Let It Burn Page 7

  I’d probably never understand why it happened, but I’d have the rest of my life to think about it. For right now, I just had to finish my day’s work. Go up and thank my fellow officers for the assist on the collar. Take a look at the suspect and confirm he was the same person I saw running from the train station. Then go back and get my vehicle. Find Franklin, make sure the crime scene was secure. Wait for the specialists to arrive, and be glad that part of the operation isn’t my job. Go home, maybe get drunk. It sounded like the right kind of night for it.

  A sergeant approached me. Not Sergeant Grimaldi, but another man from another squad. He was probably on his way in for the afternoon shift when he heard the call, and he was close enough to be the first supervising officer on the scene.

  “I’m Sergeant Schuman,” he said, shaking my hand. “I believe we’ve met before. You okay?”

  I nodded. I still didn’t quite have my voice back yet.

  “We’ve got a Ronald Jefferson in the backseat,” he said, looking at the driver’s license in his hand. “We found a few rocks and a fair amount of money on him as well.”

  I looked over and saw the evidence on the hood of the vehicle. A handful of small Baggies, each one containing a marble-sized chunk of white powder. Next to that was a thick roll of currency.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, going over to the vehicle. “Why would he still have this on him? I saw him throw something on the tracks.”

  “Maybe he didn’t have time to get rid of it.”

  “He did,” I said, thinking back to the sight of him standing on the other side of that fence. The look of utter calm on his face when he realized I couldn’t catch him. “He had all the time in the world. For that matter, why even bother throwing away drugs if he just killed somebody? Unless it was something else entirely…”

  I think I already knew what I was going to find when I opened the back door to that squad car. A two-bit dealer who just so happened to be wearing jeans and a gray shirt that day.

  I opened the door. I grabbed the kid and turned his face to me.

  “Hey, what are you doing, man?” Attitude all the way, even now that he was in handcuffs. Especially now that he was in handcuffs.

  He was around the same age, same build, and wearing, as I had already figured out, the same clothes. Although this kid’s shirt was a slightly different shade of gray now that I looked at it. And he didn’t have a torn sleeve like my suspect.

  I let go of him. I slammed the door shut.

  “It’s not him,” I said.

  “McKnight,” the sergeant said, “are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. It’s not him.”

  “Then where the hell is he?”

  I took a quick scan through the other people still milling around on the sidewalk. Then I came back to the car and looked north, up the street. It went up to Pine and Spruce and Perry and a dozen other side streets. He must have gotten across before these cops closed off the bridge.

  “He could be anywhere by now,” I said. “Pretty much goddamned anywhere.”

  “Come on,” the sergeant said. “Get in my car.”

  I got in the passenger’s seat. He flipped on his lights and headed north on Trumbull.

  “Give me a guess here,” he said. “Use your gut instinct and tell me where he went.”

  It was useless. There were blocks and blocks of houses on either side of the street. If we turned down one street we’d see another block and then another intersection. Right, left, or straight, it would just be more of the same. The whole west side of Detroit, all those brick houses lined up in rows. He could have been in any one of them.

  “Keep looking,” the sergeant said. “But tell me what happened.”

  I gave him the basic facts. Seeing the young man on the tracks, chasing him when he fled, his escape through the fence.

  “You called for backup then,” the sergeant said.

  “Yes, but at that point it was just trespassing, then evading. I had no idea that…” I didn’t finish the sentence.

  The sergeant shook his head, but before he could say anything the radio squawked, looking for Unit Forty-one. The sergeant picked up the transmitter.

  “I’ve got him right here,” he said. “I’ll bring him back to the scene.”

  He put the transmitter back and swung the car south at the next intersection.

  “You’re the only one who saw this guy. Am I right?”

  “I’m the only one who got a good look at his face,” I said, looking out the window as we raced back to the train station.

  “Sounds like you’re going to be a very popular man.”

  *

  There were a dozen cars at the train station. Our car was one of them. Franklin must have been sent to retrieve it. It was going on six o’clock now, two hours past my shift. I knew my night was far from over.

  I took a deep breath as I got out of the sergeant’s car. I thanked him. He was officially on duty now, so he stuck around to help coordinate.

  There was a train stopped at the station, the air brakes hissing. I saw Detective Arnie Bateman waving me over. After all the time I’d spent avoiding him that day, this was real business, and I knew he’d be right in the middle of it.

  “This is the five forty-five Amtrak,” he said as soon as I was in earshot. “We held it up to ask the passengers if they saw anything while they were waiting.”

  “Yeah, we did a quick pass through the waiting room,” I said. “I don’t think our suspect ever went in there.”

  “You might want to take a quick look through the train yourself, before we let it go. I mean, you never know, right? Maybe he’s on board right now. We’ve caught dumber criminals.”

  “Last I saw him, he was running away. I can’t see why he’d double back.”

  “Just humor me, all right? Maybe you saw someone else. An accomplice or something. Maybe seeing him will jog your memory.”

