“No.”
“Look, maybe we’re way off here,” Jewell said. “Maybe Del and Calvin had nothing to do with this.”
“Most murders involve people who know one another. Sara Wolf knew Delmar Bell,” Cork said, “and the connection through Stokely to the Copper River is hard to ignore. And we’re not trying to convict anybody yet, just looking at possibilities. But you know these guys, Jewell. What do you really think?”
“I hate to think what we’re thinking about anybody.”
“What about Stokely? Could he have killed Delmar Bell?” Dina said.
“Why would he?” Jewell replied.
“Maybe when Del saw us at Providence House, he panicked and Stokely was afraid he’d talk.”
Outside, dark had settled gently over Bodine. The flash of headlights crossed the windows and through the glass came the sigh of engines dying. A minute later Detective Sergeant Olafsson came in followed by a woman, a uniformed sheriff’s deputy. He paused and scanned the gathering in Hodder’s office.
“What’s this,” he said, “a town meeting?”
Hodder said, “You know Ren DuBois already. And Ms. Willner.”
“I thought it was Walport,” Olafsson said.
“Willner, actually,” Dina said. She pulled a business card from her pocket and offered it.
Olafsson studied the card. “Security consultant. What’s that exactly?”
“Among other things, I do private investigation.”
“She was with the FBI,” Ren said.
“That so?” Olafsson didn’t sound impressed.
“This is Jewell, Ren’s mother,” Hodder went on. “And Cork O’Connor, Jewell’s cousin. Also a sheriff in Minnesota.”
“Sheriff.” He shook Cork’s hand without enthusiasm. “Seems like we got plenty of help, eh?” He didn’t sound excited. His stern gaze settled on Charlie and he stepped toward her. “You must be Charlene Miller. I’m Detective Sergeant Olafsson.” He extended his hand.
The girl didn’t respond, didn’t even look up from the spot on the floor where she’d nailed her eyes, just sat with her arms folded across her chest and her lips cemented in a thin line. Olafsson drew back his hand.
Hodder stood up. “Have a seat, Terry.”
“Siddown,” Olafsson said. “I’m fine. All right, who’s going to lay it out for me?” He crossed his arms, as if mimicking Charlie’s obstinate gesture, and he stared at her, which did no good since she didn’t look at him. “Charlene?”
“I’m not saying anything,” she said under her breath.
“That so?” Olafsson swung his gaze to Ren. “How about you?”
The boy glanced at Charlie, who was locked so tight in herself, Cork doubted there was any key that would open her now. Ren looked to his mother, who nodded.
He told it in pieces, chunks of story broken by “mmm’s” and “uh’s.” In the end, however, a fairly complete narrative emerged including even the details that he’d probably rather not have Olafsson know, particularly that the kids were getting high at the old picnic shelter on Copper River when Stash saw the body. Olafsson listened, jotted notes, and stopped the boy only a couple of times to ask a point of clarification. Ren told Charlie’s story, too, of what happened at the trailer. Olafsson asked Charlie, “Is that correct?” The girl’s only reply was a silent nod.
Hodder stepped in to make the connections: Charlie and Sara Wolf and Providence House, Providence House and Delmar Bell, Bell and Calvin Stokely, Calvin Stokely and the cabin on the Copper River. And finally the speculation about Stokely, Bell, and the dead girl twenty years ago.
The detective put his notepad to his forehead and closed his eyes a moment. “Okay,” he said. “If these men killed the Wolf girl, and if they were willing to kill these other kids who saw the body in the river, why dump the body there in the first place? Why not just bury it?”
Cork asked, “Has the autopsy been done? Do you know the cause of death?”
“I haven’t had a chance to look at the report.” Then Olafsson added defensively, “I’ve been busy. A lot’s been going on.”
“Any way you can find out?”
“What difference does it make?”
“Maybe they didn’t dump her body. Maybe she wasn’t dead when she went into the river,” Cork explained.
The blond feathers that were Olafsson’s eyebrows dipped toward each other. “You think she went into the river on her own? What, tried to run or something? Drowned?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“Huh.” Olafsson pulled a cell from inside his jacket and punched in a number. “This is Terry Olafsson. Give me Wayne Peterson… page him then. I’ll wait.” He kept the phone to his ear and eyed Charlie. “One thing nobody’s told me is where you went after you found your father dead. Did somebody hide you?”
Charlie stubbornly maintained her silence.
Olafsson spoke to Ren. “Do you know?”
“She didn’t tell me,” he replied quickly.
“Right,” Olafsson said. Then he spoke into the phone. “Yeah, Wayne, it’s Terry. Say, I haven’t had a chance to look at your preliminary autopsy report on the Wolf girl’s death. What’s your initial finding for cause of death? Uh-huh… Uh-huh… When will the analysis be complete? Uh-huh… Okay. Thanks, Wayne. ‘Preciate it.” He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his jacket. “Drowning, he says. Which would be consistent with falling into Lake Superior. We won’t know where she died until they’ve finished analyzing the water in her lungs.”
“Jesus, Terry,” Hodder said, rising from his chair. “You think all of these odd things are coincidental? Maybe in a city like Marquette, but not up here.”
“What do you want me to do?” Olafsson said.
Dina spoke up for the first time. “It would be interesting to talk to Calvin Stokely, don’t you think?”
Olafsson lifted his hands as if quieting a restless mob. “Everything you’ve told me that you believe connects Stokely to the girl’s death is pure speculation. I’m more than a little reluctant to barge into the Copper River Club without something a lot stronger.”
Olafsson’s cell phone rang, the ring tone playing a snippet of a tune vaguely familiar to Cork. As Olafsson pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, Hodder, who’d noticed Cork’s slightly furrowed brow, leaned over and whispered, “The Wolverine fight song.”
“Yeah?” Olafsson answered. He listened. “I see. I’d be interested in knowing if you find anything that we can trace to Sara Wolf… All right. Keep me posted. Oh, Earl, have you got a TOD on Bell yet?” He looked up at the ceiling. “Killed between three-thirty and four? Thanks.” He put the phone away. “State police. I asked them to keep me informed during their investigation of Bell’s murder. They’ve been going through his place. They found Rohypnol. A lot of it.”
Rohypnol. The date rape drug.
“All right. I’ll go up there, talk to this Stokely.” Olafsson pointed to Hodder. “I want you with me.” To the deputy who’d come with him he said, “Stay here until I get back, Flo. I’d appreciate you folks sticking around, too. And, Ms. Miller,” he said to Charlie, “as of right now, you are in protective custody.”
“Meaning?” Jewell said.
“While I’m gone, Deputy Baylor here will make arrangements for Charlene to stay with the juvenile authorities in Marquette.”
“Is that really necessary?” Jewell shot back.
“Look, she’s a material witness to a murder, Ms. DuBois. In addition, if what you’re all telling me is true, then her safety’s an issue. What would you do if you were me?”
“I’m not going to juvie,” Charlie said.
“Charlene, I’m not giving you a choice here. Flo,” he said to the deputy, “she’s your responsibility.”
“Understood,” Baylor responded.
Dina said, “We couldn’t get past the front gate at the Copper River Club.”
“You didn’t have jurisdiction,” Olafsson replied.
“They’ve got money,” Dina said. “My experience is that money usually trumps everything but a court order.”
