“She was certainly looking for him.”
“We don’t know that she found him.”
“The bruises.”
“Fineday says she fell.”
“And he went charging out of the bar after she came home from that ‘fall.’ I’m betting he wasn’t headed to a movie. It had to do with Jacoby. We both know that.”
“We can speculate, but we don’t really know.” Cork settled back with a sigh. “They’re afraid of something, it’s clear. I’d love to know what she was running from when she ran to Stone.”
“From her father?”
“Maybe. But why? He’s a hard man, sure, but he’d never lay a finger on her.”
From beyond Cork’s door came the squawk of the radio in Dispatch and Patsy’s voice responding.
“Another thing about these phone records,” Cork said. “Not a single call to his wife or from her.”
“So?”
“If you were gone from Alice for a week, wouldn’t you call?”
“Sure.”
“So why didn’t Jacoby? And why didn’t she call him? I’m just wondering if we ought to look at that marriage. It’s an old adage but a good one that murder begins at home.”
“I’ll see what I can find out.” Larson adjusted his glasses and tapped the phone records in his hand. “He may not have talked to his wife, but Jacoby sure talked to a lot of other people. His office in Elmhurst. New York. Las Vegas. And where exactly is Kenosha, Wisconsin?”
“South of Milwaukee, on Lake Michigan. May be a casino there.”
“Makes sense,” Larson said. “He also made a lot of calls to members of the Reservation Business Committee. Have you had a chance to talk to them?”
“Nobody at length. But I will. I know Lizzie looks good for this right now, but we need to keep checking all the possibilities. Have you been able to get anything on Eddie Jacoby’s background?”
Larson took a notepad from his pocket. “I spoke with his boss at Starlight, a guy named Clayton. He said Jacoby’d been with them less than a year. I had the sense he wasn’t going to be with them much longer.”
“Why’s that?”
“He wasn’t representing Starlight well. Securing a contract with the Iron Lake Ojibwe was important for his career with the company.”
“If he was dealing with Stone, he had to be desperate.”
“Clayton said he hired him as a favor to Jacoby’s brother. I asked about his employment record. He worked a string of jobs before Starlight, none very long.”
“Dina told me he was into moviemaking for a while. Porn.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Was he still into it when he was murdered?”
Cork shook his head. “Lost all his money, apparently.”
“I spoke at length with his family before they left. Jacoby was married, two kids. Lived in Lake Forest not far from his father. He wasn’t an easy son or sibling, I gather.”
“Anything specific?”
“According to them, only minor scrapes with the law, nothing serious.”
“You ask them about substance abuse?”
“Considering what we found in the glove box of his SUV, it was one of the first questions I asked. They claimed it was a surprise to them.”
“A surprise? I doubt he was just experimenting.”
“So did I. I checked for any criminal record. Nothing in Illinois. I called the Lake Forest police. They gave me nothing. But I can’t help thinking that for a guy with an appetite for drugs and beating up prostitutes, he seems to have a suspiciously clean record.”
“Maybe the Jacoby money has something to do with that. And maybe we need to check on him through a less official channel. I have a friend, a guy named Boomer Grabowski. We worked out of the same division when we were cops in Chicago. Boomer’s a private investigator now, a good one. I think I ought to give him a call, see what he can dig up on Eddie Jacoby. Hell, on all the Jacobys. It’ll cost us, but the budget’s already shot.”
“If you think it’ll help. And you’re the one who has to beg the Board of Commissioners for more money.”
There was a knock at the open door. It was Patsy.
“Call for Ed.”
“Put it through in here,” Larson said.
A moment later, Cork’s phone rang.
“Captain Larson,” Ed said. He listened. “I see.” He glanced at Cork, and something flared in his usual cool blue eyes. He took a pen from the desktop and jotted a couple of notes on the back of the top sheet of Jacoby’s phone record. “You’re certain?” He nodded at the answer. “I appreciate it. Thank you very much.” He hung up.
