Mike opened his eyes and groped for his ringing phone, knocking over a glass of water on the nightstand.

“Dammit.” He found his phone and cleared his throat. “Nelson.”

“Investigator Nelson. Officer Daniels, Lake Haven PD. Sorry to call you so late, sir. But I know you live close and we’ve got Steve Pritchard hooked up for disorderly conduct.”

Mike sat up in bed. “He’s in town? Where was this?”

“The Bark Eater called, sir. Said he was getting rowdy with some of the other patrons. We swung over there and he was fighting in Newberry’s parking lot. That’s the lot between—”

“Fighting?”

“Arguing. A little shoving – we’re still interviewing people.”

“Where’s Lena Overton? You call her?”

“She doesn’t take calls at night, sir. She has kids. I mean, she’s… you know, a single mother.”

“So you have him in custody now?” Mike slipped into the shoes beside the bed then wriggled his wrist into his watch. He’d been asleep in his clothes.

“Yes, sir. We’re going to take him to the station. He’ll want to sleep this one off, he’s pretty intoxicated. But… he started talking.”

“What’s he saying?”

“Well, he asked Mullins and me… He wanted to know if we knew about his sister. If we knew who he was. We told him we did, and he acted… I don’t know how to describe it. He was arrogant, or something. Said a bunch of stuff about her.”

“Like what?”

“Just… You should talk to him, sir.”

“I plan to. Who’d he get into the fight with?”

“It’s Dmitri Petrov; local guy, runs a used sporting goods store. The bartender said they were arguing, told them to quit it or take it outside. So Petrov left and Pritchard followed him into the parking lot, and they kept at it. He was belligerent with us, too, really torqued. It took me and Mullins to get him settled into the back of the cruiser.”

Mike picked up the spilled glass and walked into his kitchen. “I’m coming down there. Could you do me a favor?”

“Sir?”

“Could you let Pritchard marinate a bit? Let him sit. Go ahead and reduce code if you’ve got your lights on; just keep things calm. I’m on my way there.”

“You want to talk to him here, sir? I have eyes on him right now, I’m just a few yards away. He’s pretty agitated, sir. He’s sitting there in the back of the car, yelling.”

“I’d like to talk to him right away.” Mike ran the sink tap, filled the glass.

“Alright, sir. You can be here soon?”

“Be there in ten.”

Mike popped an aspirin, downed the water, then wiped his mouth on a dishtowel hanging from the cabinet above the sink. The dishtowel with the owl on it. For some reason he was just noticing it now: something his wife Molly had bought twenty years ago had resurfaced in his life, as if by magic – that owl with the large, watchful eyes.

But it wasn’t magic, it was that he’d gone into the basement the other day and brought up some household items in preparation for his daughter’s arrival, had hung the towel there without paying much attention.

Of all things, Kristen was about to visit him for the first time in months, and he was in the middle of a murder investigation. One where the brother of the victim was showing up in the middle of the night, getting into fights.

---

The night was warm, the concrete and asphalt holding the earlier sunshine. Downtown Lake Haven was charming enough with its privately owned shops, a bank, and the town hall at the far end. When it was late and quiet the place looked fake, as if the buildings were façades in some Hollywood studio backlot, and voices and footsteps sounded hollow.

The old department store hadn’t been around since Kristen was a little girl, but locals still referred to the spot as Newberry’s parking lot. On the other side was a popular bar, the Bark Eater, a Lake Haven Police SUV idling near. Mike parked in the lot and slowly approached, having a long look at the man in the back seat: Steve Pritchard was wild-haired, thickly bearded, dressed in a flannel shirt. He looked like a local carpenter or maybe a farmer, on the ragged edge of life.

Officer Daniels was talking to a man nearby, the two of them beneath a bright street lamp on the sidewalk. Mike turned toward them, not getting too close to the SUV yet. Daniels offered his hand and introduced the fellow beside him. “This is Dmitri Petrov.”

Petrov was smoking a cigarette. He squinted one eye against the smoke and nodded at Mike. Mike didn’t see any obvious injuries on the guy, no split lip or black eye forming, just sweaty skin shining beneath the street lamp.

“Thanks for waiting,” Mike said to Daniels. He saw the other local cop, Mullins, down the street a ways, talking to a handful of bar patrons beneath a cloud of cigarette smoke.