  I knew it was beyond a long shot, but I got on board anyway. I walked down the aisle of every car, giving everyone the once-over. Some of the passengers were clearly annoyed to be kept waiting. One of them actually stood up and asked me when the train would finally be moving. He was wearing a suit, and he reminded me of the man who had wrecked his Saab earlier that day, his time and convenience clearly being more important than anything else. God, how long ago it seemed now, just a routine accident on a day that started out so normal. Now I had this man in my face and I felt like taking him off the train, into the station, up to that abandoned balcony. Here’s your reason, you pompous jackass. Now go back to your seat and sit the hell down.

  When I got off the train, having looked at every face, it slowly pulled away from the station. It was heading west. First stop maybe Ann Arbor, then on to Chicago.

  “Okay, so now that we’ve got that out of the way,” the detective said, “tell me exactly what you saw.”

  We were standing outside between the station and the tracks. He looked just as fresh and energetic as he had that morning at roll call, but the man who had come looking for basketball players, the man my partner and I had both made fun of, was long gone. The sun was low in the sky, and I swear that gold shield on his belt was practically glowing.

  “Because the last I heard,” he said, not even bothering to let me start explaining, “you were asking for two-eleven on a suspected drug dealer running away from here. Then a few minutes later … we’ve got this poor woman on the floor upstairs?”

  “Have you identified her?”

  “Yes,” he said, taking a step back. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. The victim’s name is Elana Paige. She was … Well, you saw the crime scene.”

  “Multiple stab wounds?”

  He shook his head. “From what I’m hearing, way beyond multiple. Somebody just stabbed her and stabbed her. God knows how many times.”

  “What else do we know about her?”

  “Twenty-eight years old, married, no kids. Lives in Farmington Hills. Not employed at the moment, but she�
�s taking classes at Wayne State.”

  Out of everything he was saying, that’s the one thing that stopped me short.

  “My wife is taking classes at Wayne State,” I said. “They might even know each other.”

  “I suppose that’s possible. Although it is a big school.”

  “I know. I’m just saying.”

  “It does bring it home, yes. This woman could have been from anyone’s family. Yours, mine…”

  “Any idea why she was here?”

  “Not yet. We’re contacting the husband right now.”

  I walked away from him. It was getting harder and harder to keep the scene out of my head. Now I was imagining being the husband, too. Hearing that knock on my door, opening it up and seeing two police officers.

  “So tell me,” Bateman said. “How did you end up checking out that balcony?”

  “I was coming back and I saw the open door. I thought it was worth investigating.”

  He walked down the tracks to the far end of the station. The door was propped open now. I could see the sudden bursts of flashbulbs from inside. The crime scene unit was up there, doing their work.

  “That door right there,” he said. “You’re saying you didn’t actually see him coming out of the building?”

  “No. Like I said, he was on the tracks.”

  He stood there looking at the door, then down the tracks, then back at me.

  “I didn’t know it went down that way,” he said. “I’m sorry if it sounded like I was trying to find fault. Under the circumstances, if you really didn’t have any knowledge of the suspect being in the building…”

  “It’s all right, Detective. It’s a tough day for everyone.”

  “This whole back end of the building is abandoned, anyway. How could you have even known? I mean, how did you even think of trying that door?”

  “It was just a hunch.”

  “Okay,” he said, nodding like he was deep in thought, his mind already racing ahead to something else. “That’s good. But go back to that first pursuit. He goes east down these tracks, right? You were calling for backup at Bagley Street?”

  “That’s right. I saw him throw something. I assumed it was a bag of crack.”

  He rubbed his chin. “But that would take him back to being just a dealer,” he said. “Why throw away a few dollars of crack if you just killed somebody?”

  “In hindsight, it doesn’t make much sense.”

  “Hell, maybe this kid isn’t our killer after all. Maybe he just happened to be here at the wrong time, huh?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Are you sure he wasn’t throwing away a knife?”

  I played the scene back in my head. “I don’t know exactly what he threw away,” I said, “but a knife I would have recognized. This was something smaller. I didn’t even really see it once it left his hand.”

  “Show me where that happened,” he said. “Whatever it was, we should try to find it.”

  I walked with him, retracing my steps along the railroad tracks. I tried to remember when he had thrown the object, but there weren’t any good landmarks to measure how far down we had gotten. It was, after all, just unbroken lines of metal with identical ties at regular intervals.

  “It’s gotta be around here,” I said, slowing down. “I can’t be sure exactly. I could be off by a few yards either way.”

  Detective Bateman was already scanning the ground.

  “Which way did he throw it?”

  “He was running in this direction.” I was thinking back again, trying hard to re-create every detail in my mind. “He threw with his right hand, toward the other tracks.”

  The detective stepped over the tracks, to the second set running parallel.

  “Did he make it this far? To the other tracks?”

  “I’m going to say yes. I’m pretty sure he did.”

  We were inside the fenced-off part of the track now, about twenty feet wide. There was the rough gravel at the base, then the railroad ties, then the tracks on top. The detective was walking right down the center of the rightmost tracks, looking closely at every inch of the ground.

