“Well now, Cork, you know I can’t make any promises. But I’ll sure do my best to keep you in the loop.”
“That’s all I’m asking, Cy.” Cork stood up and reached his hand across the desk. “Nice doing business with you. Sheriff.” He grinned.
33
CORK FELT A LITTLE SLIMY in the way he’d used Borkmann. On the other hand, he got what he was looking for. He knew now that the sheriff’s people had no more information on Fletcher and Glory Kane than he had. That meant there was a lot of digging to be done.
During a lull in the rush at Sam’s Place that afternoon, he stepped into the back section of the Quonset hut, called directory assistance, and got the number for the Worthington Clinic in Pomona. When he telephoned, the automated system told him the hours were 8:00 A.M. until 5:00 P.M. Monday through Friday. If it was an emergency, there was a number to call. He was free to leave a message that would be returned as soon as possible.
Cork left a message.
“This is Sheriff Corcoran O’Connor calling from Tamarack County, Minnesota. I’d appreciate talking with someone there about Dr. Fletcher Kane. This is in relation to a homicide investigation.” He left his telephone number, said thank you, and hung up.
He knew he’d have to be careful about the sheriff part.
When he returned to the serving area, he saw Deputy Randy Gooding at one of the windows talking with Annie, both of them laughing. Gooding signaled him over. Annie stepped back toward the griddle, smiling happily.
“Cy sent me over, Cork. He thought you might want to know that we finally tracked down Grover Buck,” Gooding said. “Duluth P.D. is holding him.”
“For what?”
“Soliciting the services of a woman he thought was a prostitute, but who was really part of a sting. I’d contacted them earlier, when Buck suddenly dropped out of sight right after his miraculous healing. They promised to watch for him.”
“Did he drive himself to Duluth, now that the Lord has opened his eyes?”
“Yeah, right. His nephew. Same one who helped him count out the five hundred dollars he got for faking his healing.”
“Who paid him?”
“Swears he never got the man’s name. But get this. The guy paid him off in bogus bills, counterfeit C-notes, while the nephew’s standing there, watching. What does a sixteen-year-old kid know about counterfeit bills?”
“What about Marge Schembeckler and her arthritis?”
“I talked to her a couple of days ago. She admitted she was back in her wheelchair the same afternoon she was healed. Stayed in her house after that. Ashamed, she says. Doesn’t seem to be any connection between her and the guy who paid off Buck. I figure she just got caught up in the moment and willed herself to walk. At least for a little while.”
“So the blanket …”
“Wasn’t anything special after all.”
Although he couldn’t have said why, Cork felt a little sad that the hands behind the miracles had been revealed.
“Anybody else know this?”
“Not yet, but they will soon enough. Borkmann’s giving a statement to the media.”
“A shame in a way. All those folks who wanted to believe so badly.”
Gooding leaned close through the window. “Cy told me about the discussion you two had in his office. I got to tell you, I think you’re way off base about Dr. Kane.”
Cork shook his head. “There’s too much about him that when you try to add it up just doesn’t total.”
“Mostly, he’s just a man who’s suffered a lot and wants his privacy, I think.”
Cork thought different, but he didn’t want to argue the point. “How about a chocolate malt?” he said. “On the house.”
At dusk, Jenny turned from her serving window and said, “Dad, there’s something going on at the dock. Doesn’t look good.”
Cork stripped off his apron and headed out the door of the Quonset hut. As he approached the dock, he could see clearly what was happening. A couple of young men with a big new boat had tied up at the landing. They weren’t locals and Cork didn’t know them. They were sunburned and drunk. Cork figured they’d spent the day on the lake, drinking and trolling. On the water, they’d been trying for walleyes, but when they tied up at the dock, they went fishing for something else—a couple of local teenage girls who’d also tied up there. The women wanted none of it and were just trying to get up to Sam’s Place, but the men had cut them off.
