The Cold Nowhere (28 page)

‘Did you hear anything about girls at the party?’

Bowen opened the lunch bag and took out a juice box. She stuck in a straw and sucked up apple juice, making dimples on her cheeks. Some of the juice spilled onto the table when she put the carton down.

‘Look, these guys are my colleagues. I have to work with them. I’m not the kind to go running to a lawyer if things get rowdy. I don’t want it getting back to them – or to Lenny – that I’m raining on their parade, you know?’

‘We’ll try to keep your name out of it,’ Serena said.

‘Okay. Fine. Yeah, of course, there were girls. There are always girls. Everybody knows what to expect at the winners’ party. That’s why I make a discreet exit every year before the action starts.’

‘Does Lenny know about it? Does he set it up?’

Bowen squeezed her lips together. ‘I have no idea. I saw him leave early. Okay? For all I know, this is something the boys cooked up on their own.’

‘Hard to imagine anything happening at Lenny’s party that Lenny doesn’t know about,’ Stride said.

Bowen said nothing, but her eyebrows twitched upward slightly, as if to say:
No kidding
.

Serena leaned forward with her elbows on the table. ‘Phyllis, did Margot ask questions about any of this? Did she talk to you about Lenny paying for prostitutes?’

Bowen played with the straw on her juice box. She craned her neck to watch the mall crowds, but she still said nothing.

‘Margot disappeared right after she bought that truck,’ Serena said.

‘You think I want to risk disappearing too?’ Bowen snapped.

‘Are you scared? Did Lenny threaten you?’

The saleswoman exhaled in disgust. ‘Let’s just say that Lenny had the same questions you did. He wanted to know what Margot said to me. I told him what I told you. She bought a new Explorer. We talked about gas mileage and air bags and towing capacity. That’s all. Why would she talk to me? She knew she was going to see Lenny.’

‘She did?’

‘You buy a car, you talk to Lenny. That’s the way it works. Margot said she was really looking forward to meeting him.’

‘So she knew that walking in the door?’ Serena asked.

‘Oh, yeah. It was one of the first things she said. She wanted to make sure Lenny was around that day.’

Serena and Stride shared a glance.

‘What did Lenny say when the news broke about Margot’s disappearance?’ Serena went on. ‘It must have come up between you.’

Bowen hesitated. ‘He made a joke.’

‘What joke?’

‘He said, who would kidnap a woman like Margot and leave behind that great truck?’

‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it,’ she said.

Serena shook her head. ‘I feel like you’re not telling us everything, Phyllis.’

Bowen looked frustrated. ‘It’s gossip. It’s no big deal.’

‘What is?’ Serena asked.

‘Margot made an off-hand comment. That’s all. It’s nothing. I didn’t tell Lenny about it.’

‘What did she say?’

‘We were closing the deal, and she said something about seeing Lenny at a restaurant with a girl who looked like she was straight out of a college dorm. She made a crack like, “I guess he can afford the best.”’

‘Did you say anything back?’

Bowen frowned. ‘It was stupid. I wish I hadn’t said anything at all.’

‘What did you say?’ Serena repeated.

‘I laughed. I said, “Yeah, the younger, the better.”’

Maggie parked her Avalanche in front of the Seaway Hotel.

She hopped down and spotted an old man who went by the nickname Tugtug in a lawn chair pushed against the building wall. He had a coffee can between his legs and a sheepskin throw wrapped around his shoulders. Tugtug, who was blind, wore wraparound sunglasses and a camouflage bandana, and his scraggly hair and beard were snow white. He spent half his life at the Seaway and the other half outside City Hall, begging for handouts in both places.

‘Afternoon, Sergeant,’ Tugtug greeted her cheerfully. ‘How’s The World’s Smallest Policewoman this afternoon?’

‘You know, Tugtug, you say you’re blind, so how come you always know it’s me?’

Tugtug pointed at her truck by the curb. ‘I know that engine. You’re like some kind of crazy-ass NASCAR driver. One of these days, you might think about braking before you actually get where you’re going. I hear other drivers appreciate it.’

‘Uh huh. So how are you? Been a while since I’ve seen you.’

‘Been even longer since I seen you,’ Tugtug replied.

‘Well, I walked into that one. You warm enough? It’s almost dark.’

‘Yeah, manager says I can slip into one of the empty rooms tonight.’

