Free Misery Bay by Steve Hamilton Page A

that job entails?”
    “In general,” I said. “I believe so.”
    Maven didn’t look up from the table.
    “Mr. Razniewski probably didn’t get into specifics, but I can tell you that in the past two years he was involved in some very high-profile cases. He wasn’t just transporting detainees. He was closely involved in the actual capture of fugitives. Were you aware that U.S. marshals actually arrest more fugitives than all the other federal branches combined?”
    “I didn’t know that,” I said.
    Still nothing from Maven.
    “Raz brought down some pretty heavy hitters,” the agent said.
    Maven finally raised his eyes at that.
    “I hope you don’t mind me calling him Raz,” he said. “I know that was his nickname. We didn’t work together, but I’d certainly heard all about him. I mean, even before today.”
    Maven kept looking at him, but stayed silent.
    “In the past six months especially,” Agent Long said, “Mr. Razniewski was personally involved in a major case that we feel might be connected to this murder.”
    “So it had nothing to do with his son’s suicide,” I said. It was starting to make more sense now—why Agent Long had been so focused on anything that anybody might have noticed here in town, and not so much on my trip to Houghton at all. “Is that what you’re saying?”
    “I can’t imagine any direct connection, no. I mean, how could it?”
    “It just seems strange that it would happen three months later.”
    “Well, that’s the thing,” Agent Fleury said. “There might not be a direct connection, but it did perhaps create an opportunity for somebody to get to him.”
    “I don’t follow you.”
    “As a marshal working on these kinds of cases, it was natural that he’d need to stay in pretty safe company. As long as he was in Detroit, at least.”
    “Apparently,” Agent Long said, “ever since his divorce and his son moving away to college, he’d been sharing his house with two other marshals. Young guys, just out of school. They needed a place and he had the room.”
    “So between that and the secure workplace,” Agent Fleury said, “we figure he must have been a tough target.”
    “Wait a minute,” I said. “Are you saying—”
    “Somebody may have been watching him, yes. If they happened to follow him all the way up here…”
    He put his hands up, like that’s all that needed to be said on the matter. I sneaked a quick look at Maven, wondering when he’d finally blow. I was surprised it hadn’t happened already.
    “We mean no disrespect,” Agent Fleury went on. Needlessly. Apparently, he didn’t have the skill of knowing when to stop talking. “But you have to admit, if you were looking to take somebody out and you knew they were up here in Sault Ste. Marie…”
    “We’ll be talking to some of your neighbors,” Agent Long said. “Just in case somebody saw something. I’m afraid this is going to be a tough one. If they sent a pro to track him down, well, I’m not sure what we’re going to be able to find up here.”
    “If it was a pro,” I said, “why the bloodbath? Why not a simple shot to the head?”
    Agent Fleury looked over at his partner. I was trying not to read too much into any of this, I swear. I didn’t want to believe they were treating us like dumb hick yoopers.
    “With a suppressor?” he said. “Make him take his shoes off and get down on his knees?”
    “I wasn’t going for the whole cliché, no. I’m just saying—”
    “There are other players in the game these days, Mr. McKnight. People with very different ideas about how you should kill your enemies. In this case, well, there was obviously a lot of blood involved. It was a lot more dramatic.”
    Maven kept looking at the agent, but the chief was still doing his best imitation of a granite statue. He hadn’t even blinked yet.
    “I’m assuming you want it straight, Chief. And I’m sure you realize, it’s probably a very good thing that your wife wasn’t home