The Ravens (Minnesota Trilogy)

by Vidar Sundstøl

  He didn’t know what else to say. If he suddenly claimed there was no danger because the evidence against Diver was actually rock solid, it would merely sound like he was lying to reassure her. Yet he also felt a growing annoyance at the way she talked about Lenny Diver. Okay, so he was a crook and a drug addict. But what if he was also the only person standing between her daughter and a long prison sentence?

  “Have you heard anything to indicate that Diver was physically abusive toward Chrissy?”

  Tammy shook her head.

  “Andy, on the other hand . . .”

  “Abusive and tender at the same time,” Tammy said. “That’s Andy in a nutshell.”

  She stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray and lit another.

  “Have you heard about Clayton Miller?” asked Lance.

  His sister-in-law frowned.

  “A guy that went to Central High with me and Andy. Now he’s a poet and some sort of professor.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Chrissy bought one of his books.”

  “Andy almost killed him once,” said Lance.

  She opened her eyes wide.

  “If I hadn’t stopped him, I think he would have been a murderer on that day.”

  “But why?”

  Lance hesitated.

  “I don’t know what provoked the situation,” he said at last. “Or at least I don’t remember anymore. It was so long ago. But Clayton Miller was . . . what shall I say? A slightly girlish boy. Not exactly a fighter. When I showed up, he was lying on the ground with a punctured lung, and Andy was heading for him with a baseball bat.”

  Tammy got up and ran to the bathroom, not pausing even to close the door behind her. Seconds later Lance heard the contents of her stomach pouring into the toilet with violent force. She continued to vomit, until it turned into dry heaves. Lance had an eerie feeling that he was right on the edge of something very dangerous. When the sounds coming from the bathroom finally ceased, he sat and listened for several minutes before he heard Tammy clear her throat and spit into the toilet a few times. After a moment, she flushed and then began brushing her teeth. He could hear her gargle with mouthwash, but he still noticed the faint smell of vomit when she came back into the living room.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  He looked up at her.

  “Maybe I should go.”

  “No, stay a little longer.”

  She touched his shoulder in passing as she went over to her place on the other side of the coffee table. She sat down, picked up her cigarette from the ashtray, and took a long drag.

  “Shit,” she said and laughed nervously.

  “Are you sick?”

  “No, but the thought of Andy with a baseball bat, just like . . . If Lenny Diver and my husband are just the same, what am I going to do?”

  “I don’t know who’s worse in this story,” said Lance.

  “Lenny Diver is worse,” said Tammy harshly. “Just the thought of that bastard as some kind of drug-addicted Indian brave, with those long braids of his . . . That a man like that could ruin my daughter’s life. I refuse to accept it,” she cried.

  “I know,” said Lance.

  “That’s why we have to stop him from getting acquitted. Don’t you see that? No matter what means we have to use. Chrissy is more important to you than your job, isn’t she, Lance?”

  “Of course, but . . .”

  “You’re her uncle,” Tammy insisted.

  “I know that.”

  “And Lenny Diver is a murderer who deserves to spend the rest of his life in prison.”

  Lance wondered whether she was really so convinced of Diver’s guilt, or whether she too suspected something that was much more horrifying.

  “I can’t give false testimony,” he said. “But I’ll do everything I can to find out what really happened at Baraga’s Cross that night.”

  “But we know what happened,” she said, sighing with resignation.

  “Yes, but I’m going to prove it,” Lance told her.

  Tammy briefly shook her head, giving him a look that he’d never seen from her before.

  “It’s going to be hours before Andy gets home from work,” she said then.

  She still smelled faintly of vomit, but oddly enough, Lance didn’t mind. He swallowed hard as she got up from the sofa and came over to him. Suddenly her hips were level with his face.

  “You know, Andy hasn’t . . .” she murmured as she stood looking down at him, but Lance didn’t dare raise his eyes because now those slender hands were unbuckling her belt right in front of him.

  “He doesn’t know how to appreciate . . .” she went on, but then stopped speaking as she swiftly, nimbly unfastened the five shiny buttons on her fly.

  A moment later she had wriggled her hips out of both her jeans and her panties and stood there with her dark crotch exposed. Two contradictory forces were struggling to overtake Lance. One wanted to get up out of the chair and leave the house as fast as possible. The other wanted to lean forward and bury his face in her.

  He knew which impulse was stronger.

  “Don’t you think Andy is stupid?” she whispered.

  Lance nodded.

  “Isn’t he stupid, not wanting this?”

  “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, leaning closer until his face was only inches from her body.

  “It’s yours now,” she whispered.

  Slowly he raised his hand to touch what Andy didn’t want.

  Tammy let out a series of shuddering breaths, as if she’d been holding them in for several minutes.

  “Come here,” she said, taking his hand.

  Lance stood up and Tammy pressed her head against him. He felt her warm breath on his throat.

  “Touch me again,” she whispered, guiding his hand between her legs. “It feels so good when you touch me.”

  I can still feel the touch of your hand.

