The Ravens (26 page)

THE
NEXT
DAY
they went into the gas station in Finland, where Richie Akkola himself was manning the counter.

“You quit?” he said.

“Yep,” replied Debbie.

“How am I going to handle this place and the store at the same time?” Akkola grumbled.

“I guess you’ll have to find a way,” she said.

“So you’ve found yourself a new guy who can support you and your old mother. Is that right?”

Lance swiftly took a step forward, but the counter blocked his way.

“Well, you can have her,” Akkola went on. “Be my guest. Let me tell you what kind of dame she is.”

Before he could say another word, Lance jumped up so he was sitting on the counter. Then he swung his legs over the other side. Akkola started for the back door, but he wasn’t fast enough, and Lance managed to grab the back of his jacket collar.

“You fucking Finn!” he shouted.

Akkola flailed his arms about, trying to ram his elbow into his assailant, but he was a lightweight of a man and pushing seventy. After a brief scuffle, Lance got him turned around and delivered an uppercut that sent the old man crashing into the magazine rack. Richie collapsed onto the floor and lay there, partially buried under an avalanche of automotive and gun magazines.
Lance looked around for a wrench, a tire iron, anything he could use to make mincemeat of the bastard once and for all. But he caught sight of Debbie, who had raised her hand to her mouth in surprise while at the same time she shook with laughter. And then he realized what he’d done. The area behind the counter looked like a war zone.

“Oi,” he exclaimed, which made Debbie double over with laughter.

This time he didn’t leap over the counter but instead walked to the end where there was a clear passageway out.

“What’s so funny?” he said with a stern expression.

Strange slurping noises were coming from behind the counter.

“Didn’t you see that he lost his dentures?” gasped Debbie.

They went over to the counter and peered down at the man who was slowly getting up on all fours. Debbie couldn’t stop laughing.

“If you report this,” said Lance, pointing a threatening finger at Akkola, “I’ll make sure you never get help from the police again. Somebody can rob you blind and burn down your house and hang your cat, but not a single officer will ever lift a finger to come to your aid. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

Akkola merely grunted as he fumbled for his dentures, which were lying on top of a hunting magazine.

LANCE
PAUSED
in the entrance to the pub at Fitger’s Brewhouse and looked at Chrissy, who was sitting alone at a corner table with a glass of what looked like Coke in front of her. She was wearing her usual black Goth coat, leaning back in her chair with her arms hanging limply at her sides, her eyes fixed on the table. Her face had a pallid glow in the dim light.

As Lance went inside, she looked up and caught sight of him.

“Are you living here now, or what?” he said, sitting down.

“Here?” asked Chrissy in surprise.

“In Duluth.”

“Nah.”

“Are you still going to school?”

“Not really.”

Lance ordered a Diet Coke from the same waiter who had asked them to leave the last time they were there.

“Been home?” he asked when the waiter was gone.

“Since when?”

“Two days ago, at the Kozy.”

“Don’t think so.”

Lance waited to say anything more until after the waiter brought his Coke.

“The trial starts on Monday,” he said then. “Lenny Diver is going to get a life sentence. Do you still think somebody else should be serving that time?”

Chrissy used the tip of her tongue to moisten her winter-dry lips.

“Yes. The person who actually did it,” she said.

“If Lenny didn’t do it, then it had to be you,” said Lance.

“What?”

Chrissy’s face was filled with fear.

“As you know, I’ve been working on the case in secret,” he said. “Yesterday I got a look at the murder weapon for the first time. And let me tell you, that was a surprise.”

Her eyes shifted uneasily.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve seen Andy swing that bat,” he went on. “But there it was, lying on the table in front of me. The murder weapon. His initials that he carved into the wood so many years ago . . . a V-shaped gouge from the time I threw down the bat and it hit a rock . . . They were all there.”

He gave his niece an expectant look. She was nervously fiddling with a strand of hair.

“Do you think you’ll be able to do the time?”

“You need to be very careful what you say,” Chrissy told him, but she was only a seventeen-year-old girl, venturing out on ice that got thinner with every word she spoke.

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s a serious thing to accuse someone of—”

“Did you know Lenny Diver’s prints weren’t the only ones they found on the baseball bat?” Lance interrupted her. “They just never checked them out after finding Lenny’s. I assume you’d be willing to give your fingerprints to the FBI, so they could compare them to the prints on the murder weapon. Right?”

Chrissy, who now looked even paler than usual, kept her eyes fixed on the table. It was for her sake that Andy had lied to Lance at the ranger station right after the murder was discovered. He did it to keep his daughter’s drug use and her relationship with Lenny Diver from becoming known. And that was when Lance’s suspicions had taken hold, because he knew his brother was lying.

