face?”
“The son of a bitch. When I found out, I wanted to kill him.”
“Did you?”
It was clear Fineday understood the direction this was going. Cork could see the struggle in the man’s head and his heart. The truth might land him a view cut by iron bars, but it might also save his daughter.
“You went to Mercy Falls that night, didn’t you, Will?” Cork said it quietly, and not as an accusation.
The threads-fear, distrust, prejudice-that had held him from speaking finally snapped and he nodded. “He was already dead when I got there, lying on the ground, blood everywhere. Somebody had cut his balls off, too. Shame. I wanted to do that myself.”
“Did Lizzie kill Edward Jacoby?”
“No, but I’d’ve understood if she did. The asshole beat her and raped her.”
“She told you she didn’t kill Jacoby?”
“Until I came back from Mercy Falls, she didn’t even know he was dead.”
“You believed her?”
“Yeah, I believed her.”
“Did you do anything at Mercy Falls?”
“Like what?”
“Interfere with the scene.”
Fineday studied the sky. “Maybe I wiped the door handles clean.”
“‘Maybe’?”
“I didn’t want Lizzie’s fingerprints there, okay? I picked up some beer bottles that might have had her prints on them.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing, I swear.”
“If you’d told me all this before, it might’ve saved a lot of trouble, Will.”
Fineday’s hard brown eyes leveled on him. “If you were full-blood or at least not a cop, maybe you’d understand.” He looked toward the cabin. “Where are they?”
“We think Stone went north, into the woods.”
“He knows the Boundary Waters better than anyone.” Fineday’s eyes traveled over the ridge that lay between the cabin and everything beyond. “He took her with him, didn’t he?”
“Maybe.”
“When I find him, I’ll tear out his goddamned heart.”
“Cork,” Larson called from the cabin. “Something here you’ve got to see.”
Cork walked to where Larson and Dina Willner awaited him at the door. “What is it?”
“Follow me.”
Larson led the way to the bedroom and stepped over the door that lay on the floor, torn off its hinges. He leaned over the bed and pointed toward an indentation in the pillow.
Cork took a step and saw what Larson meant. A large-caliber rifle bullet had been carefully placed in the center of the pillow.
“Jacketed round,” Cork said. “Just like the ones fired at the Tibodeau cabin.”
“It didn’t get there by accident,” Dina said.
Larson glanced at Cork. “What do you think it means?”
Cork crossed to the back window, pulled aside the curtain, shielded the glass so that he could see beyond the reflection of the room light. He stared out at the black silhouette of the ridge.
“It means we’ve got a long night ahead.”
34
Mal and the children had gone to bed, but Rose was waiting up when Jo got home. There was a low fire under the kettle on the stove and two mugs on the kitchen table, each with a bag of Sleepytime tea hung over the lip.
Rose turned up the flame under the kettle. “Have a good evening?”
“A weird evening.”
“You can tell me all about it in a minute. First you need to call Cork.”
“He called?”
“Yes. Not long after you left.”
“What did you tell him?”
Rose looked a little puzzled by Jo’s concern. “That you went out for a drink with Ben Jacoby. What is it, Jo?”
“Let me call Cork, then we’ll talk.”
She tried him at home and got voice mail. She called the sheriff’s office and Bos told her Cork was on a call. Routine.
“Routine?” Jo said. “It’s almost ten o’clock, Bos.”
“I can radio and let him know you called. Want a call back?”
“Yes. Please. As soon as he can.”
“Sure thing. Miss him, do you?”
“Like crazy.”
“I’ll let him know.”
When Jo returned to the kitchen, the kettle was just starting to whistle. Rose poured hot water into the mugs and sat down at the table with her sister. All their lives, long before Jo met Cork, before Rose fell in love with Mal, it had been like this, the two sisters and tea. In the places their mother, an army nurse whom they called the Captain, had dragged them, the desolate bases, the bleak military housing. None of that mattered because they’d had the comfort of their love for each other, embodied in late night cups of tea and talk.
“All right,” Rose said. “What don’t I know about Ben Jacoby?”
Jo told her the whole story.
“And I thought I knew everything about you.” Rose sipped her tea. “But your relationship with him was a long time ago.”
“I thought so, too. Then I saw him in Aurora, Rose, and for just a little while all the old feelings, I don’t know, tried to come back.”
“And?”
“I let myself feel them. And I realized absolutely there was room only for Cork in my life.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“For Ben it’s been different, all these years.”
“He’s carried a torch?”
“That’s what he says. I need to talk to Cork as soon as possible. God only knows what he must be thinking.”
Stevie wandered into the kitchen looking half asleep. “I had a bad dream.”
“Well, come on, big guy, let’s get you back into bed.” Jo took his hand. “Thanks for the company, Rose. You know I miss you in Aurora.”
“I miss you, too. If Cork calls…?”
“Wake me.”
She led Stevie back to bed, got ready herself, and slipped under the covers. She tried to stay awake, waiting for Cork’s call. Finally, sleep overtook her.
The call she was waiting for never came.
