Burning Midnight by Loren D. Estleman Page A

should’ve been more clear. I didn’t actually speak to him. Jerry called from work, and when I hung up I found out Nesto had left a message because the line was busy.”
    I let out a plume of smoke in a weary sigh. It was getting to be possible to hear from everyone in the civilized world without ever establishing direct contact. I’d had to call twice before she answered; she’d been on the line with Gerald, her husband. “Are you sure it was Nesto?”
    â€œI know my brother’s voice. He started to leave a message, then changed his mind.”
    â€œMaybe he was interrupted.”
    â€œI don’t think so. I heard background noises for a couple of seconds, then he hung up. He must’ve been trying to make up his mind whether to say anything more.”
    â€œWhat kind of noises?”
    â€œI’m not sure. A train, I think; I heard that horn that sounds like a train whistle. Some other things.”
    â€œWhat other things?”
    â€œNoises. Nothing human. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
    â€œYou didn’t erase it?”
    â€œI’m not a fool.”
    â€œI didn’t say you were. Don’t take everything as an insult. Did you tell Jerry what’s going on?”
    â€œI didn’t get the chance. He said he’d be working late; some kind of emergency at the bus office. He was in a hurry, so I didn’t think it was the—”
    â€œCan you hang around until I get there?”
    â€œOf course. I haven’t budged from the house since I found out he’d skipped school. I have a cell, but—”
    â€œI don’t trust them either. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”
    It was a little longer than that. I slid over to make room for an EMS unit with all its equipment going and got hung up on I-96 behind a procession of gawkers crawling past an overturned semi. After that, more construction. At the end of the ramp I ignored the NO TURN ON RIGHT sign. Right away I passed two squad cars stopped in a Park-and-Ride, but the drivers were too busy talking to each other to notice. I took advantage of the situation to pour on the coal. In the driveway I was out of the car in time to eat my own dust drifting from my rear wheels.
    I don’t know what the hurry was, except there was a tag out on Nesto; cops are people and I don’t entirely trust every gun to stay in its holster when a citizen fails to heed the voice of authority.
    She led me into the living room with Jesus wearing His thorn hat. Today she had on a thin pale blue sweater and a pair of pleated slacks, loafers on her feet. I hoped, with no agenda connected, that she wouldn’t fall for the fitness craze and lose those extra pounds. There is a narrow line between thin and haggard. The message was on voice mail. I stood in the center of the carpet and held a slim cordless receiver to my ear while she worked the buttons.
    There was a little hissing silence before he said, “Hello,” then the receiver on his end made fumbling noises. It was an adolescent voice, shallow and uncertain. I heard the asthmatic whistle of the Amtrak and a growling that sounded like the lion house at the Detroit Zoo when the keepers were twenty minutes behind feeding time. It wasn’t the zoo; the trains don’t pass that close.
    I had her play it again, then once more while I separated all the ambient noises. They have computers to do that at l300, but you can become too dependent on technology if you have constant access to it. That made me the most independent detective in the 3l3 area code.
    â€œThe Michigan Central Depot.” I replaced the receiver in its cradle.
    â€œWhat makes you so certain?”
    â€œThey don’t stop there anymore, but the tracks are still there and the trains have to use them. They blow the horn out of respect. It could be a crossing, but that roaring sound cinches it. There’s a parking garage across the street;