Solemn’s wrench. And the beer bottle that points to Solemn’s guilt, I don’t see how that could have been planned. Just Solemn’s bad luck that he left it in the snow. All of which would point toward not a lot of forethought in the killing. It could be that he arrived at the party, saw Solemn’s truck, assumed that Solemn and Charlotte were an item again, and went ballistic.”
“On the other hand,” Jo said, “maybe he’d wanted to kill her. Maybe she wasn’t satisfied with an illicit affair and wanted more. She threatened to go public if he-what? — didn’t leave his wife and marry her? At the party, he finally saw his chance and killed her.”
A car honked behind them and Cork realized the light had changed to green.
Jo leaned back against the headrest and stared out her window at the familiar houses of Aurora. She could probably give the names of the families who lived in them. When she spoke again, she sounded weary and sad. “This seems unreal, somehow. Do you realize we’re talking about Aurora, Cork, about someone we may see every day on the street? It feels dirty, speculating this way. Is this how the police always look at people in an investigation?”
“The good cops,” Cork said. “The ones who realize anybody can be driven to kill under the right circumstances. It’s not a cop’s job to pass judgment. Once you put judgment aside, uncomfortable speculations become bearable. So,” he said. “Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think about the adults she normally comes into contact with. Who would they be?”
Jo thought. “Teachers.”
Cork nodded. “A good possibility. Affairs like that happen all the time. Who else?”
“Employer.”
“Maybe. But with Kane’s money, I doubt if Charlotte ever had a job.”
“A family friend.”
“Worth checking out.”
Jo fell silent. Cork could feel her shutting down, turning away from the speculation.
“I don’t like this thinking,” she said.
“Nobody does. But it’s what you do if the truth is what you’re after.” Cork hesitated a moment, then asked, “What do you think her anger at Mal was all about?”
“Don’t even go there, Cork.” Jo shoved at the empty air in front of her, pushing away the thought. “This makes me sick. I can’t do it.”
“That’s why you asked me to help,” Cork said. “Because I can.”
Jo was silent for a long time. As Cork turned onto Gooseberry Lane, she reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “I’m concerned about pursuing this line of investigation right now. I’m afraid all it will do is stir people up. Until we see what Nestor Cole’s plan is, especially if he’s thinking grand jury, I’d like you to hold off asking questions, especially any that might probe an affair. I don’t want to prejudice the whole county against us even before we start.”
“The question will still be hanging out there unanswered, Jo. Who killed Charlotte?”
“My job is to keep Solemn out of jail.”
“A few minutes ago you asked me who watched out for the Charlotte Kanes.”
“She’s dead, Cork. I can’t help her now.”
In his mind’s eye, he saw a dark figure beckoning to him from a lonely place.
“The dead can’t speak for themselves,” he said. “They’ve got no way to ask for justice. What’s left behind in the details of their deaths is the only hope they have for pointing the way toward the truth, and someone ought to pay attention.” He slowed down and looked at Jo. “It’s called due diligence, Jo. It’s what a good cop does. He considers all the possibilities, turns over all the stones, and he tries to do it without prejudice. Arne won’t do that. He’s not a cop. Like everybody else, he thinks Solemn is guilty and that’s all there is to it. The truth will have to be found by someone else. And, sweetheart, at the moment, it looks like there’s just you and me.”
“I understand what you’re saying. I do. And it’s one of the things I love about you. But I’m still going to ask that you wait a little while before you stir things up. Just a while. Okay?”
Cork didn’t reply.
“Okay?”
He pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine. In the pale evening light that filtered through the trees and fell across the car, he looked at Jo. She was beautiful to him in so many ways. He loved her so much that sometimes it made him ache. Often when he was alone at Sam’s Place, out of the blue he would think of her, and it always felt as if his heart had suddenly ballooned and filled his whole chest. But looking at her now, he understood they were two very different people, and there were some things deep in the heart of each of them that the other could never touch, would never understand. It made him sad, but he didn’t say so. Instead he said, “I’ll do my best to behave myself.”
18
The next morning, Cork paid a visit to Aurora High. He stopped at the office first, spoke with Jake Giles, the assistant principal, and was given both a schedule of the classes Charlotte Kane had taken while attending the high school and a list of her extracurricular activities. Then Cork went to see Juanita Sherburne.
Sherburne was the school psychologist. Her office was on the second floor of the new consolidated high school that had been built three years earlier just west of town, near the gravel pit. An athletic woman, Sherburne could often be seen jogging along Lakeshore Drive with her husband and their two Afghan hounds. The Sherburnes were avid canoeists and regularly led groups of students into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, north of Aurora. She was fortyish, had short black hair, and despite her vaguely Hispanic features, spoke with a flat, nasal accent that pinned her upbringing to somewhere in the heart of the Wisconsin dairy land. In addition to her duties as the school psychologist, she coached the girls’ softball team.
“Cork.” She stood up from her desk and reached out to shake his hand.
“I probably should have made an appointment, Juanita. I’m wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes.”
“About Annie, I assume.”
“Annie?”
“Those slipping grades. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Should I be concerned?” Cork said.
The office was spare, neat. Tan filing cabinets lined the walls, and above them hung photographs of the teams she’d coached over the last five years. Behind her, the window opened toward the west where, visible beyond a line of white birch, stood the tall conveyor of North Star Aggregate’s gravel pit.
Cork waited until the woman took her seat, then he sat down, too.
“I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, Cork. She’s a little distracted these days. I see it on the ball field, too. I’ve just chalked it up to normal teenage stuff. You know, boys, social status, boys. Does she have a boyfriend?”
“She just started dating Damon Fielding.”
“Damon? Very nice. Well, there you go. I wouldn’t worry unless her grades don’t rebound, but I believe they will. Annie’s not a frivolous young woman. She’s serious in the things she cares about.”
“Used to be just sports and religion,” Cork said.
“If you’d like, I’ll talk to her about it, see if I can get her to focus a little more on her studies. And her pitching.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“I have a selfish motive. She’s a big part of a winning season for the Voyageurs. Is that all?”
“There’s something else,” Cork said.
The bell rang and the hallway outside her office became a crazy river of bodies with currents running every which way.
“Just a moment.” She got up and closed the door.
