Steve Hamilton - Ice Run

“They’re watching,” I said.

“Of course.”

“Let’s try the Woolseys’ house. It’s over on Twenty-fourth.”

“Let me ask you something,” he said as he turned around. “What are you planning on doing with the gun?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Are you thinking about putting a gun to Mr. Woolsey’s head and making him tell you where the Grants are?”

“We have to find her,” I said.

“Very bad idea, Alex.”

“Leon, he’s the only lead we have.”

“I’m not giving you the gun.”

“Leon…”

“You’re not thinking right,” he said. “You’ve got to stop and get your head on straight. You’re not going to be any help to her if you start acting like an idiot.”

I didn’t argue. I knew he was right. As usual.

“Let’s just go see what’s going on over there,” he said. “If they’re not talking to the police, I’m sure they’ve got another car watching them.”

We got to the south side of town and headed west down Twenty-fourth Avenue. When we got to the Woolseys’ house, we saw four cars in the driveway, the same driveway I had plowed myself a million years ago, back when life was a hell of a lot better and the only mystery to solve was why some old man would leave a hat in a hotel hallway. Another obvious surveillance car was parked out on the empty road.

“There he is,” Leon said. “It’s hard to hide around here.”

At that very moment the front door opened and Mr. Woolsey stepped out onto the porch. Looking at him, even from this distance, the whole scene at the funeral came back to me. Woolsey was the man who had thanked me for plowing his driveway, and then led me behind the church. He had offered me a cigarette and walked with me while his two brothers-in-law sneaked around the other side.

He stood there on his porch without a coat on. His arms were folded and he was staring right at us. The door opened again and a woman poked her head out. Woolsey turned and said something to her. She closed the door.

“It looks like they’ve got the whole family over here in one house,” I said. “They’re sticking together.”

“Yeah, probably the whole family, Alex. The kids, everybody.”

“I hear you,” I said. “What if we got Woolsey to come out to the street?”

“Our friend over there in the unmarked vehicle will be watching.”

“Let him watch.”

“No, Alex. It’s not the right play.”

“Leon, I have to do something.”

“Okay,” he said. “Just think. How else could we approach this? You say the whole family is probably in there. Who are we talking about?”

“Everybody,” I said. “Michael’s wife, Marty’s wife, the kids. Woolsey and his wife. And Chris, I assume.”

“You assume. He’s a college kid, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” I said. “I suppose he could be over in his apartment.”

“All by himself. Without a bunch of other people around.”

“He’s got a roommate. I met him when I was trying to find Chris to ask him some questions, back before I even knew he was Simon Grant’s grandson.”

“You remember where his apartment is?”

I looked at him. He was way ahead of me, as usual. “Go to Easterday,” I said.

As he pulled out onto the road, we passed the unmarked vehicle that had been staked out there. The driver did a professional job of not looking at us as we passed.

When we got across town, I directed Leon to the apartment building. We were on campus now, so there were many vehicles parked all up and down the street. It was hard to tell if one of them had a police officer sitting in it.

We got out of the car. Leon followed me as I went to the same door I had knocked on once before. Street level, facing the road. The roommate answered, just like the last time. He still looked about fourteen. He was still working on the goatee and not getting anywhere. He still had his long hair tied up on top of his head with a rubber band.

“Is Chris here?” I said.

“Nope.”

“Think he’ll be back soon?”

“No, don’t think so.”

“Do you remember me?” I said. “I was here once before.”

“I remember,” he said. “You left a card.”

“This is my partner, Leon.”

The kid nodded to him.

“I’ve got something important to ask you,” I said. “Do you have any idea where Chris is right now?”

I watched his eyes. Basic cop training.

“No, I don’t,” he said. He blinked and looked over my shoulder toward the street.

“He’s not at his parents’ house?”

“I don’t know, man. Really.”

He sneaked a glance at the door, like he’d very much like to close it.

“I never caught your name,” I said.

“It’s Russ.”

“Can we come in and talk to you?”

“I told you. I’ve got no idea where Chris went.”

“Just for a minute,” I said. “Please? It’s important.”

He didn’t look too happy about it, but he stepped back and let us in. The place wasn’t too surprising as a college apartment. The furniture had been handed down a few too many times, and the brown carpet was probably a couple of years overdue for replacing. There were posters on the wall with rock groups I had never heard of.

“You like the Wallflowers?” Leon said to him.

“That’s Chris’s poster,” he said.

“I saw his dad play once,” Leon said. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I figured he was trying to strike up some kind of rapport with the kid.

“Was that before or after the Civil War?”

Leon smiled at that. So much for the rapport. “I think Bob Dylan was post-Civil War.”

“Look, I’m sorry, I just don’t know what you guys want from me.”

“Please sit down,” I said. “I’ll tell you why we’re here.”

He sat down on one of the chairs. Leon and I took the couch. It gave a little bit more than I expected. I grabbed Leon’s shoulder to keep myself from sinking.

“I know you live with Chris,” I said. “Are you his friend, too?”

“We get along okay. He’s a pain in the ass sometimes.”

“But you’re his friend.”

“Sure.”

“If you knew he was in trouble, would you help him if you could?”

“Of course.”

“Well, he’s in trouble right now. We just have to find him before he gets in any deeper.”

“I told you guys-”

“We’re not the police,” I said. “We’re not going to arrest him. If we find him, all we’ll do is bring him back safe.”

“Chris took the car and left, okay? He didn’t tell me where he was going. I swear to God, he didn’t say.”

The kid was looking me right in the eye. It sounded like he was telling the truth-and maybe pushing that particular truth a little too strongly.

“Chris didn’t say where he was going,” I said. “But you know.”

He looked away.

“Come on, guys,” he said.

“Russ, we don’t want Chris to go to jail,” Leon said. “We don’t want you to go to jail, either.”

“What are you talking about?”

Leon stood up. “I’m talking about aiding and abetting, Russ. I’m talking about complicit knowledge of Chris’s whereabouts when every police officer on both sides of the border is looking for him and his two uncles.”

Leon went over to the kid and looked down at him.

“Do you know Michael Grant or Marty Grant?”

“No, man.” He was starting to get a little rattled.

“You’ve never met either one of them?”

“I think you should leave now,” he said.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Leon said. “If you don’t know either of these men, why are you willing to go to jail for them?”

“You’re crazy.”

“Chris I can understand,” Leon said. He got even closer to the kid. “Chris is their nephew. He has to do something stupid to try to protect them.”