  In a flash he saw himself and the whole situation as if from the outside, and he tried to wriggle out of his sister-in-law’s grasp.

  “No, Lance,” she said. “Please. I want you.”

  But he pulled away and fled to the front hall. As he desperately fumbled to put on his boots, she appeared in the doorway. She’d put her jeans back on. Lance was going to apologize for not staying, but that would only make matters worse. Tammy leaned against the door frame, looking at him with big, sad eyes. She didn’t seem calculating, just lonely.

  46

  A LITTLE LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER Lance was opening the door to the Kozy Bar. After his conversation with Tammy, he had called Chrissy. She answered the phone with a leaden-sounding voice and had agreed to meet him without even asking why.

  As soon as his eyes adjusted to the murky underground light, he saw that she was sitting in the darkest corner, at the same table where he had sat when they met several weeks ago. The only other customer was a gaunt old man sitting at the bar, who barely raised his eyes when Lance asked for a Diet Coke.

  An old Madonna video was flickering mutely on the TV screen up near the ceiling.

  “Hi,” Lance said, sitting down.

  His niece gave him a weary smile.

  “What exactly are you doing?” he asked her.

  She shrugged.

  “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

  “Are you back on the job?” she said in that same heavy-sounding voice, as if something were constricting her vocal cords.

  Lance shook his head.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” she asked.

  “I’m wondering why you’re behaving like this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Putting all kinds of things in your body.”

  Chrissy let her eyes fall shut, but Lance could still see a sliver of those brown irises. He reached out to grab her hand, which was lying on the table, but she pulled away.

  “His trial is going to start soon,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “It’s guaranteed he’ll be convicted.”


  “He’s innocent,” she murmured.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because somebody saw the murderer,” she said. “A man holding a bloody baseball bat. I already told you.”

  “There was never any man with a bloody baseball bat on the side of the road outside Finland,” said Lance. “There was never a party at the cabin on Lost Lake either. At least, not on that night.”

  “But you said you knew who did it,” said Chrissy. “Somebody you went to school with. A gay guy, wasn’t it?”

  “You know as well as I do that I was wrong,” he said.

  Chrissy looked down at her lap.

  “So how can you know Lenny Diver is innocent?” Lance asked again.

  His niece looked like she was going to cry.

  “Don’t you see I’m being torn apart?” she whimpered.

  “Yes, I do. But you’re the only one who can do something about it.”

  “No, you have to help me, Uncle Lance. You have to make sure he goes free.”

  “Not unless the real murderer takes his place in prison,” said Lance harshly.

  Chrissy leaned forward and hid her face in her arms on the table. Suddenly she looked like a child again. Hesitantly, Lance reached out to stroke her hair. He could see the blond roots amid all that black.

  “Don’t you think the guilty party should surrender?” he asked.

  She looked up from the table.

  “Maybe the guilty person is suffering even more than Lenny,” she said.

  “So the two of you are on a first-name basis?”

  “Not really.”

  “Chrissy . . . I know all about you and Lenny Diver. That he was your boyfriend. Maybe he still is, for all I know. And that he used to get you drugs.”

  She sat up and looked at him in disbelief. Then it dawned on her.

  “Did Mom tell you that?” she asked.

  Lance nodded.

  “That bitch! She’s never wanted me to have anything, not even a boyfriend. She just wants me to have the same miserable life she has. But I’d rather die. She hates Lenny so much it scares me. Just because he’s an Indian.”

  “So it’s not because he’s a criminal who’s been supplying her underage daughter with drugs?”

  “No. It’s because he’s everything they’re not.”

  “I think you should be glad your parents are who they are,” said Lance.

  Chrissy looked at him with an intense bitterness he’d never seen from her before.

  “They’re nothing,” she said coldly. “And that’s why I’m going to be nothing too.”

  “You’re not your parents,” said Lance. “Part of you is uniquely you, and in that sense, you’re in a better position than most people.”

  “But if I’m going to make something of myself, I need to get out of Two Harbors.”

  “Yeah. I can see that.”

  “And away from everything that has to do with this case.”

  She looked at Lance.

  “Away from the murder case?” he said.

  “I have to. Otherwise I have no future. You see that, don’t you, Uncle Lance?”

  They sat there, staring at each other for what seemed to Lance like several minutes, but was probably only seconds.

  “Don’t you?” she pleaded.

  Lance got up without replying.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said. “Shall I drive you home?”

  “No, I’m going to stay here for a while,” said Chrissy.

  He was about to tell her what he thought about an underage girl hanging out at the Kozy Bar, but he refrained. Instead, he gave her a little pat on the shoulder and was overwhelmed with tenderness when he noticed how fragile she felt.