“Alright,” Mike said, “I’m going to have a word with Pritchard.”

“Good luck,” Daniels said.

Mike reached the SUV, opened the front passenger door, and slipped inside. He peered through the metal grate, into the back seat.

Pritchard’s eyes were watchful despite his drunkenness. “Who’re you?”

“Mr. Pritchard, I’m heading up the investigation into your sister’s death. Very sorry for your loss.”

Pritchard glared a moment then turned his face away. He snorted back some phlegm, said nothing. He reeked of cigarettes and liquor.

“When did you get back into town?” Mike asked.

Pritchard cut him a sidelong look but stayed facing toward Dmitri Petrov, who was still standing beneath the street lamp, talking to Daniels. “While ago.”

“A while ago? So this isn’t because you’d heard about your sister and came back?”

“No. I been here.”

“We weren’t sure where you were. Someone thought maybe Colorado.”

Pritchard pulled a crooked smile, as if the world were a joke and only he knew the punchline. “Oh yeah? That’s what someone thought?”

“You weren’t in Colorado?”

“I been back on the east coast for months.”

“So you were close, before this afternoon? Where about?”

He finally looked directly at Mike. “Here and there.”

Mike shifted in the seat, trying to get more comfortable. Twisting around to look at Steve Pritchard through the mesh was hurting his neck. “Well, I’d like to narrow that down a little bit, Mr. Pritchard.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Just to get a sense of everything. But if you’ve been ‘here and there,’ and you’re now ‘here’…”

“I heard about Rita. Yeah.”

“How did you hear? Because we didn’t have a number for you. Terry didn’t have a way to contact you so I’m wondering—”

“Terry? Terry is a fucking faggot. He wouldn’t know if—”

“Let’s tone down the language please.”

“Listen, officer, my sister’s husband has got balls the size of chickpeas. Is that toned down enough for you? Thirty years he had his cushy little state job, riding around in his plow truck. Please. I worked a grain elevator for three years in South Dakota. I did more work in that time than Terry has done his whole life.”

“Sounds like you have some resentment.”

“He doesn’t know shit. He doesn’t know who was talking to who.”

“So you’ve had contact with your sister lately?”

“And she’s an even bigger idiot for marrying him. For listening to him. Joe – you think Joe gives a fuck? Joe has his own life, he makes good money. He doesn’t care about that place.”

“You’re talking about your parents’ farm in Gloversville…”

“Joe wouldn’t have cared. But Rita, Rita and that stupid fuck husband of hers…” Steve trailed off, looking through the glass again. “Hey, what the fuck are you looking at?! Huh? You fucking commie piece of shit!”

“Settle down, Steve…”

But Pritchard was yelling at the top of his lungs, screaming more obscenities and epithets, drawing the attention of Daniels, who came trotting over, hand going to his mace.

“Huh?! Hey, you fat Russian fuck! Next time the cops won’t save you, pussy!”

Daniels withdrew the mace can and started to open the rear door. Mike thought the young cop looked more worried than aggressive. “Sir,” Daniels said, “you need to calm down right now.”

“Ah, fuck you.”

“Sir, get back. Get back, Mr. Pritchard, or I’m going to—”

Pritchard suddenly leaned back and kicked out with both feet, connecting with the vehicle door, cranking it back the rest of the way. Daniels jumped back but the door hit his leg. He recovered and pointed the mace. Mike turned away as the officer sprayed Pritchard, who screamed louder.

Mike clambered out of the front seat, drawing a big gulp of air. Mullins had run over to help and the two local cops struggled to subdue Steve Pritchard. Finally, Daniels, huffing and puffing, withdrew from the back seat.

Mike heard Pritchard moaning and mumbling. “She had it coming,” he said. “Rita had it coming to her.”

Daniels got into the driver’s seat, eyes bulging. “Sorry, Mike. I had to hit him with it.”

Mike swiped a hand over his face. The mace hadn’t touched him.

Mullins trotted round to the passenger side, glancing at Mike. “We have to take him in. Now.”

She had it coming to her.

Mike nodded, stepped back from the cruiser as it ripped away, thinking they might just wind up adding murder to Pritchard’s charges.