Brian Freeman: The Cold Nowhere

The guard swore under his breath. He looked like a tackle on the UMD football team, with a blond crew cut, no neck, and a huge torso bulked with muscle, not fat. He was young, probably not even twenty years old. He wore red nylon shorts despite the cold morning, holey sneakers, and a gray sweatshirt with a logo advertising Lowball Lenny’s used cars.

‘What’s your name?’ Stride asked.

‘Marcus,’ the kid told him.

‘You been here all night, Marcus?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Tell me about the party.’

‘I don’t know anything about that. They hired me to make sure nobody crashed. I stayed down here. All the fun was upstairs.’

‘Who hired you?’ Stride asked.

Marcus pointed to his sweatshirt. ‘Lowball Lenny. You know, Leonard Keck. The car guy. This was some big celebration for his top salesmen. He brought them in from around the state.’

‘Was Lenny here himself?’

‘Yeah, but he left early. He was gone by eleven o’clock.’

‘You saw him leave?’

‘He walked right past me down the steps. Had his F-150 parked across the street.’

Stride wasn’t surprised to hear Leonard Keck’s name in connection with the party. Lenny was one of the richest men in the northland, thanks to his string of Ford dealerships and his commercial real estate developments around the state. He’d served on the Duluth City Council for a decade. He was also a close personal friend of Stride’s boss, Kyle Kinnick, the Chief of Police. The combination of money and political power, and a relationship with K-2, made Lenny believe he was bullet-proof.

‘Let me guess,’ Stride said. ‘The girls arrived later.’

‘Girls?’

Stride was getting impatient. ‘Marcus, you play for the Bulldogs, right?’

‘I do, that’s right.’

‘Your parents won’t be too happy if your scholarship gets yanked, but that’s what happens when you lie to the police. Understand? So don’t play dumb with me. I know there were girls here.’

Marcus’s face reddened. ‘Okay, yeah, about a dozen girls showed up before midnight. Some guy brought them in a van.’

‘Who?’

‘He was a little guy, skinny, with Hitler hair. Lots of cologne.’

Stride nodded. The description sounded like Curt Dickes.

‘I’m interested in one girl in particular. Small, Hispanic, brown hair and eyes, very attractive.’

‘Yeah, I remember a girl like that,’ Marcus admitted. ‘She was hard to miss.’

‘When did she leave?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t see her.’

‘Were you here all night?’ Stride asked.

‘Well, I grabbed a nap after midnight,’ Marcus admitted. ‘I figured all the guys were busy with the girls upstairs, and I had a tough practice yesterday.’

‘Where’d you go?’

‘There are beds in the crew quarters on the stern. The party was on the other end.’

‘Did you see or hear anything?’

‘Nah, I crashed. I sleep like the dead. I set my phone to get up in twenty minutes, but I blew through the alarm. I was gone for an hour.’ He looked nervous. ‘Don’t tell anybody, okay?’

‘I better not find out you were with one of the girls, Marcus,’ Stride said.

The kid shook his head. ‘I wasn’t. No way. I got a girlfriend, sir, and she’d rip me a new one if I messed around.’

‘Good.’

Stride left Marcus and took the stairs to the main deck. He stood alone outside, surrounded by the long expanse of red steel. The Frederick was small compared to the thousand-foot freighters that now traversed the Great Lakes, but it was still an imposing boat. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and followed the starboard railing toward the fantail, where Cat said she’d run from her pursuer. Puddles of melted snow gathered on the metal deck. Cold wind swirled off the lake.

At the stern, where the massive anchor chain slipped into the water, he saw no ice choking the channel, but the water temperature could be no more than forty degrees. He imagined Cat throwing herself toward the canal. He knew what that long second felt like before the frigid impact. He’d gone off the side of the Blatnik Bridge between Duluth and Superior the previous year during a police chase and nearly died of the fall. Panic attacks had dogged him for months. Even now, the height made him dizzy.

He examined the channel. Near the pedestrian bridge, he spotted something caught on one of the wooden posts where pleasure boats tied up during the summer. It swished and eddied with the movement of the waves. When he squinted, he saw what looked like flowers opening and closing on a sodden mass of fabric. It looked like a girl’s dress.

Cat’s dress. She’d been in the water, just like she said.

Stride backtracked the length of the boat. He reached the multistory superstructure of the bridge, and the door to the guest quarters was open. He heard laughter somewhere above him. He followed two flights of steps to an elegant half-moon-shaped lounge. He found half a dozen men inside, drinking whiskey from crystal tumblers and playing cards. Once upon a time, rich men had stayed here. Steel company presidents. Army generals. Congressmen. Now boys who made too much money came here to pretend to be their fathers.

One of the men had a gauze pad taped to his forehead under messy blond bangs. The man, who was well dressed and in his mid-thirties, sprang up as Stride walked in. ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Police,’ Stride said.

The laughter stopped, like switching off a record player. The car dealers clamped their mouths shut in nervous silence. The man with the bandage adopted a showroom face. He grinned and finished his drink, as if the arrival of a cop were nothing more than a chance to make a sale.

‘Always a pleasure to meet one of Duluth’s finest,’ he said. ‘How can we help you?’

Stride pointed a finger at the man. ‘Let’s talk.’

The man with the bangs spread his arms wide, pleasant and helpful. ‘Sure, whatever. Let’s get some fresh air. Another gorgeous Duluth morning out there. Guys, don’t look at my cards.’

They exited the lounge onto the landing of the upper deck. The car salesman leaned his elbows on the white railing and lit a cigarette. ‘So what’s up, Officer?’ he asked. ‘Why the little visit?’

‘Lieutenant,’ Stride corrected him. ‘I hear there was a party on the boat last night.’

He saw a flicker of concern in the man’s easygoing face. It wasn’t hard to imagine what he was thinking. The girl talked . He was debating in his head whether to shut up, lie, or confess.

‘Yes, it’s our annual sales award banquet,’ the man said, with a false air of surprise. ‘I’m the top salesman at Keck Ford in Warroad. Conrad Carter, that’s me. You need a new vehicle, Lieutenant?’

‘Where’d you get that wound on your forehead?’ Stride asked, pointing at the bandage.

‘I slipped. Banged my head. Footing’s pretty treacherous on this old boat.’

‘I heard that a girl hit you,’ Stride said.

‘Yeah? Where did you hear that?’

‘She told me.’

‘Someone told you that? No, it’s not true. Besides, if someone knocked me in the head, that would make me a victim, wouldn’t it? I’d be the one pressing charges, and I’m not. So what’s the problem?’

‘She was sixteen,’ Stride said.

The car salesman’s face froze in dismay. ‘Sixteen? Really? Well, you’ve definitely been getting some bad information, Lieutenant.’

‘I know there were girls here last night, Mr. Carter,’ Stride said.

‘Okay, sure, some ladies decided to join us. What’s a party without female companionship?’

‘Paid companionship?’

Conrad blew smoke from his mouth and crossed his heart with spread fingers. ‘You mean prostitutes? No, no, no, Lieutenant. There was no money changing hands here. Definitely not. If you have good-looking guys and free booze, you can always find women who like to have fun.’