Blood Hollow

26

Arne Soderberg held a coffee mug in his hand and a look of contentment on his face. A slice of morning sunlight, lemon yellow, lay across his desk. The cool scent of pine drifted in through the open window. It was the day after his only child had walked across the high school stage and received her diploma, and Soderberg wore his satisfaction like a new suit.

Cork almost felt sorry for what Jo was about to spring.

“So, what’s up?” the sheriff asked.

At Jo’s request, Gooding was in the room. He leaned against a file cabinet with his arms crossed. Jo and Cork sat in chairs, the high polish of the sheriff’s desk between them and Soderberg.

“I’m trying to get a handle on the situation between parents and the kids who were at Valhalla the night of the New Year’s Eve party,” Jo said.

Soderberg looked confused. “To what end?”

“Everything we know about that night helps us put it in better perspective. I’m wondering about Tiffany.”

“What about her?”

“Did you know she was at Valhalla?”

“No.”

“You didn’t call her there to check on her?”

“Why would I, if I didn’t know she was at Valhalla? She was supposed to be at Lucy Birmingham’s house.”

“You were at the Lipinskis’ New Year’s Eve party, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t try to call Tiffany from there? I mean try to call her at the Birminghams’?”

“No.”

“Edith Lipinski says you asked to use her phone. You told her you wanted to check on your daughter and your cell phone wasn’t connecting.”

“Then maybe I did. I’d been drinking a little that night. I don’t really recall everything.”

“I understand how it is at a party like that. Did you call the Birminghams’ house directly?”

“I don’t remember.”

“If you’d called the Birminghams’ house directly, you would have discovered that Tiffany wasn’t there. Isn’t that right?”

“I suppose.”

“So maybe it wasn’t Tiffany you called?”

The sheriff didn’t answer.

“I thought perhaps it was really Lyla you tried to call?”

“Lyla?”

“Edith told me that you and Lyla had a bit of a tiff and Lyla went home early. I thought maybe you called to apologize to her, but didn’t want to tell Edith that.”

Soderberg thought a moment. “That could have been it.”

“You called her at home?”

Soderberg said carefully, “I must have.”

“And you worked things out, I hope. Cork and I have a rule.” She smiled at her husband. “We try never to go to bed angry. Edith said you left the party shortly after Lyla, a little before eleven. So you went home still thinking Tiffany was at the Birminghams’?”

Soderberg gave a nod.

“Okay. Lyla left the party at ten-thirty. She got a ride from Marion Griswold because you thought she was too drunk to drive. You kept the car, that gorgeous PT Cruiser, right?”

“I thought this was about Tiffany.”

“I’m getting to that. You did keep the PT Cruiser?”

Soderberg hesitated. “That’s right.”

“You left the party at eleven and then what? Did you go straight home?”

He considered her a moment, then said, “I think we’re done talking.”

“Just a couple more things. You told Edith Lipinski that night that you wanted to use her phone to check on Tiffany. But you didn’t check on Tiffany, did you? And it wasn’t Lyla you called either. She wasn’t home. She was at Marion Griswold’s place. Why are you lying about the calls you made?”

“I’d like you out of my office,” Soderberg said.

“Phone records indicate that two calls were made to Valhalla from the Lipinskis’ home the night Charlotte Kane died. I think you made those calls. Around eleven o’clock, you left the party and drove to Valhalla. We have a witness who puts Lyla’s PT Cruiser at Valhalla in that time frame. Why were you there? I believe for a sexual liaison with Charlotte Kane. I believe you’d had a relationship with her for some time.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Soderberg said.

“I also believe it’s possible that you killed Charlotte Kane and planted evidence that would implicate Solemn Winter Moon. Were you angry with Charlotte for having an affair with Winter Moon? Or had Charlotte threatened you with exposure-you, the newly elected sheriff of Tamarack County?”

Gooding slowly uncrossed his arms. His gaze shifted to the sheriff.

The frail vessel that had held Soderberg’s contentment that morning had shattered. The happiness had drained from his face, and he looked stunned.

