Misery Bay: An Alex McKnight Novel

by Steve Hamilton

  There was a light stream of traffic on the street, but nobody had come out the door since I’d been escorted out of the Grindstone building. I spotted a little deli behind me, maybe half a block down the street. I figured I’d have to eat something soon or I’d pass out, so I slipped out of the truck. I ordered a sandwich, then used the bathroom while the girl behind the counter put it together.

  As I was about to come back out, I heard the door to the deli open and then a familiar voice. It was the young kid who had come to the door first, before passing me off to Mr. Charming. I cursed my bad timing and then waited in the bathroom while he ordered two sandwiches and Cokes. Then there was some other conversation that made me think these two kids had a little something more going on besides buying lunch. Finally, they seemed to be done and when I was sure he had gone, I opened the bathroom door and came out.

  I paid for the sandwich and a bottle of water, thanked the girl, and went outside just in time to see the young man going back into the Grindstone building.

  He ordered two sandwiches, I thought. Not three.

  I went back to the truck and kept waiting.

  * * *

  The afternoon slid by. The sun went down. Cars went up and down the street with their lights on while a soft light snow began to fall. Just another April evening in Bad Axe, Michigan. I sat in the truck and turned it on once in a while to run the heater for a minute, then I turned it back off. A Michigan State Trooper’s car from the post down the street rolled by at one point and I thought he’d surely stop and ask me what the hell I was doing sitting there all day, but he kept going without even looking at me.

  By six o’clock I started to get hungry again, but I didn’t want to repeat my lunchtime performance so I stayed put. The streetlights came on and I had just enough light to see the front door of the Grindstone building. Right around seven o’clock I saw two figures come out the door. One of them locked the door and they crossed the street together and went into the theater’s parking lot. I lost sight of them as they got into their separate vehicles. I saw a Jeep Cherokee pull out of the lot, followed by a Corvette. If I was going to follow either one of them, I wanted it to be the older man, and I figured he’d be the one driving the classic midlife crisis Corvette. So I pulled out and followed that car across town. The car stopped at a little apartment building, and now that we were in better light I could see it was an older model Corvette with peeling mint-green paint and a big dent in the rear fender. The young kid got out and went inside.

  My first impulse was to just jump out and grab the kid, see if I could convince him to talk to me, but I figured that would be a bit of a gamble. It was a card I’d play if I didn’t have any other choice. For now, I’d be content to just know where the kid lived.

  I went back to the main street and pulled up in front of the Grindstone building. It looked dark and completely deserted, but I rang the bell just for the hell of it. Maybe the old man was still inside, I thought, working on his movie. But no, there was nobody home.

  I had spotted a little motel on the way into town, so I went back there and checked in for one night. I went into my room and stripped off the bedspread. I may not know that much about anything, but I know never to lie on a motel bedspread. As I was setting the alarm clock, my cell phone rang. It was Chief Maven.

  “I thought you were going to call me,” he said.

  “I was, if anything happened. So far I’ve just been sitting around and waiting.”

  “What are you talking about? Didn’t you talk to Wiley?”

  “I went to visit his film company, but he wasn’t there. For somebody who’s supposedly working day and night on his movie … I mean, I don’t suppose that’s the kind of work you can do at home, right?”

  “Are you telling me this guy wasn’t there at all today?”

  “I’ll go back tomorrow and see if he shows up. If not, I’ll have to think of something else to try. I know one thing, the people who work for him aren’t going to be much help. Not willingly.”

  “I don’t know,” Maven said. “I’m not down there, but I’m getting a funny feeling about this guy. More and more every time I think about it.”

  “What’s going on up there, anyway?”

  “More of the same. This new man, Special Agent Kozak, he wanted to talk to you today, just to go over what you did, going out to Misery Bay that first time, coming back and finding Raz. You know, your whole part in it.”

  “Agent Long or Agent Fleury could have filled him in on that.”

  “You know how these guys are. They want to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

  “So what did you tell him?”

  “That I told you to take a long trip to get away from all of this. He wanted your cell phone number, but I told him you had a bad habit of not turning it on unless you were calling somebody. I also told him I had no idea where you are right now.”

  “That must have made him happy.”

  “Let him be mad at me, I don’t care. If it gives you the chance to do your thing down there, then it’s worth it.”

  “Well, I should have something by tomorrow,” I said. “I sure as hell ain’t gonna wait around all day and spend another night here.”

  “All right, well, let me know. Take care of yourself and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “You too, Chief.”

  “It’s strange being here alone, McKnight. I’m in this house where I’ve lived with my wife for thirty years. Where my daughter grew up. There’s nothing left here now but the smell of murder.”

  “Sounds like you could use a motel yourself.”

  “I hate motels, McKnight, more than almost anything. I feel sorry for you that you have to be in one tonight.”

  On that bright note, I said good night. We were two men alone in two different places, three hundred miles apart. There wasn’t much that made sense anymore, and we both knew we had a lot more work to do before things got any better.

