The Warroad couple arrived first, thrusting the wheelchair and its precious occupant between Solemn and the safety of the Bronco.
“Please,” the woman said. She grabbed Solemn’s hand. “Heal my son.” She tugged at his arm, pulling him toward the boy. Her husband tried to grasp Solemn’s other arm, but Gooding interfered.
“Move away, folks,” he ordered. “Let this man through.”
“Please,” the woman said.
Solemn could not ignore her desperation. He looked down at the boy whose tongue hung from his mouth, whose eyes roamed, whose hands were locked in a vicious grip that held nothing.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
Cork heard the noise of the crowd rounding the corner of the building. “Get in, Solemn,” he shouted.
Solemn’s eyes had not left the boy. “What do you want me to do?”
“Lay your hands on him,” the woman said. “Touch him.”
The first of those who’d given the cry neared Solemn. Gooding put himself between them and Winter Moon.
“Stay back,” he shouted. “That’s a police order.”
It made them pause only a moment.
Solemn reached out and laid both his hands on the boy’s head. He looked at the woman, his dark eyes full of doubt. “Like this?”
The flood of people swept into view. The sound of their coming triggered those already near Solemn, and those anxious few shoved past Gooding. Solemn lost his grip on the boy and stumbled toward the Bronco. He slipped into the backseat and slammed the door as two bodies hurled themselves against it. Cork hit the power lock, put the Bronco into gear, and drove away from the wave of faithful sweeping around Gooding.
Two blocks distant, he finally asked over his shoulder, “You okay?”
Solemn didn’t reply.
Cork glanced in the mirror, and saw behind him the face of a terrified man.
The whole distance to Sam Winter Moon’s old cabin Solemn didn’t say a word. Cork parked in the shade of the pine trees and got out. Solemn moved like an old man, slowly and in a daze. When he was out of the vehicle, he stood and stared at the cabin.
“I’ll bring you whatever you need,” Cork said.
“I touched him. Nothing happened.”
“What did you expect?”
Solemn shook his head. “I told you they were looking for something I couldn’t give them.”
“I know, Solemn.”
“It’s gone.”
“What?”
But Solemn didn’t say. He walked toward the cabin and went inside alone.
Fifteen minutes later, Dot drove up in her blue Blazer. Jo followed in her Toyota.
“Where is he?” Dot looked toward the cabin. “Inside?”
Cork nodded.
“How’s he doing?” Jo asked.
“Pretty shaken.”
“You need anything, Dot?”
“No.” She took Jo’s hand, and Cork’s, and thanked them. “Migwech.” She went inside to be with her son.
“Anybody follow you?” Cork asked.
“No. They were all too confused, I think. It was pretty crazy back there.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Cork, I saw Fletcher Kane. He was standing across the street, watching when Dot and I left the building.”
“What was he doing there?”
“I don’t know, but he didn’t seem happy.” Jo looked at the old cabin where Dot and Solemn had sought refuge. “Do we need to do anything here?”
“I don’t know what it would be. Let’s go home.”
29
Late that afternoon at Sam’s Place, Jenny said, “Dad?”
Cork was scraping the griddle. “Yeah?”
“Dad?”
He heard this time how queer her voice was and he turned. Business had been slow. Jenny sat on the stool at the serving window with her headphones on, listening to a CD by a group called Garbage. Cork followed her fearful gaze.
In the parking lot stood Fletcher Kane, staring darkly at Jenny.
“I’ll be right back, honey,” Cork said.
He took off his apron and went outside.
Kane was dressed in a black suit, white shirt, black tie. He reminded Cork of an undertaker. In the heat, sweat trickled down his temples. His eyes stayed locked on Jenny behind the window.
“What is it, Fletcher?” Cork asked, not kindly.
“What if she were dead?”
“What?”
“Your daughter. What if she were dead?”
“What do you want?”
“You have no idea, do you, how that would feel?”
“Is that a threat?”
Kane finally looked at Cork. “They let him out.”
“Solemn? Yes.”
“He’s not at his mother’s.”
A boat came up to the dock. The engine whined like a huge insect, sputtered, then died. The silence after seemed heavy.
“Why would you care?” Cork said.
“I want to know where he is.”
“You think I’m going to tell you?”
Kane reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a checkbook and a Montblanc fountain pen. He unscrewed the cap of the pen and opened the checkbook.
“How much?”
“Are you serious?”
Kane held the checkbook in the palm of his left hand. With his right, he wrote out a check and handed it to Cork.
Twenty thousand dollars.
“Go home, Fletcher.” Cork tore up the check.
Kane watched the torn pieces flutter to the gravel, then looked toward Jenny. “No idea,” he said, and walked back to his car.
Cork went into Sam’s Place and called the sheriff’s office, asked for Gooding. After he explained the episode with Kane, he said, “Randy, he’s right at the edge of something.”
Gooding breathed deeply on the other end. “I’ll have a talk with him. I’m not sure what else we can do. He hasn’t broken any law that you know of, has he?”
