“I could find out. Why?”
“I want to know if he’s the kind of man who’d know where to thrust a knife to kill somebody instantly.”
Dina’s end of the line went silent a long moment. “As in Eddie Jacoby.”
“Exactly.”
He told her what he knew and what he suspected.
“Gabriella and Tony together.” She was quiet, probably rolling the idea around in her thinking. “Gabriella was a better woman in almost every way than Eddie could have hoped for. Murder might not have been on her mind at first, but I imagine anybody married to Eddie would, over time, begin to think about it seriously.”
“There’s something else,” Cork said. “I think Ben suspected. I think that’s why he took you off the case. ‘Poor vaceeto.’ He put it togther right away.”
“God, why didn’t I?”
“It had been a hard day, remember?”
“Still…”
“Look, with your connections, any way you could find out quickly who Ben called after he talked to you yesterday afternoon?”
“You’re thinking he called Gabriella or Tony?”
“And then went to see them.”
“That’s why he canceled on Jo. Cork, do you think they killed him?”
“Not necessarily themselves. They may have had it done. Ed Larson’s working on the connection with Eddie Jacoby’s murder. Once we have that, Winnetka PD might be persuaded to look at them for Ben’s murder as well. Given the ties between the Jacobys and local law enforcement, it might be best not to tip our hand too early.”
The silence again. Then: “It feels so cold, Cork.”
He thought about Gabriella, the shadow she’d cast over Lou Jacoby that morning, her control. It may all have started as a way to rid herself of a man no woman in her right mind would want, but it was different now, huge and malevolent. It had probably taken the life of Ben Jacoby, and Cork could feel the menace at his own back, in Lou Jacoby’s ignorant vow, “An eye for an eye.”
“Watch yourself, Cork.”
“You, too.”
He put the phone down. He’d made the calls in the front room of the duplex, away from the rest of the family who were all gathered in the kitchen around the table talking and laughing. He could hear Mal and Rose, each of the children, and Jo. He thought about the Jacobys, the various reasons they had married-money, position, beauty, prestige, duty. For all its pain, all its uncertainty, all the terror of the power it wielded, love was still, in Cork’s book, the best reason.
He started toward the kitchen, toward the laughter that was a song, toward the love that was everything.
51
He heard the phone ring, looked at the clock beside the bed, wondered who would be calling at two in the morning. In the hallway, the floorboards creaked, and Mal Thorne said, “Hello?”
He didn’t say anything else. A minute later, a cupboard door squeaked open in the kitchen, followed shortly by the rattle of glass in the refrigerator.
Cork threw back the covers, pulled on his pants, and slipped from the room where Jo lay sleeping.
The kitchen light was on. Mal stood at the counter near the sink, a glass of milk in one hand, a cold chicken leg in the other. He held up the leg. “There’s more in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
“No, thanks.”
Mal wore a white T-shirt, red gym shorts, white socks. “Trouble sleeping?”
“Can’t get my eyes to close. My brain won’t stop working. Who was on the phone?”
“Nobody there. Second time tonight. Would it help you to talk?”
“Maybe.”
Mal used the chicken leg to point toward the kitchen table. “Confessional’s open.”
Cork sat down. His feet were bare and cold on the linoleum.
“I’ve been thinking about everything that’s happened recently,” he said. “A lot of what’s occurred I understand now, but I’m having trouble understanding my place in all this.”
“How so?”
“Jo’s a wonderful woman.”
“You won’t get an argument from me on that.”
“She didn’t want me to take the job as sheriff, Mal.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“No, but I knew. She’s always been afraid of the effect it’s had on our family.”
“Cork, if you’re going to start blaming yourself for what’s happened-”
“It’s not that, Mal. It’s a realization. I was doing fine running Sam’s Place. It’s a pretty location there on Iron Lake. I grilled good burgers. I set my own hours, closed up at night, went home, and what did I have to worry about except making sure there were enough potato chips for the next day? Now I lie awake worrying about everything. The department budget, county politics, the safety of my people.” He glanced toward the hallway. “The safety of my family.”
“Why did you take the job?”
“I told myself there were good reasons, but in the end it was pride, plain and simple.”
“I suspect there was more to it than that, but I understand what you’re saying. So what are you going to do?”
The fridge kicked on, and the hum grabbed Cork’s attention. He looked at the refrigerator door, which was decorated with photos, mostly ones Jo had sent of the children and her and Cork.
“I’m going to quit. When I get back to Aurora, I’m going to tender my resignation.”
Mal took a bite from the chicken leg and didn’t seem inclined to argue.
The phone rang in the hallway.
“There it is again,” Mal said. “The caller who isn’t there.” He got up to answer. “Hello?” He paused. “Yes, he is. Just a minute.” He brought the cordless into the kitchen. “It’s Dina Willner, for you.”
“Dina, what’s up?”
“Make sure the lights are out, then carefully look out the front window.”
Cork said, “Kill the lights, Mal.”
Mal did as Cork asked and followed him to the front room. Cork parted the curtains a crack.
“What am I looking for, Dina?”
“Black Malibu two houses down, far side of the street.”
He located it parked in a place where the streetlights didn’t quite reach. “I don’t see anything. Wait.” Inside the Malibu, a match flared, lighting a cigarette perhaps. “Okay, I make ’em.”
“They’ve been watching for a while.”
“Who are they?”
“Lou threatened you this morning. I’d say he’s making good on that threat.”
“A hit?” Cork eyed the Malibu fiercely. “Where are you?”
“In the alley back of the duplex. Get dressed and get out here. You have a firearm, bring it.”
“Winnetka PD took it.”
“Then just get out here.”
Cork handed the phone to Mal.
“What is it?”
“See the black Malibu? Dina thinks there’s someone in it who’s been paid to kill me.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Let’s call the police.”
“Wait, Mal. There’s not much they could do at this point but roust the guy. If it is a hit, that would only delay