“I killed Charlotte?” He frowned. “Maybe I kidnapped the Lindbergh baby, too?”

“Much of this we can prove,” Jo said.

“How?”

“By matching your DNA against the results of the DNA testing that was done on the pubic hairs taken from Charlotte’s body during the autopsy.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Is it? You never bothered to widen your investigation beyond looking at Solemn Winter Moon. I think it was because you were afraid that evidence might be found that could incriminate you.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Did Charlotte threaten to make it all public? Was that why you killed her?”

“I didn’t kill her.”

“Or were you just blind with rage because she’d been with Solemn, had let him touch her in the same way you had?”

“Gooding, get these people out of here.”

The deputy didn’t move.

“You were at Valhalla that night,” Jo said. “You had opportunity and motive.”

“No.”

“You used your position as sheriff to protect yourself.”

“No.”

“You loved Charlotte Kane.”

He opened his mouth but the denial died before he spoke it. That was the moment Cork knew Soderberg had cracked, the moment he knew Jo had him. Soderberg stood up and put his hands on his desk and leaned forward like a tree about to fall.

“Get out of my office.”

“I’m prepared to ask the court to compel you to submit to DNA testing.”

“You wouldn’t.”

She opened her briefcase. “This is your copy of the motion. It sets forth all the evidence and the reasoning. When I leave here, I’ll go directly to the county attorney’s office and give Nestor Cole a copy. From there I head to the courthouse to file and to request a date for the motion hearing. This isn’t a bluff. It will get public and ugly, Arne. Why don’t we talk now?”

“I have nothing to say to you,” he replied hoarsely. “Deputy Gooding, I told you to get these people out.”

Jo rose from her chair. “We’re leaving, but we’ll be back, Arne. While we’re gone, take a few minutes and think clearly. And get yourself a lawyer.”

She turned and walked out. Cork followed and closed the door behind him.

Outside Soderberg’s office, he said, “What now?”

“I make good my threat.”

“At the moment, all we’re able to offer is speculation.”

“No, we’re citing a number of incriminating facts from which very reasonable suppositions can be drawn.” She looked back at the closed door. “Maybe he killed Charlotte, maybe he didn’t. But of the rest, he’s guilty as hell, I know it.”

“You need me?”

“No.”

“Do you think we should let Solemn know what’s up?”

“I don’t see why not. He’s got more at stake in this than anybody. Would you talk to him?”

“Sure.” Cork touched her cheek. “Have I told you how glad I am that you’re on our side?”

Cork spent a long time with Solemn, laying it all out carefully. In the end, Solemn appeared troubled by the news. He stood up from the table in the interview room, walked to the door, and put his hands flat against it. He tilted forward until the crown of his head touched as well. He seemed to ground himself on the hard reality of the jail.

“Do you think he killed her?” he asked.

“My gut feeling is no,” Cork said.

Solemn stared down at the gray sneakers worn by all the long-term guests of the county. “So. It may do me some good, but I imagine it’ll pretty well mess up Sheriff Soderberg’s life.”

“I imagine.”

And he did. Cork imagined Lyla like a withered fruit, sucked dry of compassion. And he pictured Arne on the streets of Aurora, a man people would pretend not to see.

“He never seemed to me to be very happy,” Solemn said. “I can’t help feeling sorry for him.” He turned to Cork. “Is he a religious man?”

“No more so than most folks, I’d guess.”

“I’ll pray for him.” He returned to his chair and sat down with his hands folded in his lap. “I’m still going to trial?”

“We’ll have to see about that.” Cork signaled Pender, who was on cell block duty that day. “If I were you, Solemn, I’d pray a little for myself.”

Solemn looked up at him, looked out of the deep brown wells that were his eyes. “Some days that’s all I do. It’ll help me, praying for someone else.” He hesitated, as if reluctant to say the rest. “Thank you for all you’re doing. Only…”

“What?”

“Maybe some things that are secret should stay that way.”

“Sometimes we just turn over rocks, Solemn. What’s there is there.”

