“If he’s lying about Reinhardt, he has his reasons. He won’t be happy that we’re interfering. An argument could be made that we ought to let him go down whatever road he’s chosen.”
“I think Luci’s is the better argument, that what Will does affects not just him, and shouldn’t she and Uly and Misty have some protection.”
“All right.”
“What’s that mean?”
“That I concede your point. Besides, the truth is, I’m intrigued. If Will’s lying about killing Reinhardt, I’d love to know why.”
“The question of the day. I think we ought to get him out of jail before we ask him that one.”
Cork glanced at his watch. “It’s almost eleven. I couldn’t make it to Duluth tonight in time to do any good. I’ll go tomorrow. I’ve got two meetings in the morning, one with LeDuc and the other with Marsha Dross. Then I want to stop by Sam’s Place. I can head down after that, early afternoon.”
“Cork.” Jo turned on the sofa so that she faced him fully. She reached out and put her hand gently against his chest, over his heart. “I don’t tell you this often enough, I know, but I so appreciate you. I feel lucky that you’re my husband. I love you very much.”
Cork was caught by surprise. “Thank you,” he said. “Where did that come from?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going to try to be better about making sure you know how much I love you and how much I value you.”
“You’re not dying, are you?”
She laughed.
“You know I feel the same way about you,” he said and kissed her. “And you’re right. We should say it more often.”
They were in the middle of another kiss when Annie walked in. “Get a room,” she said. She dropped into the easy chair.
“Congratulations on the game,” Jo said. “How was your evening?”
“Fun. How was yours?”
“Odd,” Jo replied. “Will Kingbird confessed to shooting Buck Reinhardt.”
In Annie’s face, Cork saw not only surprise but also dismay. The first words out his daughter’s mouth were, “Poor Uly.”
In her room, Annie sat down at her computer and IM’ed Ulysses Kingbird. r u there
She waited for a reply that didn’t come. She tried again, same message with the same result. Finally she typed here if u need me. She got ready for bed and lay down. Once more she kept a promise she’d made a few days earlier.
“Dear God, please take care of Uly.”
THIRTY-NINE
Cork ran early Saturday morning and he ran alone. When he began, the streets were empty and the houses dark. Iron Lake, when he reached the shoreline, was a cauldron full of black water and gray mist. He ran north until the rising sun threw a warm glow into the sky and turned the tops of the pine trees orange, then he turned and ran back. By the time he returned to Sam’s Place and began the final leg, the sun was up fully and the lake was dotted with boats.
Fishing opener in Minnesota.
At home, Cork found that Stevie was the only one awake. The little guy had poured himself a bowl of Cheerios and milk, set up a television tray, and was watching a cable wildlife program while he ate. He barely noticed his father coming in. Cork showered, groomed, and quietly dressed. He wrote a note to Jo, which he slipped under an empty coffee cup that he put on the kitchen table, and he left.
He drove to Allouette, on the reservation. In the back room of LeDuc’s store, he met with George and the others who, with goofy grins, continued to refer to themselves as the Red Menz. Tom Blessing was there. They drank coffee that Sarah LeDuc brought from the Mocha Moose next door.
At seventy, LeDuc was the oldest, though his vigor rivaled that of any man present. He took one of the two folding chairs, as did Lester Neadeau, also an elder. Cork and the other men sat on overturned crates or stood leaning against a wall.
“What did you say to them?” LeDuc asked.
Blessing, who’d been instructed to sit on several bags of Purina Puppy Chow that LeDuc had stacked in the center of the room, said, “I told them I wanted new terms. I told them that with all the trouble here, it was more dangerous to move the stuff than before. Anything less than sixty percent of the gross wouldn’t cut it.”
“Sixty percent? They must’ve thought you were crazy,” Cork said.
“I told them I was open to negotiation. That’s when they said Ortega would come to discuss the matter.”
“When?”
“He’ll fly out of Chicago tomorrow, arrive around noon. I said I’d meet him at the dock on Black Duck Lake.”
Cork said, “They’ll be planning to say hello to you the same way they did to Alexander and Rayette Kingbird.”
“I’m not afraid,” Blessing replied.
LeDuc folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “We need to be ready for them.”
They spent another hour planning the reception for the Latin Lords, and when they were all agreed and each understood his part, they broke up and went their separate ways.
Cork returned to Aurora and drove to the sheriff’s department. Cy Borkman, who was on the contact desk that morning, buzzed him through the security door. On the other side, he nearly bumped into BCA agent Simon Rutledge, who had a cup full of coffee in his hand.
“Morning, Cork,” Rutledge said.
“You sound chipper, Simon.”
“And why not? Beautiful day.”
“You a fisherman?”
“Yeah, but I never go out on opener. Like battling the crowds at a department store on the day after Thanksgiving. Peace and quiet is a big reason I’m on the lake. Care for some coffee?”
“I can get it myself.” Cork pulled a cup from a stack of Styrofoam disposables near the coffeepot.
“We’re all in the sheriff’s office,” Rutledge said.
“I’m right behind you.”
Marsha Dross was seated at her desk. Ed Larson stood behind her, looking over her shoulder at some papers she held. They both glanced up when Cork walked in and he had the sense that his presence had caused them to cut off their conversation.
“Sorry I’m late,” Cork said. “A little business to take care of first.”
“Anything to do with finding Thunder?” Larson asked.
“Personal,” Cork said.
He took one of the empty chairs and Rutledge took the other. Larson remained standing at the sheriff’s shoulder. A beam of sunlight the color of a pine plank slanted through the east window, looking solid enough to walk on.
Dross folded her hands and said, rather formally, “Have you made any progress in finding Thunder?”
“Finding him? No. I do know he’s still on the rez.”
“I suppose that’s something.” She exchanged an enigmatic look with Larson before continuing. “And you’re still convinced he’s responsible for the Kingbird killings?”
“I may have to revise my thinking on that.”
Larson said, “DEA believes strongly it was a drug-related hit. I agree.”
Cork shrugged. “Who am I to argue with DEA?”