“What is it?” Cork said.
“BCA’s been helping us run the prints we took from the inside of Jacoby’s SUV. Got an interesting match on one of them.”
“No kidding. Who?”
“Lizzie Fineday.”
* * *
They rendezvoused at the opening to the narrow dirt road off County 17 that led to Stone’s cabin. Cork and Larson had come in the same vehicle, the Pathfinder. Morgan and Pender had been patrolling the eastern roads of Tamarack County and had been dispatched to accompany. Dina Willner was there, too.
“Stone’s going to see us coming a long way off. That’s all right. We have a suspect, and so a lawful reason to be here. He shouldn’t give us any resistance,” Cork said. “If he does, we take him down right away, cuff him, book him for interfering with the execution of a lawful order. Morgan, Pender, that’ll be your responsibility. Ed and I will conduct the search and apprehension of Lizzie Fineday. And, Dina, you’re here by invitation, and I’d like you to stay well back.” He lifted the back door of the Pathfinder and brought out a dark blue Kevlar vest with SHERIFF’S DEPT. printed in white letters across the back. He tossed it to her. “Wear this.”
She caught it and put it on.
“Everybody else armored up? Then let’s roll,” he said.
It was late afternoon, the air still, the woods quiet. They drove through a thick stand of aspen that smelled of leaves fallen, dried, crumbling to dust. Breaking from the trees, they followed the shoreline of the narrow lake. Sun glinted off the water in piercing arrows of light. At the far end, wood smoke rose from Stone’s cabin, straight and white as a feather. Behind it, like a prison wall, stood the gray ridge. Cork led the procession, his window down. There was no way to move quickly enough to surprise Stone. Cork couldn’t help thinking of the raid on the farmhouse in Carlton County, how badly things had ended. You never knew. That was the hell of it: even with routine procedures, things could go wrong. You tried to be careful, to consider all the options, choose the best approach, but so much was out of your hands, beyond your control. In the end, you made your choice and went in hoping. Praying never hurt, either.
“Movement in front of the cabin,” Larson said. He lifted a pair of Leitz binoculars to his eyes. “Stone.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Waving, it looks like.”
“At who?”
“Nobody I can see. Toward the ridge. Now he’s stopped. He’s looking this way. Son of a gun. He’s waving at us.”
“Us?”
“Looks that way. Wait.”
They kept moving, getting closer. Larson finally lowered the field glasses and laughed quietly.
“What?” Cork said.
“He’s not waving. He’s casting. He’s got a fly rod in his hand.”
They rounded the north end of the lake and climbed a rise to the cabin. Stone stood in front of his place, fifteen yards from the chopping block. He held the rod in his right hand and, with a deft snap of his wrist, flicked the line out again and again toward the chopping block. At his feet lay a zippered canvas bag long enough and wide enough to accommodate several rods fitted with reels. He paid no attention to the approaching vehicles.
Cork pulled up behind Stone’s Land Rover, which was parked in the shade of a paper birch. He got out and Larson did, too. The deputies halted farther back and exited their cruisers
. Dina stayed in her Accord as Cork had asked.
“Afternoon, Byron,” Cork said.
“Sheriff.” Stone watched the thread of fishing line sail out. The end touched almost dead center on top of the chopping block. He wore olive jeans, a long-sleeved wool shirt also green but of a lighter shade, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his powerful muscles. His black hair was tied back with a folded bandanna of gold and green. “Looks like D-day. What’s with all the troops?”
“We’re here for Lizzie.”
“Too late. She’s already gone.”
“Where?”
“Search me. I went into Allouette after lunch. When I came back, she was gone.”
“Did someone come to get her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did she leave?”
“Same reason she came, I suppose. It suited her.”
Stone whipped his arm back and the line arced through the air, catching the sunlight along its whole length so that for an instant it appeared to glow as if electric.
“Byron, I have an order authorizing me to pick up and detain Elizabeth Fineday for questioning in connection with the murder of Edward Jacoby. That order authorizes me to search your property for Lizzie.”