“Evening, Susan,” Cork said as he stepped onto the dock. “Hey, Donna.”
The men turned at the sound of his voice, unhappy with his interruption.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said. “Got a couple of regular customers here. I always give them first-class treatment.”
He stepped between the two men, forcing them to the edges of the dock, and he offered his hand to Donna Payne.
“Well hey, Pops, that’s what we had in mind, too,” one of the men said, grinning. He had blond hair made stiff by the sun and the wind.
“I think I know what you had in mind,” Cork said. “And first-class, it wasn’t.”
As the girls passed between the two men, the guy with the stiff blond hair grabbed Donna by the arm. “How about dinner on us?”
“How about a cold one on me?” Cork said. He shoved the man into the water, and with a quick turn, did the same to his companion.
“Go on up to Sam’s Place,” Cork told the young women. “Jenny will take care of you.”
The two men sputtered and flailed in the water and grabbed at the dock. Cork stood looking down on them.
“I’d stay in that water a little longer if I were you. It’ll help you sober up. Then you take your boat and you get out of here. This is my property, and as of five minutes from now, I’ll consider you trespassing and call the cops. Believe me, they’ll love hauling you in. They like giving fines to strangers with expensive boats.”
Cork left the men treading water and headed back to Sam’s Place.
The two girls stood at the window.
“Thanks, Mr. O’Connor,” Donna said.
“You’re welcome.”
Inside Sam’s Place, Annie said, “You got a strange call while you were out at the dock, Dad. He asked for Sheriff O’Connor.”
“Damn. What did you tell him?”
“I said you were busy breaking up a fight.”
“Did you tell him I wasn’t sheriff?”
“No. I took a message for you though.” She had a piece of paper in her hand. “It was a Mr. Steven Hadlestadt from the Worthington Clinic returning your call. He said you wanted to talk to him about a homicide investigation involving Fletcher Kane. I told him you were actually investigating the murder of Dr. Kane’s daughter, Charlotte. He seemed really confused. He said ‘Charlotte?’ I said yes, Charlotte Kane. And he said something really strange, Dad. He said, ‘I thought they closed the book on that murder investigation four years ago.’ ”
34
“SHE WAS MURDERED four years ago?”
“An investigation of her murder was conducted four years ago. Whatever that means.”
Jo fell quiet on the other end of the line. She was in her office at home. Cork knew the window was open because he could hear Stevie in the backyard with some other children. They were yelling. A game of tag, it sounded like.
“Did you call him back?”
“I tried. No answer. I left a couple of messages. He told Annie he’d be in his office all day Monday if I wanted to call him back. Jo, I need to go out to California. I want to talk to Hadlestadt in person first thing Monday morning.”
“Maybe he’ll call before Monday.”
“Maybe. But I still think I should go. Kane lived most of his life in California. It could be that a lot of the answers we’re looking for are there.”
“It means you’ll have to fly out tomorrow. That’ll be expensive.”
“Would you want to cross-examine a witness over the phone?”
“You really think it wi
ll be worthwhile?”
“Yeah.”
“Gut feeling?”
“Gut feeling.”
“All right. I’ll get on the Internet and see if I can get you a reasonable fare.” He heard her breathe, a sigh like wind across the wire. “What’s going on, Cork?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. With any luck, come Monday we’ll have an answer.”
He was distracted the rest of the evening, and thankful when it came time to close. As he was preparing the slip for the night deposit, Annie called to him from the front where she was finishing with the cleaning.
“Dad, Aunt Rose is here. She wants you to come outside.”
“Tell her to come in.”
“No, she says for you to come outside.”
Cork put the day’s take in a bank envelope and sealed it, then he left the Quonset hut.
It was almost dark. Rose stood in the gravel lot, waiting.
“This is a surprise,” he said.
“I was out for a walk.”
“Long walk.”
“I seem to take a lot of those these days. Mind if we talk down by the lake? It’s so pretty in the evening.”
