Northwest Angle co-11

by William Kent Krueger

  Kretsch was there, waiting for them at the dock. His boat rocked on the waves. Cork felt Jenny hesitate.

  “It’ll be all right,” he said.

  “Couldn’t we just take our chances driving out?”

  She said. Cork turned to his daughter and, for an important moment, held her eyes with his own. “We could. But that’s not what we’ve planned, and with good reason. We know that Smalldog’s after this kid, and we know the kind of cruelty he’s capable of. I think we have a good chance of confusing him, and anyone who’s helping him. But it depends on taking your boy out across the big water. Tom says he can do that. I believe him. We’ll be fine, Jenny, I give you my word. Okay?”

  He believed this or he wouldn’t have said it. But he also knew that the foundation of his belief was a matter less of the facts than of faith.

  “We should go,” Kretsch urged. “Before we’re spotted.”

  Rose said, “You’ll call us when you’ve reached the other shore?”

  “Count on it,” Cork said. “Just make sure Seth keeps his land line open.”

  Rose gave them all hugs, even Kretsch, who seemed a little embarrassed at the display of affection. The deputy got aboard and helped Jenny in. Cork handed over the ice chest with the baby inside and then the pack. Kretsch set the ice chest between the two rear seats and put the pack next to a couple of ten-gallon cans of extra fuel he’d secured near the engine. Cork cast off the lines and boarded, too. They donned life jackets, then Kretsch backed away from the dock. The flat stern pushed awkwardly against the roll of the waves until the deputy spun the wheel and put the nose of the bow into the wind. He nudged the throttle ahead, and they started south.

  Cork recalled that Bascombe had likened Kretsch’s modest Tyee to a toothpick. The comparison seemed to be more than a little apt as they bounced across the chop of waves toward the big water, which at that moment, appeared to be as broad and perilous as an ocean.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Rose, Mal, and Anne sat at the table in Bascombe’s lodge. Rose had made coffee, and the three of them sipped and listened to the wind and watched the clock set in the driftwood on the wall. Rose thought she’d never known time to pass so slowly. She wasn’t sure what the others were thinking, but she was praying.

  “I remember once when I was a kid and Dad was sheriff,” Anne said eventually. Despite the heat of the day, she had her hands wrapped around her coffee mug as if she were cold. “He had to go out to a cabin where a man was holding his wife hostage.”

  “Vernon Lucasta,” Rose said.

  “Right,” Anne said.

  The clock on the wall ticked away.

  “What happened?” Mal finally asked.

  “Dad got there and went inside, unarmed. He found Mrs. Lucasta—”

  “Bianca,” Rose said.

  Mal glanced at her.

  “She sang with me in the St. Agnes choir,” Rose explained.

  “Right. Bianca,” Anne said. “Anyway, she was tied to a chair in the bedroom, and Lucasta had a rifle and he told Dad he was going to kill her if someone didn’t get the damn bugs out of the cabin.”

  “Insects?” Mal asked.

  Anne shook her head. “Listening devices. Lucasta was convinced someone was spying on him, and his wife was somehow involved.”

  “Delusional?” Mal asked.

  “That’s what Dad thought,” Anne said.

  “And with good reason,” Rose added, taking up the story. “Vernon was an odd duck.”

  Anne said, “Remember when he joined the kids in the Christmas pageant and he was dressed like an elephant?”

  “An elephant in Bethlehem?”

  “He wasn’t even supposed to be a part of the pageant, Uncle Mal,” Anne said. “He just showed up. I think he might have been drunk.”

  “He wasn’t,” Rose said.

  “Okay,” Mal said. “So he’s got his wife tied up and is threatening her. What did your father do?”

  “He told Lucasta he’d look for the bugs. He was thinking that, while he did that, he might be able to talk sense into the man or figure a way to surprise and disarm him.”

  “Did he?”

  “No. He found three bugs.”

  “What?”

  “One in the telephone. One in the bedroom, and one in the bathroom.”