“Be my guest. Mind if I keep working on my technique?”
“Morgan, Pender,” Cork said. “Keep him company while Captain Larson and I have a look inside.”
“Sure thing, Sheriff,” Morgan replied.
Cork saw that Dina had left her car and was making her way to the back of the deputies’ cruisers, keeping them between herself and any threat Stone might pose. He wondered what she was up to.
He held the screen door open for Larson, who went into the cabin first. Cork had been inside twice before, once with ATF and a couple years later with DEA. The place looked as spotless now as it had on the other two occasions. Once the casino allotments began to be distributed to the enrolled members of the band, some Iron Lake Ojibwe had gone a little crazy, packing their homes to the rafters with all manner of junk, feeding appetites generated by the sudden wealth. Stone continued to live simply. The Land Rover outside was his only obvious extravagance.
He’d built the cabin himself, a simple square divided into four rooms: a main living area, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a small bedroom. The wide window in the living area looked toward the lake. Cork suspected the beautiful view wasn’t the only reason for its location. Through that window, Stone could see anything approaching along the road. The walls were bare logs, no paneling to hide insulation. Stone had cut the trees, planed and notched the logs so that they fit perfectly. The winter wind could not penetrate. He’d drilled his own well, put in his own septic system, had done all the wiring and plumbing himself. The electricity came from his own generator. He probably had ignored codes, but no inspector ever bothered to check. When dealing with Stone, most people didn’t sweat the small things.
They went through the cabin, found no sign of Lizzie, not even any evidence that she’d been there. They stepped back outside.
Stone hadn’t moved. With the canvas bag of rods on the ground at his feet, he still cast his line at the chopping block. Morgan and Pender watched him closely, and no one uttered a word. Dina was lurking behind Stone’s Land Rover.
“She cleaned up after herself pretty well,” Cork said.
“Didn’t she?” Stone replied.
“Morgan, you got a cell phone?”
“In my cruiser.”
“Call the North Star Bar, find out if Lizzie Fineday is there.”
Morgan started to turn.
“Cell phones don’t work here,” Stone said. He nodded toward the gray ridge at his back. “It’s the iron in the rock. Interferes with the signal.”
“Try it anyway,” Cork said to Morgan. “If he’s right, relay the request to dispatch and have Patsy make the call.”
Morgan hopped to it.
“I’d like you to come with us into town, Byron, answer a few questions about Lizzie.”
“Got a warrant? No? Then you know I don’t have to go. I’m content here.”
“All right. While she was here, did Lizzie say anything to you about Edward Jacoby?”
“Most of the time she slept. She needed the rest.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“No. The answer is no.”
“Her face was bruised. Did she tell you how that happened?”
“I believe she fell.”
“She told you that?”
“That’s what she said.”
From behind Stone’s Land Rover, Dina called, “What time did you get back from Allouette today?”
Stone turned his attention away from the fishing line to the woman. His eyebrows arched as if he were surprised, only just now aware of her presence. Histrionics, Cork knew, because Stone didn’t miss a thing.
“I heard you were pretty,” he said. “And that you like to flash your breasts around.”
“When did you get back from Allouette?” Cork said.
“Couple of hours ago.”
“Engine’s still warm,” Dina said to Cork.
Stone went back to his casting. “I left again and came back again.”
“Where?” Cork said.
“Brandywine. Had business at the mill there. You can check. But what difference does it make? Am I a suspect?”
“Sheriff,” Morgan hollered from his cruiser. “Patsy says Lizzie’s not at the North Star. Will Fineday claims he hasn’t seen her since he was out here the other day.”
“If I wanted to protect my daughter, I’d claim the same thing,” Stone said. “On the other hand, Lizzie’s lived on the rez her whole life. She’s got friends, other relatives. Seems to me you’ve got a lot of checking to do, Sheriff. I’d get started if I were you.”
