Mercy Falls

23

Cork was surprised to find Dina Willner with Larson and Rutledge in his office. He’d seen her among the crowd on Gooseberry Lane, but they hadn’t spoken. She wore black jeans, a white turtleneck sweater, sneakers. She held a disposable cup from the Gas Pump Grill, an old gas station on Oak Street that had been redone as a gourmet coffee shop. Larson and Rutledge had cups, too. Several cream cheese kolaches lay on a paper plate on Cork’s desk, next to another cup from the Gas Pump Grill. The aromas of the coffee and the pastries were wonderful, the first good thing that whole morning.

“Do you mind if I sit in?” she asked.

Cork glanced at Larson and Rutledge. “Any objections?”

“Fine by me,” Rutledge said. Ed Larson nodded his agreement.

“I brought you some coffee,” Dina said. “French roast, black, but there’s cream and sugar if you’d like.”

“Thanks.” Cork sat down, took the coffee, put in half-and-half from a tiny container and a couple of packets of sugar lying next to the kolaches.

“What do you think?” he said.

“A dead blasting cap. My first guess would be somebody who doesn’t know what they’re doing,” Larson said.

Rutledge pursed his lips skeptically. “They got everything else right. Maybe it was a bomb never meant to go off.”

Cork put his coffee down. “Why try so hard to kill me at the Tibodeau cabin, only to give me some kind of bullshit scare now?”

They were quiet a moment. Then Larson said, “A stupid prank?”

Rutledge scratched the back of his neck and didn’t look happy with that possibility. “If it was, it’s one that could land the prankster in jail for a good long time. He’d have to be way off the impulsive scale. Way too risky. There’s substance here.”

Dina sat forward, just a little, but the men’s eyes turned to her. She spoke quietly. “Remember, you have two major investigations under way. Is it possible this incident has nothing to do with what happened on the reservation?”

“Are you saying it’s related to the Jacoby murder?” Larson inched his wire-rimmed glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t know. I’m just suggesting it’s a possibility.”

“Somebody warning me off the investigation?” Cork sat back, considering.

“You said yesterday that there are people on the reservation who might have been blackmailed by Jacoby. Maybe one of them is afraid of what you might discover. They don’t want to kill you-maybe they’re not that kind, or maybe because of your blood connection, I don’t know-but they’re trying to dissuade you from looking too closely.”

“If it was meant as a warning, why no note?” Rutledge said.

“To whoever planted it, maybe what it related to was obvious. They’re not seeing any of this from Cork’s perspective, which is much broader.” She lifted her cup but paused before sipping. “On the other hand, I suppose it could just be somebody who really wanted you dead but doesn’t have the brains God gave a caterpillar.”

“Who has access to that kind of explosive?” Rutledge said.

“Up here, lots of folks,” Larson replied. “Mining, logging, and we’ve got a hell of a lot of construction going on, new roads. It wouldn’t be difficult to steal.”

Rutledge looked at Cork. “Maybe you should think about getting your family out of Aurora for a while.”

“I’ve already taken care of that. Jo and the kids are going to Chicago to stay with her sister and husband.”

“Good. So what now? Any ideas?” Rutledge took a bite of his kolache and chewed quietly.

Cork said, “I’ll hit the reservation, talk to some people out there. If Dina’s right-if it’s somebody trying to scare me off the Jacoby investigation-maybe I can get a handle on that.”

Larson nodded. “We’ll do a complete canvass of your neighbors, find out if anybody saw anything helpful. While that’s going on, I’m going to do a couple interviews related to the Jacoby murder.”

“Who?”

“The night clerk at the Four Seasons. He’s been gone camping the last couple of days, but I understand he’s back. I’m hoping he might be able to shed some light on Jacoby’s comings and goings the night he was killed. And we’re still looking for Arlo.”

“Arlo?” Dina said.

“Arlo Knuth,” Cork explained. “A local character, lives out of his truck and sometimes sleeps in the county parks. He was at Mercy Falls earlier on the night Jacoby was killed. One of my deputies ran him off, but we should talk to him. Good luck tracking him down, Ed.”

“I’ll find him.”

There was a knock at the door. Deputy Duane Pender stepped in. “Here’s the information you asked for, Cork.” Pender handed over a sheet of paper. “And we’ve got a gaggle of reporters gathering out there.”

“Thanks, Duane. Keep them at bay awhile, and then I’ll talk to them.”

Pender left and Cork glanced at the sheet he’d delivered.

“I asked Duane to run a DMV check on Harmon LaRusse.”

“Moose LaRusse?” Larson said. “Why?”

“He followed me yesterday when I was on the rez.”

“Moose? I didn’t know he was back in these parts.”

“Neither did I. According to the Department of Motor Vehicles, he isn’t. He’s got a Minneapolis address.”

“Tell me about this Moose,” Rutledge said.

“A Shinnob from the rez. Big guy, big troublemaker,” Cork said. “Five, six years ago, we busted him for a series of burglaries in the county. Judge gave him five years in Stillwater.”

“Why would he be following you?”

“I have no idea, but I’m going to make a few inquiries today, see if I can find out. But the first thing, Simon, you and I should talk to the media. We’ll need to cover both investigations. Then what I’m going to do is see if I can get to the bottom of those bruises on Lizzie Fineday’s face, find out if Eddie Jacoby had anything to do with it.”

Dina put her coffee down. “You said I could be there when you talked to her.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

Rutledge stood up. “I’m going to try to have that talk with Lydell Cramer’s sister this afternoon, see if anything shakes loose there.”

“Everyone stay in touch,” Cork said.