Misery Bay am-8 Read online

  “I really owe you, Leon. Yet again.”

  “Not a problem. As a matter of fact, I’m seeing three different addresses here.”

  “Three? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m going back in time, Alex. On the Internet. I can go back about ten years and see everywhere he lived.”

  “You can really do that?”

  “You really need to get a computer. Can we set you up with one, please?”

  “Then I’d have no excuse to call you,” I said. “But seriously, can you tell me those addresses? And while you’re at it, maybe help me find where they are?”

  I pulled over for a minute and wrote everything down. When he was done, I thanked him, told him to kiss Eleanor for me, then thanked him again. I don’t know how much of it he heard, because that’s about when the signal cut out for good. I put the phone down and got back on the road, taking that first exit past the bridge, to that thin lonely U.S. Highway 2 that runs along the shores of Lake Michigan, straight west into the setting sun, toward Houghton.

  ***

  It felt strange to be back in Copper Country, where everything had begun. Winter wasn’t gone for good quite yet, but now it seemed to be fighting a losing battle. Where the snow had melted away there was dead ground and what deciduous trees there were looked like they’d never carry leaves again. I knew it would all come and it would come quickly, but tonight as my headlights swept across the empty road, the springtime felt like a fairy tale.

  It was just after ten o’clock at night when I finally hit Houghton. There were lights now, and people driving around in their cars, but that empty feeling of foreboding I had brought with me didn’t go away. Maybe I was just too tired now, but I’d spent so many hours on the road and I knew there was a good chance I’d find something horrible here, just as Sean’s girlfriend had predicted.

  As I went down the main street in Houghton, past the college buildings and the fraternities and everything else, I saw a lot more kids outside than I would have expected. They were walking up and down the sidewalks, some of them carrying beer bottles and most of them underdressed for the weather. I guess if you go to school in Houghton, an April night with the temperature just above freezing must feel like Bermuda.

  I found the first address Leon had given me on the east side of town, not far from the college. This was the most recent address, I thought. This is where the trail will be warmest. I parked the truck on the street and sat there for a moment, still feeling the road and hearing the hum of the engine after so many hours of driving.

  It was an old house, subdivided into several small apartments. I rang the doorbell. A young woman answered and told me that nobody named Bobby Bergman lived there anymore. It was all women now, as a matter of fact, and no, she had no idea where Bergman may have moved to. They pick up these rentals on a yearly basis, after all, and whoever lived there in previous years was nothing more than a foreign name to them. I thanked her and left.

  The next address was right on campus. It was one of the main dormitories. I knew that would be even more of a dead end than the apartment.

  The last address was over on the west side of town, away from the college. I wasn’t sure what I’d be able to find out there, but what the hell. So I drove all the way through town, past the bridge, and made my way through the side streets until I found Waterworks Drive. I started tracking the house numbers. They were going up, so I was heading in the right direction. An even number, I thought, so definitely on this side of the street. Getting closer now. One more house.

  Boom, here it is.

  Nothing.

  There was no house there at all, just an empty lot with a low mound of dirt where the house should have been. I rechecked the addresses on either side of the lot. This was it.

  I parked the truck, got out, and then stood there looking at the empty lot.

  This is the neighborhood, I thought, looking up and down the street. That first scene in the film, it was taken right here. Meaning that this empty lot was-

  I sensed a movement to my right. I looked over at the house next door, saw a woman’s face peering out at me from between the front window curtains.

  Somebody’s definitely awake next door, I thought, and she likes to know what’s going on in her neighborhood. Maybe she likes to talk about it, too.

  I went up her walkway and knocked on her front door. After a few seconds, I heard the deadbolt sliding and then the door opened up just a crack, with the little security chain rattling on its latch, making sure the door wouldn’t open any farther. The same woman I had seen in the window was now looking at me. She was in her late sixties maybe, and she was wearing a pink robe and pink slippers. I could see a cat rubbing itself against the backs of her legs.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am. Can I just ask you a couple of questions?”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m a private investigator, ma’am.” At that moment, I wished I had one of those stupid cards Leon had made for us, once upon a time. “Can I come inside for a moment?”

  “I’d rather talk to you from here, if you don’t mind.”

  “Fair enough.” I wasn’t about to point out to her that her little chain wouldn’t have stopped any able-bodied person, if that person really wanted to come inside her house. “Can you tell me, did the house next door burn down?”

  “It sure did.”

  “About four years ago, right?”

  “Yep. Burned right to the ground. They had to come out with a bulldozer and clean it all out. Then they filled the foundation with dirt. It was two weeks of unholy racket, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “The family who lived there,” I said. “Those were the Bergmans, right?”

  “The Bergmans, yes. The father’s the one who died in the fire.”

  “Did you know them well?”

