Manitou Canyon

by William Kent Krueger

  “What are they talking about?” Stephen said.

  “Why don’t you ask?” Daniel suggested.

  “Just walk right up and butt in on their conversation. Right.”

  “I was thinking maybe you could wait here and, when they’re finished, talk to Marlee and Stella. Rose and I could go ahead and locate Krystal.”

  “I like that,” Stephen said. He got out of the truck and turned back. “If you have trouble finding her, call my cell and we’ll hook back up. Otherwise, I’ll meet you back at the house.”

  He stepped away, and Daniel and Rose drove off, heading up Oak Street.

  The Pines was a recent addition to the housing market in Aurora. It was a two-story apartment complex with a faux-log finish that was meant, Rose figured, to give it the flavor of a Northwoods lodge. She thought it tacky, but not in the extreme. Although it was much too late in the season for anything to be blooming, there were flower beds along the whole front, and she decided that in summer the place wouldn’t look half bad.

  Daniel parked the truck in the lot, then he and Rose walked to the building entrance. Daniel scanned the names under the buttons that could buzz each apartment.

  K. GORE. He pointed toward the name and poked the button for apartment number 12.

  A woman answered, “Who is it?”

  “Miss Gore?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Daniel English. I wonder if I could talk with you for a moment.”

  After a pause she asked, “What about?”

  “There’s been some trouble at the casino.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “I’d prefer to explain that when we talk.”

  “Who are you with?” Her voice was sharp now, and carried an edge of fearfulness.

  “The Minnesota Gaming Commission.”

  He glanced at Rose and gave a quick smile.

  For too long, there was no response from the intercom, and Rose was concerned that they might have frightened the woman into silence.

  “I’ll buzz you up,” Krystal Gore finally said.

  Inside, it was like any other modern, lackluster apartment building. Rose and Daniel walked down a carpeted hallway to the door with a brass-colored 12 attached above the peephole.

  Daniel knocked and said, “Miss Gore?”

  When the door opened, a slender blonde stood before them, though Rose could see that it was not her natural color. Her face was pale white, a light powdering over a foundation that tried to cover a landscape of acne scars. Her eyes were a remarkable green, almost neon. Colored contact lenses, Rose thought. Her lips were outlined in mauve and were shiny with gloss. Her fingernails were polished in a matching color.

  “English?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  The woman’s unnaturally green eyes shifted to Rose.

  “I’m Rose Thorne.”

  “Are you with the gaming commission?”

  Rose’s mind didn’t run to lies, so she simply said, “No,” and hoped it wouldn’t matter.

  “What’s this about?” the woman asked.

  “May we come in and talk?” Daniel said.

  “You got a badge or something?”

  And son of a gun, Daniel reached into his back pocket and brought out a badged ID wallet, which he flipped open and flashed at the woman, who did little more than give it a glance. He closed it quickly, and back into his pocket it went.

  Krystal Gore stepped aside to let them pass.

  The apartment was a little messy, but not horribly so. It was suffused with an aroma familiar to Rose from all her years raising children: macaroni and cheese. A jumble of wooden blocks lay near one wall, and atop them, looking stiff and uncomfortable, sat a couple of Barbie dolls. The furniture appeared to be new but cheap, the kind, Rose thought, that might come from a rental outlet. The television was on but muted, tuned to the home shopping channel. The item front and center on the screen at the moment was a zircon necklace.

  “May we sit down?” Daniel asked.

  The woman waved, wordless permission. Rose and Daniel took the sofa. The cushion under Rose felt as if it had been cut from marble, and she was no more comfortable sitting there than the dolls probably were on their blocks. Krystal Gore took one of the armchairs.

  “So, what’s going on?” she asked.

  “We’re investigating allegations that some of the gaming at the Chippewa Grand Casino is being manipulated,” Daniel said. “Your name has come up in that regard.”

  “Me?” The woman’s right hand went to her breast in a dramatic show of surprise.

  “We have video evidence,” Daniel said.

  “Bullshit,” the woman shot back.

  “Let’s talk about one case specifically,” Daniel went on, calmly but firmly. “Does the name Trevor Harris ring a bell?”

  The woman’s green eyes searched the room and lingered on the ceiling. Her brow furrowed and she finally said, “No.”

  “Slender, fair-haired, natty dresser, early twenties.”

  She shook her head.

  “I find that interesting. Because the video we have shows that time and time again Harris wins when he plays at your table. Wins big.”

  “Now wait a minute—”

  “No, Miss Gore, you wait a minute. When this investigation concludes, you’re looking at the very real possibility of serving prison time. But . . .” Daniel paused. “We’re certain that you’re acting on the instructions of someone higher up. Ben Trudeau. If you help us nail him, we may be persuaded to ignore your part in the scheme.”

  “There’s no scheme,” the woman said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re not from around here, Miss Gore.”

  “No.”

  “New York, right?”

  “What of it?”

  “I understand you left your former job to come here so you could be closer to family. Correct?”

  “I need a smoke,” the woman said. She stood abruptly and went to her purse, which lay on the kitchen counter. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lit one, and stood with her arms crossed, sending smoke from her nostrils.