  And we’re rolling …

  … Hold on! This is all going too fast. Let me catch up here.

  … I told you, you have to wait for your cue.

  … It’s all right, keep going. We’ll get the aftermath here.

  … That’s a great effect, the red on the floor. Very striking.

  … Close in on the face. I remember you!

  … That’s it. Just like that. Beautiful.

  … How do you like us now, Trooper Razniewski?

  … You’re giving it your all, but next time wait for the cue, okay?

  … Okay. We’re good.

  And cut.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I was back on the street when the sun came up. My two new friends didn’t seem like early morning types, but maybe Mr. Wiley was. Maybe he’d be there putting in a half day’s work before the other two even showed up.

  I parked on the other side of the street this time, which meant I was facing away from the Grindstone building. I had my side-view mirror angled just right, so I could see the entrance. I had a bag of food and a bottle of water already in the truck, too. Plus a newspaper to duck behind if I needed to. Leon would have been proud of me.

  I sat there while the whole town of Bad Axe woke up to another gray and blue April day. Cars began to roll by. I lay my head back and repositioned the mirror. Then I waited.

  An hour passed. Two hours passed. I saw the young kid unlock the door and go inside. About a half hour later, I saw Mr. Charming come to the door. I’m sure he had a key, but he was apparently too lazy to dig it out so he just pressed the buzzer and then waited there for a few seconds, finishing his cigarette. When he finally went inside, I was left there to wait some more, and to start wondering if Clyde C. Wiley would ever show up.

  Another hour passed. The sun tried to come out for a few seconds, but the clouds reassembled and then it was a normal Michigan sky again. Cars went by, one by one, kicking up slush. I stayed where I was, feeling like I was slipping into some sort of trance, but always with one eye on the side-v
iew mirror.

  Another hour passed. Certainly a mistake, this whole venture. Obviously and completely. No idea what I was thinking of. The man will never show up and I’ll have no clue what to do next.

  Then finally, lunchtime. The young kid came out and made his way down the street. The same routine as the day before, go to that same shop, get two sandwiches, go back. I thought it over for all of five seconds and then came to a decision.

  Time to switch my tactics here. Do things the Alex way, for better or worse.

  I got out of the truck and followed the kid into the shop. As I opened the door, he was standing in front of the counter, looking up at the menu board. A bit of a surprise as you’d figure he had the thing pretty much memorized today, but maybe he was branching out into new sandwiches. Then I saw that the girl from the day before wasn’t behind the counter. Instead it was a man, thirty years older, wearing a big sloppy apron. Which explained why the kid was staring at the menu board today and not at the person making his sandwiches.

  I went up and stood right next to him, and only then did he finally look at me. Another second passed before he recognized me and his polite smile disappeared.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said.

  “You’re the guy from yesterday. What do you want?”

  “I told you. I want to ask you something.”

  “I’m just getting sandwiches here, okay?”

  “That won’t keep you from answering one question.”

  “Just forget it,” he said to the man behind the counter. “I’ll come back later.”

  He pushed by me and made for the door. As he was about to open it, I asked him my one question.

  “Did you know that lying to a federal agent is an automatic felony?”

  A bit of an exaggeration, maybe, but I didn’t have time for subtleties with this kid. He stopped dead in his tracks.

  “No questions asked,” I said. “Doesn’t matter why, or where, or whether you’re under oath or not. If a federal agent asks you a question and you knowingly tell him something that you know to be untrue, you are committing a felony and are subject to prosecution and prison time.”

  He didn’t look back at me. He put his hand on the door.

  “If you walk out that door,” I said, “I can no longer help you.”

  He took his hand off the door. His whole body slumped like somebody had just put an eighty pound bag of cement on his shoulders.

  “Oh, man,” he said, so softly I could barely hear him.

  “Give me five minutes, then I’ll help you. I promise.”

  He turned around. I gestured to one of the three booths in the store. He came over and sat down. I slid in across from him. He was wearing a red sweatshirt today, getting closer to actual appropriate attire, at least. It looked like he had shaved since the day before. He almost looked like a nice, respectable kid now—even with the stupid ring through his eyebrow.

  “What’s your name?” I said.

  “Sean.”

  “Sean, pleased to meet you. My name is Alex McKnight. I’m a private investigator, and for the past few days I’ve been working directly with the FBI.”

  Another exaggeration, but I had to keep him hooked.

  “I understand that an agent came to visit you guys. When was that, a couple of days ago now?”

  “Yeah, some guy named Davies.”

  “What did he ask you?”

  The kid looked away and shook his head. “I can’t believe this.”

  “It’s okay. Just tell me what happened.”

  “He talked to CC first.”

  “Who’s CC?”

  “My grandfather. He doesn’t like me calling him Grandpa or whatever. He says it makes him feel too old.”