Cork looked back at the empty cabin. He thought about warning Stone that if he was hiding Lizzie he’d be in trouble, but he knew Stone didn’t care. “Pack it up,” he said to the others. “Let’s get out of here.”
Under Stone’s intransigent eye, they turned their vehicles and headed back the way they’d come. This time Dina Willner led the way. At the junction with the county road, she pulled over and got out. The two cruisers rolled past and braked to a halt ahead of her. Cork drew alongside and leaned out his window.
“What is it?”
“The cast of the tire tracks out at the Tibodeau cabin. What kind of tires did you say those were?”
“Goodyear Wranglers. MT/Rs, I think. Why?”
“Stone’s got Goodyear Wranglers on his Land Rover. MT/Rs, and they’re new.”
Cork looked over at Larson.
Larson said, “You think?”
Dina said, “At the Tibodeau cabin, you had two people, probably a man and a woman, involved in the shooting. They knew the reservation well enough to know the Tibodeaus would be gone. At least one of them understood how to plan an ambush. And they escaped in a vehicle sporting Goodyear MT/Rs. You told me Lizzie wants to be an actress. Could she do a pretty good imitation of Lucy Tibodeau, do you think?”
“I imagine,” Cork said.
“And is Stone a decent shot?”
“Stone’s an excellent shot. Been hunting all his life.”
“I don’t know why they’d do it, but they certainly seem to me like prime suspects in that shooting,” Dina concluded.
“Why didn’t you say something back at the cabin?” Larson asked.
“Did you see the canvas bag at his feet?”
“For his rods?”
“He never moved a foot from that bag. I’m betting it wasn’t fishing rods he had in there.”
“A rifle?” Cork said.
“It seemed like a possibility to me. And if he is the shooter, it’s likely that he’s using armor-piercing ammunition. It didn’t seem prudent to challenge him at that point. People could have been hurt.”
“Let’s go back now,” Larson said.
Dina shook her head. “I wouldn’t if I were you
. He saw me looking at the tires. He pretended not to, but he did.”
“Would he know about the tracks he left?” Larson said.
“Our people have been all over the county asking about those tires.” Cork thought it over. “Let’s see if we can get a warrant and go in after dark.”
32
BEN JACOBY POINTED toward a bright pinpoint of light in the sky just above the horizon.
“First star on the left,” he said, “and straight on till morning.”
They were seated in a booth at Lord Jim’s, a restaurant at the exclusive North Lake Marina near Evanston, looking east over the inky evening blue of Lake Michigan.
“Neverland,” Jo said.
“That’s where I’d love to be headed.” Jacoby sat back. “Rough day.” He wore a gray suit, white shirt, blue tie. He’d come from the office, he said, although he looked freshly shaved. “But it’s better now. And thanks.”
“For what?”
“Agreeing to have a drink with me. How did it go at Northwestern? Did you like your guide?”
“He was quite a surprise.”
“A pleasant one, I hope. He did it as a favor for his old man. A good son.”
Jo noted that he spoke of Phillip with more enthusiasm than Phillip had shown when speaking of him.
“Did Jenny like the campus?” he asked.
“She was thrilled.”
“Great. Look, if she needs anything, a recommendation, help with her acceptance—”
“She doesn’t.”
“I’m just saying that a word from me wouldn’t hurt. And I’d be happy to.”
“Jenny will get in or not on her own merit.”
“Just like her mother.”
He’d ordered Scotch for himself and for Jo a chardonnay. He drank and looked melancholy.
“Halston,” Jo said, noting the scent of his cologne. “You still wear it.”
“You bought me Halston on my twenty-seventh birthday. It’s all I wear. Like Proust says, smells transport us in time.” He sipped from his drink. “You ever miss Chicago?”
“Some things.”
“Like what?”
“The blues bars.”
“Blues bars? We never went to the blues bars.”
“Cork and I,” she said.
“Oh. Sure.”
The William Kent Krueger Collection 2 Page 54