Most boats had come in. A few persistent fishermen lingered far out on the water. The marina was empty. The bait shop had closed. As he approached, Cork saw Lindstrom take the paper from his pocket, read it again, then glance at his watch.
“Karl?”
Lindstrom jumped and his hand shot toward his belt under his sports coat. “Christ, O’Connor. What are you doing here?”
“You looked to me like a man with trouble on his hands. I thought maybe I could help.”
“You can’t, okay? Just go somewhere else. Anywhere else.”
Cork nodded at the paper clenched in Lindstrom’s fist. “What’s in the note, Karl?”
“Just go away, O’Connor. Now.” Lindstrom eyed his watch again.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake—here.” Lindstrom shoved the note at him.
It had been made from words and letters cut out of a newspaper and pasted onto a blank sheet of typing paper.
We are all dead men. Unless we talk. Take a boat ride on the Matador. Dock 3. Marina. 8:15. Meet you middle of the lake.
Eco-Warrior
“Now will you just get out of here?” Lindstrom pleaded. “I don’t want to scare him away.”
“You’re not really going to walk into this, are you, Karl?”
“I’m not afraid.” Although it was obvious he was.
“Karl, this is crazy.”
“If there’s really a chance to put an end to all this, I’m not going to pass it up.”
“Whoever this Eco-Warrior is, he’s already killed once.”
“Everyone agrees that was an accident.”
“Look, Karl, if he really wants to end it, the way to do that is to give himself up.”
“You sound like a cop.”
“I think like a cop. And I’m thinking this is a setup. Maybe you are, too, and that’s why you brought the hardware you stuck in your belt.”
“It’s licensed.”
“Fine. Wonderful. It’s licensed. And you’ve got it with you because you don’t trust this situation either. Use your head, for Christ’s sake.”
“Shut up, O’Connor. Just shut up.” He tipped his wrist and glanced at his watch. “It’s almost eight-fifteen. I’m going.”
Lindstrom started away, but Cork reached out to restrain him.
“Karl, it feels all wrong. Look.” He waved his hand over the deserted marina. “Where is he?”
“Out on the lake. That’s why I’m taking a boat ride.”
“Maybe. And maybe this is all just a way of getting you out here alone. If he wants an easy target, that’s exactly what you’re giving him.”
“Listen, O’Connor, if this really does have a chance of ending the violence and I turn away, how do you think I’m going to feel? How would you feel? You want to know the truth? I’m scared shitless. But I’ve got to know. You understand?”
He pulled away from Cork and walked to the dock third distant from the bait shop. The dock jutted thirty or forty yards into the lake and nearly every slip on both sides was filled with a vessel. Lindstrom, as he stood a moment in the red light of the setting sun, cast an elongated shadow across the boards in front of him. He put his hand at his waist inside his coat, and he walked forward.
Cork scanned the marina, trying to see everything—all three docks, all the moored boats. The long angle of the sunlight created so many shadowed enclaves that there were a hundred places for a man to hide. A slight breeze blew across the lake, and the boats rocked gently, creating the illusion of movement on every deck.
Lindstrom walked slowly, looking carefully right and left, reading the names painted on the bows of the vessels, seeking the one called Matador. Cork glanced at his watch. The hands were just now touching eight-fifteen. He realized Lindstrom’s watch was running fast by a couple of minutes.
He shouted, “Karl!”
Lindstrom paused halfway down the dock and turned back.
The explosion blew a small sailboat at the end of the dock into a blur of smoke and fragments. The other boats there shoved back and tugged at their moorings like nervous ponies. Splintered board rained down on the marina, peppering the water and Cork. Lindstrom was down.
Cork ran to dock 3 where Lindstrom lay on his back, not moving. When Cork reached him, he saw that Lindstrom’s eyes were open and he was staring up at the sky.
“Am I dead?” he asked.
Cork shook his head. “Are you hurt?”
“What? I can’t hear you.”
“Hurt.” Cork mouthed the word and felt his own body in pantomime.
