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Chapters (73)
  1. Goodbye to the Dead
  2. Also By Brian Freeman
  3. Title
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. CONTENTS
  8. PROLOGUE
  9. THEN
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. 5
  15. 6
  16. 7
  17. 8
  18. 9
  19. 10
  20. 11
  21. 12
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. 18
  28. 19
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. 23
  33. 24
  34. 25
  35. 26
  36. 27
  37. 28
  38. 29
  39. 30
  40. 31
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. NOW
  46. 36
  47. 37
  48. 38
  49. 39
  50. 40
  51. 41
  52. 42
  53. 43
  54. 44
  55. 45
  56. 46
  57. 47
  58. 48
  59. 49
  60. 50
  61. 51
  62. 52
  63. 53
  64. 54
  65. 55
  66. 56
  67. 57
  68. 58
  69. 59
  70. 60
  71. 61
  72. FROM THE AUTHOR
  73. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

He nodded. ‘Okay, yeah. I did. I never got her picture, but I found out a few details about her. Her name was Erin. She was from Grand Forks.’

46

46

The Ingersstrom floated in the black water of Burns Harbor in Indiana.

As a saltie – an ocean-going cargo boat, not the freshwater ships that stayed in the Great Lakes – it was long at six hundred feet. The green-and-red steel of its hull was marred by discolored water lines and orange swaths of rust. Three thirty-foot cranes towered above the deck like praying mantises. The German-flagged ship had started its Atlantic crossing in Rotterdam and made its way through the Seaway, unloading shipments of steel coils in Canada and New York. In two more days, it would cross Lake Michigan and Lake Superior and pass under the lift bridge into the port of Duluth.

One of the ship’s crew leaned against a portable toilet two hundred yards from the Ingersstrom. The toilet smelled. So did he. His tight-fitting white T-shirt was thick with grease, and he hadn’t showered in three days. It was after dark, and he was largely invisible where he stood, but the port was alive with spotlights and metallic noise and the silhouettes of men who looked like busy ants. His blue-gray eyes moved slowly, studying the movement around him. Every hour in port made him nervous, but there were no surprises tonight.

Nearby, heavy boots scraped on gravel. A man waddled toward him from across the railroad tracks near Boundary Road. The crewman shoved his hands in his jeans and curled the fingers of his left hand around an ice pick. The man approaching him was squat and heavy-set, with a beard and greasy black hair. He recognized him as one of the engine crew from the Ingersstrom, but he didn’t drop his guard. He made sure the man was alone before he released the wooden handle of the pick.

‘Hello, Bernd,’ the man said to him.

Bernd grunted a greeting back.

‘Any troubles here?’ the heavy-set man asked. ‘All good?’

‘‘All good,’ Bernd said.

‘You eaten?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I had a sausage sandwich in town,’ the man told him. ‘With cheese fries. Better than the shit on board.’

‘Anything is,’ Bernd said.

‘Calm seas, eh? No worries?’

‘No,’ Bernd said, but he didn’t like small talk. The man had gone into the city of Gary for a reason, and Bernd was impatient to get what he’d paid for. ‘You have something for me?’

‘Yeah, I got it. No problems.’

The beefy man reached into the pocket of his windbreaker and extracted a package wrapped in a blue plastic bag. Bernd took it from him immediately.

‘It works?’ Bernd asked.

‘What, you think I tested it? Like I should shoot somebody?’

Bernd shrugged. ‘Cartridges?’

‘In the bag.’