“I know that you were there and that Andy showed up. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Chrissy raised her eyes and scowled.

“Everything?”

“From the very beginning. And the truth this time. Okay?”

She sighed.

“I hadn’t taken anything since Easter,” she began. “That was hard enough, but the worst part was that they refused to let me see Lenny. Mom picked me up at school every day, as if I were a fucking kindergartener. But we talked on the phone, and finally we agreed that I’d try to get permission to stay overnight with a girlfriend in Duluth—Jennifer. She knew about Lenny and me and was willing to help us.”

“Is that the same girlfriend who was your standin at the drama class?” asked Lance.

“No, that was someone else. Jesus, did you hear about that too?”

“Just tell me what happened,” he said.

“First I had to convince Mom that I deserved to go and that everything would be fine. And after that she had to persuade Dad. That’s how it’s always been. But finally they said yes. It was summer vacation and everything. I think they felt sorry for me.”

“Who is this Jennifer?”

“Jennifer Rawlins. Just a girl I know from high school.”

“If she lives in Duluth, she wouldn’t be going to school in Two Harbors.”

“There was some trouble at Central High, so her parents decided it would be best if she switched schools.”

“So when did she come over to pick you up?”

“I think it was around eight,” said Chrissy. “Mom and Dad said hi to her, and then we got in the car and supposedly headed for Duluth. But we just drove in a big arc around Two Harbors and over to Betty’s Pies, where Lenny was waiting. I haven’t seen Jennifer since. I called her a couple of times, but she didn’t want to talk. Maybe she suspected something. But even if she did, I don’t think she’s said anything.”

“What happened at Betty’s Pies?” he asked.

Every detail she could tell him was part of the picture he’d been chasing for nearly half a year. His whole life had been centered on that night: all the comings and goings, car trips, phone calls, lies.

“That’s where I finally got to see Lenny again,” said Chrissy.

“The love of your life?”

“Yes, he is. He was wearing his hair in two long braids. I’d only seen him do that once before, and that was the very first time we met.”

“How did you two meet?”

“At a poetry reading in Duluth.”

“Christ,” said Lance, surprised.

“You wouldn’t have thought that, huh?”

“As you no doubt already know, I visited Diver in jail. He surprised me by quoting Longfellow.”

Chrissy smiled sadly.

“That sounds like Lenny,” she said.

“So for that poetry reading he’d braided his hair?”

“Yeah. But never after that. Not until that night, as if he knew it might be the last time . . .”

“How did Andy know that you were with Diver?” asked Lance.

“It turned out he knew who Jennifer was. Her father sells snowmobiles, or something, and Dad had seen her at his store. So when she picked me up that night, he recognized her. But he didn’t say anything. That jerk.”

“Instead he called her father to find out if you were really there?”

“Uh-huh. But Jennifer’s little sister picked up the phone. She was home alone. I don’t think her parents ever found out about any of this. But Dad knew what it meant.”

“And then you met at Betty’s Pies . . .”

“We met
outside
Betty’s Pies, in the parking lot. Lenny doesn’t like going in places like that. Family places.”

“I guess not. So when you met there, did he bring any drugs?”

“Uh-huh,” she said reluctantly.

“But you didn’t take any that night, since you’d been clean since Easter. Right?” said Lance.

“Well, not at first. Lenny was already high when I met him, but he didn’t hassle me about taking anything. He never did. It wasn’t like he forced me, if that’s what you’re thinking. Sometimes he even warned me about doing drugs.”

“If that’s the case, then how did you usually get the stuff?” asked Lance.

Chrissy didn’t reply, and he hadn’t expected her to. He knew all about how guys like Lenny Diver operated with their young girlfriends. They never pressured them into anything; they were just there, always on hand whenever the urge hit. Since Chrissy didn’t look like she was going to answer his question, Lance went on.

“After the two of you met there, did you just drive around, or what?”

“That’s what we always did,” she said.

“And you got high together. That night, I mean.”

“After a while, yeah. First it was just Lenny . . . He didn’t want me to . . . But then he decided to let me.”

“Meth?”

“Yeah.”

“You know it makes your teeth fall out, don’t you?” said Lance.

Chrissy didn’t reply.

“What time do you think it was when you drove down to the parking lot near the cross?” he asked.

“God, that’s so long ago.”

“How long do you think it took from the time you parked to when Andy showed up?”

“Maybe half an hour,” she guessed.

“So you drove down there around nine thirty. Do you think he knew the two of you were there?”

“No, but you said yourself that it’s one of the first places anyone would go.”

Lance thought about the nights he and Debbie had sat in that same parking lot. He’d been so in love! A sweetness in his blood flowing through his whole body. Was that what Chrissy had felt too? But possibly with an even greater intensity, since she was high?