“I don’t know.” Lindstrom tried to rise, but Cork kept him down.
“Stay there.” Cork gestured with his hands. Then he put an imaginary phone to his ear. “I’m going to call you in. We’ll have some paramedics here in no time.”
“Huh?”
“Stay.”
Cork raced back to the bait shop and used the pay phone outside it to call the sheriff’s office. By the time he’d returned to Lindstrom, he heard the sirens already wailing.
19
HIGHWAY MAINTENANCE BROUGHT OVER BARRICADES, and Schanno’s men set up a perimeter, blocking access to the marina. Even so, deputies Gil Singer and Cy Borkmann were having a hell of a time keeping the crowd back.
“I want every off-duty officer brought in,” the sheriff instructed Deputy Marsha Dross. “And get some floodlights. It’s going to be dark soon.”
Agents Owen and Earl were out at the end of dock 3, looking at the water where only the mast of the Matador jutted above the surface. Captain Ed Larson, who headed up all the criminal investigations for the sheriff’s department, was talking with Jack Beagan, the harbormaster.
Karl Lindstrom sat on the front seat of Wally Schanno’s Land Cruiser drinking coffee from a disposable cup. He’d been treated by the paramedics for minor lacerations—splinters—but aside from a bit of quivering in his hand as he sipped his coffee, he seemed just fine.
Jo stood apart, observing everything darkly. She’d arrived after the sheriff’s people and before the ambulance. As soon as she’d made sure Cork was all right, she turned stony and moved away from him. She hadn’t said, “I told you so,” but the sentiment came off her anyway, strong as garlic.
Cork was scanning the crowd. In the murk of twilight, the red-and-white flash from the lights atop the sheriff’s department cruisers added to the chaotic, jittery feel of all those people pressed against the barricades. Cork recognized a lot of the faces. The understandably curious. He also saw Joan of Arc of the Redwoods leaning on her cane, shoulder to shoulder with Isaiah Broom. And Hell Hanover was giving Gil Singer a hard time, trying his best to work his way onto the scene. The cameras that had captured the news conference on the steps of the middle school were set up and rolling. Cork knew a circus when he saw one. And he was glad that for right now, it was Schanno who had to play ringmaster.
A pickup truck marked TAMARACK COUNTY SEARCH AND RESCUE nosed through the crowd. Gil Singer pulled aside a barricade and let it through. When it had been parked, Agent Owen began pulling diving gear from the back.
Earl left the dock and approached the Land Cruiser. Schanno, when he saw him coming, stepped to the Land Cruiser, too.
“Is your partner going to need a hand?” the sheriff asked.
“Mark’s fine. He’d prefer to go over the area under the dock himself. He knows best what he’s looking for.” Earl leaned an arm on the open door of the Land Cruiser. He wore a white shirt that looked freshly ironed and a blue tie that was tightly knotted. “How are you feeling, Mr. Lindstrom?”
“I’ve been better.”
Earl looked to the sheriff. “You’ll be taking him down to the department for a complete statement?”
“When he’s ready.”
Ed Larson called out, “Wally?” He beckoned the sheriff with a wave of his hand and Schanno headed over.
“Mind if I ask you a few questions?” Agent Earl asked Lindstrom. He pulled a ci
garette from a pack in his shirt pocket, then offered one to Lindstrom.
“I don’t smoke.”
“O’Connor?”
“Gave them up.”
Earl shrugged and lit his cigarette with a lighter. “Mr. Lindstrom, you said the note was left on the windshield of your vehicle at the school.”
“That’s right.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t there before you parked?”
“I’d have seen it.”
“Probably. But sometimes people drive with parking tickets on their windshield and don’t seem to notice. I’ve done it myself.”
“It wasn’t there.”
Earl turned to Cork. “You parked next to Mr. Lindstrom, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see the note?”
“No.”
“Could it have been there and you just didn’t notice?”
