said.
“Is there another way in?” Dina asked.
“Yes,” Jewell replied. “The same way Ren and Cork went. Impossible in the dark. What now?”
Ned turned a bend in the road, and when the trees hid them from the gate he pulled to the side. “Let me try Olafsson.” He punched in the number, waited, finally said, “It’s Ned Hodder again. I’ve got some information I think you’d like to hear. About the Max Miller killing. Give me a call when you can.” He closed the phone. “Voice mail still. Court should be done by now. Maybe he’s gone home for the day.”
Dina leaned toward them from the backseat. “Back there you said nothing like this has happened for twenty years. You were talking about Tom Messinger, right?”
“You know about Tom?”
“Jewell told me. And it occurs to me that there are similarities here.”
Ned glanced at Jewell, then turned back toward Dina, frowning as he worked the comment over in his head. “That was a long time ago. And Tom’s dead.”
“Humor me, okay? The murder took place after a wild party, is that right?”
“That’s always been the theory.”
“Maybe Tom Messinger didn’t leave the party alone. Maybe he wasn’t the only one in the car that night. Do you know if anyone ever bothered to find out?”
Ned shrugged. “He killed himself. He left a written confession. End of story, I suppose.”
“Who else was on that championship team?”
“I was,” Ned said.
“Besides you.”
“A lot of guys.”
“Any of them still live around here?”
“Del and Calvin,” Jewell leaped in. “They were the star running backs.”
“Were you at that after-banquet party, Ned?”
“Yes.”
“Were Del and Calvin there?”
“They wouldn’t have missed it.”
“Is it possible they were with Tom Messinger that night?”
“I suppose it’s possible. God, I’d love to ask them.”
Dina said, “You can’t get to Stokely right now, but Delmar Bell doesn’t live behind a gate.”
“Way out of my jurisdiction,” Ned said.
“So ask as a concerned citizen. Be interesting to see if he squirms.”
Ned’s cell phone chirped. He lifted it and looked at the LED readout. “It’s Olafsson.” He answered, “This is Hodder… Yeah, I see… Jesus…oh, Jesus…No, I’d rather talk to you in person. I’ll meet you at my office in half an hour… No, at my office. You won’t be sorry when you hear what I have to say.” He ended the call and sat a moment staring ahead. “Our deal’s off. Let’s go get Charlie and Ren. They need to tell Olafsson their story. And we won’t be talking to Delmar Bell.”
“Why not?” Jewell asked.
“Because this afternoon somebody shot him in his apartment behind Providence House. He’s dead.”
39
C harlie was sullen the whole way into Bodine. Ren sat beside her, quiet, too. Cork rode up front beside Jewell, who followed Hodder in her Blazer. Dina rode with the constable.
It was evening, daylight almost gone. When they crossed the bridge over the Copper River, Cork looked at the water below; its swift, roiling surface was mostly silver-blue, reflecting the sky. He thought of the river as a living thing. The surface was its skin; the pale streaks where boulders disturbed the flow were scars on that skin. He wondered what the river knew about the girl’s death but could not tell. His old friend Henry Meloux, the Ojibwe Mide, might be able to interpret the voice of the river and divine its secrets, but to Cork it spoke not at all.
They parked in front of the constable’s office on Harbor Avenue. Hodder unlocked the door, went inside, and turned on the lights. He disappeared through a door at the back where Cork saw the bars of a holding cell. He heard Hodder’s boots thumping down wooden stairs, and a moment later the sound of them returning. Hodder brought with him several folding chairs. Cobwebs hung between the legs. He set the chairs against the wall and opened them one by one, brushing at the cobwebs.
“Sorry,” he said. “I haven’t crowded this many people in here in a long time.”
Cork noted the furnishings were spare: a fine old wooden desk, a vintage rolling chair, a couple of tan metal file cabinets. On the wall next to the door was a bulletin board pinned with wanted posters, an emergency evacuation route, assorted flyers related to town events, and a photograph of Hodder standing on a dock holding up a lake salmon and grinning like an idiot. Framed certificates hung on the other walls. Occupying the space directly behind the constable’s desk was a print of Renoir’s Luncheon of the Boating Party. Cork smiled broadly. The same print hung in his own office back in Aurora.
“Anybody want coffee?” Hodder asked. “Be glad to make a pot.”
Nobody responded and he let it go. He sat down and one by one the others followed suit. Charlie slumped in her chair with her arms clasped across her chest and a defiant look in her eyes.
“Introductions first,” Cork said. “I’m Corcoran O’Connor, Jewell’s cousin. I’m sheriff of Tamarack County, Minnesota.” He reached across the desk and shook Hodder’s hand.
When he’d heard about Bell’s murder, Cork knew he couldn’t sit on his hands in the shadows any longer. A girl was dead. Another kid was in the hospital. Someone was after Charlie. Ren might even be a target, too. Cork understood the risk of revealing himself to Hodder, but it was what he had to do. He’d find a way to deal with Jacoby; first he had to deal with this.
“Family reunion?” Hodder smiled at Dina.
“Not really, Ned,” Dina said. “I’m not related to the family at all. My real name is Dina Willner. I’m a security consultant.”
Hodder frowned. “Why the charade? What are you doing up here?”
“That’s a long story and doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on,” Cork said. “But we’d be glad to help in any way we can.”
Hodder thought about it. “I guess I appreciate that.”
“Why don’t we start with Bell’s death,” Cork offered. “I can’t imagine it’s a coincidence, him killed just as Jewell and Dina start asking questions.”
“If Del was involved in the girl’s death, why kill him?” Hodder said. There was a coffee mug on his desk. He wrapped his hands around it and rolled it back and forth between them as if he were trying to sculpt it into a new shape.
“I never liked him,” Charlie said. “He was always looking at me.”
“At Providence House?” Jewell asked.
“Whenever he was at our place drinking with my dad. At Providence House he was just kind of around. He didn’t really talk to us or anything.”
“He was the one who told you about the shelter, right?” Dina said.
“Yeah. At first I wasn’t sure about it, because I knew he’d be there and I thought he was creepy, but he never bothered me.”
“What about the other kids?” Dina asked. “He ever bother them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ever see him talking to Sara?”
Charlie thought about it. “Maybe, but not like serious or anything.”
“You know who Calvin Stokely is, right?”
“Sure.”
“Did you ever see him at Providence House?”