They strolled to the dock, where the water was smooth and dark. The town of Aurora lay along the shoreline to the south, and far across the lake to the east the lights of isolated cabins glimmered here and there like stars fallen to earth.
“What is it, Rose?”
She crossed her arms and looked at the distant lights. “Do you remember the first time we met, Cork?”
“Sure. Beef stroganoff and cherry pie. Best meal I’d had in years.”
She laughed gently. “You always had a good appetite. I knew right away you were a man who could be trusted. In Jo’s life, that was important and rare.”
“You grilled me pretty good that night.”
“You passed with flying colors.”
A fish jumped. A splash of water, blue-black rings widening. Then the night was quiet again.
“Why Jo?” she asked.
“What?”
“What made you fall in love with Jo?”
“Her eyes for one thing. They were fire and ice at the same time. Her brain. The way she talked so passionately about things. It didn’t hurt that she was beautiful, too.”
Rose breathed a sigh. “Men like a pretty woman, don’t they?”
“Beauty comes in a lot of forms, Rose, and I’ll tell you this. I’ve never met anyone with a more beautiful soul than yours.”
In the dim light, she smiled at him. “Thank you.”
“You clean up pretty nice, too.”
She laughed again.
“Long walk just to ask about Jo and me.”
“That wasn’t the reason I came.”
Maybe not, but it was certainly on your mind, Cork thought.
“Jo told me you’re flying to California tomorrow. She said you think Fletcher might have had something to do with Charlotte’s murder.”
“I’m just following leads, Rose.”
“What if you don’t come up with anything?”
“I’ll keep digging until I do.” Cork leaned against one of the dock posts. “You know, Rose, you’ve always been the soul of discretion, but if you’ve got something to say, I wish you’d just spit it out.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I made a promise. An important one.”
“To whom?”
“I can’t say.”
“Do you know something about Charlotte? About the Kanes? Rose, this is important.”
“I know. But I can’t tell you now. When do you leave?”
“First thing in the morning. Why can’t you tell me now?”
“I told you that I knew you were a man who could be trusted. Well, I need you to trust me now.”
If anyone else had put him in this position, Cork would have throttled them. But Rose asked little, and when she did, it was a request to be heeded.
“All right.” He let out a huge breath that conveyed, he hoped, his frustration. “You want a ride back to the rectory?”
“I’d rather walk. I’ve still got a lot of thinking to do.”
A breeze arose, glided off the water cool and fresh, lifted her hair. Cork saw how beautiful she was then, and how any man might love her.
She said, “I used to believe life was pretty simple. There was my family, my friends, and my church, and there wasn’t much that prayer couldn’t help.”
“And now?”
“Some days,” she said, “I wonder.”
She turned away from the lake.
“I wish you’d take a ride,” Cork said. “Until we know who stalked Annie, it might not be safe to be out alone so late.”
She weighed his concern, and after a moment, she said all right.
“Wait in the Bronco. I’ll get Annie.”
Inside, Annie had finished the cleaning and was ready to go.
“What did Aunt Rose want?” she asked.
Cork gathered everything for the night deposit, shook his head, and said, “I’m not sure she knows.”
Early the next morning, before he left town, Cork drove to Sam Winter Moon’s old cabin. Blue woodsmoke rose up from the stovepipe, and the smell of frying bacon was in the air. Dot’s blue Blazer sat under a birch tree. The cabin door opened as Cork walked toward it, and Solemn’s mother stepped outside. She wore jeans and a blue and white Timberwolves T-shirt and held a spatula in her hand.
“Morning, Dot.”
“Cork.”
“Looking for Solemn.”
“He’s along the creek.” With the spatula, she pointed toward the east.
“Where are the bodyguards?”
“Bodyguards?”
“Junior and Phil Medina.”
“Solemn sent them away.” She swung her free hand at a fly that was darting about her head. “Jo told me you’re going to L.A. today.”
