Lindstrom shook his head. “They’re like bugs that feed on misery.”
LeDuc and the men who’d been with him in the pickup had been put in a large holding cell. Isaiah Broom, Joan Hamilton, and Henry Meloux had been separated from the others and were being questioned individually by the FBI. An APB had been issued on Brett Hamilton, who hadn’t yet been apprehended.
A big metal thermos sat on the sheriff’s desk, and Lindstrom and Schanno held mugs full of coffee. Cork, who felt as if he’d talked LeDuc into that jail cell, was angry. “Wally, George and those men had nothing to do with anything, and you know it.”
“It’s out of my hands,” Schanno replied. “This is a federal investigation now.”
“This county’s on the edge of something tragic. Pulling in those men may be all it will take to push everyone, white and red, over the line.”
Lindstrom turned from the window. He’d come from Grace Cove as soon as he’d received word. He looked drawn out, beaten down. “They were helping Broom and the Hamilton woman. The evidence in the van is pretty damning. Maybe they did have a hand in the bombings, Cork. Maybe they took our families. People can fool you.”
“Not these people,” Cork said. “And certainly not Henry Meloux. Wally, you want to hold onto Joan Hamilton, fine. Even Isaiah Broom. But for Christ’s sake, let the others go. While they sit here, Our Grandfathers burn.”
“Damn it, Cork, I talked to the Forest Service-” a tired Schanno began to argue. He was interrupted by Agent Kay, who stepped into the room.
“Ms. Hamilton is ready to make a statement. However, she’s asked that the two of you be present.” Her eyes moved between Lindstrom and Cork.
“Did she request an attorney?” Schanno asked.
“She’s waived her right to counsel. Gentlemen, if you’d come with me.” Kay led the way.
Joan Hamilton sat erect at a small table in the room the sheriff’s department used for serious questioning. It was wired for sound and had a two-way mirror set in one wall. Cork had lobbied for the money to create the room during his tenure as sheriff. Although the funds had been allocated, he’d lost his job before construction began. When he stepped in with Lindstrom and Kay, it was the first time he’d set foot there, and he was struck by how cold and sterile the bare walls felt. Joan of Arc was staring at her hands clasped near a microphone in front of her on the walnut table. Her eyes lifted when Cork came in, but nothing else about her moved.
“Sit down,” Kay said to the men. When they had, she instructed Joan Hamilton, “Please state your name for the record.”
“Joan Susan Hamilton.”
Her voice was far more subdued than the time Cork had heard it challenging Lindstrom from atop her van as she shouted into a bullhorn.
“Ms. Hamilton, do you wish to have legal counsel present during your statement?”
“No.”
“Are you giving this statement of your own free will and under no duress?”
“Yes.”
“Go on, then.”
“They told me about your families,” she said to Cork and to Lindstrom. She fell silent and stared again at her hands. Eventually, she took air in deeply and confessed, “I am Eco-Warrior. I admit that. No one else knew, not even my son. I acted entirely alone. But I had no part in the taking of your wives and your children. Someone has used Eco-Warrior as a cover. I swear this to you.”
Cork said, “If you are Eco-Warrior, you’re responsible for Charlie Warren’s death. Why should we believe that you wouldn’t kidnap our families?”
“Charlie Warren was an accident. A terrible accident. I intended to attack the mechanisms responsible for the destruction of the trees. Machines, not people.”
“Am I a machine?” Lindstrom asked caustically. “You nearly killed me at the marina.”
“That wasn’t me. After what happened at the mill, I realized Eco-Warrior was a mistake and I decided that was the end. I thought about issuing a statement denying the incident at the marina but figured it wouldn’t do any good.”
“You still haven’t given us a reason to believe you,” Lindstrom said.
“This hip of mine that is such a torment.” She touched herself there. “Despite what you may have heard, that wasn’t my doing either. Someone tried to kill me. One of the big lumber companies, I believe. Or maybe several acting together. I know how awful it is to be the victim of violence. I would never target a human being that way. You must believe that I had nothing to do with what’s happened to your families.”
“Why are you telling us this?” Cork asked.
“To free you, so that you can look in a more fruitful direction. I’m a mother. I know what it is to worry about my child.” Although she remained rigid and erect, something about her seemed to have given in, given up.
“Is that all?” Lindstrom asked.
“Yes. I wanted you to know. I wanted you to hear it from me.”
Kay said, “I’m going to need a more formal statement. Gentlemen, I believe you’ve heard what you need to.” She opened the door for them.
In the hallway, they were joined by Schanno, who’d been watching through the mirror. “What do you think?” the sheriff asked.
Cork said, “She always struck me as a pretty tough cookie, but she seems to have broken pretty easily.”
“The feds have her dead to rights now on the mill bombing,” Schanno pointed out.
“What about the kidnapping?” Lindstrom asked. “Do you think she’s telling the truth?”
Schanno shrugged. “A good liar can make you believe the sun is blue. She knows she’ll be charged in Charlie Warren’s death. If she is, in fact, responsible for the kidnapping, maybe she’s stalling, hoping to use the whereabouts of the hostages as leverage in bargaining with Kay.”
“And if she’s not responsible?”
“Then someone else is.”
“And we’re no further than we were before. Wonderful,” Lindstrom said bitterly.
“I’m sure Agent Kay will keep the pressure on her. We’ll find out soon enough if there’s more to know.” Schanno couldn’t disguise that he was more hopeful than certain. “In the meantime, Karl, maybe you should go back out to your house and stick by the phone. Just in case.”
“What about Meloux and LeDuc and the others?” Cork asked. “You’re not going to hold onto them, are you, Wally?”
“I don’t know, Cork. Seems to me they were clearly involved with Broom, who, don’t forget, was carrying a significant amount of explosives in the back of his truck. There’s still the question of why they tried to elude us.”
“The fire,” Cork said vehemently. “They were trying to save Our Grandfathers.”
“The Forest Service says there’s no fire.”
“I told you, if Meloux claims there is, then there’s fire.”
“There’s fire,” Deputy Marsha Dross said, striding toward them down the hallway. “We just got word. A big blaze is heading right toward Our Grandfathers. The Forest Service has a crew on its way up there right now.”
Schanno gave Cork a look of apology. “I’ll tell you what. Isaiah Broom stays for a while. That man still worries me. But I don’t see any reason to hold onto the others. Let me talk to the feds. Then you can take Meloux home, all right?”
“Thanks, Wally.”
Cork and Meloux slipped unaccosted through the media people outside. The reporters were looking for the face of authority-Schanno or some other law enforcement officer-or for the face of tragedy-a glimpse of Joan of Arc of the Redwoods. When he reached his Bronco, Cork felt as if he’d escaped a nest of snakes.
“You okay, Henry?” he asked when they got inside.
“Why would I not be okay?”
“I know that wasn’t a picnic in there. I hate the thought of them throwing you in jail like that.”
“A lot of good Indians spend time in white men’s jails, Corcoran O’Connor. Not many get out so quickly.”
“You knew, didn’t you, Henry?”
“What did I know?”