“Tell me what happened after Andy arrived,” he said.

“Suddenly he was standing there with that fucking baseball bat. Looking insane. But also ridiculous. Lenny could have, like, crushed him with one hand behind his back. Jesus! My dad! He
started screaming and swinging the bat around, slamming it onto the hood of the car. Lenny got out and tried to calm him down, but it didn’t do any good. Dad shouted at him, said he was going to ruin me, blah, blah, blah. Then Dad opened the door and yanked me out of the car. When I tried to get away, he punched me so hard I landed flat on my face on the ground.”

“He did what?” exclaimed Lance.

“What else could he do?”

“Couldn’t he have . . .”

“Talked to me?” she said. “I’m afraid that doesn’t work so good when somebody’s high on meth.”

“Good Lord. So how did Diver react?”

“He didn’t do anything. I lay there with my scarf pressed to my face and blood pouring out of my nose and mouth. Suddenly Dad seemed to realize that Lenny wasn’t going to get involved. He turned his back on him and came over to me. He was still holding the bat in his hand, and I was so scared and high that I thought he was going to beat me to death. But he just tore the scarf out of my hands and threw it away. Then he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me over to his car.”

“What happened to the scarf?” asked Lance.

“I have no idea.”

“The police didn’t find it, at any rate.”

“Maybe Lenny took it,” she said hesitantly.

“Why didn’t he intervene when Andy . . . hit you?”

“He says he didn’t want to make me fatherless.”

“So you’ve talked to him since the murder?”

“A couple of times on the phone.”

“Was that when you decided to get Mist and King to try and put a scare into me?”

Chrissy hid her face in her hands and groaned.

“I can have you sent to prison if I want to,” said Lance harshly.

His niece merely nodded, her face still covered.

“So Andy just drove away with you in his car? Is that it?” he continued in a somewhat gentler tone of voice.

“Uh-huh,” she sniffled, wiping away tears and snot. “But first he threatened Lenny, said he was going to come back with a whole gang and beat the shit out of him.”

“Did you and Andy go to the cabin?”

“Yes.”

“Did you take with you the latest issue of something called
Darkside
?”

“Yeah. It was in my purse. Lenny had bought it for me. How did . . . ?”

“Just forget it. What did you do at the cabin?”

“We had a big fight. Dad tied me to a chair and made me stay there all night. He wouldn’t even let me go to the bathroom. I peed on myself, sitting there like that. In the morning he was listening to the news on the old transistor radio, when they said that—”

“Yeah. I was the one who found the body,” said Lance.

He pictured Georg Lofthus’s friend, who had been sitting at the base of Baraga’s Cross, naked and bloody. Suddenly the man had looked up and said something in a foreign language, yet Lance had recognized the sound. He didn’t know many Norwegian words, but the naked man had said one of them. A single word had surfaced from the incomprehensible muttering, a word from his Norwegian American childhood.
Kjærlighet.
That was what the man had said. And he repeated it in English.
Love.
Now Lance saw how right he’d been. It was love this whole thing had centered on, from the very beginning. The figure of two people holding hands.

“Uncle Lance?” said Chrissy, her voice thick with tears.

“Yeah?”

“You once talked about a gay guy who had something to do with Clayton Miller when you were in high school. You said he drove down to the cross on that night, just like Dad did.”

For a moment neither of them spoke. Lance could hear every breath his niece took.

“So who was that guy?” she asked.

“Just somebody I made up.”

Chrissy uttered a little sound. Maybe she said “thanks,” but he couldn’t be sure.

“What does Lenny Diver say about what happened?” asked Lance.

His niece took in a deep breath and then let it out.

“He says he was wandering around in the woods, high as a kite, and when he came back to the parking lot the baseball bat was gone. He thinks somebody killed the Norwegian and then hid the bat in his car afterward. And it could have happened like that, since his car wasn’t locked.”

“But his fingerprints were on the bat,” Lance pointed out.

“Yeah, but he picked up the bat after Dad and I left. That’s what he says, anyway. He was angry and swung it around a few times. Just in the air.”

“And the woman in Grand Marais?” said Lance.

“He would have been picked up as a suspect right away if he’d said that he was anywhere near the cross that night. A sky-high Ojibwe, with braids and everything. So he had to come up with a story. At least that’s what he told me.”

Lance was about to say something, but instead he just sat there, his lips slightly parted as he stared at the snow drifting over the parking lot. At a moment like this, it was important to keep very still and just wait for his mind, all on its own, to find the right door and open it. When that happened, and the door opened, he felt as if someone had blown ice-cold air at the back of his neck, making all the little hairs stand on end.