  47

  AS HE HEADED BACK NORTH on Highway 61, Lance felt that this burden was too much to bear. Andy, yes. But not Chrissy. The girl had been the closest he’d come to having a child in the years before Jimmy was born. And she’d always had something inside her that pointed beyond where she came from. What exactly it pointed toward was not something he’d ever considered; he just knew it was there. Poetry, possibly, he thought now, recalling her enthusiasm at the poetry reading in Duluth. Maybe she wrote poetry, or she could be studying poems and writing about them. What did he know? What did Lance know about being a talented young person who wanted to escape everything she’d been born into? And who wanted to break away from her parents. He was a middle-aged man who had not only stayed where he was born but had dug in his roots as deep as they would go. He was a policeman like his father, living on the North Shore like the majority of his relatives going back several generations. He was the complete opposite of his strong and courageous niece, who was now carrying the weight of something that was about to drive her into the abyss. For that very reason, he was the one who would have to take away her future. Because even though he could clearly sense that the burden was too great to bear, he knew he would have to do it. It was in his nature for Lance Hansen to shoulder a burden and endure it without complaint.

  It was four thirty in the afternoon when he parked outside the Finland General Store. Through the Santa Claus and reindeer decorations on the window he caught a glimpse of Debbie’s blond hair. For a change he also saw a couple of customers inside, probably people who had just gotten off work.

  Lance went inside and immediately received a smile from Debbie, who was ringing up the purchases for one of the customers. He took a little stroll through the store as he waited for the others to leave. He glanced at some old, sun-faded postcards with pictures of Finland: a moose crossing the road in front of a car; the St. Urho statue at sunset; a flagpole with the Finnish flag and the motto We got sisu! For a moment he considered buying one to send to Eirik Nyland, but he decided not to.

  Finally the door closed behind the last customer.

  “Afternoon rush?”

  “Uh-huh. It always throws me off when both customers show up at the same time.”

  She got up and came around the counter to give Lance a kiss on the cheek. On the cheek! What’s that supposed to mean? he thought. He’d expected a repeat of that long, slow kiss from last night. Well, preferably more than that, so he was taken aback by a friendly kiss on the cheek.

  “You’ve sure got a cold, all right,” she said as he snuffled loudly.

  “Yeah.”

  “But you’re looking pretty alert, considering what happened.”

  “That must be because you were the one who rescued me.”

  Debbie’s response was another of those rattling smoker’s coughs.

  “I need a cigarette,” she said when it subsided. “Shall we go in the back room?”

  Lance didn’t really know what he was hoping to accomplish with this visit, but he felt that the dreary back room would ruin whatever it was.

  “How about going for a drive instead?” he suggested.

  “But it’s almost three hours until I close.”

  Lance pulled her close and put his arms around her so they were standing chin to chin. He could hear how her breathing was first shallow and hesitant, as if on guard, only to slowly ease, just as her body did, adopting the same rhythm as his own breath until they stood there, embracing each other and breathing as one.

  It was a long time before either of them moved.

  Finally Debbie drew back, straightened her clothes, and looked around.

  “Just close the store,” said Lance, “and come with me.”

  Debbie tilted her head to one side and looked at him. He suddenly remembered that she used to do that during the summer they were together. He wondered whether they were now back together.

  “Okay,” she said. “But you’ll have to take responsibility if I get in trouble.”

  “I can handle Akkola, no problem,” said Lance.

  THEY DROVE NORTH along the Baptism River. Lance thought to himself that it had to be twenty-five years since Debbie Ahonen last sat beside him in his car. Everything had been so different. Back then his mother wasn’t more tha
n fifty, not much older than he was now. He could never change the fact that he hadn’t visited her before she died. It was too late and always would be.

  “Is something wrong?” asked Debbie.

  “How can anything be wrong when I’m finally out driving with you again?”

  “Why did you walk out on the ice?”

  “I don’t know. Mom died, and . . . Well, there’s something happening in my family. It’s been going on for a while, and I’m the one who’s going to have to do something about it. To be honest, I’m in a real sticky situation.”

  “Can you tell me about it?” she asked.

  “Not yet. But later, after I clear things up.”

  “Do you promise to tell me later?”

  Lance nodded.

  “Good,” she said.

  Then they drove in silence for a while until Lance suddenly thought of something.

  “Do you remember what you said about the ravens?” he asked.

  “No,” said Debbie.

  “I said that the two of us were like the ravens, who stay up here all winter. That we’re tough. But you said that was wrong. You said we’re the carcasses they peck at along the road.”

  Debbie laughed.

  “And you’re right,” Lance went on. “People like us—we end up like carcasses at the side of the road, and the best we can hope for is that someone will stop and chase away the ravens.”

  “Then we’ll have to do that,” said Debbie. “We’ll have to chase away the ravens for each other.”

  Lance didn’t reply, just focused all his attention on the winding road through the forest.

  “I could use a smoke,” said Debbie after a while. “Could you stop as soon as you find a place?”

  They came to an open area beside the road where an impressive number of logs had been piled up awaiting the trucks that would carry them away. Lance pulled over, and they got out. The stacked timber towered over them in the dusk. Even in the bitter winter air, he could smell the fresh wood. Debbie lit a cigarette. In the flickering glow from the lighter her face looked smooth and young.

  “You have to promise not to disappear again,” she said after taking a drag. “Either out on the lake or anywhere else.”