Heading out of the department, Cork passed the opened door of the sheriff’s office. Soderberg was not inside. Gooding came over from the front desk.

“The sheriff got a call from the county attorney a few minutes ago,” Gooding said. “He took off right away. Listen, Cork, even if you could prove that he was with Charlotte Kane that night, it doesn’t mean he killed her.”

“Maybe not, but it’ll raise a hell of a question in a jury’s mind. I’ll catch you later, Randy.”

In the parking lot, he got into his Bronco. Although it was still morning, the sun was hot already. He rolled down his windows to let in air. He was about to crank the engine when he spotted Arne Soderberg sitting in his BMW, staring. The wing that housed the prisoners was in front of him, and he seemed to be looking at the dull brick wall. Cork watched for a few minutes until Soderberg started his car and pulled out of the lot.

The sheriff drove slowly. At Fourth and Holly, he ran a stop sign. Not fast, just drifted through as if he didn’t see it at all. He headed out past the town limits and turned onto North Point Road. He pulled into the drive of his home, got out, and went inside. Cork cruised past the house, drove a hundred yards, turned around, parked, and waited.

Less than five minutes later, Soderberg stepped out. He backed from his drive and headed into Aurora. He skirted Oak Street, the county courthouse, stayed well away from the sheriff’s department, and kept going south. At the far end of town, he turned onto Lakeview Road and wound his way up the hill to the cemetery.

At that time of the morning, the grounds were almost deserted. Just beyond the gate, Cork saw Gus Finlayson, the groundskeeper, standing in the cool shade of a big maple, tossing hand tools into a small trailer hitched to the back of a John Deere garden tractor. Finlayson waved as Cork passed. Far ahead, the BMW pulled to a stop under a familiar linden tree, and Arne Soderberg got out. By the time Cork’s Bronco rolled up behind the car, Soderberg was already down the hill standing at Charlotte’s grave.

For a long time, Cork sat in his Bronco. He watched Soderberg smoke a cigarette, then light another. He remembered the wonderful fragrance that had filled the cemetery the day the rose petals appeared. Now the air smelled of cut summer grass, a good scent, but not at all a miracle. After a while, Cork got out, and descended the hill.

Soderberg saw him coming. “Haven’t you done enough damage, O’Connnor? Just leave me the hell alone.”

Cork looked at the towering marble monument erected in Charlotte’s memory. “She was a beautiful young woman, Arne.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“I suppose not.” He let a few breaths go by. “That day on Moccasin Creek when you saw her body, it must have been hard on you. You didn’t know she was there, did you?”

Fingers of smoke crept from Soderberg’s lips, stroked his cheeks and his hair, then lifted free of him and drifted idly away. “She was alive when I left Valhalla.”

Cork nodded. “The problem is this. There’s no way for you to prove it.”

Soderberg reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. Without a word, he handed it to Cork.

It was a receipt for the purchase of 13.6 gallons of gas, a credit card transaction bearing Soderberg’s signature. It had been generated at the Food ’N Fuel at 1:27 A.M. on January 1.

Soderberg said, “I was in Aurora when Charlotte was killed. It was Winter Moon. I know it was that son of a bitch.”

Cork handed back the receipt. “What are you going to do, Arne?”

Soderberg looked up, squinting at the sun. His face was full of deep lines, like a flat stone fractured with a hammer. “Funny how things change. Yesterday I had the world by the balls.”

“Let me ask you something,” Cork said. “The rose petals in the cemetery on Memorial Day. I’ve been thinking about that a lot, especially now in light of what you and Charlotte shared. I’m thinking it was you. Some kind of grand gesture. You used Soderberg Transport and the department copy of the gate key, all for Charlotte. An amazing memorial. Am I right?”

“Go to hell,” Soderberg said. He flicked his cigarette away. It tumbled end over end, trailing smoke and embers, until it hit the stone on the next grave down the hillside and exploded in a shower of sparks. “Go to hell and burn, you meddling son of a bitch.”