The day was hot and Schanno wore a gray Stetson to shade his face. “Glad I caught you, Cork.”
“What can I do for you, Wally?”
“You can give me the benefit of your thinking. I spoke with Harold Loomis.”
“Then you’re pretty sure Charlie Warren had nothing to do with the bombing?”
“As sure as you are. I’m also pretty sure Loomis had nothing to do with it. He let us search his place. He has a good collection of baseball cards, that’s about it. All of which leaves me without a primary suspect. The BCA agents have a couple of ideas. So do I. I was hoping you might have a few of your own.”
“This kind of thing isn’t my business anymore,” Cork reminded him. “Besides, how would the BCA like it, knowing you were confiding in unauthorized personnel?”
“This is still my investigation. Anyway, I told them I was coming out to talk to you, that because you’re part Ojibwe yourself, you’d probably have an interesting perspective to offer.”
“How about letting me in on the official thinking?”
Schanno crossed his arms, hooked his big hands into the crooks at his elbows, and stared toward town. “We’ve come up with several possibilities. Agents Earl and Owen are inclined in a couple of directions. I’m inclined in another.”
“What do they think?”
“Tree huggers. They’ve run checks on a bunch of folks out there at the tent city on the rez and some are particularly qualified in explosives.”
“Who?”
“Joan Hamilton, for one. Joan of Arc of the Redwoods. You’ve seen that she walks with a cane. The result of injuries sustained when a pipe bomb went off in her car a couple of years ago. California authorities contended that the bomb was of her own making and went off accidentally. She claims she was set up by the logging companies. Her son majored in chemical engineering at Cal Tech, which probably makes him well qualified to know about explosives. And then there’s Broom. Hell, he uses explosives all the time in that logging business of his, blowing stumps and whatnot.”
Schanno gave a little time for all this information to sink in. The wild oats along the roadside were dry and full of grasshoppers. So near the tracks, the air was strong with the scent of creosote and hot oil. The only sounds were the buzz of the grasshoppers, the rustle of the dry oats, and the crunch of gravel as the two men shifted their feet.
“You said their thinking was in two directions, Wally.”
“This is a bit further out,” Schanno said cautiously. “And I’d just as soon you didn’t mention it to anybody. It’s not unheard of, I suppose. It goes like this. If you look at the bombing, one thing seems clear. The death of Charlie Warren was an accident. And the damage was limited to an area of the mill that wouldn’t affect operations greatly.”
“This is important because?” Cork asked.
“Every logging operation that Lindstrom’s involved in right now is being hit with protest. Word is that he’s having trouble getting enough logs. With all the money he spent renovating that mill, I’m betting he absolutely can’t afford not to supply it with timber. Even if he wins the court battle, and a lot of people seem to think he will, he needs to win support for the cutting or he’s going to encounter trouble at every turn. It would sure be helpful to him if public sentiment was against the tree huggers.”
“You really believe he could have arranged this himself?”
“At this point, I guess I’m not about to disbelieve anything,” Schanno replied. “As for me, I’m thinking we ought to consider this might be about something else altogether.”
He removed the gray Stetson and wiped the sweat from the band with his handkerchief. He put the hat back on and dabbed at his face.
“I’m just thinking,” he went on, “that this whole logging brouhaha might be a perfect opportunity for someone with a grudge to get back at Lindstrom. They got a chance to vent here and blame it on the tree huggers.”
“What kind of grudge?”
“Could be an old one. Lindstrom family’s been cutting in the woods up here for nearly a hundred years and they’ve never been known for their delicate ways. The Iron Lake Ojibwe, they’ve got the gumption and, with the casino revenue, the resources to fight back legally. But a lot of folks who got stepped on still don’t. Now that Karl’s moved himself up here and settled down, I’m wondering if maybe the chickens aren’t coming home to roost. Or it could be something as simple as a fired employee. I’ve got Gil Singer running that one down.”
Cork absentmindedly leaned against the hood of the Land Cruiser but jerked back from the sting of the hot metal.
“Well, what do you think?” Schanno asked.
Cork rubbed where he’d burned his arm. “I’m thinking you’re overlooking another possibility.”
“What’s that?”
“Hell Hanover.”
“Hell? I don’t follow you.”
“The Minnesota Civilian Brigade, Wally.”
“The brigade’s broke up.”
“You really believe that? The firearms were never found. Charges were never brought. You watched a lot of men for a long time, but I don’t think you ever really saw the heart of the brigade.”
“Okay, so how would the brigade tie in?”
Cork circled so that the sun was not in his eyes. Schanno watched him from the shadow under the brim of his Stetson.
“It fits their agenda. Civil disorder. Fomenting unrest over an issue that is, at heart, all about federal regulation. What a coup to have a small war erupt over the leasing of federal lands. I can just see Hell using his editorial page to jump all over the issue. And you can’t tell me Hell or one of the brigade doesn’t know about explosives.”
With the tip of his index finger, Schanno eased his Stetson up an inch as he considered. “Hanover, huh?”
“I’m just saying it’s another possibility. Any chance of getting search warrants?”
“Based on what we have right now, any judge’d laugh us right out of the office.”
“So what do you intend to do?”
“Wait, I guess. See what happens next. Maybe we won’t have to wait long. Karl Lindstrom’s called a press conference this evening.”
“What for?”
“Word is, he’s going to make some concessions. For whatever reason, he wants to speak from the steps of the middle school. Agent Owen’s over there right now checking for explosives. And I’ve got men stationed all around there until Lindstrom’s finished speaking. It’s a pain in the butt, but he insists it’s important.”
Cork kicked at a big chunk of red cinder that had somehow migrated from the bed of the railroad tracks. There was something eating at him, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to push it. Finally he blurted it out.
“Why, Wally?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you keeping me in this thing?”
“I’m just seeking out expertise where it exists.”
“Bullshit.”
“Not entirely,” Schanno said. Then he said the rest. “I suppose you’ve heard I’m not running again in November.”
“I’ve heard. Didn’t know if it was true.”
“It’s true enough.”
“Arletta?” Cork asked. He was speaking of Schanno’s wife, one of the kindest and loveliest women Tamarack County had ever produced. And one of the most tragic as Alzheimer’s overtook her.
Schanno nodded and looked down. “I figure she’s not going to get any better, and whatever time we’ve got left to us I want to spend doing what we love. Some traveling. Visiting the girls and the grandkids. You know, before it’s too late.”
“Sure.”
“The party people, they’ve already decided they’re going to back Arne Soderberg.” He gave a dry laugh.
