Brian Freeman: The Burying Place

Leaning against the window frame, he looked out at the traffic on First Street and at the lake beyond the city buildings. Duluth was a city of struggle, of faded glory, of the new always colored by the old. It was small enough that you could wrap your arms around it and big enough that you could never quite hold it in your grasp. It was bitter cold, primitive, and intimidating, like an outpost on the border of the frontier.

He realized he had an advantage that Serena didn't. He knew where his home was. Home was here. Home was Duluth.

Stride sat down in his chair. He hadn't replaced it in years. It molded to his body the way old jeans did, moving when he moved. The three months he had spent away from this place felt like the longest, ugliest detour of his life. It had been a mistake to take refuge in a cabin in the woods; he should have followed his instincts and come back early. This was where he belonged.

'Welcome back, boss.'

He looked up and saw Maggie in his doorway. Her neck was bandaged, and she grimaced in pain as she came into his office, but she slid sideways into the chair in front of his desk the way she always did. It had been the same for more than a decade.

Boss, she said.

Was that how it was going to be? Partners, not lovers? He wondered if they could really stay that way. Or if either of them wanted it that way.

He pointed at the bandage. 'Shouldn't you be flat on your back right now?'

'Is that the way you want me?' she asked with a wink. She was serious but not serious. Joking but not joking. Things were already complicated.

'You're such a pain in the ass,' he said.

'Actually, that's the one place where I don't have any pain.'

He shook his head and looked away. Maggie read the soberness in his face and followed his eyes, which had wandered to the photograph of Serena.

'So?' she asked.

'She's gone.'

Maggie swore softly. 'I'm really, really sorry.'

'It's not your fault.'

'Yeah? Then why do I feel like it is?'

'Don't go there, Mags. It won't change anything.' After a moment, he added, 'Maybe things happen the way they do for a reason.'

'Or maybe things just suck on a completely random basis,' she replied. 'Did you think about that?'

'I'm trying not to think about it at all right now.'

She nodded. 'Understood.'

He dragged his eyes away from the photograph and changed the subject. 'Did you see the news? Kasey's lawyer is going to use an insanity defense. He claims the death of her child and the manipulation by Regan Conrad left her incapable of distinguishing right from wrong.' 'A jury just might buy it,' Maggie said.

'Do you think she was insane?'

'Don't you think so?'

'I think she kidnapped a baby and killed three people,' he said.

'Yeah, but she was also a mother who had to watch her child die.' Maggie added pointedly, 'We all have our breaking points.'

He didn't reply, but he thought to himself, yes, we do.

'What about Nieman?' he asked. 'What have you found out about him?'

'Nieman's a ghost,' she said. 'We're going to be unraveling his secrets for months. So far, we've linked him to murders in Colorado, Iowa, and New Mexico, but we still don't know exactly who he is or where he came from. The FBI is helping us put the pieces together.'

'Kasey's lawyer will claim that killing him was a public service,' he said.

'It was.' Maggie stared at Stride with her hair falling across her face. 'What now? Do you and I plead temporary insanity too?'

'Minus the temporary part,' he said.

'So do you want to get to work right away or do you want to do it on the desk first?' she asked.

Stride couldn't do anything but laugh. 'You're going to make sure this isn't easy for me, aren't you?'

'Damn right.'

'Are you done?'

'For now.'

'Then let's get to work,' he said.

Maggie pointed at a file folder on his desk. 'Remember that teenage boy who washed up from the lake last year? We called it suicide, and the parents said it was murder. We got some new evidence, and it looks like they might be right.'

'OK, I'll catch up with the file,' he said. 'We can go talk to them this morning.'

'You got it.' Maggie climbed out of the chair and headed for the door. He realized that nothing had changed, and nothing was the same.

'Hey,' he called after her.

She turned and looked back at him.

'I like your hair,' he told her.

Maggie grinned, pushed the blood-red bangs out of her eyes, and left.

Stride stared at the dusty oak surface and everything that crowded his desk. The silver letter opener, shaped like a knife. The stacks of yellow pads scribbled with notes. The clock ticking away the seconds, minutes, hours, and days. The crime files. His whole life.

He grabbed the case folder and pulled it toward him. As he did, his hand bumped against the silver letter opener and sent it tumbling to the floor. His eyes followed it. He tensed, waiting for the flashback to wash over him. His heart rate accelerated. He felt sweat on the back of his neck as he wondered how bad this one would be and how long he would be gone. But the attack never came. He didn't fall through the black night air toward the unforgiving water. The bridge was somewhere else, out on the lake, and he was still in his office.

Stride reached down and retrieved the letter opener and put it in his drawer. Then he put his feet on his desk and began to read.

Many people were helpful to me in writing this book. My thanks go first to Gail Foster, who has been my advance reader for several years and gave me her typically helpful and insightful comments on the early drafts of the manuscript.

In Duluth, Kim Homick helped me locate the ruined school that plays such an important role in the novel. Yes, there really is such a place, although I have 'sealed it off' for dramatic purposes. I've also changed the name and location so that the ruins aren't overrun with visitors. It really is a dangerous place. Don't go there. Also in Duluth, Pat and Bill Burns have been our hosts for several years at the Cottage on the Point (www.cottageonthepoint.com), where Stride lives in the books. We are very much indebted to them for their hospitality and friendship. In Grand Rapids, Randy McCarty helped me identify key locations for scenes in the book and was kind enough to take me and Marcia for a tour of Pokegama Lake.

One of my long-time readers, Migdalia (Micki) Colon, was kind enough to share her knowledge of Spanish for translating several lines. She also allowed me to borrow her lovely name for one of the characters.

Matt Davis and Paula Tjornhom Davis offered their advice on the manuscript, as did my wife of twenty-five years, Marcia. I'm always grateful for their objective and critical counsel (even if I occasionally grit my teeth at it).

Very special thanks also go to my agents, Ali Gunn, Deborah Schneider, and Diana Mackay, and my editors, Marion Donaldson and Jennifer Weis, as well as to the international editors, agents, and booksellers who are so wonderful in helping bring my books to readers in countries around the world.

Finally, I have to add my personal thanks to the people who add such joy to my life: my parents; my brother and his family; dear friends such as Barb and Jerry, Matt and Paula, and Keith and Katie; and my wife Marcia, who has been my partner, best friend, and biggest supporter for most of my life.

How to Contact Me.

You can send me email at brian@bfreemanbooks.com or join the mailing list at www.bfreemanbooks.com. Or you can find me on Facebook by clicking the Facebook link on my website. I write back to every reader and would love to hear from you.