‘How’s the coffee can business?’

‘A little slow, since you asked.’

‘How about one of my coupons?’

‘That would be much appreciated.’

Maggie reached into her jacket pocket. She didn’t give cash to beggars, because she knew it went straight into drugs and liquor bottles. Instead, she’d set up an account with a local diner, and she printed up special coupons for free meals that she passed out to the homeless around the city. Each month, the restaurant billed her. It was a private thing; she hadn’t even told Stride about it. She dropped a coupon in his coffee can, and Tugtug gave her a brown-toothed smile.

Nobody knew where he got the nickname. He claimed not to remember himself.

‘What brings you to our little Showplace by the Shore, Sergeant? I haven’t smelled any dead bodies lately. Nothing but the usual puke, weed, piss, and BO.’

‘Actually, I’m looking for Dory Mateo,’ Maggie said. ‘You know her?’

‘I do, but you won’t find her here.’

Maggie looked at him in surprise, but Tugtug was more reliable than a Garmin. ‘No?’

‘No, I heard her whiz by me this morning. Breathing hard. She ran toward the bank and kept running. She ain’t been back.’

‘You’re sure it was Dory?’

Tugtug cocked his head, as if the question were an insult.

‘She say anything to you?’ Maggie asked.

‘Not a word, and Dory usually has a couple coins for the coffee can, too. Not today.’

‘Was anyone asking about her?’

‘Just you.’

‘How about strangers coming or going?’

‘Well, it’s not like visitors generally introduce themselves. One gentleman left in a hurry. Couldn’t have been more than five minutes after Dory hightailed it. I said hello, but he didn’t say anything back.’

‘Do you remember anything about him?’

‘He smell a bit like de islands.’

‘What?’

Tugtug put a finger on the side of his nose. ‘I caught a whiff of coconut.’

Maggie laughed. ‘Well, you’ll catch a whiff from me, too, but that’s Hawaiian Tropic shampoo, not Jamaica,
mon
. Anything more specific?’

‘Sorry. I pay more attention to the ones that fill my coffee can.’

‘Okay, thanks, Tugtug. See you around.’

‘Wish I could say the same, Sergeant,’ he replied.

‘Damn, I walked into it again.’

Maggie headed into the Seaway lobby and jogged up the stairs to the second floor. If Tugtug said Dory wasn’t there, then Dory wasn’t there, but she wanted to check anyway. The hallway was empty, but she heard noises behind the doors. Loud television. Shouting matches. Sex. She’d always thought of this place as a crossroads for desperate lives, and it didn’t surprise her at all that Dory had wound up here.

She remembered seeing Dory shortly before Michaela was killed. Dory was still no more than twenty years old then, living in a garage apartment in a house owned by friends of Brooke’s parents. Somewhere, Dory had gotten money for a new stash of drugs, and she’d snorted until she was nearly catatonic, with blood running from both nostrils.

Even in her drugged state, Dory knew that something bad was coming.
I told Marty to stay away from her. I said she was sleeping with Stride, but he said he’d kill them both.
One day later, Michaela and Marty were dead. Like an awful premonition come true.

Maggie approached Dory’s door. When she saw that it was half-open, she stopped and listened. The room was quiet, but she was cautious. Every Duluth cop was cautious about Seaway doors. More than twenty years earlier, a team of officers had tracked a suspect
to a second-floor room at the hotel and faced a hail of gunfire as they tried to arrest him. One cop was wounded by a shot to the chest. Another died of a bullet to the head.

She nudged the door open with the heel of her boot. It was a tiny room, and it was empty; there was nowhere to hide. Dory hadn’t taken anything with her when she left. Her clothes were strewn across the bed. The bottom drawer in the rickety dresser against the wall was open. The window to the street was closed, and the room smelled of stale smoke.

Maggie stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips. She had a bad feeling. Why did Dory run?

She went to the window and saw a dusting of cigarette ash on the ledge. Her eyes flicked to the open drawer of the dresser near the floor. It was only open six inches, enough to see a messy stash of cheap lingerie. Underneath a pair of white panties, a glint of rosewood jutted over the laminate surface of the drawer. Her breath caught in her chest. She squatted and pushed the underwear aside with her finger, and what she saw was the slight hook on the rosewood handle of a knife.

