“Coffee,” Cork said.
“Try the blintzes,” Ben Jacoby said. “They’re marvelous.”
“Just coffee,” Cork said.
When Jan from Finland had gone, Dina said, “Sheriff, I headed the Organized Crime Section for the FBI’s Chicago office for seven years. Before that, I was with the Money Laundering Unit out of DC. And before that, I spent several years as an investigator for the Cook County prosecutor’s office.”
“Impressive,” Cork said. “But we don’t need another hand.”
“My experience with rural law enforcement is that resources are always scarce. It’s my understanding that at the moment you’re conducting two major investigations.”
“The BCA is helping.”
“Let me ask you something. When you send evidence to the BCA, how long before they process it?”
“Depends.”
“A week? Three? I have access to private laboratories that guarantee results within twenty-four to forty- eight hours.”
“We can’t afford-”
“I can,” Lou Jacoby broke in.
“With all due respect, sir-”
“I’m going to cut through the crap.” The old man pointed his fork at Cork. “I want to know who killed my son, and I want to be sure that no hayseed with a badge fucks things up.”
“Dad,” Ben Jacoby said.
“Am I clear, Sheriff?”
Cork felt heat rising, his face flushing, his stomach drawing taut. His anger must have been apparent because the younger Jacoby said quickly, “We’re all a little tired and upset, Sheriff. I hope you can understand.”
It took a moment, but Cork finally swallowed the words that had been ready to leap from his throat. Ben was right. They’d lost a member of their family. That kind of loss was confusing, and people often responded in ways that were, in the end, understandable and forgivable.
“I’m not here to interfere with your investigation, Sheriff,” Dina said. “I’m here to offer resources that might not otherwise be available. Honestly, wouldn’t you appreciate getting answers faster than they’ve been coming?”
“I’ll consider it,” Cork finally said.
The patriarch looked as if he were about to speak again, perhaps to shove something more down Cork’s throat, but his son said, “Dad, why don’t we give Dina and Sheriff O’Connor a few minutes alone to talk.”
Lou Jacoby cast a look toward Dina that was clear in its message: don’t fuck up. He stood up.
“Ben,” Cork said. “Would you stay for just a moment?”
Lou Jacoby glanced at his son, seemed to weigh the request, and nodded. He turned and walked from the room.
Cork folded his hands on the table. “I won’t tolerate any interference. Your father might have influence in Chicago, but here he’s just another guest at the Quetico Inn.”
“I understand,” Jacoby replied. “And please accept my apology. As I said, he’s upset. That’s part of the reason I asked Dina here. Dad was insistent that he was going to stay through the end of your investigation. Believe me, he would make life hell. Dina not only has the background to be of service, but she’s also infinitely easier to work with. If you decline her help, you’ll find yourself dealing directly with my father. Do you really want that?”
“Like I said, I’ll consider it.”
Dina Willner listened impassively but smiled pleasantly whenever Cork looked her way.
“I’m wondering if you could clarify something for me, Ben. Eddie’s your half brother, correct?”
“Yes. After my mother died, my father married Eddie’s mother, Gwen. She passed away two years ago.”
“Were they married long?”
“Nineteen years.”
“Nineteen years? Eddie was what, thirty-five?”
“If you’re wondering about the math, Sheriff, Eddie was a bastard child. Lou and Gwen didn’t get married until he was fourteen.”
“How did you feel about him?”
“What do you mean?”
“He was a half brother, born to what, your father’s mistress? Was there any resentment?”
“For better or worse, he was part of the family. My father loved him. I love my father. So I tried to be a brother to Eddie. I admit that wasn’t always easy.”
“Why?”
“We saw the world in different ways.”
“What was his way?”
“He saw everything in terms of Eddie. A rather limited view.”
“So, he was a difficult sibling. How was he as a husband?”
“You should probably ask his wife.”
“She’s not here. And I’m sure you have an opinion.”
“I thought the police dealt in facts.”
“Here’s a fact. Eddie was a womanizer. More than that, he liked to hurt women.”
Jacoby didn’t appear at all surprised. “Is that why he’s dead?”
“It’s certainly one of the possibilities. You say your father loved him. Did they talk about things?”
“What things?”
“Eddie’s work, his life, his hobbies, his treatment of women.”
“I don’t know. I’ll be happy to ask him.”
“How about if I ask him?”
“You’ve seen him, Sheriff. You’d get nothing helpful from him right now.”
“Mind if I ask you where you were the night Edward was killed?”
“You think I resented Eddie enough to kill him?”
“I’m just asking where you were.”
“I was working on a business deal until very late, with several associates. I can give you their names.”
“Not necessary at the moment.”
Jan from Finland finally arrived with the coffee Cork had ordered. Cork ignored it and turned his attention to Dina, who’d been listening patiently to the conversation. “We have evidence taken from the SUV in which Eddie Jacoby was murdered. A couple of cigarette butts with lipstick prints. If we came up with other samples that we’d like to compare against, DNA or the lip prints, how long would that take?”
“Depending on the kind of samples, if we shipped them overnight express, we could have results within forty-eight hours of their arrival.”
“Results that would stand up in court?”
“Absolutely.”
“Meet me at the Sheriff’s Department at noon. I’ll introduce you to the other investigators. Remember, you’re with us only so long as you’re useful and stay out of the way.”
Dina Willner gave a serious nod. “Understood.”
17
His meeting with the psychologist was scheduled for 10:00 A.M. and he was already five minutes late.
He said, “Thanks, Margaret,” into the phone and hung up.
Cork had worked with Special Agent Margaret Kay of the FBI’s Minneapolis field office on an important case