  “Who put them there?”

  “Bianca,” Rose said. “She sold Tupperware and was convinced that, whenever she was away, Vernon had women there. She wanted proof.”

  “What did Cork do?”

  “He talked Lucasta into giving him the rifle, then talked them both into going into therapy that very day.”

  “He didn’t arrest the guy?”

  “No. In the end they divorced, but it was amicable, more or less.”

  Mal said, “And the point of your story?”

  Anne said, “I was just thinking that I’m afraid for Jenny, but if there’s any good thing about her situation, it’s that Dad’s with her.”

  Rose smiled and put her hand on Anne’s arm in a gesture of understanding and agreement. But she didn’t say what she herself was thinking. Which was that, even though Cork was a good, reliable man, if bad weather blew in across the big water, everyone in that little boat was in trouble.

  They heard the launch coming. Mal went to the window. “It’s Seth,” he said.

  Bascombe arrived and stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, eyeing them sternly. “Well?”

  “They got off,” Mal said.

  “Anyone see them?”

  “I’m pretty sure not,” Rose said.

  Bascombe nodded grimly. “I’ll feel better once we get the call that they’ve made it safe.”

  He’d given Kretsch the GPS coordinates for a cabin on the south shore of Lake of the Woods, northwest of Zippel Bay. The cabin was empty, he knew, because the man who’d owned it was in prison for smuggling cigarettes into Canada. The land was now forfeited property of the U.S. government, but nothing had been done with it, and the cabin sat abandoned. Bascombe had used the place himself for a weekend fishing rendezvous with a couple of his old pals from ATF. It had a good dock and was isolated and ought to work well for getting the baby onto the mainland without anyone seeing.

  The plan was for Aaron to drive his truck to the cabin, along with Stephen, pick up Jenny and the baby, and all of them head to Tamarack County and the safety they hoped Henry Meloux would offer. Kretsch and Cork would return across the big water and begin the hunt for Noah Smalldog.

  Bascombe plopped his big body down at the table. “That coffee smells good, Rose. Any left?”

  “Let me pour you a cup, then I’ll make a fresh pot,” she said.

  “How’s our baby?” Bascombe said, nodding toward the basket where the swaddled towel lay. “Did you show that guy plenty of affection out there on the dock?”

  “Don’t worry. She played her part well,” Mal answered. “Did anybody follow you to Windigo Island?”

  “Yep. Had a tail all the way.” Bascombe sounded quite pleased. “He kept his boat pretty far back, so I didn’t get a good look at him. But Indian I’d say.”

  “Smalldog?”

  Bascombe shook his head. “One of his cohorts, I figure.”

  Rose put a cup full of coffee down on the table in front of him. “What about Stephen and Aaron?”

  “Didn’t see anyone take off after them, so I think they’re in the clear. I’m guessing I was followed because I’ve got the best boat. Tom was right about that. I just hope to God he doesn’t run into any heavy weather in that little Tyee of his. The open water on that south section of the lake is so huge it generates its own unpredictable weather systems. Squalls can come up out of nowhere.”

  That put a damper on conversation for a little while. Rose busied herself making another pot of coffee. Mal stood up and limped to the wall where a map of the Lake of the Woods and the Angle hung. He studied it a moment.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out the Northwest Angle,” he said.
“To get here, you’ve got to cross the border and drive through sixty miles of Canadian wilderness, or else cut across forty miles of open water on Lake of the Woods. What’s a piece of U.S. territory doing this far north?”

  “Northernmost point in the forty-eight contiguous states,” Bascombe said, with a note of pride. “The result of a misunderstanding during the negotiations for the treaty that set the border between us and Canada.”

  “What kind of misunderstanding?” Anne asked.

  Bascombe slurped his coffee, closed his eyes, and let the good brew trickle down his throat. “Where exactly the headwaters of the Mississippi River lay. Everybody thought they were much farther east than they ended up being. The result was a little northern jut of territory that cut across Lake of the Woods and included the Angle. Up here we call it ‘the chimney.’ ”

  Mal hobbled back to join the others at the table. “How long have you been on the Angle, Seth?”