  “I don’t imagine anybody else got back here to pick up whatever it was,” he said. “Not with this fence and all. But if another train came by…”

  “It did,” I said. “I just remembered.”

  He looked up at me.

  “When I was in the building. A train came by. It didn’t stop.”

  “A freight train?”

  “Yes.”

  “Heading in which direction?”

  “Into the tunnel. To Canada.”

  “So on these tracks,” he said, looking back down at the ground. “If it was something light, it could have been blown God knows where. Right through the fence even.”

  He kept looking for another few minutes. Then he pulled the radio off his belt.

  “I need some officers down the tracks,” he said. “While we’re at it, can we get the train traffic held up until further notice? I don’t need anybody getting run over here.”

  *

  An hour later, we were still out on the tracks. There were eight officers, including Franklin, Detective Bateman, and myself. It’s exhausting work, bending down low enough to see the ground, tossing aside the random trash and hoping for something significant. Every few minutes I’d stand up and stretch my back. I’d look down the tracks and see the crime unit specialists going in and out of the building. They still hadn’t brought out the body.

  It was Michigan and it was June, so that meant light until at least nine o’clock. But the sun was getting lower and everything was losing its bright focus. I decided to walk back to the station and to re-create the whole chase scene one more time, second by second, hoping to pinpoint exactly where we were when he threw away the object.

  The detective watched me. I went to the exact spot where I had first seen my suspect. Hey, hold up. Stop right there. The kid turns and runs. Stop. Stop right there. Police.

  I’m running after him now. My gun, my flashlight, everything on my belt bouncing up and down as I make my way down the tracks. He’s opening up a lead. Don’t be an idiot. It’s not worth it.

  No, wait. I hadn’t said that yet. He had already thrown the object. Like right around … Here.

  I stopped a good twenty yards short of my fellow officers and peered at the ground.

  “Do we need to shift back?” Bateman said.

  “Yes,” I said without looking back. “I think we were looking too far down the tracks.”

  The officers moved closer to me. I glanced up and saw Franklin limping, one hand holding his back as he bent over again. I felt bad for him, but I wasn’t about to stop him. The best way to make it easier for everyone would be to just find the goddamned thing the kid threw away.

  The detective picked up his radio and listened to it. He said a few words, then returned the radio to his belt.

  “The family is on their way down,” he said to me. “I need to be there to let them know what’s going on. If the crime scene is done, they’ll be bringing the body over for identification, too.”

  He stopped, closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead.

  “These are the worst days,” he said. “Makes me wonder why I ever became a cop.”

  “Tell them we’ll find him,” I said. “No matter what it takes.”

  He looked at me. “You know I can’t promise that. Half the time, we don’t.”

  “This time we will,” I said. “I’ll personally go through every face in the city until we find him.”

  He let out a breath. “I like your attitude, McKnight. But we still can’t even put him inside the station, let alone identify him.”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. Not for the first time in my life, I only had a gut feeling and nothing else.

  “I have to get back to the precinct,” he said. “If you find something, bring it right over, okay?”

  That’s how he left me. I was down on my hands and
knees now, moving along the far set of railroad tracks. I figured I only had a few more minutes before the light went. I didn’t want to have to come back and do this again the next day.

  “Alex,” Franklin said, a few feet away, “we don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

  “We’ll know when we see it,” I said. “I know we will.”

  He stood up and rubbed his bad knee. I kept looking through the rough gravel bed between the railroad ties.

  “She was going to Wayne State,” I finally said to him. “Just like Jeannie.”

  Franklin didn’t say anything to that. He didn’t have to. He bent back over and kept looking at the ground.

  A few minutes later, I grabbed on to the hard metal of the railroad tracks. I dropped my head in frustration.

  “I think we’re about done for tonight,” Franklin said. “We can get right back out here tomorrow morning.”

  He was right. The sun was too low now. I picked my head up, and as I did, I saw the tiniest flash of light. Probably just a piece of glass or something, but I looked closer. I sifted through the gravel, brushing aside one small gray rock after another.

  Then I saw it.

  Among the other rocks, pebbles, dirt, sand, cinder, slivers of glass, and all the other small things that by the million make up a railroad bed, that one little stone that stood out from all of the others.

  A diamond.

  It was just inside the farthest rail, midway between two ties. It had settled into the bed, so I had to get down close to the ground, like an archaeologist brushing away the debris from an ancient artifact. I brushed and I blew my breath on the stones and eventually I found another diamond. Then another. Then finally, against the track itself, I found a long golden strand with several more diamonds still intact. The clasp was broken.

  This is what he threw away, I thought. This is what I saw flashing in the sunlight. This is what puts him in that station.

  I didn’t touch it. I called out to Franklin to go grab an evidence bag. As I waited, I keyed on my shoulder radio.

  “Unit Forty-one at the train station,” I said. “Please pass along a message to Detective Bateman. Tell him I found what we were looking for.”