As he neared, Cork understood that the moaning was actually a low repetition of words—Why, God? Why me?—plaintive in their tone, a kind of chant. A dim, wavering light came through the chapel doorway, and when Cork peered in, he saw that the small room was lit by the flame of a single candle on the tiny altar, before which a figure knelt, hunched so far over that his forehead touched the red-carpeted floor. The figure’s feet were clad in boots whose soles were caked with dried mud. The hunched body shook as if in some kind of terrible fit, and Cork stood frozen, torn between fleeing and offering to help.
The figure straightened suddenly and turned on Cork. The face, in dark shadows etched by crude candlelight, was a blackened and twisted mask of horror. Cork found himself staring into the eyes of a madman.
CHAPTER 49
Liam had parked his cruiser in the lot at St. Agnes, entered the building, and walked to the office. He’d seen the light from the street and thought maybe the priest had returned. The office was empty, and the rest of the church was dark. He figured that Father Cam had simply left the light on and gone to the rectory. So Liam had headed across the street and talked with the housekeeper, who insisted the priest still hadn’t come back from wherever he’d been.
Liam was already on high alert from all the uncertainty abroad in Tamarack County, and there was something unsettling in the situation. He returned to St. Agnes, walked down the hallway toward the sanctuary, where he heard a painful moaning coming from the back of the church. He moved cautiously in that direction. Then he heard a stifled cry, and as he rushed into the narthex, a body much smaller than his own plowed into him.
“Cork?”
His son looked up, his face awash with relief. Liam looked beyond his son at the grim figure hulking in the candlelight of the little chapel.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, Cork,” Father Cameron Ferguson said. “You just caught me by surprise.”
Liam understood clearly why Cork had fled from the man. The priest’s face was smeared with a charcoal coating. His eyes were red from prolonged weeping. His cheeks were streaked as if with scars of white where tears had run. Although his son had probably seen a figure of terror, Liam saw a portrait of deep pain.
“What’s happened to you, Cam?” he asked. “Your face?”
“Fasting,” the priest said. “Trying to cleanse myself.” He spoke in gasps, pulling himself back from his weeping, pulling himself together. “The charcoal… Henry Meloux told me about it… part of a practice he follows… seeking answers through fasting.”
“You look pretty scary,” Liam said.
The priest ran a hand over his brow and stared at the residue on his fingers. He steadied himself and looked at Cork. “No wonder you ran. What are you doing here?” Then he looked at Liam. “And you?”
“I’ve been looking for you,” Liam said. “A few questions I need to ask. But first, tell me about this cleansing you were seeking. Cleansing for what reason?”
There were chairs in the chapel and the priest said, “Let’s sit.” When they were all seated, Father Cam said, “You have a great responsibility to the people here, Liam. Does it sometimes feel suffocating?”
“Crushing,” Liam said.
The priest nodded as if he understood perfectly. “I have a responsibility to those who come to me for advice and for succor. Sometimes I feel so weighted I can barely breathe. I hurt all the way down to my soul because I don’t know how to help.”
“Prayer,” Cork said. “Isn’t that what helps, Father Cam?”
“Sometimes I want to do more, Cork. I need to do more. I think about that girl, the dead girl, Louise. I can’t help feeling that I let her down, that there was more I should have done.”
“Like what?” Liam asked.
“I should have taken her in. Given her shelter. Helped her find her way. Kept her from… from the wolves.”
“Cam—”
“And not just her. I see the inequities, the injustice all around me here. And I think, hell, all I do is pray. But there has to be more.”
Tears gathered along the lower rims of the priest’s eyes, and a wet pearl rolled down through the char of his left cheek. “I’m thinking of leaving, Liam.”
“Aurora?”
“The priesthood.”
“Cam, that’s pretty drastic.”
“I went to Henry Meloux a couple of days ago, seeking his advice.”
“You went to Mr. Meloux for advice?” Cork said. “But you’re the one people come to for that.”
“I don’t have all the answers, Cork. Sometimes I wonder if I have any.”
“Henry suggested the fasting?” Liam said.
Father Cam nodded. “I went to Still Island.”
Iron Lake was dotted with small islands. Liam knew the one the priest had just mentioned. He’d heard the Anishinaabe call it Bizaan, which meant “peace” or “stillness.” It was said to be a place for contemplation.
