Smith sighed. “Okay, okay. Can we talk alone?”
Louis nodded to Dale to leave. “Okay, talk,” Louis said, closing the door.
“My name is Duane Lacey. I’m on parole. I’m not supposed to be out of Houghton County without permission.”
“Who owns the truck?”
“My mother.” He wiped a strand of dirty blond hair off his forehead. “I thought you guys wanted me for parole violation.”
“What are you doing down here?”
“Seeing my kid.”
“Where’s he?”
“Red Oak juvie center. That’s a few miles – ”
“I know where it is. When did you get here?”
“Yesterday. I was heading there this afternoon. They only let you visit afternoons.” Lacey moved to the bench and sat down. “I ain’t seen him in years. His mother took him.”
“Sad story,” Louis said.
“Look, I’m telling you the truth. Look at that letter you took off me. It’s from my kid.”
Louis reached in his back pants pocket and took out the page of loose-leaf paper which began:
Louis opened the door to look for Dale, wanting him to run Lacey’s name for warrants. Dale was nowhere to be seen.
“Who’s your parole officer?” Louis asked. and
“Bill James,” Lacey answered.
Louis pulled a pen from his pocket. “All right, Lacey, give me your social security number.” Lacey rattled it off and Louis started for the door.
“You ain’t gonna reach James at his office,” Lacey called after him. “It’s the holidays, you know.”
Louis picked up Lacey’s army jacket and left, locking the door. He gave Lacey’s number to Florence to run for outstanding warrants then went to his desk and dialed Dollar Bay information to get a home phone number for William James. Louis called him, and after apologizing for bothering him on the day after Christmas, he told him about Lacey.
James gave a short bitter laugh. “He ran on you? Doesn’t surprise me.”
“Why?”
“He’s paranoid. Tells me all the time everybody’s out to get him. Hold on, gotta turn down the TV.”
Louis waited until he heard James pick up the phone again. “So, what did he do now?” James asked.
“Ran a light,” Louis said, deciding not to involve James until he had reason to.
James sighed. “Idiot’s not supposed to be out of Houghton. What’s he doing down there?”
“Says he’s visiting his son,” Louis said.
“Son? Oh, right, forgot. Lacey’s new to me so I don’t have all the background. I can tell you, though, he’s been a model citizen since he got out of prison.”
“When was that?”
“Real recent, but I’d have to check.” Louis sensed impatience in James’s voice, as though he wanted to get back to his television.
“What was he sent up for?” Louis asked.
“Tell you what. I’ll call the local P.D. and have them send you his sheet. The chief’s my cousin. What’s your fax number?”
Louis gave it to him. “One last question. Is Lacey dangerous?”
“Well, he’s weird,” James said, “but he’s always been polite to me. It’s Christmas, he probably just wanted to see his kid.”
Louis thanked him and hung up. He glanced at the letter in his hand and then looked back at Lacey, sitting quietly in the booking room. Turning his back, he unfolded the letter.
Louis refolded the letter. While he waited for the fax, he carefully examined Lacey’s jacket for any tears. It was old but intact.
The fax machine began to purr and he went to it, pulling off the papers as they dropped off the end.
Duane Herbert Lacey had been a criminal from the age of eighteen. Shoplifting, grand theft auto, joyriding, burglary, possession and assault on his wife. In February 1977, he was arrested for assault with a deadly weapon and sentenced to twelve to fifteen in Marquette State Prison.
Louis glanced back at Lacey. What the hell was he doing out after only seven years? Then he saw it. Duane Lacey had been paroled on the governor’s early release program earlier in the month, on December 10, 1984.