The handle was dark with stains, and beyond it, the steel blade was crimson with dried blood. She recognized the knife. It was a Victorinox chef’s knife, part of an expensive set.

It was the knife that killed Kim Dehne.

Under cover of clouds, night fell like a stone.

The cold air resurrected winter, and wet April snow descended in streams from the black sky. He could hear its quiet hiss outside the open garage. Under the shelter of the roof, he could barely see the pines that grew near the old house, and the rural highway was empty.

It was safe to move.

He climbed into the Charger and revved the powerful engine. He backed down the rutted driveway, tires crunching, until he reached the highway. Martin Road was in the far north of the city. Most of the terrain around him was desolate woodland. The snow was heavy; soon it would cover his tire tracks and leave a virgin bed between the trees.

He turned right. In the mirror behind him, his tires kicked up a white cloud like a tornado. For four miles, he didn’t see another soul. When he finally saw headlights he slowed, but the other vehicle was nothing more than bright eyes behind a curtain of snow. He reached Rice Lake Road and turned south toward the city. Traffic thickened, but to anyone other than the police, a black Dodge Charger was just another cool sports car. He felt secure as he closed in on the urban corridor. Cars around him slipped and slid through the intersections, and he was careful to give them plenty of space. He couldn’t afford an accident.

He kept a tight grip on the wheel. His hands were covered in hospital gloves, and he wore leather gloves on top of those. His hair was completely covered by a wool cap. He was conscious of
everything that might shed from his body. Every cough. Every flake of dry skin. Every mucus dribble from his nose. The odds of the Duluth Police recovering trace evidence from the vehicle for a DNA match were slim. This was the real world, not
CSI
. He was cautious anyway.

The steep downtown streets, when he reached them, belonged in San Francisco, not in the Midwest winter. He glided downhill, coasting through yellow lights, keeping an eye for patrol cars. This was the place where cops congregated, the place where he stood the greatest chance of being seen. Every cop was looking for a dark Dodge Charger. If the plates didn’t match, it wouldn’t matter. They’d follow anyway. They might even pull him over and spot the bloodstains on the leather interior. He couldn’t let that happen.

He held his breath, but the storm gave him cover. He passed through the hub of downtown and crossed over the interstate toward Canal Park. Like a ghost in the snow, he took the back street to the lift bridge and across to the finger of the Point.

It was three miles to Stride’s house.

*

‘We have to find Dory,’ Stride told Cat.

The girl sat cross-legged on one of the twin beds in the small room facing the street. She squeezed the gold chain around her neck between her fingers. ‘I don’t know where she is. I don’t understand any of this. You found the knife that killed Kim in Dory’s room?’

‘Yes, we did.’

‘I don’t know how it got there.’

‘Did you open the bottom drawer of the dresser?’ Stride asked her. ‘Did you look inside?’

‘I can’t remember. I don’t think so. I didn’t put the knife there. Really, I didn’t.’

‘What about Dory?’ Serena asked from the other twin bed in the room. ‘Could she have had the knife?’

‘No, why would Dory hurt Kim?’ Cat said. ‘She wouldn’t do that.’

Stride stood over her. She was scared to see his face dark with suspicion and concern. She felt his distance. He was the same as everyone; he didn’t trust her anymore.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said, ‘but we need to talk to her right away. Dory’s sick. You know that. Drugs can change people in terrible ways.’

‘She always told me she was a bad person,’ Cat said, ‘but not like this. She wouldn’t do this.’

Serena got up from the bed. She knelt in front of Cat and stroked her hair. Serena was strong; there was something about her that drew Cat in the way a mother would. A connection. A need.

‘Cat, listen to me. I know she’s your aunt. I know you love her, but you have to think about this very carefully. Is it possible that something could be wrong with her? Is it possible she could be violent?’

Oh, Dory. Tell me it’s not true.

‘I – I don’t think so.’

‘You don’t sound sure,’ Serena said softly.

‘I am. I’m sure. Dory didn’t do this. Neither did I.’

Stride sat down on the bed beside her. ‘We don’t believe you did, Cat.’

She hooded her eyes from both of them. ‘I know I’ve lied sometimes. I’ve kept things from you, and I’m sorry. I’m not lying now. Someone else is making this happen.’

Stride slid a photograph from his pocket and held it front of her. ‘Do you know this man?’