  “Where exactly is your family?”

  “You’re so smart, you tell me.”

  “The truth is you have no family here. You were brought to Aurora to do exactly what you’re doing. Make sure that Trevor Harris wins at your table. You’re pretty good at that. But you’ve been caught at it before. At the casino in New York where you used to work.”

  Which surprised Rose. How could Daniel possibly know? Then she realized he’d simply made an educated guess. The mind of a cop.

  Krystal Gore stood with smoke trailing up from her as if her face were smoldering. She glared at them, her eyes like green fire. Rose figured she was lost to them, walled off by anger and probably by fear.

  Then Daniel said very quietly, “We can help you. We can help you get out from under them.”

  “Mommy?”

  The voice was slight, timid, a child’s, and came from the hallway, where neither Rose nor Daniel could see.

  “Sweetheart, what are you doing up?”

  A little face peeked around the corner, then a whole child followed. She was dark-haired, pink-cheeked, tiny, maybe three. She wore footie Winnie-the-Pooh pajamas, and she was hiding something behind her back.

  “I have some visitors, Libby. Go back to bed.”

  “Can’t,” Libby said.

  “Why not?”

  The little girl smiled slyly. “Drink of water.”

  “All right,” her mother said. “A drink of water, then back to bed.”

  She ran the tap for a bit, then filled a small plastic tumbler. The whole while, Libby eyed Rose and Daniel, but not with fear.

  “My name is Rose,” Rose said.


  “I’m Libby,” the little girl said.

  “This is Daniel,” Rose said.

  “Are you married?”

  “Yes, dear,” Rose said.

  “I’m married,” Libby said.

  “Oh?” Rose gave her a big, pleased smile. “Who to?”

  “Him.” She brought out what she’d been hiding behind her back, a stuffed unicorn.

  “You married a unicorn,” Rose said with delight. “A very handsome unicorn.”

  Krystal brought the water to her daughter. The little girl dropped her unicorn, took the tumbler in both hands, and sipped.

  “All of it,” her mother said. “And quick now.”

  Libby drank the water down and handed the tumbler back.

  Krystal Gore said to her guests, “Wait here, all right?”

  “We’re going nowhere,” Daniel told her.

  Little Libby picked up her unicorn and disappeared with her mother back down the hallway.

  Rose could hear the soft murmur of the mother’s voice. Although the woman was probably involved in whatever it was that had made Cork disappear, Rose couldn’t find it in her heart to think the worst of her. She hoped the truth, when they knew it, would set them all free from what seemed like a destructive net of intrigue.

  Krystal returned. Her cigarette lay in the ashtray on the kitchen counter. She picked it up, then crushed it out. “I’m trying to quit,” she said. “For Libby’s sake.”

  Although it was Daniel who’d done most of the talking until then, it was Rose who spoke now. “What’s going on, Krystal?” She asked it gently, as she might of a hurt child. “How did you become involved in all this?”

  The woman bit her lower lip, bit hard. Then she bent her head and began to cry. “They told me they wouldn’t prosecute. They told me they would protect me.”

  “Who’s they?” Rose asked.

  “Ross Arden.”

  Daniel tilted his head, as if to hear better. “Ross Arden?”

  “The manager of the Lake Pokegema Casino. Where I used to work in New York.”

  “Is he Indian?” Daniel asked.

  “Seneca.”

  “And Ben Trudeau? He told you the same thing? That he’d protect you if you helped Trevor Harris win?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did it happen?” Rose asked.

  Krystal wiped at her tears and shook her head hopelessly. “I was behind. Behind in everything. The rent, my car payment, Libby’s day care, you name it. I was so stressed, I wasn’t doing my job well. Ross called me into his office and asked what was wrong. He seemed so interested, you know, so caring. I broke down and told him everything. He said he could help. I thought—” She rolled her eyes. “I thought he was going to give me a raise or something. Maybe a promotion. Instead, he asked me to help a customer win. It’s not so hard, you know. He told me he would protect me. And that if I did it, he’d make sure all my back bills got paid.”

  She tried to take a deep breath, but with all her sobbing, it came in little gasps.

  “So I did it,” she went on. “I thought when it was finished, that would be it, you know? But then Ross told me he had video of me cheating and if I didn’t help him some more, he would see to it that I went to jail. He said, ‘Know what happens to little girls whose mothers are in jail? The little girls go into foster care. And do you know what happens to them in foster care? They get abused in every way imaginable.’ He said that to me, the son of a bitch. Then he sent me out here.”

  Daniel asked, “Did they tell you why they wanted these men to win?”

  She shook her head and wiped at her tears. “I didn’t take anything for myself. Honest to God I didn’t. I just did what they told me to.”

  “Blackmail,” Daniel said.

  “Yes.” She leaped on that. “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Would you be willing to make a statement to that effect?”

  “If I did, what would happen?”

  “If it helps us put these people behind bars, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re dealt with fairly.”

  “No jail?”

