he was listed in serious condition and in no shape to be questioned. Rutledge had no doubt that these people were involved in the rez shooting because, in addition to the marijuana operation in the barn and nearly a kilo of cocaine and a sizable stash of crystal meth in one of the farmhouse bedrooms, the sheriff’s people found a cache of weapons that included a Savage 110GXP3 fitted with a Leupold scope. Rutledge sent the firearm to the BCA for a ballistics comparison.
It was going on two o’clock when Cork rolled into his parking space at the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department in Aurora. A little more than eight hours had passed since he’d said good-bye to Jo and the children, but it felt like days. He was bone tired, and the relief that came with finding the rifle that had probably been used in the shooting at the Tibodeau cabin was tempered by the memory of two bodies lying together in the front hallway of the farmhouse in a pool of their mixed blood. They’d made the choices that had brought them to that end, but always in the stillness after violent killing there was a hollowness inside Cork that held no sense of victory or justice or right, only the empty absolute of death.
Ed Larson joined him in his office, along with Dina Willner. The windows were open to a quiet Sunday afternoon. A slight breeze out of the southwest kept the skies fair and the temperature pleasant. Beyond the little park that Cork could see through his window, the bell tower of Zion Lutheran was etched like a white tattoo against the body of the town.
“When will we know for sure?” Larson asked.
“Simon said he’d pull strings to get the ballistics done ASAP, so maybe tomorrow or the next day.” Cork sat forward, rubbed his lower back. He opened the top right drawer of his desk, pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen, and tapped out four tablets.
“Let me get you some water for that,” Dina said. She went out and came back with a paper cup filled from the cooler in the common area.
“Thanks.” Cork popped the tablets in his mouth and swallowed them down with the cold water.
“Headache?” Larson asked.
“Back,” Cork said. “Wrenched it when I dropped to a firing position out there in the field.”
Larson glanced at Dina. “We might have something that’ll make you feel better. Something on the Jacoby killing.”
“Yeah? What?”
“Tell him your part first, Dina.”
Willner wore a tight black sweater and formfitting black jeans that Cork figured she had to grease herself down to slide into. She looked good and fresh, as if she’d had plenty of sleep, something Cork envied.
“I went to the North Star Bar last night,” she began.
“Another session with the push-up bra?” Cork broke in.
She ignored him. “I talked with a dumpy guy behind the bar, name was Leonard. He told me that on the night Jacoby was murdered, Lizzie Fineday was out but came back in around midnight beat up bad. Her father took her upstairs, then came down a short time later and went out, moving like a man on a mission. He wasn’t back for closing, so Leonard had to do it by himself, which he says is unusual. Fineday always insists on closing.”
“You got all this with a push-up bra? I may have to start wearing one.”
Larson piped in. “I finally caught up with the night clerk at the Four Seasons. He told me that around eight or nine on the evening Jacoby was killed, Lizzie Fineday came into the hotel looking for him. He wasn’t there, so she left a note.”
“He didn’t happen to see what the note said?”
“No such luck. But Jacoby comes in around eleven, gets the note, heads right back out.”
“Think it’s enough to bring her in?”
“It’s thin,” Larson said. “Especially since we’ll have to go through Stone to get to her. But that’s not all.”
He nodded to Willner, who brought from her purse a little Baggie containing several cigarette butts.
“I did some Dumpster diving late last night,” she said. “When I was in the bar the other night, I’d noticed that Lizzie chain-smokes. In the Dumpster, I found a bag of trash that had some mail with her name on it, and these cigarette butts. Doesn’t absolutely mean they’re Lizzie’s, but her father doesn’t smoke, and even if he did I doubt he’d be wearing lipstick, so it’s a good bet they’re hers. We’re sending one of these and one of the hair samples taken from Jacoby’s SUV for a DNA match.”
“That’ll take time.”
Dina shook her head. “We’re not sending it to your BCA lab. We’re using a private lab in Chicago. Flying it out this afternoon. We can have the comparison in forty-eight hours.”
Cork looked at Larson. “You okay with this, Ed?”
“It might not stand up in court, but if it is a match, it’ll give us plenty for a probable cause pickup and hold. It’ll get us past Stone.”
“Lou Jacoby’ll foot the bill?”
“Of course. And he’s supplying the transport. Tony’s already in the air on his way here. ETA in about an hour.”
“Jacoby’s private jet? We’ll have to get down to Duluth for that.”
Dina shook her head. “He’s going to land at the local landing strip.”
“The jet?”
“A small plane.”
“All right,” Cork said. Then to Larson: “You ever connect with Arlo Knuth?”
“Not yet. Every briefing I ask the watch to keep their eyes peeled for him, check all the usual places. Nothing so far.”
“You know Arlo. He can make himself scarce when he wants to.”
“But why would he want to? That’s what I’m wondering.”
“You don’t really think he had anything to do with Jacoby’s murder, do you?”
“No, but I’m thinking he might have seen something that scared him into hiding. I’d like to know what.”
“Stay on it.”
“You know I will.”
With the cigarette butt and the hair sample in an evidence envelope that had been sealed and signed by Ed Larson, Cork drove Dina toward the county airfield, which was located in the little community of Flax on Lake Margery, three miles south of Aurora.
Flax consisted of a few private cabins, a combination restaurant and gift store called the Cozy Caribou Cafe, and a small gas station with a garage and mechanic, all situated within hailing distance of the lake and the airstrip. Cork parked near the cafe, and they got out and wandered toward the airfield. It was a simple affair, a single landing strip, a small control tower, several corrugated buildings that housed the local planes. The sky was blue and almost cloudless-a perfect sky for flying, Cork thought.
“So, you think Lizzie Fineday was with Eddie at Mercy Falls?” Dina said.
“Sure looks that way.”
“Do you think she killed him?”
“If she was doped up and freaked out, I suppose I could see it.”
“Know what I think? It was her old man. He went ballistic when he saw what Eddie had done, went to Mercy Falls, and killed him.”
“Couple of things about that bother me. Why did Eddie hang around Mercy Falls after she left? And why didn’t he put up a fight?” He gave a single shake of his head. “I’m laying odds it was someone who surprised him, someone he didn’t expect, or at least didn’t expect to have a knife.”
“So you’re back to Lizzie.”
“Not necessarily. I think there was someone else out there, someone with a colder heart than Lizzie has. I just don’t know who or why yet.”
Dina checked her watch just as the drone of an engine came out of the sky to the southeast. “Right on time.”
A plane appeared above the treetops, circled, and made its approach from the north. It touched down, and as it rolled off the runway onto an apron near Cork and Dina, the prop ceased to spin and the engine fell silent. Tony Salguero stepped out. “Sheriff O’Connor. Dina. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting. You have the freight?” he
