over a year ago, one that had put both Jo and Stevie in mortal jeopardy. He’d called to ask a favor of her: would she be willing to check on Dina to verify the woman’s claim about her background with the Bureau, and to supply any other background information to which she might have access? Kay had agreed to help.
Cork left his office and headed to the converted Old Firehouse where Dr. Faith Gray had her practice. The psychologist smiled pleasantly when Cork hurried in, and she offered him herbal tea. They sat in green stuffed chairs in a room with a big dieffenbachia in a corner and a lush Swedish ivy in a brown jute macrame hanger at the window. Filled bookshelves lined the walls, a garden of knowledge. Faith Gray’s long hair flowed white like fast water down the middle of her back. Her eyes were bright blue and kind. She wore a long denim skirt, a white turtleneck, and an oval of turquoise on a long silver chain around her neck.
“How’s that ear?” she asked.
“Itchy. I’ll be glad when the stitches come out.”
They chatted awhile, then she lifted her cup to her lips. “How have you been sleeping?”
“I sleep.”
“Not well, I’d wager, from the look of you. Trouble going to sleep? Staying asleep?”
“Both,” Cork said.
“Do you dream?”
“Yes.”
“Any disturbing dreams?”
He related the recurring dream in which his father transformed into a wounded Marsha Dross and he couldn’t save either of them.
She listened, nodded, then said, “Tell me about the shooting.”
Cork said, “You know about that. I had Pender drop off the incident report, as you asked.”
“Tell me about it anyway.”
Cork went through it from the time the call came in from the Tibodeau cabin to the moment the EMTs rushed Marsha Dross away in the ambulance.
“Look at your hands,” she said when he’d finished.
“What?”
The light changed as clouds passed across the sun and the room took on a gloomy cast.
“Look at your hands, Cork.”
Her eyes drifted gently to his fingers, which were dug into the padded arms of the easy chair so hard, his fingernails had turned red and his knuckles white. He loosened his grip.
Her eyes moved next to the pendulum clock on the wall behind Cork. “Our time’s up,” she said. “I’d like to see you again.”
“Faith, I’m pressed for time these days.”
“Let me rephrase that. If you want to continue performing your duties, you need to come until I tell you not to. It’s in the regulation, Cork, the one you and I wrote together.”
Cork, Larson, and Rutledge met before Dina Willner arrived. He told them what FBI Special Agent Margaret Kay had reported to him, confirming Willner’s background and excellent record. They discussed her involvement. Neither Rutledge nor Larson liked the idea of an outsider being a part of the team, but the speed with which she might be able to get evidence analyzed was very appealing. They’d dealt with law enforcement agencies at all levels, and working with a consultant, they decided, wouldn’t be significantly different. They wanted to meet her in person before they agreed.
Promptly at noon, Willner entered Cork’s office. After shaking hands all around, she said, “You have the look of probation officers. Honestly, I’m here to help in any way I can, to offer anything you need that might facilitate your investigation. I’m also here as an intermediary. Sheriff O’Connor’s already dealt with Lou Jacoby, so he knows that Lou prefers a cattle prod to diplomacy. He’d make your lives miserable, believe me.”
She looked refreshed, as if she’d managed a nap or taken a shower. She wore jeans, a yellow cable knit sweater, and hiking boots. Cork noted again that although she was modest in size, there was a surety in her manner that made her seem substantial, someone you could trust watching your back. That she was attractive didn’t hurt in the least.
“Questions, gentlemen?”
“My only concern is maintaining the integrity of the investigation,” Larson said. “I’d like you to agree not to pass along any information to Mr. Jacoby or anyone else without explicit permission from us.”
“Agreed,” Dina said.
“Anything else?” Cork waited a moment. “If not, then could you step outside for a minute, Dina?”
“Of course.” She left the room and closed the door behind her.
“Well?”
“Her credentials seem all right,” Rutledge said. “And the chance of getting faster lab results is attractive.”
“As long as she doesn’t interfere, I don’t see a problem,” Larson said.
“Simon?”
“Goes for me, too.”
When Dina returned, she took a chair to the left of Larson and Rutledge.
The day had warmed. A few minutes earlier Cork had opened a window, and the smell of fall drifted into the room. In the park across the street, children too young for school filled the playground, and their small high squeals provided an odd background music to the grim discussion taking place.
Larson reported that he’d talked to most of the women on the list of known prostitutes. They all knew about Eddie Jacoby’s penchant for cruelty and claimed they’d refused to have anything to do with him. They were all able to account for their whereabouts the night he was killed.
“I haven’t followed up on the alibis yet,” Larson said. “But if we get anything that points us in that direction, I’ll hop right on it.”
Dina gestured at the accordion folder Larson held. “Is that Eddie’s case file?”
“Yes.”
“May I see it?”
Larson looked to Cork, who nodded, then handed it over.
Rutledge had finally received the fax of the records for Jacoby’s cell phone. He’d made copies, which he supplied to everyone present. In the week Eddie had been in Aurora, he’d called a lot of folks on the rez, and had received calls from them. All the names listed with the phone numbers were members of the Reservation Business Committee. Some calls had also come from a pay phone located at the North Star Bar. Rutledge asked about it, and Cork told him it was an Indian bar in the middle of nowhere. Several calls had been made to the Chicago area, mostly to Starlight Enterprises, and one to Ben Jacoby’s cell phone the afternoon Eddie died.
Cork said, “Jacoby told me about his brother’s call. I’d like to know what they talked about, exactly what was said. Ed, you mind taking that one? I want to follow up on some of these calls to the rez.”
“Sure. You want to come?” Larson asked Dina.
“I’d rather work the rez.”
Cork said, “You go anywhere, it’s with Ed.”
She didn’t argue.
Cork turned to Rutledge. “Any word from the BCA lab?”
Simon looked a little chagrined. “I called. They’re backlogged. We probably won’t get anything for another week at least.”
“Do you have any of the cigarette butts left that you found in the SUV?”
“One.”
Dina said, “I’d be happy to send it to our lab in Chicago. We could have a DNA analysis by this time day after tomorrow, guaranteed.”
“I’ll consider it.”
She looked as if there was something more on her mind.
“Yes?” Cork said.
“I’m just wondering.” She’d taken the autopsy report from the file and she tapped it with a polished nail the
