Steve Hamilton - A Cold Day in Paradise

“What, Rose has a stand-in doing his jail time?”

“I know it sounds crazy,” I said. “It’s just that note…

Some of the things he said in that note…”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Can we file a habeas corpus or something?”

“You file a writ of habeas corpus if you think somebody’s being illegally detained,” he said. “I don’t think you could file one just because you want to make sure a man is really who they say he is.”

“We can contact him, can’t we? Can I talk to him on the phone?”

“Maybe,” he said. “He’d probably have to agree to it.”

“Can you try?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “If you really want me to.”

“Yes, I do. Just to make sure.”

“I think you should go home,” he said. “You look awful.”

“I will,” I said. “Although I think I should stop in at the Fultons’ first. You said you talked to Edwin? How are they doing?”

“They’re just worried about you. You ran out of there last night after Maven called.”

“I asked them to think about leaving the area for a while. You know, just go back downstate until this thing is over. Do you think it would do any good if they heard it from you, too?”

“I told them the same thing,” he said.

“No go?”

“They’re staying put, Alex. I think they just don’t want to leave you here to face this by yourself.”

“That’s crazy,” I said. “Hey, Mrs. Fulton is probably expecting me to spend the night there again. But I have to be at the cabin. Do you know somebody else who can stay there?”

“Not off the top of my head, no.”

“How about your old investigator, Leon Prudell?”

“Oh God,” he said. “I’d rather do it myself.”

“Do you have a gun?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said. “I’ve got a nice little Beretta.”

I was surprised to hear that. I wouldn’t have expected Lane Uttley to own a gun. Although if he did have one, it figured it would have to be an expensive little Italian import. “Can you shoot?”

“I’ve been to the range with it a couple times,” he said. “I’m not a bad shot.”

“Sounds like you’re talking yourself into it,” I said. “It could be worse. It’s a nice house, and Mrs. Fulton will make you dinner. You just sleep on the couch and keep half an ear open.”

“What happens if he shows up?” he said. “What if he comes into the house?”

“That’s easy,” I said. “You kill him.”

It was another calm night, the November winds mysteriously absent. I figured that was a good thing. I would be able to hear him outside if he came to my door.

The policeman had stopped by in his unmarked vehicle to set up the watch. I felt bad for the guy, having to sit there all night in his car. I remembered having to do that myself in Detroit.

I plugged in the phone unit Maven had given me. Any incoming calls would automatically trigger a trace record, and the recorder would turn on. All I had to do was pick up the phone and talk. If it was the same guy and he wanted to know what I thought of his latest murder, I would play along, get him to tell me all about it. That was the plan, at least.

The cop gave me a walkie-talkie, too. I called him as soon as he had taken up his position on the logging road, just around the bend. “I hear you loud and clear, Mr. McKnight,” he said. “If anyone shows up, I should be able to see him from here. But give me a yell on this thing just in case you hear anything.”

“You got it,” I said. “I hope they’re paying you double overtime for this.” I signed off and put the walkie-talkie and my revolver on the table next to my bed. All I could do now was wait.

I lay on the bed, listening to the silence. It felt like a long time. I looked at the clock. It wasn’t even eleven yet.

And then the phone rang. I sat up and grabbed the gun.

Easy, Alex. For God’s sake.

I heard the machine click on automatically. The number would be traced before I even answered it. And the faint whirring sound meant that the tape recording had already started.

I picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

“Alex, it’s me, Lane. I’m at the Fultons’ house. We had a nice dinner, sorry you couldn’t be here. You were right, Mrs. Fulton is a great cook.”

“Say hello to her for me,” I said.

“I will. Listen, I just wanted to make sure you were all right over there. Is everything set up?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Good. Okay, I’ll get off the phone then. Hey, by the way, I tried calling the prison today. They were having a lockdown. There was some sort of disturbance on Rose’s block. The guy sounded like it happens once a week. Anyway, I couldn’t get through to Rose. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem, Alex. You call me if anything happens, okay?”

“You got it.”

“I mean, call the police first, of course. Ha! Then call me.

“Of course,” I said.

“All right, I’m off to guard the palace. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

I lay back down on the bed. The gun was still in my hand. I looked at it closely, checked that it was loaded. It looked exactly like the gun I once carried as a policeman. I suppose that’s why Lane bought it. He figured I’d be accustomed to a service revolver. But holding it in my hand only made me think of one thing. Why didn’t I go for my gun right away? Could I have gotten it out of the holster in time? Would he have shot me first instead? Maybe I’d be dead now and Franklin would still be alive. Would that be such a bad thing?

The phone rang again. The machine turned on. Another trace, another recording. I answered it.

“Mr. McKnight? This is Theodora Fulton.”

“Mrs. Fulton,” I said. “Is everything all right over there?”

“For the moment, yes. Although I have to say, I would feel much safer if you were here.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I said. “Lane is a good man.”

“He’s Edwin’s lawyer, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is, ma’am.”

“Do they allow lawyers to carry guns?”

“Uh… sure. Of course,” I said. “Why not?”

“It doesn’t seem right to me. Lawyers are dangerous enough without being armed, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ah, you’re being funny now, Mrs. Fulton.”

“Please forgive me,” she said. “I just had to hear your voice and to say good night to you, Alex… You don’t think that person will show up here, do you?”

“No,” I said. “I really don’t think so.”

“All right, Alex. Do take care of yourself. Good night.”

I walked around the cabin for a while, stood looking out each window into the night. I picked up the walkie-talkie and hit the button. “You okay out there?”

“No problem,” he said. “I’m gonna just step out of the car a second to water the bushes, but don’t worry, I’ll have the radio with me at all times.”

I signed off and put the unit back on the table. I checked the gun again. Alex, you are going to drive yourself fucking insane before this night is over.

The phone rang again. It was almost midnight. I picked it up.

“Alex, it’s me, Edwin.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Everything’s fine. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Edwin, for God’s sake. Uttley already called, and so did your mother.”

“You’re kidding me. I didn’t hear them. I was in the Jacuzzi.”

“I’m fine, Edwin.”

“You should try this Jacuzzi sometime,” he said. “It really helps you to relax.”

“I can’t imagine what relaxed feels like right now,” I said. Truth was, I had been in his Jacuzzi. It was the one time I had actually spent the night over there with Sylvia, when Edwin had gone down to Detroit to accept some kind of humanitarian award. All the other times were just quick exchanges in the afternoon, or maybe a stolen hour in the night when we were sure he was out at the casinos. Just thinking about it made me feel bad again. It was guilt, yes. But also the horrible realization that I would do it again if I had the chance. And the equally horrible realization that I wouldn’t get the chance.