  “Been coming here all my life. My aunt and uncle ran this little resort. When they passed, they left the property to me. I was working ATF then, so I couldn’t really do anything with it. I’d come here occasionally, try to see to things, but the old place pretty much went downhill. Finally, when I’d had one day too many of wearing a Kevlar vest at work, I retired, and moved here for good to reopen the place, try to make a go of it. Discovered real fast that I didn’t have the temperament for that kind of enterprise. I live here alone now. Suits me fine.”

  Rose finished putting the new pot of coffee together and turned back to the table, where Bascombe sat sprawled, looking worn.

  “How long before we hear from them?” she asked.

  Bascombe thought it over. “If they don’t run afoul of the weather, and if Tom has no engine problems, and if Smalldog didn’t somehow get wind of our ruse and is waiting for them out on the big water, I’d say three hours.”

  “Three hours of waiting,” Anne said.

  In her niece’s tone, Rose heard what they all probably felt: Three hours would seem like forever.

  “Mal, Seth,” she said, putting all the robustness she could muster into her voice, “you two should get back out on the dock and show a presence here. Annie, let’s bake some cookies.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  Cork had never been on water so huge. He was more than uncomfortable. He was seasick.

  The big water, as the folks on the Angle called it, was well named. It stretched away to the horizon in every direction, dazzling blue under the vast sky, shot with diamonds of reflected sunlight, alive with swells. Kretsch was intent at the helm, fighting to keep the Tyee on course against the sweep of waves and shove of wind. Jenny sat with the ice chest at her feet, her eyes darting between the baby nestled inside and the vast expanse of water on which they were the only human presence.

  Cork understood that it was going to be the longest and most miserable boat ride of his life.

  He’d always believed that particular distinction would belong to the dinner excursion he’d made on Lake Michigan the night he proposed to Jo. It should have been romantic but turned out to be comic tragedy. Although they were never out of sight of land, the wind had been strong and the cruise a little rough and Cork hadn’t been able to eat much. He’d managed near the end of dinner to pop his question. And then he promptly threw up.

  It had been a funny story to tell across the years. He was pretty sure that after this boat trip there would be nothing funny to tell.

  He moved to the seat next to the helm and spoke to Kretsch, mostly to take his mind off his rolling stomach.

  “How’re we doing, Tom?”

  Kretsch glanced at the GPS display on the unit attached to the dash. “On target,” he said.

  Cork eyed the great empty water around them. “No sign of any other boat. That’s good.”

  “Most other boats wouldn’t be out here on a day like this.”

  Cork leaned close to the deputy. “You’ll get us there, right?”

  Kretsch gave him a look of consummate confidence. “I’ll get us there.”

  Cork sat back, relieved. “You know Lake of the Woods pretty well?”

  “There are a lot of folks who know it better, folks who’ve lived here all their lives. But I know it pretty well.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I started coming up to fish walleye with my father and brothers when I was a kid. In college, I spent summers on the Angle, helping with one or another of the resorts. Started guiding eventually. Finally moved up here for good.”

  “What’s your law enforcement background?”

  Kretsch shook his head. “Don’t have any. I took the job because the sheriff couldn’t find anyone else willing. Everything I know is from experience.”

  The relief that Cork had felt in all of Kretsch’s assurances vanished in an instant. “No law enforcement training whatsoever?”

  “Ride-alongs with the deputies out of Baudette, and a bunch of seminars over time, but that’s about it. Up here, there’s not much breach of the law to worry about. It’s only a part-time job. The rest of the time I work for a barge company in Angle Inlet, helping deliver big items to the islands.”

  Jesus Christ, Cork wanted to say. He’d always thought of Tamarack County as a rural operation. This topped everything.

  “What if something really big happened?”

  “The sheriff comes up himself or sends one of his regular deputies to give a hand. I usually just hold down the fort until they arrive.”

