I still wasn’t exactly sure that this was a good idea, but I knew if I didn’t do it I’d be sitting in front of the fire at the Glasgow that night, telling myself I should have gone. So what the hell.
I rolled through Bay City and Saginaw. Then Flint. The traffic started getting heavier. You forget how empty the Upper Peninsula is, how you can drive for twenty minutes and see one car going the other way. Then you come down here and you realize there are too many people in the rest of the world, and too many cars.
I got off on I-96 and headed southeast, toward Detroit. I remember this road being ripped up and under construction all the time, even way back when. It was nice to see that one thing hadn’t changed, at least. A few more miles down a single lane marked with orange cones and I was in Oakland County. I was running a little early, so I pulled off at Kent Lake and parked the truck for a while. I closed my eyes to recharge my batteries. When I opened my eyes again I was looking out over the lake. It hadn’t been a conscious plan, just something I gravitated to without giving it a thought. If I ever had reason to move down here again, I’d have to live on a lake for sure, or else I’d probably end up going insane.
It was kind of strange to get an actual good cell phone signal down here, so I took the opportunity to give the sergeant a call while I was sitting there, just to let him know I was closing in. He seemed a little surprised I had gotten down here so fast, but he gave me the address of a sports bar on Haggerty Road and told me he’d meet me there.
I made the mistake of taking the secondary roads to get over to Haggerty, ending up in Novi. There’s a huge mall there, plus a million other stores all over the place, and as I sat in the traffic I couldn’t help remembering what the corner of Novi Road and Twelve Mile once looked like. Two roads crossing, fields on all four corners. A traffic light. Now that one corner had more retail shopping than the entire city of Detroit put together.
More memories hit me when I finally got over to Haggerty Road. It was two lanes through the countryside back in the day, with a mom-and-pop store and a gas station every mile or so. More old-timer’s talk, I know, but damn it all, I swear it wasn’t that long ago. A place shouldn’t be able to change this much, this quickly. There was another strip of retail on every corner now, and every straightaway with enough dry land was lined with new housing developments. I didn’t ask myself where all of these people had come from. I already knew the answer. The people who lived in Detroit were moving out to the first line of suburbs, and the people who lived in those old suburbs were moving out here, in a great second wave. Or hell, maybe it was the third wave by now. Another few years and people would be moving to the moon, just to get away from Detroit.
I found the sports bar. It was right on Haggerty, between a couple of restaurants and a movie multiplex. It was one of those places with seventy television screens. In the men’s room there were three more screens above the urinals. When I came back out, I saw my old sergeant standing at the door, looking for me.
“Sergeant Grimaldi,” I said. “I would have recognized you anywhere.”
I was being kind, I guess. He had lost most of his hair, put on a few pounds. He’d spent too much time outside without putting on his sunscreen. But I did truly believe I would have recognized him, even out of context.
“Alex McKnight,” he said, looking me over. “What the hell, you don’t look any different at all.”
“That means I wasn’t much to begin with.”
“No, I’m serious. Do they have the Fountain of Youth up there in Paradise or something?”
“Okay, enough flattery. Let’s sit down, okay?”
We grabbed one of the high tables, with the high stools you have to be careful not to fall off of. There was an afternoon baseball game on over one of his shoulders. Not the Tigers. On another screen there was a soccer game. On another screen there was a news show. Just two guys talking with a running closed caption at the bottom if you really felt like sitting there and reading it. I ordered a beer, and the sergeant did likewise. I was already preparing myself for the fact that it would not be brewed and bottled in Canada.
“I can’t believe you really came all the way down here,” he said, looking at me and shaking his head. “I mean, I know I offered to buy…”
“I appreciated the call,” I said, “and it’s been a while.”
“It’s what, a six-hour drive?”
“Closer to five.”
“Okay, so there’s another reason you’re here,” he said. “Me, I’d only drive five hours for one of two things. Money, or a woman.”
“Well, there is somebody I’m going to see later…”
“Aha. Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. Who is she?”
The beers came then. I took a long drink. It tasted good after so many hours on the road, Canadian or no Canadian.
“She’s an FBI agent,” I said. “I met her when she came up to the UP to investigate a string of murders.”
“That does sound romantic.”
I had to laugh at that one. “She’s a good cop,” I said. “Even if she’s a feeb.”
“God, do you remember how much we used to hate those guys?”
“I do.”
“Don’t even get me started,” he said. “The number of times I had to actively go out of my way just to get something done before those clowns came in to mess everything up.”
I smiled and shook my head. It was a topic every local cop could speak to, all over the country. It would probably never change.
“But you say she’s one of the good ones,” he said. “So okay, I guess that means you’re not breaking a code or anything. She’s good-looking, too?”
“Matter of fact, she is.”
“Okay, then. You may proceed.”
He took a hit off his beer. Then he reached behind him and pulled out a little notebook from his back pocket. A real cop move, no matter how long he’d been off the force.
“So, speaking of murder,” he said. “I gotta say, I feel really bad about the way I handled this.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I called you up, out of the blue, and I had everything right there in front of me. Darryl King, getting out on parole, in about a week. I’ve got his address, too. Or his mother’s address, I guess. Over on Ash Street.”
“The same house where we made the arrest?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“So what’s the problem?” I said. “Looks like you’ve got it all covered.”
“No, I sure as hell don’t, Alex. When I got off the phone with you, it occurred to me that I didn’t say one word about the woman he murdered.”
“You didn’t have to, Sergeant. I know what he went away for.”
“I told you, I’m Tony now. You see a badge on me?”
“No, but-”
“But nothing. If I was still a good sergeant, I would have remembered the most important thing. Even if you know it and I know it and everybody in the world knows it, the most important thing about Darryl King is the woman he murdered in cold blood.”
“Elana Paige,” I said. “That was her name.”
“Yes,” he said. “Elana Paige. You remembered.”
“Of course. I was the one who…”
“That’s right. Not something you’re ever going to forget.”
We both sat there for a while, thinking about it, while the baseball and soccer games went on over our heads.
“Here’s to Elana Paige,” the sergeant said, raising his glass. We toasted her, and then we both went silent again.
“The kid who did this,” I finally said. “I know you’ve already told me, but I want to hear it one more time. Maybe it’ll make sense.”
“He’s getting out. Doesn’t make any more sense, does it?”