  “I lived next door to that family for a long time, mister, but I think Darryl Bergman might have said three words to me the whole time. That man was as mean as a snake. I never meant to pry, but I couldn’t help noticing what was going on over there. Police cars coming by, his wife with the bruises on her face, young Bobby always looking like he was afraid of his own shadow.”

  “There was a man named Clyde C. Wiley,” I said. “An actor. He came out here one time, about ten years ago…”

  “I sure remember that day, yes. He came over and beat up on Darryl, then the wife and kid went tearing down the street in Darryl’s old truck. That was a hell of a day, I tell you. I’ve never heard such language.”

  “You saw it happen?”

  “Sure did. I thought they were running away from the scary-looking biker guy, but then it turned out he was the father, just trying to help them get away. The wife and Bobby came right back, though, so I guess it didn’t work. Things got even worse after that, let me tell you.”

  “So you were also here when Mrs. Bergman committed suicide?”

  “Yes, sir. That was another heck of a day right there. The police came out and I thought they were just gonna talk to Darryl again, but then the ambulance showed up and they wheeled her out on a stretcher with a sheet over her head. I saw some of the blood seeping through the sheet, from where she cut her own wrists.”

  “That was about nine years ago, right? About a year after that other incident?”

  “Has it been nine years already? I guess it has.”

  “You’re being very helpful, ma’am. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”

  “I know it’s not a Christian thing to say, but I didn’t mind it all that much when that house burned down with Darryl inside it. I truly didn’t.”

  “I understand. I only have one more question for you. Do you have any idea where Bobby Bergman may be right now?”

  “Haven’t seen him since the fire,” she said, shaking her head. “Poor kid. Some people shouldn’t have to go through that much misery in their life, you know what I mean? I think that old camera of his was his only friend.”

  “A
n old movie camera?”

  “An ancient thing, yes. He was always horsing around with it. He took a movie of me one day. I think I might have given him a funny look about it.”

  Of course, I thought. That was you. You were in that one scene, looking over the fence.

  “Then I felt bad afterwards,” she said. “I should have been a better neighbor to the boy.”

  “No, I’m sure you were just fine. Thanks again for talking to me. You have a good night.”

  She said something to her cat as she closed the door. As I left, I heard the deadbolt sliding back into place. After everything that had happened next door, I couldn’t blame her for being a little scared, even if the house itself was nothing more than a memory now.

  “Where are you now, Bobby Bergman?” I said, taking one last look at the empty lot. “And wherever you are, is your cousin with you?”

  I got back in the truck. As long as I was here in town, there was one more place to go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I drove back downtown, past the overflowing bars and up the hill toward Charlie Razniewski’s old apartment building. Everything looked different without the waist-high snowbanks, but I found the building more or less where I remembered it. I parked the truck and took another breath of fresh air as I got out, hoping it would wake me up and help me get through the rest of this night.

  I knocked on the door of the apartment. A few seconds later, the door was pulled open. It was Wayne, the kid I remembered as being Charlie’s best friend, even if that friendship had been complicated by the business with Charlie’s girlfriend. I blanked on her name for a moment, then it came to me. Rebecca.

  “Mr. McKnight? What are you doing here?”

  “Can I come in for a second?”

  “Sure, of course.”

  He let me in and I had to step around a stack of boxes just to get in the place. The big television was gone now, along with all of the other equipment that had dominated the far wall of the living room. Nevertheless, I could hear the thump of some kind of rock music coming from one of the bedrooms.

  “Don’t mind the destruction here,” he said. “You sorta caught us in the middle of packing.”

  “What’s going on? Is the school year over already?”

  “Yeah, this is the last week of finals.”

  “Okay, now I get it. All the parties in town…”

  “Yeah, it’s kinda crazy, but I’m sorry, do you want to sit down or anything? I mean, what’s going on? Is everything all right?”

  “Sure, I’ll sit down for one minute. I won’t take up much of your time, I promise. I just have a couple more questions for you.”

  “Okay…” He looked confused, but he cleared off two chairs and half of the dining room table.

  “How’s Rebecca?”

  “Oh, she’s good. I’ll be seeing her in a few minutes. At the Downtowner.”

  “That was the bar where I talked to everybody,” I said. “All of Charlie’s friends.”

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  “Well, I’ll get right to it, Wayne, so you don’t miss your date. A lot of crazy things have been happening ever since I first came out here. I now have reason to believe that Charlie didn’t really kill himself.”

  I watched that one sink in.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “What kind of crazy things are you talking about?”

  “There were more deaths, in Sault Ste. Marie, in Marquette, a few other places.”

  “I didn’t hear about anything like that. Although, you know, I’ve got so much going on here at school…”

  “Charlie’s father was murdered,” I said. “That’s the first thing I should really tell you. It happened just after I came out here.”

  The color drained from his face. He tried to say something, but couldn’t make the words come out.

  “You didn’t hear anything about that?” I said.

  “Nobody told me. I swear to God.”

  “You know what, I should have called back out here myself. I apologize. I guess I just assumed you would have heard.”

