there, just staring at me. I fi
gured Strickland was stuck in the trees back on the island—if he attempted to follow me out here, Blanchard would spot him as soon as the sheriff was on the open ice.
Twenty yards was sort of a long shot for a pistol. I’d have to handle this myself. “That you, Mr. Blanchard?” I called.
He reached up and removed his helmet and goggles. I crunched snow under my boots as I cautiously approached. It was Blanchard, his face unreadable as his eyes bored into me.
“You bring my money?” I stopped two yards away.
He didn’t say anything.
“Hey. I’ve been freezing my ass out here; you’re late. Not the best way to treat your partner.”
“Partner,” he repeated.
“How do we know he doesn’t have a gun?” Alan hissed at me.
“You said, remember? That we were going to do a lot of things together. But it starts with my money.” I pursed my lips, watching his eyes. Come on, Blanchard, pull out the cash so we can get to bingo and end this thing.
He looked down at his lap. “All right.”
I moved to the side of the snowmobile, holding out my hand, and that’s when Blanchard raised his pistol.
“Not good,” I had time to say, before he pulled the trigger.
Two shots went into my vest, staggering me, and then the third one went right into my face.
* * *
I fell like a tree, landing on my back on the hard ice. I registered more shots, coming from my left, close and loud. That was Strickland, returning fire. I stared at the sky, my ears ringing, pain throbbing in my chest, face stinging as if from a slap, and waited to feel the life ebb out of me.
“We’re hit, we’re hit,” Alan babbled.
“Shut up, Alan,” I muttered.
“Ruddy?” Strickland’s face hovered over mine, the shadows from the headlights carving black canyons under his eyes. “You hurt?”
“He got me in the head.”
Strickland’s eyes widened in alarm. He reached out with a gloved hand and seized my jaw, moving my head back and forth. Ice crystals on the leather glove stung my cheeks. “I don’t think so. Probably just missed—the shock wave can feel like a hit if it comes close enough. You were only a few feet away.”
“Oh. Right,” I agreed, feeling foolish. “I know he got me in the vest.” I patted my chest, wincing.