“It’s possible. But I’m more inclined to believe someone put it there when that firecracker went off. It was a good diversion.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Earl took a long, meditative draw on his cigarette. “Why did you park in back, Mr. O’Connor?”
“It’s okay to call me Cork. No room out front.”
“Ah. Sure. And according to your statement, you followed Mr. Lindstrom because you thought he might be in some trouble. What made you think that?”
“The way he looked when he read the note. And I saw him take a handgun from his briefcase.”
“If you thought there might be trouble, especially trouble involving the possible use of a firearm, why didn’t you alert the sheriff?”
“Wally and his men were already gone by then.”
“Of course. Mind if I take a look at that firearm of yours, Mr. Lindstrom?”
The handgun was sitting on the seat beside him. Lindstrom handed it to Agent Earl, who dropped his cigarette on the pavement and ground it out.
“Colt Commander forty-five. Nice piece.”
“It was the sidearm I carried as an officer in the navy.”
“Not standard military issue,” Earl observed.
The weapon had a satin nickel finish and a walnut grip inlaid with gold initials.
“My father gave it to me when I graduated from Annapolis.”
Earl released the magazine and inspected it. He sniffed the barrel. “Me, I was just a grunt. A kid in the mud in Korea. How about you? What did you do in the service?”
“Things I’m not allowed to talk about, actually. What does this have to do with what happened here tonight?”
“Nothing. Just shooting the breeze.” He slipped the magazine back in. “One round is missing. And it’s been fired recently.”
“I fired a test round this afternoon.”
“You were expecting trouble?”
“One of the important lessons I learned in the service was to anticipate and be prepared for all contingencies. May I have my gun back?”
“Of course.” He handed it over. “This particular incident seems to have been directed at you personally. Do you know anyone who’d have reason to want to harm you? Anyone who might have a grudge against you, or a deep animosity?”
“Who doesn’t these days?”
Earl grinned, politely. “After you read the note, why did you choose to walk to the marina rather than take your vehicle?”
Lindstrom shrugged. “It’s not far from the school. And—I don’t know—I guess I thought I might be able to check the lay of the land, so to speak.”
“Before you blundered into anything?”
“Something like that.”
“You seemed to be thinking pretty clearly. Your military training?”
“Maybe.”
“Did you ever think about informing Sheriff Schanno?”
“There wasn’t time.”
“Enough time for a leisurely stroll to the marina.”
“Maybe I wasn’t thinking so clearly after all. This isn’t a situation I face every day. Besides, I thought…”
“What?”
“That maybe this Eco-Warrior really was interested in bringing an end to things. And if that was the case, I had an obligation to try.”
“That’s an admirable motivation, Mr. Lindstrom. When you checked the lay of the land, did you see anything?”
“No. Only Cork.”
“And lucky for you, eh?” Earl turned to Cork and gave him a congenial smile. “You’re part Ojibwe, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“How do you feel about Our Grandfathers?”
“I’d hate to see them cut. But not enough to kill a man over it, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Lindstrom put his cup down on the dash, hard. Coffee sloshed out, all over Lindstrom’s hand and the clean interior of Schanno’s vehicle. “Look, Earl. I don’t like the way these questions are going. I’d be fish food right now if it wasn’t for Cork. And as for any of us thinking clearly, well maybe we weren’t. But you know, it’s our asses on the line here. It’s our businesses that are suffering. It’s our community that’s being torn apart. Who the hell are you to come butting into something you don’t understand or care about?”
“One man’s been murdered already, Mr. Lindstrom. And someone just tried to kill you. Murder is my business, and about that business, I care a lot. But I didn’t mean to upset you. You’ve been through enough for one night. No more questions.”
He stepped away. As he headed toward his partner, who was donning the diving gear, he lit up another Marlboro.
“Who the hell does he think he is?” Lindstrom asked.
“He’s just doing his job, Karl.”
Cork turned and looked toward Jo. She stared out across the lake, beyond all the confusion. It was dark enough for the halogen security light to have come on, illuminating the parking lot. Jo looked white, her skin frosted, and when her eyes turned to Cork, there seemed to be no warmth in them at all.