  “I can’t promise that. But I’ll do everything I can for you and Libby.”

  Rose saw the woman’s shoulders slump and knew exactly what she was thinking: the other men had made promises, too. Why should she believe him?

  Krystal stood sobbing, looking so forlorn and so broken and so alone that Rose couldn’t help herself. She left the sofa, put her arms around this frightened mother, and said, “It will be all right. It will all work out fine. That’s my promise to you.”

  “I don’t want to lose Libby,” Krystal said.

  Rose made a promise she had no business making but every intention of keeping. “That will happen only over my dead body.”

  * * *

  Sheriff Marsha Dross had returned that afternoon from the Search and Rescue operation at Raspberry Lake. Daniel and Rose found her in her office, working on a tuna-fish sandwich and potato chips and drinking a Diet Coke. She listened as they laid everything out for her, the sandwich sitting half eaten on the plate.

  When they’d finished, she shoved her chair away from the desk. “A lot to do now.”

  Before she stood up, her phone rang. She picked up the receiver and answered, “Sheriff Dross.” She listened, and Rose saw her eyes widen. “Thank God.” She put her phone down and said with great relief, “Cork and Lindsay Harris have been spotted. They’re alive.”

  CHAPTER 36

  They were dog tired, all of them. Bird had dropped off first, right after he ate some of the meal Mrs. Gray had prepared from dehydrated vegetable soup base and wild mushrooms she’d found on the island. She’d also made biscuits. Whatever negative he might have said about her—and there was plenty of that—Cork had to admit she knew her way around a campfire. Before Bird slept, Lindsay Harris had sat with him, and Cork had heard her repeat what she’d told him before: Spirit is at the heart of everything. Trust your spirit. Which was something Henry Meloux himself might have told the kid.

  Lindsay was the next to go. She climbed into her sleeping bag, and in less than a minute, Cork heard soft, deep breathing. The sour woman cleaned up the meal things, then crawled into her own sleeping bag. Which left Cork and the tall man eyeing each other across the flames.

  “Who is she to you?” the tall man finally asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve had chances to run, but you haven’t.”

  “You made it clear what would happen to me. And I get the feeling you’re a man of your word.”

  The tall man studied him. “I have the same feeling about you. Will you smoke with me?”

  “I will.”

  The tall man stood and went to one of the packs. He bent and drew out a beaded pouch. He walked to the edge of the island, and Cork followed after him. The wind had not abated, and Cork could hear the waves washing restlessly against the rocks all along the shoreline. The tall man pulled a clay pipe from a pocket of his coat and dipped it into the pouch.

  “Let’s sit,” he said.

  They settled themselves on the hard ground with the glow of the fire at their backs and the dark of the lake before them. The tall man hunched himself over the pipe to shield it from the wind and lit the tobacco with a wooden match. They shared the smoke in silence.

  “What do you hold on to?” the tall man asked. His eyes were on the lake, though because of the dark there was nothing to see. “When you face the worst you can imagine, what keeps you from folding?”

  “Belief, I suppose,” Cork said.

  “What belief?”

  “In what I am.”

  “What are you?”

  “Ogichidaa.”

  “Warrior,” the tall man said.

  “That’s one interpretation. To Shinnobs in my neck of the
woods, it means one who stands between evil and his people.”

  The tall man said, “You can’t always stand against evil. Sometimes the evil is too great.”

  “Then a man dies trying.”

  “Yes,” the tall man said. “A man dies trying.”

  “Manitou River,” Cork said. “This is what you’re willing to die for?”

  “The river and the land it runs through.”

  Of a sudden, the wind seemed to double itself, and both men felt the shove of it at their backs. Sparks from the fire flew past them and died above the lake, where the water roared as if it were an animal enraged. Cork felt the cold driving through his coat and hunched himself against it.

  “None of us might make it out of here,” he said. “But unless he gets help, your nephew certainly won’t. Mrs. Gray is right, you know. If you left him, we’d make better time.”

  “If you were me, would you leave him?”

  “If I were you, I’d understand all the risks and how to weigh them.”

  The tall man shook his head. “The dangers we anticipated were very different from what Kitchimanidoo has thrown at us.”

  “Are you Mide?” Cork asked.

  “Me? No. I don’t have the spirit of a healer. Like you, I’ve always believed myself ogichidaa.”

  The wind let up a bit, and the tall man and Cork sat straight again.

  “The dam, is that the evil you’re trying to stand against?”

  “The evil is greed. The dam is the result.”

  “John Harris, is he part of the evil?”

  “He built the dam.”

  “What do you want from him?”

  “The key to killing that dam.”

  “And you’re willing to kill him and his granddaughter and me to get it?”

  “Would you die for your home and for those you love?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you kill to protect them?”

  “I already have.”

  “Then you should understand.” The tall man stared into the darkness a long time before he spoke again. “It’s not up to me alone.”

  “Who, then? Mrs. Gray?”

  “Not her. You’ll know soon enough.” He turned and looked into Cork’s eyes, and even in the dark, Cork could see the sadness there. “I hope none of you have to die, O’Connor.”