Cork swerved to miss a black cat with glowing green eyes that had frozen in the headlights. “So that was nothing but a lucky shot on Lamb Lake?”
“I train for that kind of shot. That doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”
“And Jacoby didn’t offer you a contract on me?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
They took US 53 south out of Superior and in a while were skirting the Brule River State Forest. There wasn’t much traffic and the road seemed to tunnel through the trees into endless black.
On the seat beside him, Cork’s cell phone bleated. He picked it up. Rose was calling.
“We’ve tried all the hospitals anywhere near here, Cork, but nobody will tell us anything. They say legally they can’t. But they’re also saying that if Jo had been admitted and they were looking for nearest relatives, you’d have been notified. So I guess that’s one way of saying she’s not there.”
“Okay, Rose. That’s good. Evanston Police Department said they have no report of her being involved in an accident. And we’ve got someone checking out Ben Jacoby’s house in Winnetka right now.”
“What if she’s not there?”
“Then we’ll keep looking.”
“The kids are scared, Cork.”
“I don’t blame them.”
“Shouldn’t we notify the police that she’s missing?”
“They won’t do anything, Rose. Not for at least twenty-four hours. Adults disappear all the time for their own private reasons.” It was a line he’d delivered many times as a cop to a worried husband or wife. The truth was, most people showed up, came back after they’d had time to think things over. “Do what you can for the kids, okay, Rose? And thanks. If you hear anything-”
“I know.”
Cork put the phone down beside him.
“Nothing?” Dina asked.
“Nothing.” Cork swung around a slow-moving Voyager, the speedometer at eighty when he pulled back into the lane. The broken white lines came at him like tracer bullets from a machine gun. “You think I’m wrong about Jacoby wanting my wife?”
“I’ve never met your wife.” She laid her head against the seat back. “But I know that people kill for less compelling reasons than love.”
“A man like Jacoby, does he even understand love?”
“We most desire what we can’t have.”
“Desire’s not love.”
“No,” she said. “It isn’t.”
Her phone rang. She answered and listened. She said thank you and hung up.
“Winnetka PD. A couple of uniforms stopped by the Jacoby residence on Sheridan Avenue. Phillip Jacoby answered the door. That’s Ben’s son.”
“I know,” Cork said.
“He told them Jo wasn’t there, that he hasn’t seen her at all and he’s been home all evening.”
“Was Ben Jacoby there?”
“The cops talked to Phillip, that’s all I know.”
“Does he lie?”
“I don’t know anyone who doesn’t. Do you?”
In Eau Claire, they stopped for gas and Cork drove through a McDonald’s because he hadn’t eaten all day. Dina took the wheel and guided them to I-94, which would take them to Chicago. Cork ate, barely tasting the food. All he could think of was Jo. Where the hell was she, and was she safe?
And when that became almost unbearable, he thought about Jacoby and wondered what Dina had said that made him want her off the investigation.
47
They took turns driving, nodding off briefly when they weren’t behind the wheel. Once, Cork jerked awake with a terrified suck of air.
“Bad dream?” Dina said, shifting her attention momentarily from the road ahead. “You have a lot of those?”
“Tell me someone who doesn’t.” Cork rubbed his eyes and directed her to pull off at the next exit. He was ready to drive.
He wondered what was true about Dina Willner. How much of her had Jacoby bought? Was she really along to keep him from sleeping at the wheel or mostly to keep him in her sight for Jacoby? He was tired, knew that his judgment was off, and decided if he couldn’t trust himself it was best to trust nothing.
They hit Evanston around five-thirty and fifteen minutes later pulled up in front of Mal and Rose’s duplex. There was a faint glow in the eastern sky, but under the trees on the street where Cork parked, night still held solid. Most of the homes were dark. Upstairs in the duplex, a light shone behind the curtains.
Mal opened the door and hugged Cork in welcome. Rose was right behind him.
“Anything?” he asked. He’d checked in by phone only an hour earlier, but he still hoped that good news might have arrived.
“Nothing,” Mal said.
“This is Dina Willner.” Cork stepped aside. “She’s been helping with the investigation in Aurora. She offered to come along and make sure I didn’t fall asleep at the wheel.”
“Won’t you come in?” Rose said to her warmly. “I’ve got coffee.”
“Thanks. I could use a cup.”
Inside, Cork asked, “The kids?”
“Asleep,” Mal said. “The girls have been up most of the night but they finally conked out a couple of hours ago.”
“Let them sleep,” Cork said.
They sat around the kitchen table, hunched over the coffee Rose poured. Jo’s note lay in front of Cork. He could almost hear her voice in her carefully handwritten script.
“I feel so helpless,” Rose confessed. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Let’s start with what we know,” Cork said. “She left to meet Ben Jacoby, but before he called to cancel. Did you save Jacoby’s message?”
“Yes.”
“Let me hear it.”
Rose brought him the phone and punched in the number for voice mail. She tapped in a security code, then a code to replay the message, and handed the phone to Cork.
“Jo, it’s Ben. I apologize, but something extremely important has come up that I have to take care of right away. I won’t be able to meet you. I’m hoping you haven’t left yet, but just in case you have, I’m going to call Phillip and let him know to expect you. You can certainly leave the painting, but I’d much rather you gave it to me personally. Again, I’m sorry to bail on you at the last minute. Honestly, this is business that can’t wait. I’ll be in touch.”
Cork handed the phone back to Rose.
“Time on the message is five-fourteen. And the note Jo wrote said she left at five-ten.”
“Yes,” Rose said.
“So he just missed her.” He looked at Dina. “You said you updated Jacoby about Stone. When did you talk to him?”
“As soon as we came out of the Boundary Waters. Later I gave him a full update on what we learned from Lizzie Fineday.”
“About Eddie’s murder?”
