Brian Freeman - The Cold Nowhere

‘Where did the girls come from?’ Stride asked. ‘Who knew they were going to be here?’

‘I really have no idea. Party planning’s not my thing. Maybe someone spread the word at the bars downtown. Maybe there was a flier on the bulletin board at UMD. Word travels fast.’

‘Did you talk to Curt Dickes?’

Conrad smiled. ‘Curt who?’

‘He brought the girls.’

‘I wouldn’t know anything about that.’

‘So who would?’ Stride asked. ‘Are you saying Mr. Keck arranged everything? I’ll be happy to tell him you said so.’

‘That’s not what I mean,’ Conrad replied quickly. ‘Don’t put words in my mouth.’

‘Then let’s try this again. Who arranged for the girls?’

Conrad drummed his fingers on the railing. He squinted over Stride’s shoulder at the lake. ‘You know, Lieutenant, I think I’ve said enough.’

‘You know which girl I’m talking about,’ Stride said. ‘Young, pretty, Hispanic. She was here. She hit you.’

‘If this girl was here, and she was under-age, then she faked her way on board. Nobody wants kids at a party like this. It kills the mood, you know? As for me, I never saw her and I never touched her.’

‘You never solicited anal sex from her? Because she says you did, and that’s when she knocked you out with her boot. Right there, on your forehead.’

Conrad threw his cigarette on the deck and stamped it under his foot. ‘I told you we’re done, Lieutenant,’ he said coldly.

‘Someone was waiting for this girl outside the ship, Mr. Carter. She says he tried to kill her.’

‘ Kill her?’ he said. ‘That sounds pretty crazy to me.’

‘Did you see or hear anything?’

‘No, I didn’t, and I think you better consider the source. A sixteen-year-old girl crashes a party to get some free drinks? And then starts throwing around wild accusations? If you ask me, she’s running some kind of scam.’

‘A scam?’

Conrad gestured toward the men in the lounge. ‘That’s right. My friends and I, we’re successful, we’ve got money. I don’t need to tell you how much money Lowball has. A street girl looks at that and thinks, “How can I get some of that for me?” So maybe she figures she can blackmail somebody.’

‘Is that what happened?’ Stride asked.

‘Nothing happened, Lieutenant,’ Conrad replied. ‘Nothing at all. I already told you. Whoever this girl is, she’s a liar. You can’t trust a word she says.’

As Stride descended into the cargo holds, his boots made a hollow echo on the iron grid of the stairwell. Wire-encased lights strung along the hull of the ship illuminated the huge space. Gray riveted walls rose to the high ceilings above him, and moisture squeezed through the hatches overhead and dripped to the steel floor like music. He smelled closed-in dankness that had gathered over the winter months.

He’d been on ships like this throughout his life. Access to international waters through the Great Lakes and the St. Lawrence Seaway sometimes meant that smugglers tried to ferry illegal cargo via the giant freighters. Drugs. Weapons. Even people — usually desperate immigrants bought and sold by human traffickers. Over the years, investigations in tandem with the FBI and Homeland Security had taken him onto the water many times.

His own experience with the ore boats went back to his childhood. His father had worked as a seaman and had often taken Stride aboard with him when he was in port. Stride had been five years old the first time, awed by the boat’s vast size. The ships had never completely lost their magic for him. There were days when Stride thought he would have been happier here on the boats than he was with the police. Then again, there were also days when he remembered what the lake had taken from him. A December wave on Superior had snatched his father into the sea, leaving him and his mother alone. The loss had broken his mother’s spirit, and for himself, it had been the first loss of many to follow. That was one of the reasons he lived on the Point, to be closer to the ghosts of Superior.

From nowhere, a rat, alarmed by his presence, scampered into a pile of wooden beams. He had no idea how a rat could cross from the land to the ship, but rats were smart. They always found a way, and there were plenty of hiding places down here. He saw plywood walls throughout the massive hold that had been used to create a Halloween maze for children. Posters about Minnesota shipping and mining were covered in plastic and stacked in piles, ready to be unveiled for the tourist season. Tools and machines lay scattered like debris.

In the light, he could see to make his way, but for Cat, being here in total blackness would have been terrifying.

She’d been here. Just like she said.

Directly in his path, he saw the yellow forklift where she’d hidden. He stepped through standing water to get a closer look, and in one of the puddles he spotted a metallic glint reflecting off the light overhead. He squatted and used two fingers to extract a six-inch knife with an onyx handle from the water. He held it up by the hilt and examined it, then deposited it in a plastic evidence bag from his pocket.

Everything on the boat backed up Cat’s story, despite Conrad Carter’s denials. She’d struck the man who wanted to violate her. She’d dropped a knife in the cargo hold as she charged her pursuer, and then she’d fled into the water to escape.

He also thought: A knife .

This was the second time he’d found a knife connected to Cat. When he’d confronted her about taking a knife from his kitchen, she said it was for protection. In the places she went, in the things she did, her life was always at risk. That was true, but it still felt wrong to him. He didn’t like the idea of Cat obsessing over knives. She should have been terrified of knives; she should have associated them with blood and evil. She should never have wanted to hold one in her hands.

Ten years ago, her father had stabbed her mother to death while Cat hid in the frozen night outside.

*

‘So how are you?’ Dory asked.

Cat didn’t answer. Her mind was reeling. She smelled the acrid smoke of Dory’s cigarette. Her aunt smoked cheap Indian cigarettes from Arkansas. They were strong, like road tar. She hadn’t smoked in weeks, but she wanted one between her lips now. ‘Can you spare a cig?’

Dory looked at her strangely, but she thwacked the pack on her palm. The ivory tip of one of the cigarettes nudged out of the box. Cat slid it into her hand and rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. She put the unlit cigarette in her mouth, and her fingers trembled. Dory offered her a match, but Cat shook her head.

‘What is it?’ Dory asked. ‘What’s going on?’

Cat didn’t want to say anything. Not now. Not to Dory. ‘Nothing.’

‘You know, you could have called me. I would have come to get you. I’m here for you, baby.’

‘I didn’t want to put you in the middle of this.’

‘The middle of what?’

Cat shrugged. ‘Whatever’s happening to me. If somebody keeps coming after me, who knows, maybe they go after you, too. I don’t want that.’

Dory looked away. Cat could see in her aunt’s face that she didn’t believe her. It was drugs. Or it was a lie. ‘You and me, we don’t need anybody’s help,’ Dory said. ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you. Didn’t I promise you that?’

‘Not this time.’

Dory bit her lip, annoyed. Cat didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, but she had open eyes about her aunt. Dory wasn’t strong. She was in over her head. She was like a figurine riddled with cracks, ready to break apart if the ground shook under her feet.

‘Who is this guy you’re afraid of?’ Dory asked.