  The name Barney Fife came to mind, but Cork said nothing. He moved back to the seat next to Jenny.

  “How’re you doing, kiddo?” he asked.

  She looked at his face and said, “Better than you, I think. You’re pretty green.”

  “I’ll be all right. And your boyo?”

  She smiled down at the baby, who despite the wild rock of the boat and the whip of the wind and the noise of the hull against rough water, was sleeping. “He’s doing great,” she said.

  “This is the most tolerant kid I’ve ever seen.”

  A darkness came over Jenny’s face. “I wonder about that. I wonder if his ordeal has affected him somehow. Tempered his natural inclinations, maybe. He doesn’t cry much, not like the babies I’ve been around in the nursery down in Iowa City, anyway.”

  “He’s only a few weeks old,” Cork said. “He’s malleable, right? And resilient. He’ll bounce back.”

  “I hope so,” she said.

  Cork leaned back and closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping what was kicking inside his stomach corralled there.

  The clouds came up fast, black horses galloping wildly out of the west across the sky. Because his eyes had been closed for a long time, Cork didn’t see them. It was Jenny who alerted her father to the danger.

  “Dad?”

  When he heard the urgency in her voice, his eyes popped wide, and he looked where her finger pointed.

  “Tom!” he called.

  “I see it,” Kretsch said. “Nothing we can do now but ride it out. You better cover the baby. Looks like the rain’ll be heavy for a bit.”

  Jenny had brought a windbreaker, and she draped it over the open ice chest, then peeked inside.

  “What’s the verdict?” Cork called to her above the wind.

  She shook her head in amazement. “Dead to the world, thank God.”

  “Brace yourselves,” Kretsch said. “Here it comes.”

  It was as if a dam had split open and everything held in the reservoir behind spilled out. The wind, already strong, became a rage, and the rain struck Cork’s face hard as bullets. Jenny had angled the lid of the ice chest to keep as much water off the windbreaker as possible, and she hunched protectively over the makeshift cradle. Kretsch turned the bow of the boat directly into the storm and held the wheel steady against the full force of all that came at them. The sky above was black and boiling, but Cork could see the edges of the storm system a few miles off. Beyond it was blue sky. They just had to hang tough for a w
hile.

  The squall passed, and as quickly as the sky had turned threatening, it cleared again.

  Kretsch turned back to them from the helm and patted the dash of his boat. “Tough old girl. Knew she’d get us through.”

  Jenny pulled the windbreaker from the ice chest, and the sun hit the baby’s face. He began to wake and make fussing noises.

  “Want me to put together a bottle?” Cork asked.

  Jenny had brought a clean bottle and formula. Rose had heated water and put it in a thermos.

  Jenny shook her head. “He shouldn’t be hungry yet. Just needs a little reassurance, I think.”

  She picked him up from the bedding in the ice chest, cradled him in her arms, and began talking to him softly. His eyes fastened on her face, and he seemed mesmerized.

  Cork returned to the seat beside the deputy.

  Kretsch smiled at him, clearly pleased. “I’ll have us there in no time.”

  * * *

  And he did. As soon as they came in sight of land, Cork felt the weight of worry lift from him. He could have hugged Tom Kretsch.

  It was evening by then. The sun was low in the western sky. The wind had relaxed just a little, and although the lake was still restless, the whitecaps had all but disappeared. Kretsch kept an eye on the GPS display and guided the boat to a tiny cove lined with poplars where a cabin with a small dock stood. The trees looked beaten and ragged; a number of them lay on their sides with the roots torn from the ground, the result of the derecho two days earlier.

  “There they are,” Jenny said, her voice a song of relief.

  At the end of the dock, Stephen and Aaron stood waving. Kretsch motored up, eased back on the throttle, and drifted in. Cork went forward and picked up the bow line. He tossed it to Stephen, who secured the rope to a cleat. Aaron tied off the stern line. Jenny lifted the ice chest with the baby inside and delivered it into his waiting hands.