Solemn nodded.
“Any idea how it got snatched?”
Solemn sat at the edge of his chair, feet flat on the floor, his hands folded in his lap. He looked like a man waiting, maybe on a bus bench, for whatever it was that would take him to wherever it was he was going.
“It’s too warm most nights,” he said. “I keep it folded at the foot of my bed. While I was asleep, someone must’ve taken it.”
“You didn’t see who?”
“No.”
“Sound sleeper.”
“I am. Now.”
“What do you think? About your blanket and the healings, I mean.”
“If it’s true, it wasn’t the blanket.”
“What then?”
Solemn thought a moment. A long one. “Their own belief maybe. Maybe an accident of timing. Not my blanket. Not me.”
Solemn stared where Cork was standing, but what he saw seemed somewhere beyond Cork.
“They’re looking to me for something I can’t give them. I spent a few minutes with Jesus. We talked, that’s all. I didn’t get healing powers. I can’t drive out demons. All I came away with was a little peace. My own peace. If they expect something from me, they’ll be disappointed. Whatever happened out there this morning, it wasn’t me. I’d know if it was me, wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t I know?”
His eyes drifted to the floor like feathers falling from a wing.
“God,” he said, “I hope it’s not me.”
25
On his way out to Sam’s Place the next morning, Cork dropped by Jo’s office. She’d already talked with Edith Lipinski.
“She was curious about my interest in her New Year’s Eve party,” Jo said, “but I explained that I was trying to find out who knew about the party at Valhalla and how. I wanted to talk to any teenagers who’d gone to her party instead and see what they might know. It was thin, but she bought it. Turns out there weren’t any teenagers there. And she does have a guest list. Two, as a matter of fact. One for all those who were invited and one for those who actually came.”
“Bless her anal-retentive little heart,” Cork said.
“I asked if I could look at them, hoping there might be some parents who had kids at Valhalla that night. She agreed to let me pick them up later this morning when she’s back from her hair appointment.”
“I’m the only one at Sam’s Place today. Hard to get away. Any chance you could bring them out and we could look them over together.”
“I think I can swing it.”
The telephone began ringing as he unlocked the door of the Quonset hut.
“Sam’s Place. Cork speaking.”
“So how are things in Nowhere, Minnesota?”
Cork recognized the irreverent gravel of Boomer Grabowski’s voice.
“Compared to the old days on the South Side, generally pretty quiet, Boomer. How about with you?”
“No complaints.”
Boomer and Cork had been cops together in Chicago, working out of the same South Side district. Cork had moved to Aurora, his own choice. Boomer had left, too, forced out by circumstance rather than choice. He was a big man, from a family whose men had always worked the steel mills. His body was like something that had been forged out of iron. But it was only flesh and bone, and most of the bone in his right leg had been smashed in an accident during the high speed pursuit of an armed robbery suspect. Boomer had been forced to retire on a medical disability. Retirement, however, was not in keeping with Boomer’s temperament, and he’d opened his own shop.
“How’re things in the Windy City?” Cork asked.
“Wouldn’t know. I’m calling from Miami. I just checked my messages back at the office and heard your vaguely familiar voice.”
“Vacation?”
“You kidding? Who’s got time? So what’s up?”
Cork filled him in on Mal Thorne, and asked Boomer if he’d check on the priest’s background. Anything he could find out about his time in Chicago and before, if possible.
“You really think this priest has something to do with the girl’s murder?”
“Just checking out all the possibilities, Boomer.”
“Yeah. You were nothing if not a thorough bastard. How soon you need it?”
“The sooner the better.”
“Look, I’m down here for a week. You want somebody on it before that, I can make some recommendations.”
“I think it’ll hold for a week.”
“Tell you what. I’ll call when I’m back in the office. If you’re still hot for me to trot, I’ll hop right on it.”
“Thanks, Boomer.”
“Thank me after I’ve done the job. And after you’ve seen the bill.”
Jo showed up a little before one o’clock, just as Cork was finishing with the lunch rush, and she gave him a hand, taking orders at the window while he worked the grill. By one-thirty, the line had vanished. Jo took from her briefcase the list of guests who’d attended the Lipinskis’ party and handed it to Cork. He laid it on the stool the girls sometimes sat on when things were slow.
“What are we looking for?” Jo said.
“Anyone who might have had a connection with Charlotte.”
“Someone young?”
“In the kind of relationship we’re considering, age probably wasn’t a factor.”
They went down the list silently. The third from the last name caught Cork’s eye.
“Son of a gun,” he said.
“What?”
“Arne and Lyla Soderberg.”
“What about them?”
“Think about it for a minute, Jo. Tiffany and Charlotte were friends. Or something close to it. Tiffany told me that because Fletcher Kane acted creepy, any sleepovers they had were at Tiffany’s house. Maybe something got started there.”
“Arne Soderberg and Charlotte Kane?” Jo made a sour face.
“It’s not such a stretch,” Cork said. “Stay with me on this. Lyla and Arne have a troubled marriage. No secret there. When Charlotte’s body was found on Moccasin Creek, I saw Arne’s face. All horror. I chalked it up to the fact that as sheriff he was still pretty green. But what if it was the shock of seeing someone he was involved with lying there dead?” Cork stood up, feeling a little fire in his gut, the spirit of the hunt awakened.
“You don’t think Arne killed her?”
“I don’t know. He could certainly have been her lover though.”
“What about Fletcher Kane?”
“I’m not forgetting about him. But there’s a possibility here that definitely needs exploring.”
“The truth is you don’t like Arne Soderberg any more than you like Fletcher Kane.”
“I don’t like a lot of people. I don’t suspect them all of crimes. But a few more answers might tell us if we’re
