“Which means?”

“I don’t get it,” he said.

“Which means that we have to call the Soo police. The county doesn’t get involved here.”

“Shit,” he said.

“You have a problem with the city police?”

“No,” he said. “No problem at all. I have no problem with the Soo police.”

“Good morning,” I said into the phone. ’This is Alex McKnight. I’m a private investigator and I’d like to report a murder. Yes, I’m at the Riverside Motel. Yes, on Three Mile Road. Yes, I will… “

“I can’t believe this,” he said. It was still cold enough in the truck to see his breath. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them.

A gust of wind rocked the truck. I looked at the motel while I waited on the line. A lot of tourists come through Chippewa County in a year, but this place looked lonely and forgotten. There was a bird on tibe sign next to the name of the place. I didn’t know if it was supposed to be a pelican or a seagull or God knows what.

“Yes, good morning, Officer,” I said. They had passed my call onto someone else. I repeated my information and promised them we’d be waiting for the squad car. The Soo was a fairly small city, so I was sure they wouldn’t have anything like a Homicide division, probably just a few full-time detectives to handle all the major crimes. I could only remember reading about one other murder in the last five years. So whoever this guy was who was filling up the room with blood, he had just caused a big jump in the homicide rate. They’d send out a couple night shift uniforms and then they’d probably go ahead and wake up Roy Maven, the chief of police. I knew him only by reputation, and by what the county sheriff had told me one day over a beer. I was not looking forward to meeting him at two-thirty in the morning.

“Now what?” Edwin said.

“They’re on their way.”

“Wonderful,” he said.

“So are you going to tell me what happened?”