Schanno left Larson and harbormaster Jack Beagan and headed back to the Land Cruiser. Agent Earl came back as well.
“Beagan says Matador belongs to Stan and Bernadette Lukas,” Schanno reported.
“Stan and Bernadette spend every July in Seattle with their son’s family,” Cork said. “The whole town knows that.”
“Exactly,” Schanno said. “I’m thinking whoever planted that explosive was counting on no one except Karl to step aboard.”
“Did the harbormaster see anything suspicious around the boat lately?” Earl asked.
“Nothing.”
“Makes sense. If the charge was set underwater, there wouldn’t have been much to see,” Earl said. “Mark will be able to tell us more after he’s had a look.”
“What about the note?” Schanno asked.
“I’ll get it down to the lab in St. Paul tonight, but it will probably be a couple of days, at least, before they can tell us anything.”
Schanno nodded but didn’t look particularly happy about the time frame. “Karl, I want you to head on over to the hospital, get yourself examined. I’ll have one of my deputies accompany you, take a full statement, and make sure you get home okay.”
Lindstrom climbed out of the Land Cruiser and went to the waiting ambulance. Earl returned to his partner. Schanno shook his head.
“Ever feel like you’re holding a bag full of scorpions and you know sooner or later you’re gonna have to reach inside?”
“Wally,” Cork replied, “I know that feeling well.” There was nothing more for Cork to do there. He joined his wife. “If you’re willing, I could use a lift back to my Bronco.”
Without a word, Jo turned and started walking.
By the time they drove to the school, night had descended fully. The town was reduced to a skeleton, bones of light with a lot of dark between. Jo was silent, and Cork could feel the heat of her anger. There was a little flame in him, too, but he didn’t want to feed it. What good would it do, both of them flaring? Silence, he decided, was better.
Jo finally spoke. �
�So. I guess you were right.”
“About what?”
“Karl’s needing your help. Everybody seems to think he’d be dead if it weren’t for you. On the other hand, it could have ended with both of you dead. But then, that goes with the territory, doesn’t it?”
“What territory?”
“Law enforcement.” She paused the car at a stop sign, not long enough to be legal, and took off quickly. “When do you plan to make your announcement?”
“What are you talking about? What announcement?”
“Your candidacy. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it, Cork? Or should I say Sheriff O’Connor?”
“For crying out loud, Jo. Didn’t I promise that we’d talk before I made a decision?”
“You’ve already decided. Look at you. Every step of the way since the bombing, you’ve been there, ahead of everybody else. You’re besting everyone at this game.”
“It’s not a game.”
“Isn’t it? People’s lives are at stake, but the point of all this as far as Cork O’Connor is concerned is to show people what a great investigative mind he has, what a mistake they made when they let him go. Tell me, doesn’t it feel good right here”—she reached across the seat and slapped him hard in the gut—“to know how great you are at all this?”
“It feels wonderful,” he said, and shoved her hand away.
Silence descended again, and the two feet between them in the car felt to Cork like the empty distance between two stars. Jo drove the car around behind the school and pulled it up next to Cork’s Bronco. Lindstrom’s Explorer was still there.
Jo spoke quietly. “Haven’t you been happy at Sam’s Place?”
“I don’t think that’s the issue here. Look, Jo, what are you really afraid of?”
Her hands still gripped the steering wheel, tightly. “If you run, all the dirty laundry will be dragged out.”
“Ah.” Cork nodded. “You mean your dirty laundry. Because everybody already knows about mine.” He looked away, across the football field. The moon was rising behind the deserted bleachers. Eventually the grass on the field would turn silver, but right now it was a sorrowful gray. Cork remembered a game against Hibbing his senior year when he intercepted a pass and ran seventy-five yards for a touchdown. He remembered the sound of all those people in the stands cheering for him and how, for a little while, he felt huge and invulnerable. “I can win, Jo.”
Purgatory Ridge Page 16
