table lay a half loaf of dark rye and a butcher knife with a residue of butter on the blade. Next to the bread was a small pile of scratched tickets for the state lottery.
Cork checked the bedroom. It looked as though a struggle had taken place, the bed unmade, clothes tossed everywhere, but he suspected that was probably the norm. A few empty Pabst Blue Ribbon cans lay on the floor on the right side of the bed. Eli’s side, he guessed.
The bathroom was in desperate need of a good scrubbing, but nothing struck Cork as particularly noteworthy.
He stood in the main room.
A sniper on the hill across the road. Two dead dogs behind the woodpile. No indication of violence inside the cabin, but no sign of Lucy or Eli, either. What the hell was going on?
“What happened to your ear?”
Cork turned and found Ed Larson standing in the doorway.
Larson wore gold wire-rims, little ovals that made him look bookish. His silver hair was bristle short, his face clean shaven, still a little pink, in fact, from the recent draw of a razor over his long jaw. He was dressed in a blue suit, white shirt, burgundy tie. His shoes were Florsheims, polished oxblood. During the brief tenure of the previous sheriff, Arne Soderberg, who’d managed to stay in office only six months, Larson had quit the department and taken a job teaching criminal justice studies at the community college. When the county Board of Commissioners tapped Cork to fill out Soderberg’s term, he’d asked Larson to return, which the man had done in a heartbeat.
Cork touched the gauze he’d taped over his left earlobe to stanch the flow of blood where a sizable chunk of flesh was missing.
“Sniper round.”
“Lucky,” Larson said.
“Luckier than Marsha.” Cork noted the man’s clothing. “Awfully well dressed.”
“Anniversary dinner. Thirty-fifth.”
“Alice mad you had to leave?”
“She knows how it goes.”
“You could’ve taken a few minutes to change clothes.”
“The suit will clean.” Larson looked at the room. “Struggle?”
“I get the feeling this is a natural state.”
Larson walked cautiously into the cabin, watching where he stepped. “I talked to Cy outside, got a thumbnail of what’s going on. I radioed Patsy to double-check the location of the call. Thought maybe it didn’t actually come from here.”
“Did it?”
“From right there.” He pointed toward a phone on a low table next to the sofa, half hidden by a soiled, gray sweatshirt. “You didn’t touch it?”
“Didn’t even see it,” Cork said.
“Door unlocked?”
“Yes.”
Larson didn’t seem surprised. “You check out the other rooms?”
“Yeah.”
“Anything?”
“Not that leaped out at me.”
Larson looked over his shoulder toward one of the windows. “It’s getting pretty dark out there. What do you want to do about the hill?”
Two shell casings. Six, maybe seven shots fired. More casings to locate. Maybe other evidence as well.
Larson went on. “Cy says you’ve got floodlights coming. I hope you’re not thinking of dragging them up that slope tonight.”
Cork didn’t answer. He didn’t want to decide anything until he had an idea of what had become of Eli and Lucy.
“It’s going to be a long night” was all he would say.
Larson turned back toward the front door. “I’ll get my things and get started.”
They both heard the screaming, and they went outside quickly.
An old puke-colored pickup was parked behind Borkmann’s Crown Victoria, and Lucy Tibodeau had climbed out. She was trying to swing at Cy Borkmann while Pender did his best to restrain her. Cork hurried over.
“What’s going on?”
“She wanted to go inside,” Borkmann said.
“It’s my damn house,” Lucy hollered. She kicked at Cy but Pender pulled her back just in time. “What the hell’s going on?” she demanded.
Eli’s first wife had been like a fawn, small, soft, quiet. For his second bride, Eli had chosen a different animal altogether, huge and fierce. Lucy Tibodeau came from Fargo and, when Eli met her, had been dealing blackjack at the casino in Mille Lacs. She was short but big boned, with a lot of meat on those bones. Her hair was copper- colored, wiry like a Brillo pad. Her skin was splashed with huge brown freckles. Her eyes were green fire.
“Take your hands off me,” she warned Pender, “or I’ll bite your thumb off.”
“Take it easy, Lucy,” Cork said.
“Don’t tell me to take it easy. You’re crawling all over my place like a bunch of maggots and this son of a bitch has got his hands everywhere except up my dress. And he looks like he wouldn’t mind going there next.”
“Let her go, Pender.”
The deputy did and stepped back quickly.
“What’s going on?” Lucy asked, only slightly more civil.
“Where’s Eli?” Cork said.
“I left him at Bunyan’s. Last I saw of the little shit, he was kissing the lip of a whiskey glass.”
“When was that?”
“Half an hour ago. What? Did he do something?”
“You’ve got the truck, Lucy. How’s he getting home?”
“He can walk for all I care.”
“Pender, drive over to Bunyan’s. Round up Eli if he’s there.”
“Sure thing, Sheriff.”
“What’s going on?” Lucy said again, only this time with genuine concern in her voice.
“I was hoping you could tell me.” It was hard to see the woman’s face clearly. Cork opened the front door of Borkmann’s cruiser and motioned Lucy to where the dome light would illuminate them both. “I’d love to know what happened after you called the Sheriff’s Department.”
“Called you?”
“At six-twenty, a call came from this location from a woman claiming to be you.”
“At six-twenty me and Eli were playing pinochle at Bunyan’s, like we do every Tuesday night. Hell, everybody knows that. We go for the walleye fish fry, then play a couple hours of pinochle.”
A dark blue pickup rolled up and maneuvered alongside the other vehicles that crowded the narrow road. In the back sat a generator and some floodlights.
“You didn’t call?” Cork said.
“Hell no.” Something dawned on her, and she tried to pierce the dark with her eyes. “Where’s our dogs?”
Cork didn’t relish what he had to do, and when he spoke his voice sounded tired. “Somebody shot them, Lucy. I’m sorry.”
All her spit and fire vanished in an instant, and devastation poured in to replace it.
Cork looked to Cy. “Would you see to Ms. Tibodeau. We’ll need a full statement, but go easy.” He turned and walked away.
Larson followed him. “Think she’s lying?”
“Too simple to check. And why would she?”