  “Clyde C. Wiley. CC. I get it. Although I’m sorry, I didn’t even realize you were his grandson.”

  “Don’t you see the resemblance?” He sounded disappointed.

  “I can’t picture your grandfather in my mind, I’m sorry. But I’m sure the resemblance is there.”

  “You should know him,” he said. “He’s one of the best actors who ever lived.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but you were saying … he was actually here when the agent came?”

  “Yeah, he was here that day. This agent guy took him into one of the back rooms and asked him some questions. I didn’t know what was going on yet. When he came out, he asked me if he could ask me some questions, too. CC had a real funny look on his face, so I knew something was up. When this FBI guy got me alone, he asked me how much time CC had been spending in the studio. So right away, I figured, uh oh, this isn’t good. The old man’s about to go down again.”

  “Go down for what?”

  “For the usual. Possession of a controlled substance. Or whatever. Gun charge, maybe. Either way, I had to make a snap call, so I told this guy that CC had been living on the set, then in front of the console, cutting the movie. I got kind of worried because I wasn’t sure this guy was buying it, or hell, I don’t know, if that was even the same story he was getting from CC and my father.”

  “Your father…”

  “You met him yesterday. Conrad Wiley.”

  “CC’s son. Okay, now I’m getting it. It’s a real family business, eh?”

  “The last couple of years, yeah. It wasn’t always that way, believe me.”

  “Okay, but keep going. You were spinning this little tale for the FBI agent.”

  “I panicked, all right? I could see everything going down the tubes. The movie, the whole film company. Everything he came back here to build. After all those years, finally getting back together with his family…”

  “You were looking out for your grandfather. Or at least you thought so. I understand.”

  “CC means the world to me. No matter what else happens, you’ve got to believe that. Whatever he’s done over the years, he’s the greatest man I ever met.”

  “Okay,” I said, thinking maybe that doesn’t say much for your father. Or else you need to get out of town a little more. “So I take it this agent was getting the same message from everybody?”

  “Well, yeah, he was. CC told him he was too busy working on the movie to be off doing anything else. My father told him that. I told him that. It’s like we all agreed on the same story, without even having to talk about it beforehand.”

  “They didn’t talk to anybody else?”

  “Well, when we’re actually shooting, there might be like thirty people around…”

  “All in that one building?”

  “Coming and going, yeah. Grips and sound guys and pretty much anybody who wants to be a part of making a movie. CC loves having a lot of young people around, giving them something to work on, you know, showing them how to make their own movies someday. He says he’s trying to give people something he never had himself. Anyway, I think the agent said he’d try to track down a few of them, at least.”

  “I don’t imagine any of them would be eager to drop a dime on your grandfather,” I said. “But you said those people are only around when you’re shooting?”

  “Yeah, since we’ve been in post, it’s pretty much just the three of us now.”

  “Okay, I get it. So the agent leaves and all three of you are congratulating yourselves on the snow job.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” he said. “It was more like we were all surprised as hell to find out what the agent was really here for. Apparently, some people in the UP ended up getting murdered or something. We were all like, damn, what the hell is that about?”

  “CC was really surprised?”

  “Well, yeah. Wouldn’t you be?”

  “Of course, you just said he was a great actor. But never mind. Let’s get to the punch line. I didn’t see your grandfather go into the office today. How much time has he really been spending there?”

  “He’s been there. Believe me, he’s been there. I mean, this is his movie, right? When we were shooting, he was on the set pretty much constantly. I could tell it
was really wearing him out.”

  “When exactly were you shooting?”

  “We wrapped right before Christmas.”

  “Okay,” I said, feeling an important piece of the puzzle fitting into place. “So as of New Year’s Day or so, what did you say, you’re in ‘post’ now?”

  “Postproduction, yeah.”

  “But it’s April. How long does that part take?”

  “Post can run longer than the actual shooting. There’s a million things to do with the editing and the sound, then the color correction and—”

  “I get it,” I said. “So how much time has he spent working on that?”

  “Still a lot, but he’s been taking some time off now and then. Like I said, the shooting really got to him.”

  “Taking some time off, meaning what? A few days at a time?”

  “No, maybe like he’ll work for five days straight and then go home for a couple of days. Show up the next Monday. That kind of thing.”

  “But meanwhile, you’re here all the time.”

  “Me and my dad, yeah. We’re the ones who’re practically living here now. We actually have some mattresses in the back in case we run really late.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much of a life.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else,” he said. “My mom thinks I should’ve stayed with her and finished college, but come on. Where else am I gonna get a chance to work on a real movie like this?”

  “Okay, I get it,” I said. “But when CC goes away and then comes back a couple days later … will he say where he’s been?”

  “No. I mean, he’s just home resting. So he’ll come back and work some more, tell us what we should do next. Then he’ll go home again.”

  I leaned back against the hard plastic booth. After so many hours sitting in the truck, my back was killing me. I had bigger things on my mind now than a sore back.