“Yeah.”
“I told Solemn. He didn’t seem to care much. He heard about the miracles. That they were bullshit.”
“How’s he doing?”
She shook her head.
“Think he’d mind if I talked to him?”
“You can try. Hungry? I got pancakes and bacon coming up soon.”
“No, thanks. I’ll just have a word with Solemn then be off.”
He found Winter Moon sitting on a stump a hundred yards down Widow’s Creek. It wasn’t far from the place where, months earlier, Cork had found the dead whitetail. All remains of the deer were probably gone now, eaten by scavengers and insects. Nature cleaning up, Cork knew.
Solemn sat slumped, his arms on his knees, his head down, watching the creek water run past a few yards away. He didn’t seem to hear Cork coming.
“Solemn?”
The young man didn’t turn, didn’t move at all. “They don’t believe,” he said.
“A lot of people never did. Does that make a difference?”
“It’s gone. That feeling I got in the woods. I’ve lost it. Why did it come to me if it was just going to go away?” He shook his head. “You were right all along. It was just a dream. Hallucination, whatever. All those people looking to me, they really were just a bunch of suckers.”
Cork sat down on the ground next to the stump and looked at the water moving past, saw how the sky was reflected on the surface without obscuring the rocks beneath that formed the creek bed.
“Solemn, last winter I saw something that to this day I don’t understand. It was right after Charlotte disappeared. I was part of the search team looking for her, but I got lost in a whiteout on Fisheye Lake. Couldn’t tell up from down. I haven’t been so scared in a long time. Then someone, some thing, guided me to safety. I never saw it clearly. It stayed just at the edge of my vision, but I felt it was Charlotte, and I don’t know how that could have been.”
“You believe what you saw?”
“I want to believe. I want very much to believe, but I fall way short. It saved my li
fe, that’s all I know, just like what you saw saved yours.” Cork shrugged and stared beyond the creek where the forest lay deep as any secret he knew. “I remember something Sam used to tell me. He said there’s more in these woods than a man can ever see with his eyes, more than he can ever hope to understand.”
For a long time, Solemn didn’t respond. Then he said, “Sam’s dead.”
“What I’m saying is that most people would give anything for a moment of the kind of certainty you had out there in those woods. What you experienced is a rare gift and one that gives the rest of us hope.”
Solemn slowly lifted his head. There were tears in his eyes.
“I felt like I was overflowing. Now I wish it had never happened, Cork, because now that it’s gone, I feel more empty than ever. And more alone.”
Cork wanted to reach out and hold Solemn, but touching that way wasn’t Ojibwe.
He stood up. He had a plane to catch.
“Go to Henry,” he said.
He stopped in Aurora to gas up. As he headed south out of town, he drove past the sheriff’s department and the park where the crowd had once gathered, hoping for a glimpse of a man who’d talked with God. The park was empty now. Whenever hope packed its bag and left for good, all that remained was a terrible emptiness, immeasurably sad.
That was something Solemn understood well.
Cork drove to the Twin Cities, and at two o’clock caught a plane to L.A. By the time he’d shuttled to the Hertz lot to pick up his rental and driven to his hotel, a quaint place called the Claremont Inn just across the city line from Pomona, it was nearly six o’clock. His stomach was still on Minnesota time and he was starved. After he checked in, he headed out in search of food and the Worthington Clinic.
He found the clinic first. It was a multiwing building of snow white stucco set in a sea of grass behind iron gates and a wall hung with bougainvillea. In the background rose the San Gabriels, copper green in the late afternoon haze. It looked like the kind of place only an Oscar or a million bucks would get you into.
He had a decent steak in a restaurant just off Route 66, then he drove awhile. He hadn’t been in Southern California for years and what had bothered him then bothered him now. The orange groves had become subdivisions and parking lots, and even with all the freeways no one seemed to be able to get anywhere fast enough.
Blood Hollow (Cork O'Connor) Page 24
