himself together. “I’m glad you’re here, Cork. You, too, Jo. I wanted to apologize for my behavior at the mill the other night. I was upset.”
“Forget it,” Jo said.
“You know, I’ve sunk every dime I have into modernizing that mill. I thought I was helping people, doing something worthwhile.”
“You’ve kept a lot of people employed, Karl. That is important,” Cork told him.
“Joan of Arc out there, she makes me sound like a monster.”
Cork could see it hurt. The Lindstroms before him would have grinned and worn the epithet proudly. “Let it go,” he advised.
“You’re right.” His eyes shifted to Jo. “You’ll be receiving a formal outline of my proposal, Jo, but if you’d like one now, I’ve got a copy in my briefcase. It’s in my Explorer.”
“Where are you parked?” Jo asked.
“Out back.”
“I’d like to see it, yes.”
They walked together through the darkening hallways to the back door that was unguarded now. When they reached the Explorer, Lindstrom plucked from the windshield a folded sheet of paper that had been stuffed under the wiper blade. As he read the note, the color drained from his face. He looked at his watch.
“What is it, Karl?” Cork asked.
“Nothing. It’s nothing. Listen, Jo, I’ll get you that document later, all right?”
“Sure, Karl.”
Lindstrom waited. It was clear he wanted them to move away.
“I’ll give you a lift to your car,” Cork offered to Jo.
He turned and headed to his Bronco. When Jo was beside him in the passenger seat, he backed the Bronco out and started it away slowly, watching Lindstrom in his mirror. Jo was watching, too. Lindstrom took an old leather briefcase from the Explorer, opened it, and reached inside. He drew something out and his hand went toward his waist under his sports coat. Then he slammed the door closed and started walking briskly across the football field behind the school.
“Did you see?” Jo asked.
“Yes.”
Lindstrom had shoved a handgun into his belt.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“You know as much as I do.” Cork turned off the engine and reached for the door handle.
“Where are you going?”
“After Karl. I don’t know what was in that note, but it wasn’t good news.”
Jo grabbed his arm. “Cork, this isn’t your responsibility. This is for Wally Schanno to worry about. Get Wally or one of his deputies. Please.”
Lindstrom was halfway across the field. Cork knew if he delayed much longer, Lindstrom would be gone- wherever it was he was going.
“All right.” He drove to the front of the building. No one was left outside. All the cars except Jo’s Tercel were gone. The front lawn was as vacant as it usually was on a summer evening.
“Jo, I have to go.”
“Why?”
Cork looked at her. She was right. There was no reason for him to do this. He was a man who flipped hamburgers now. Except everything in him was shoving him after Lindstrom.
“Go,” she finally said angrily, and grabbed the door handle. “Just go if you feel you have to.” She got out and slammed the door shut. “But if you find yourself in the middle of something-”
Cork didn’t wait for her to finish. He raced the Bronco to the parking area behind the school. Lindstrom was just vanishing into a line of maple trees that edged the field behind the bleachers. Beyond the maple trees was Lake Shore Drive, and beyond the drive lay Iron Lake.
When Cork stepped out of the trees, he saw Lindstrom a hundred yards south, heading toward the marina. It was after eight. The sun sat on the western edge of Aurora looking tired as a bloodshot eye ready to close. Lindstrom moved quickly through the long shadows of the maples that lined the street. Every so often, he scanned the lake. He reached the bait shop at the marina, stopped, and stood staring at the docks where rows of sailboats and motor launches were moored.
Most boats had come in. A few persistent fishermen lingered far out on the water. The marina was empty. The bait shop had closed. As he approached, Cork saw Lindstrom take the paper from his pocket, read it again, then glance at his watch.
“Karl?”
Lindstrom jumped and his hand shot toward his belt under his sports coat. “Christ, O’Connor. What are you doing here?”
“You looked to me like a man with trouble on his hands. I thought maybe I could help.”
“You can’t, okay? Just go somewhere else. Anywhere else.”
Cork nodded at the paper clenched in Lindstrom’s fist. “What’s in the note, Karl?”
“Just go away, O’Connor. Now.” Lindstrom eyed his watch again.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake-here.” Lindstrom shoved the note at him.
It had been made from words and letters cut out of a newspaper and pasted onto a blank sheet of typing paper.
We are all dead men. Unless we talk. Take a boat ride on the Matador. Dock 3. Marina. 8:15. Meet you middle of the lake.
Eco-Warrior
“Now will you just get out of here?” Lindstrom pleaded. “I don’t want to scare him away.”
“You’re not really going to walk into this, are you, Karl?”
“I’m not afraid.” Although it was obvious he was.
“Karl, this is crazy.”
“If there’s really a chance to put an end to all this, I’m not going to pass it up.”
“Whoever this Eco-Warrior is, he’s already killed once.”
“Everyone agrees that was an accident.”
“Look, Karl, if he really wants to end it, the way to do that is to give himself up.”
“You sound like a cop.”
“I think like a cop. And I’m thinking this is a setup. Maybe you are, too, and that’s why you brought the hardware you stuck in your belt.”
“It’s licensed.”
“Fine. Wonderful. It’s licensed. And you’ve got it with you because you don’t trust this situation either. Use your head, for Christ’s sake.”
“Shut up, O’Connor. Just shut up.” He tipped his wrist and glanced at his watch. “It’s almost eight-fifteen. I’m going.”
Lindstrom started away, but Cork reached out to restrain him.
“Karl, it feels all wrong. Look.” He waved his hand over the deserted marina. “Where is he?”
“Out on the lake. That’s why I’m taking a boat ride.”
“Maybe. And maybe this is all just a way of getting you out here alone. If he wants an easy target, that’s exactly what you’re giving him.”
“Listen, O’Connor, if this really does have a chance of ending the violence and I turn away, how do you think I’m going to feel? How would you feel? You want to know the truth? I’m scared shitless. But I’ve got to know. You understand?”
He pulled away from Cork and walked to the dock third distant from the bait shop. The dock jutted thirty or forty yards into the lake and nearly every slip on both sides was filled with a vessel. Lindstrom, as he stood a moment in the red light of the setting sun, cast an elongated shadow across the boards in front of him. He put his hand at his waist inside his coat, and he walked forward.
