“I’m just thinking, if Karl’s family was EcoWarrior’s target all along, he probably had this house under surveillance for a while. LePere’s place would be good for that.”
“We checked all we could without a warrant,” Earl said.
“Fuck the warrant,” Cork snapped. “The lives of my wife and my son are at stake here. And his.” He drilled a finger through the cool air at Lindstrom.
“Cork.” Schanno spoke evenly. “You know we can’t just waltz in wherever we want, much as we’d like to sometimes.”
“Then get a warrant.”
“We’ll do what we can,” Schanno promised.
Cork glared at the map. “What about the old landing on the rez?”
“Where’s that?” Kay asked.
“Here.” Cork put his finger on the map. “About two miles north, just inside the rez. It doesn’t show on recent maps, like this one. The Iron Lake Ojibwe were the only ones who ever used it, but nobody goes there anymore since they built the new docks and landing in Alouette. A boat could still be put in there, and be taken out, and probably nobody around to see it.”
“Get someone on it,” Kay said to Schanno.
“I was just going to do that,” Schanno said. Irritation grated his voice.
Cork stood a moment not knowing exactly what to do next, what to do with his anger, his frustration. He saw that Lindstrom had settled back in the big chair and closed his eyes again. Cork wondered if he’d slept at all.
“What if we can’t get the ransom money?” he asked the men at the table quietly.
“It’s like I’ve already said, O’Connor,” Kay replied. “Paying the ransom is a guarantee of nothing.”
“And if we give them nothing,” Cork shot back, “what does that guarantee?”
Kay said, “We’re doing our best.”
Cork left the table. Schanno, who’d gone to send an officer up to the old landing, met Cork halfway across the living room. “Where are you going?”
“Home, I guess.”
“I’ll keep you posted,” Schanno promised.
“Thanks.” Cork looked at Lindstrom and saw the deep despair on his face. It was like looking into a mirror, and he didn’t need to say a word.
Heading up the road away from Grace Cove, Cork had to swerve quickly to avoid an old pickup with a camper shell that swung fast around a blind curve and almost into his path. He caught a glimpse of the driver and he recognized John LePere. In the rearview mirror, he watched the pickup turn off the paved road and onto the rutted dirt and gravel that led to the only other cabin on the cove. He considered LePere, a man he’d often dealt with when he was sheriff. Like Cork, LePere was of mixed heritage. Although LePere kept to himself and seemed to have no friends in Aurora, Cork knew some of the man’s history. He’d survived the sinking of an ore carrier many years before. The only survivor, Cork believed. And hadn’t his brother been among the men lost in that tragedy? No wonder he drank. He made his home on Iron Lake now, but Cork thought he still had a place on Lake Superior, somewhere around Purgatory Ridge.
He wondered how thoroughly LePere had been questioned. Although the man had seen nothing the night of the kidnapping, perhaps he’d seen something before, someone on the cove who didn’t belong there, someone watching the big house.
Let it go, Cork told himself. It was no good second-guessing. There was nothing but anguish in doubting the work of all those officers gathered around Lindstrom’s table.
But what if they’d missed something? In every investigation, there was some error.
Cork whipped a U-turn and followed where the pickup had gone.
LePere hadn’t made it inside his cabin yet. He must have heard the Bronco coming, because he stood in the shade on his porch watching as Cork pulled into the yard. Over his shoulder was slung a dark blue jumpsuit, the uniform of the custodial staff at the casino.
“Afternoon, John,” Cork said as he stepped from the Bronco.
“Sheriff,” LePere replied. Then he caught himself. “I mean-”
“That’s all right.” Cork waved it off. He put a foot on the bottom porch step and looked up at LePere in the shade. “I wonder if I could ask you something.”
“I suppose.”
“The sheriff’s people were out here last night. Wanted to know if you’d seen anything out on the cove.”
“If that’s what you’re wondering about, I’ll tell you same as I told them: I saw nothing.”
“Last night, maybe. But what about lately? Have you seen anyone out here who didn’t belong?”
“You mean besides them?” He nodded toward the big home across the cove.
“Don’t like your neighbors?”
“I don’t like neighbors period.”
“So. Have you?”
“Seen anyone out here? No.” He looked toward Lindstrom’s place. “Lots of cops. What’s going on?”
It was remarkable that he didn’t already know, but Cork figured he would soon enough. Pretty soon everybody would.
“A kidnapping there last night. Lindstrom’s wife and son were taken.”
“That so?”
“My wife and boy, too.”
LePere thought about that and seemed surprised “Lindstrom’s got money. But what would anybody want with your kin?”
“You heard about this Eco-Warrior?”
“I’m a long way from town, but I listen to the news.”
“He grabbed Lindstrom’s family for money. Mine just got in the way.”
“They asking for a lot?”
“A lot.”
“You going to pay?”
“I’m going to try, John. Wouldn’t you?”
LePere let it slide.
“Whoever this guy is,” Cork went on, “he’s probably been watching Lindstrom’s place for a while. I thought maybe he might have been careless. Maybe you saw him out here somewhere.”
“Like I said, I’ve seen nothing.”
Cork was squinting, looking directly up into the sun. He was hot. He wiped a trickle of sweat from his cheek. “Could I trouble you for a drink of water?”
LePere eyed him a while before answering. “Wait here.” He went in the front door.
Cork walked around behind the cabin and to the dock. He studied the cove and Lindstrom’s log home across the water. He turned and surveyed the woods that isolated LePere’s place, that formed a wall all the way out to the point at the entrance to the cove. A man could easily slip among the pines undetected, post himself out there near the end of the point, watch Lindstrom’s home without being spotted. Eco-Warrior had been smart about everything. There was no reason LePere should have seen him.
It was different being on this side of a crime. Frustrating. Frightening. He felt he ought to be doing something more, something substantial, but he didn’t know what that was. Two of the people he loved most in the world were in terrible jeopardy, and there didn’t seem to be a thing he could do about it. As sheriff, he’d often had to offer the only comfort he could-We’re doing our best. That sounded so feeble from this side.
Think, he told himself desperately. Think like you’ve been trained to think.
Who was this Eco-Warrior? Was he really what he seemed? If the whole point of all that had gone before was to set up the kidnapping, it seemed too risky, too complicated. Why not just make the snatch, deliver the demand? Why all the theatrics? On the other hand, theatrics seemed often to be a part of terrorism.
Two million dollars. That was a huge leap from demanding the safety of Our Grandfathers. What were they after? What would the money do? Buy weapons? Bombs? A more sophisticated arsenal for their terrorism?
His thinking went immediately to Hell Hanover and the Minnesota Civilian Brigade. They could put two million dollars to good use. Hell had already threatened Jo to get Cork to back off the investigation. It seemed the