  He shook his head. He was staring down at the table.

  “So here’s my question,” I said. “I want to run a name by you…”

  “Mr. McKnight, is that you?”

  I looked up and saw one of the other roommates walking down the hallway toward us. It was the big kid, with the bad skin. He was carrying a framed poster of a woman in a bikini sitting on the hood of a red Ferrari.

  “Bradley,” I said, pulling the name out of nowhere. “You’re Bradley, right?”

  “That’s right, you got a good memory. What brings you to town?”

  “Just asking Wayne a couple questions here, and actually, if you’ve got a minute…”

  “Yeah, hey, I’m sorry about the loud music. Why didn’t you guys tell me you were talking out here?”

  He leaned the poster against some boxes and retreated down the hallway.

  “Guys talking out there and they don’t even tell me I should turn the music down…” His voice trailed off as he went back into his bedroom. That was the other thing I remembered about him. That kid was a real motormouth.

  “He’s actually a great guy,” Wayne said. “You just have to put up with a few things. Like his fine taste in art.”

  I smiled at the comment and looked down at the artwork in question. Hot girl in bikini, hot sports car. How can you go wrong?

  That’s when I noticed what was behind it. It wasn’t one framed poster he was carrying. It was two framed posters. He had fanned them out when he leaned them against the boxes. I got up and pulled the first poster so I could see the second in its entirety.

  A young Clyde C. Wiley, sitting on his bike. It was the movie poster for Road Hogs.

  “Okay, I’m all set,” Bradley said as he came back down the hallway. “What kind of questions do you have for me? I hope it’s not geography.”

  I put the poster down.

  “Wayne,” I said, “didn’t you say you have to go meet Rebecca?”

  “Well, yeah, but-”

  “Go ahead. You don’t want to keep her waiting.”

  “It’s really okay, she’s going to be-”

  “Just get out of here,” I said to him. “Tell her hello for me.”

  He stood there for one more awkward moment, then he grabbed his coat and left. Bradley had picked up on the sudden change of mood. He stood there looking at me and for once in his life he wasn’t babbling away.

  “Sit down,” I said.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Just sit down.”

  He did as he was told. I took my own chair back. I looked at him across the table and waited a few seconds.

  “Mr. McKnight, tell me what’s going on.”

  “You know, you complimented me on remembering your name, but you picked up my name right away.”

  “You came out here to ask all those questions about Charlie,” he said. “Of course I remember you.”

  “But I had a lot more names to remember. That’s what you’re saying.”

  “You must have talked to a dozen people that night. So, yeah.”

  “I think Bradley’s a fine name. Maybe that’s why I remembered it.”

  “Um, okay. Thanks?” He was looking more rattled by the second.

  “Good, strong name. Bradley. It’s distinctive. Don’t you agree?”

  “Um, yes.”

  “Just tell me one thing,” I leaned in for the kill. “Is Bradley your real name?”

  “Yes.” He said it without blinking, and he looked genuinely surprised at the question.

  “Where’d you get that poster?” Time to switch gears.

  “A poster shop. I know it’s kinda dumb.”

  “Not the girl and the car. The other one.”

  “What, the movie poster?”

  “Yes, the movie poster.”

  “RJ left it here.”

  “RJ?”

  “Our other roommate. You met hi
m. He left it here so I figured I could just take it. Is that a big problem? If you don’t think I should have taken it, why don’t you just-”

  “Bradley,” I said. “Shut up a second. Where’s RJ?”

  “I told you, he left.”

  “When?”

  “Like a few weeks ago. Three weeks? Four weeks?”

  “Okay, wait, stop.” I had ten questions in my mind and I had to take a moment to put them in order. “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say where he was going.”

  “He just left? Without saying a word?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. It was kinda weird.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Okay. RJ. Yeah, I remember him now. Tall guy, dark hair?”

  “Yeah…”

  “And those initials. RJ…”

  I stopped dead. I didn’t even have to ask him, but he told me anyway.

  “Robert James,” he said. “Everybody called him RJ.”

  “His last name?”

  “Bergman.”

  “Son of a bitch.” I slapped the table loud enough to make him jump.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I was right here. Right in this apartment. I talked to him. I asked him questions.”

  “You’re starting to scare me here. What’s going on?”

  “This is very important,” I said. “You have to help me figure out where RJ is right now.”

  “I told you, he left. He just didn’t come back one day.”

  “Come back from where?”

  “Well, he was always leaving for a few days at a time. He said he was going to the cottage for a while.”

  “The cottage?”

  “Well, that’s just it. He said he was watching a house for a professor of his who retired and moved down south, but he’d never say where the cottage was. I asked him about it once and he said he didn’t want all of us going up there and trying to have a big party or something. He was kind of a strange guy sometimes-have I said that yet?”

  “I believe you, but get back to that cottage. Do you think he could be up there right now?”