Burns ejected the tape and they returned to the living room. Outside, the wind had picked up, and through the long dining room windows, Cork saw the waves of Lake Superior breaking blue-white and furious along the yellow beach.
“I could use a beer,” Burns said. “Anyone else?”
“I’ll have one,” Cork said.
“I keep a nice variety on hand.”
“Leinie’s?”
“Coming up. More Pepsi, Becca?”
“No, thanks.”
Burns vanished into the kitchen, and Cork heard a refrigerator door open and close. He turned his attention to Becca Bodine, who was staring toward the long windows and the whitecaps of the lake beyond.
“You never doubted him?” Cork said.
Her face was Ojibwe-skin the color of wet sand, high cheeks, a broad nose, eyes like dark almonds. Those eyes drifted toward him, and she looked troubled for a moment, then confessed, “All the time. But I knew that was my weakness. I knew that if it was the other way around, Sandy would have believed in me no matter what the evidence.”
Burns returned with two opened bottles, and they sat down again. For a moment, they drank quietly and Cork could hear the wind pressing against the house. One of the starch-white clouds blew across the sun, and the light through the windows turned gray and all the white in the house looked sullied.
“Why?” Burns said.
Cork cradled his beer in both hands. The bottle was like ice. “I’ve been thinking about that all night. The possibilities are just about endless, so we need to narrow things down. Did Stilwell give you any report on the progress of his investigation?”
“No, which isn’t unusual. He usually touches base only when he has a question or when he has something significant to give me.”
“Okay. So maybe we can assume that, before he disappeared, he hadn’t found anything he felt ready to share with you. You say he disappeared after he visited Sandy’s office at the Rice Lake airport?”
“Yes.”
“So maybe he found something there.”
“He called me,” Becca said. “From Sandy’s hangar. He told me he wanted to check Sandy’s home office and he asked if I had a VCR at my place.”
“Did he say why he wanted the VCR?”
“No.”
“Did he go to your house?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.” She saw Cork’s questioning look. “These days I spend a lot of my time at my sister’s home near Hayward. It’s hard being alone, raising a son. I try to be around family whenever I can.”
“I understand,” Cork said. “So he called your cell?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear from him again?”
“No.”
“What time did he call?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nine o’clock.”
“P.M.?”
“Yes.”
“So you have no idea if he went to your house?”
She shook her head. “But I told him where I keep a key hidden so he could let himself in.”
“A VCR,” Cork said. He scratched his neck and thought a moment. “He had a copy of this surveillance tape, right?”
“Yes. He said he’d watched it several times, but he never mentioned anything about seeing what you saw.”
Cork rolled all this around for a moment and still didn’t know what it meant. He looked at Becca. “Was there any reason someone might have wanted your husband dead?”
She seemed taken aback. “Sandy? No.”
“Take a minute to think about it. Did he have enemies? Did he have associates that you didn’t particularly care for, guys who maybe scared you a little? Were there clients in his charter business that he seemed circumspect about?”
“What do you mean?”
Cork shrugged. “A pilot flies his own plane, he can carry any cargo, human or otherwise, that will bring him a profit.”
“You mean like drugs,” she said coldly.
“Anything that needs to be carried under the radar.”
“Sandy wouldn’t do that.”
“It may be that someone killed him, Becca. If that’s true, there has to be a reason.”
“Not his business,” she said.
“All right. What about his personal life? He was a recovering alcoholic. Anything there we need to think about?”
“I told you, he stopped drinking years ago.”
“No skeletons in the closet?”
“No.”
“You don’t need to answer so fast.”
“You don’t need to accuse him.”
“Easy, Becca,” Burns said. “He’s just asking questions.”
“I don’t like his questions.”
“Or is it that you don’t like the answers?” Cork said.
“You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?” Becca said.
“What is it you’re not telling me?”
“Fuck you.”
“That doesn’t get us anywhere.”
She glared at him. He sipped his beer and waited.
She sat back and looked away. “Most of his business was flying Indians to powwows and other gatherings around the country. But a while back he flew a job for some Canadians, across the border. Afterward he was-I don’t know… quiet. Maybe scared. He didn’t talk about it, but I wondered.”
“How long ago?”
“A couple of years. The business wasn’t doing well.”
“Any dealings with them since?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Any speculation about the nature of what it was that he was paid to transport?”
“No.”
“Any names?”
“No.”
“Where did your husband keep his records?”
“Two places. His office in our home and his office at his hangar at the Rice Lake Regional Airport.”
“You continue to keep his office at the airport?”
“Yes. Sandy had a yearly lease, and because of the FAA investigation and the lawsuit, it’s just been easier for me to leave everything as it was.”
“Has anyone handled the records since the plane disappeared?”
“The FAA investigators made copies of a lot of things.”
Burns said, “And the attorneys for all the plaintiffs in the lawsuit. The originals should all still be there.”
“Okay,” Cork said. He sipped his beer. “There are other possibilities to consider. Most don’t have to do with
