The air felt dead still after he’d gone. Even the birds seemed to have fallen silent. The only sound Jo could hear was the quiet weeping of Grace Fitzgerald.
29
THE AFTERNOON WAS SWELTERING. The air conditioner in the Bronco had broken. Cork figured the condenser was probably shot. He drove toward Grace Cove with the ninety-plus heat blasting at him through the open windows. Where the road to the cove split from the county highway, Deputy Gil Singer had been stationed to bar access to all but law enforcement. He wasn’t especially busy, and in Cork’s thinking that was good. The media hadn’t got hold of the story yet. But they would. Somehow, they always did. The longer they stayed out of it, Cork thought, the better.
Gil Singer waved him to a stop, but only to say, “Sorry about Jo and your boy. We’ll get the bastard; don’t worry.”
Cork knew the deputy was just blowing smoke. Schanno had said he’d call when, and if, he had anything more to offer, and Schanno hadn’t called. Still, Cork appreciated the deputy’s sentiment. Even a little false hope seemed better than none.
Lindstrom’s big log home was at the center of an enormous amount of energy. In addition to the cars from the sheriff’s department, the state patrol, the BCA, and the FBI, there was a Jimmy that belonged to the U.S. Border Patrol. A good number of uniforms were combing the shoreline of the lake, and others moved through the woods. A float plane-a Forest Service De Haviland Beaver-sat on the water of the cove. Seeing all this, Cork was amazed the media was still in the dark.
Inside Lindstrom’s place, the air conditioning seemed to have been cranked to the max. Lindstrom was nowhere to be seen. A tall man in a starched white shirt and tie was talking on a cell phone. At one point, he said, “No, Governor, that won’t be necessary.” Schanno, Agent Earl, Lucky Knudsen, Special Agent Margaret Kay, and a couple of FBI agents whose names Cork didn’t remember stood around the large mahogany dining-room table looking at a map spread between them. They were so intent they didn’t notice Cork.
A toilet flushed down a hallway. A moment later, Lindstrom stepped into the living room. He walked slowly, slumped a bit, looking exhausted. He spotted Cork and gave him a grim nod.
“Did you talk with the Fitzgerald Shipping people?” Cork asked.
“I talked.”
“And?”
At the table, the discussion stopped as Schanno and the others turned to listen to the men whose families were at the heart of the trouble.
“They’re considering.”
“Considering?” Anger cut along Cork’s nerves, made his muscles tense.
“Very sympathetic, of course,” Lindstrom said bitterly. “But there’s no mechanism that allows for the kind of cash outlay we need. I tried Len Notto at Aurora First National and Jon Lynott at First Fidelity. They’re somewhere in the Boundary Waters. Together. Some kind of annual thing they do. I’ve got a call in to a friend of mine at Chicago City Bank. I even tried an old school buddy whose family’s loaded with railroad money. The problem is it’s Sunday. Nobody’s reachable. If I could just get back to this bastard and convince him nothing can be done until tomorrow.” He closed his eyes a moment, then he sat down in a big leather chair and leaned forward in a defeated way. “I don’t know what else to do now.”
Cork moved toward the men at the table. He saw that the map on the polished mahogany was of Tamarack County, the huge blue of Iron Lake almost dead center. “What do you have?” he asked Schanno. “Anything?”
“Not much.” Schanno sounded truly sorry. “After the dogs came up blank this morning, we tried the border patrol. Those guys can track a ghost across concrete. They found nothing. We’re still checking the woods, but I’m pretty sure we won’t find anything. The good part of that is that everything indicates this Eco-Warrior took them all and he kept them all.”
Cork understood the implication. His wife and son were alive, not left dead somewhere, discarded like excess baggage. He appreciated it, the real hope it offered.
Agent Kay said, “We’re fairly certain they were taken by boat. That probably means Eco-Warrior approached on water and took them the same way. We’ve got officers searching the shoreline for any evidence he might have left behind.”
“The footprints Agent Owen lifted from the kitchen floor. Anything there?” Cork asked.
“A Vibram sole. Only about a million of those in Minnesota.”
“What about the call from the public phone outside Harland Liquors?”
Kay shook her head. “It was too early for any witnesses to be around. We took fingerprints, but I doubt they’ll give us anything.”
“How about the notes he’s left?” Cork looked at Agent Earl of the BCA. The man seemed uncomfortable.
There was quiet around the table. Then Lindstrom said from the other room, “Jesus, just tell him.”
Earl put his hands on the polished mahogany and leaned on them heavily. “The note that lured Mr. Lindstrom to the marina. Do you remember what it said?”
“Not exactly.”
“It began, ‘We are all dead men.’ When the crime lab ran it through the computer, they got a hit.”
“A hit?”
“It matches text. The Bible. Exodus. Chapter twelve, verse thirty-three. The lament of the Egyptians after their firstborn are killed. This may be an indication that kidnapping the boy was what Eco-Warrior had in mind from the very beginning.” He gave a brief, apologetic shrug. “If only we’d known a little sooner.”
“Why would he try to kill Karl if he intended to kidnap his family for ransom?” Cork asked.
“The bomb went off before Mr. Lindstrom was in any real danger. We believe it was remotely detonated, to make us think he was the target.”
“Because?”
Schanno fielded that one. “To focus all of our attention on Karl last night when he spoke at the Quetico. Left damn little law enforcement around to interfere with the plans out here. It appears he played us like trout on a line, Cork. Money was probably what he was after all along.”
“At least it appears that way at the moment,” Kay added.
Cork moved closer to the map. “Taken by boat. Any idea where?”
“Iron Lake’s a big body of water,” Special Agent Kay said.
“What do you think?” Cork asked Schanno.
“If I were Eco-Warrior and wanted to get them off the lake without being seen, I’d take them up north, maybe all the way to North Arm. A lot of sheltered coves there where they could be unloaded without anyone seeing.”
“A long way to go in the dark,” Cork said.
“There’s that,” Schanno agreed.
Cork looked to Agent Earl. “Any guesses?”
“Maybe a private cabin on the lake. With its own dock.”
“Lots of those,” Cork said.
“Exactly.”
“How about you?” he asked Kay.
“I don’t think they’ve gone far. Too many people to move without being seen.”
“There are lots of back roads up here. You can drive miles without seeing a living soul,” Cork told her. He looked again at the map. “Have you talked to John LePere?”
“Last night,” Earl said. “He was drunk. Claimed he didn’t see anything.”
“Drunk?”
“I gathered that’s not unusual.”
“I thought he’d given up the booze,” Cork said. “You check his place?”
“Why?”
