Steve Hamilton - Ice Run

I took the hat with me. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I thought it would help me figure out who the man was.

If we had stayed there a little longer, if we had gone downstairs and had breakfast, then we might have heard about the discovery down the street. But we didn’t. We left before they found him.

Now I sat there at the bar and looked at the hat, rotating it in my hands. It had obviously cost some money, way back when. It was gray with a slightly darker band. The lining felt like satin. The crease ran perfectly across the top. It was in excellent condition except for the new stains on it. As the stains dried, they left the pale residue of salt.

“What’s with the hat?” Jackie said. “Ashamed of that dye job you’re walking around with?”

“I told you, Jackie. I was just trying to rinse out some gray hair.”

“For this woman, I know. You did it for Natasha.”

“Her name is Natalie.”

“Let me see that hat,” he said. He looked at the label. “Borsalino, Milan and New York. This was a nice hat. What happened to it?”

I gave him the quick version of the story.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he said, turning the hat around. “Some old bird ruins a great old hat just to let you know he recognized you?”

“What would you call that, a fedora?”

“This is a homburg,” he said, trying it on. It fit him perfectly. “See how the brim is turned up all the way around? My father used to have one, back when men actually wore hats.”

“I’m gonna call the hotel,” I said. “See if they know anything more.”

“Hell of a thing,” he said, taking the hat off. “Doing this to a good homburg.”

He kept fooling with it while I called the hotel. He wet a dish towel and tried to rub away the salt stains, but it wasn’t working.

“Nope, this hat is a lost cause,” he said, then he stopped short when he saw my face.

When I was done, I thanked the woman and hung up the phone.

“What is it?” he said.

“The old man’s dead,” I said. “They found him outside in a snowbank.”

“Holy God.”

“She said his name was Simon Grant. He was eighty-two years old.”

“What happened? I mean, how did he-”

“He just walked outside. He went down Ashmun Street. They think he must have just got lost or got tired or something. They don’t really know. A snowplow ran over his body this morning.”

“Nobody should go that way,” Jackie said. “Nobody should freeze to death like an animal.”

I took the hat from him. “I have to call Natalie,” I said. I dialed the number and waited while it rang.

“What are you going to do with this hat?”

“Hell if I know,” I said. Her phone kept ringing.

“You should turn it in.”

“What?”

“It belonged to the old man, didn’t it?”

I held up my hand to him as Natalie finally answered the phone. When I told her what had happened, she didn’t say anything.

“You still there?” I said.

“Yes, Alex. I’m here.”

“Are you okay?”

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “Do you still have the hat he left on the floor?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it right here.”

“You have to give it back. You know that.”

“What? How can I-”

“His family,” she said. “They should have the hat.”

“I don’t even know how to get in touch with them.” I looked up at Jackie. He nodded his head at me like he knew exactly what she was saying.

“Take it to the police,” she said. “They’ll give it to the family.”

“I guess I could do that,” I said. Although driving back into town was the last thing I felt like doing.

“That poor man. What a terrible night.”

“Natalie…”

“I’m sorry, Alex. I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, all right?”

“Okay,” I said. And then she hung up.

“She agrees with me,” Jackie said. “Am I right?”

“What’d you guys do, talk about this beforehand?”

“It’s the only right thing to do.”

That’s how I ended up driving back to the Soo for the second time in two days, with the hat resting on the seat beside me. The sun was finally out, and it made the snow shine so bright it was hard to look at. Not that there was anything to see. The banks were piled five feet high all along the roads, and the plows were still out there trying to catch up.

When I got to the city, I saw a hundred people with snow shovels, trying to reclaim the sidewalks. I drove by the Ojibway Hotel, but I didn’t see the doorman outside. I kept going, taking the right on Ashmun. This is where it happened, I thought. According to the woman at the hotel, this is where they found him.

I slowed down as I crossed the little bridge over the canal. A few yards beyond it I could see where they had dug out most of the snowbank, right in front of the bookstore. There were lots of tire tracks and sand and dirt and God knows what else. An empty paper coffee cup blew across the road.

You could tell that men had been there, working hard at something. But there was no crime scene tape, or anything to suggest that something bad had happened. But then, come to think of it, there had been no crime. It was just an old man who fell into the snow and froze to death.

Simon Grant. That was his name. I looked down at the hat lying on the seat next to me. Simon Grant, whoever the hell he was, is no more.

The City County Building was back on the north side of the bridge, over on Court Street. I knew what I had to do next. But instead I kept going. I wasn’t ready yet. On the spur of the moment, there was one thing I wanted to do first.

Simon Grant. I kept saying the name to myself. Simon Grant.

When I got to Three Mile Road, I hung a left and drove down to the Custom Motor Shop. They had just plowed the parking lot, and there was a mountain of snow to one side you could have used skis on. As I pulled in, I couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. Sure, I had promised I’d stop in to see him the next time I was in town. But how convenient that I just so happened to have this little thing to ask him about.

I might have sat there thinking about it, but at that moment the man himself came out the door. Leon Prudell, my old partner. When a local lawyer talked me into trying out the private eye business, it was Leon who lost his job to me. It was Leon who showed up at the Glasgow Inn and called me out into the parking lot. That’s how much he loved his job, and how much he hated me at that moment. When the whole private eye thing blew up in my face, he was there, and he actually helped me out, and proved that he knew what he was doing. Later, we had an off-and-on partner thing going for a while. When I walked away from it, he was still there to help me, whenever something would drag me back into the game. Now here he was, selling snowmobiles for a living, trying to forget all about those old dreams of being a private investigator.

“Alex!” he said when he saw me. I got out and shook his hand. He looked the same as always, with the wild orange hair and the extra pounds around the middle. In his down coat he looked as big as the Michelin Man.

“How’s business?” I said.

“We had a busy morning,” he said. “Now that the snow finally came.”

I looked into the front window and saw a long line of gleaming snowmobiles. “I do love those machines. I just can’t get enough of that noise.”

“Snowmobilers pay your bills, Alex. What the hell did you do to your hair?”

“It’s nothing,” I said. “It’ll wash out in a couple of days.”

“I guess things are going well with Natalie?”

That stopped me. Then I remembered. Leon was the one who ran down her address for me, back when I had this crazy idea I should try to find her. That plus the hair, it was pretty basic detective work.