“He seemed like a man who didn’t need a lot of reason. It could be that his relationship with Jacoby had soured. Or maybe he didn’t like what Jacoby had done to Lizzie.”
“She said the angel was a woman,” Rutledge pointed out.
“She was drugged and beaten. I’m just saying it might be worth checking out.”
Larson said, “I’ll have my people go over Jacoby’s SUV again, looking for any evidence that might link Stone to that vehicle.”
“I think we should also have another talk with the working girls,” Rutledge suggested.
Dina eyed Cork. “We still don’t know who asked Stone to do the hit. A favor for a friend, Lizzie said. Moose LaRusse?”
“How’s Carl Berger doing?”
“Alive, but not able to talk yet,” Rutledge said.
For a lot of reasons, Cork was glad that the slug he’d fired into the man on the farm in Carlton County hadn’t killed him. “When he can talk, let’s squeeze him for answers.”
Cork had listened to most of the discussion without comment. Partly because he wanted to take in carefully what was being said. Partly because he didn’t have anything to add. And partly because he was so tired, his brain felt like a chunk of cement.
Larson said, “Cork, you need some sleep.”
“I’m thinking about that. First, I’m going to take Meloux home. Then I’m going to take a bath. Then I’ll take a nap.”
“Don’t forget, you’ve got a mandatory meeting with Faith Gray this afternoon at four. This one you can’t miss.”
“I’ll be there.”
“What about Lizzie Fineday?” Rutledge asked.
“Release her into her father’s custody,” Cork said.
“You don’t think she’ll run?”
“Look where it got her the first time. We should make it clear to Will that he’s responsible for her until the county attorney decides if he wants to charge her with anything.”
They filed out of his office, but Dina stayed behind.
“After that nap you say you’re going to take, I’d love to buy you a drink. Maybe even a steak,” she said.
“I’ll do the buying. I owe you big-time.”
“I won’t quibble with that.”
“I think we should put the drink and steak on hold for today. You look like you could use a good rest, too.”
“Me? I’m just getting my second wind.” She laughed lightly. “If you change your mind, just whistle.” She winked, turned, and sauntered from the room.
Henry Meloux was waiting in the common area. His statement had been taken, he’d eaten, and now he was sitting in an office chair, his head lowered, his chin resting on his chest, sleeping. Cork touched his shoulder gently.
“Henry, I’m taking you home.”
Meloux blinked, then was wide awake and smiling. “Good,” he said. “I need to lay these old bones down for a while.” He got up from the chair.
Cork said to Patsy, who was on Dispatch, “After I get Meloux back to his cabin, I’m going home. No calls unless it’s urgent, okay?”
“Sure, Cork. Get some rest.”
They’d managed to keep the media in the dark about the operation in the Boundary Waters. Larson and Rutledge were preparing an official statement that would be released that afternoon. There were still a lot of unanswered questions in Tamarack County, foremost among them who killed Eddie Jacoby, but for a little while Cork thought he could step back and take a rest. He was looking very much forward to closing his eyes for a few hours.
Meloux nodded most of the way. When Cork pulled to the side of the road where the double-trunk birch marked the path to Crow Point, the old man roused himself and prepared to take his leave.
“Let me walk with you a bit, Henry.”
The woods were quiet that day, the air warm and full of the musty smell of fall. For a while, they walked without speaking, the only sound the dry rustle of fallen leaves under their feet. Meloux moved slowly and Cork couldn’t decide if it was weariness or simply that for Meloux there was almost never any need to hurry.
“Stone,” Meloux finally said. “He was of the People in blood only. He did not understand the Anishinaabe spirit.” He shook his head. “He might have been a great warrior, but a warrior fights for honor and for others. Stone’s heart was too small. There was room only for him.”
They reached Wine Creek, which was little more than a reddish iron-rich thread of water so late in the dry season. Meloux paused before crossing.
“Stone is on the Path of Souls, but I think he still weighs on you, Corcoran O’Connor. Or is it something else?”
“I can’t help thinking, Henry, that maybe if we’d all done something different, stepped in a long time ago, Stone might have ended up a different man.”
“Probably. But better? He spent much time in Noopiming,” Meloux said. “This land can guide a man, young or old, to a peaceful place. Stone was like his name, blind, deaf, hard to the good he was offered here.” The old man took a long look at Cork. “I think there is something else.”
“It’s not finished, Henry. Stone wasn’t at the heart of what’s been going on. There’s still so much I don’t know, don’t understand.”
“I think you will,” the old man said. “You are like a snapping turtle that does not let go. It also helps that you have a thick shell.” He reached out and with his knuckles gave Cork a playful rap on his head.
Cork smiled. “ Migwech, Henry,” he said in thanks.
“No,” the old man responded. “Thank you. You have given me one last good hunt to remember.”
Meloux turned away, crossed the creek, and headed toward his sanctuary on Crow Point; to Walleye, who would be patiently waiting and would greet him eagerly; to a meal of wild rice and wild mushrooms; and finally to bed. That last part sounded so good, Cork wished he were going with the old Mide.
But he knew he still had miles to go before he slept.
Fucking miles.
43
Marsha Dross lived on Lomax Street, in a little white house with flower boxes on the front porch and green shutters on the windows. There was a For Sale sign on the lawn. Marsha and Charlie were planning to buy a home when they married, to start their life together in a new place large enough for a family. As soon as he returned to Aurora, Cork stopped by Marsha’s house. She’d been released while he was in the Boundary Waters, and he wanted to tell her firsthand where the situation stood.
Her father opened the door. He wore a plain white shirt with gray slacks and black suspenders. He had on black socks, no shoes. A pair of black-rimmed reading glasses were nestled on the bridge of his broad nose. A folded paper, the Duluth News Tribune, was in his left hand. With his big free right hand, he waved Cork inside.
“Thanks, Frank,” Cork said. “They told me at the department that Marsha had been released from the hospital. Is she here?”
“In her bedroom. Heard you had a little excitement.”
“A little. All right if I talk to her?”
“Just let me make sure she’s awake and decent.”
Frank went down the hallway.