“I built myself a fire, took the char, covered my face. For more than a day I fasted and prayed.” He shook his head. “Finally, I had to come back. Responsibilities here. But I still have no answers. I keep asking, Why me? What is it you want of me, God? How do I serve you here if my prayers are useless? How do I serve these people who need so much?”
Liam looked at his son and tried to imagine what Cork must be feeling. When Liam was a kid, he’d believed priests operated on a level elevated above others, called to a higher purpose because of some profound inner strength. He understood the truth of human frailty now, a lesson taught in the war and later in the uniform of a policeman. His son’s journey hadn’t brought Cork to that place yet. But as the tears streamed down Father Cam’s cheeks, Liam suspected that the foundation of so much of his son’s understanding was beginning to crumble, and there was nothing a father could do to change that.
“You were in the war, Cam,” Liam said. “Me, too. I don’t know about you, but somewhere along the way, I lost sight of the why of it, the big picture, I guess you’d say. I did what I did, things that to this day weigh heavily on me, because it was what was expected of me, what I expected of myself. I soldiered on. When I think too much on what I did then, and the darkness comes over me, I comfort myself with something Henry once told me. He said we all stumble in the dark, but that’s why the Great Mystery gave us voices, so that we can call out, seeking others in that dark. And we were given hands so that we can reach out to help one another. Alone, the darkness swallows us. But together, we help each other through. So, when things seem bleakest, I tell myself to soldier on. I try to remind myself to call out. I do my best to be ready to offer a hand.” He reached out and rested his palm on the man’s arm. “You have a strong hand, Cam, and a voice clear in the darkness. No one can tell you what to do, but it would be a loss to this community if you tossed in the towel.”
The priest didn’t reply.
“Whatever you decide to do,” Liam said, “for God’s sake wash your face first. Right now, you could scare a goblin.”
The priest walked with them back to his office. Before they parted, he said, “Thanks for the hand, Liam. Still a lot of thinking to do.”
“Isn’t there always?” Liam said. Then, “God be with you, Father.”
Outside in the warm night air, Cork said, “You didn’t ask him any of the questions I thought you were going to.”
Liam paused under the stars. Above him, the pale Milky Way spread across the night sky like a bridal veil. “Do you think I should have?”
“No,” Cork said. “He didn’t have anything to do with killing Louise LaRose.”
“That’s what I think, too.”
“What now?”
“Now we go home. It’s been a long day, Son.”
* * *
Cork lay in bed that night thinking about what he’d witnessed in the little chapel at St. Agnes. There was so much he was trying to make sense of. The priest who wasn’t a killer but had still taken a tumble from the high pedestal Cork had set him on. The Church
itself, because if those who were ordained to be the eyes, the hands, the heart of God on earth were only human, what hope was there? And especially his father. Liam O’Connor attended Mass most Sundays when duty didn’t call him away, but Cork had never had the sense that he was a true believer. He’d seemed to practice his religion in a dutiful but not particularly devoted fashion, a man going through the motions. The simple, heartfelt benediction he’d offered the suffering priest—“God be with you”—was a ray of light for Cork, illuminating something important, adding another piece to the puzzle of this man who was his father.
CHAPTER 50
The next day was Friday, an evening Liam O’Connor always looked forward to. There was a comforting ritual to Friday nights. Dilsey usually came for supper. After dishes were done, after Cork had returned from whatever outing had called to him late in the day, and after Liam had finally shed his khaki uniform in favor of something more casual, Colleen made popcorn. Then all of the O’Connors settled in to watch their usual Friday night television lineup: Route 66, The Twilight Zone, and The Alfred Hitchcock Hour. So far north, depending on the weather, the screen could be pretty fuzzy, and Liam had to work constantly at adjusting the rabbit-ears antenna on their Motorola. But that night the images were perfect.
They’d just launched into The Twilight Zone when Jackson, who’d settled himself at Cork’s feet, lifted his head and let out a low growl. Almost immediately, a hard knocking came at the front door. Liam shot up from the sofa, switched the porch light on, and opened the door.
Oscar Manydeeds stood there, gripping Leroy Kingbird by the arm. Kingbird was a high school kid from the rez who’d given Liam worries in the past. On the other side of Kingbird stood Billy Downwind. Liam opened the screen door. “What is it, Oscar?”
“Our thief.” Manydeeds shoved the kid forward. “Billy tracked him down.”
“You broke into the horse barn, Leroy?”
The kid lowered his gaze and said nothing.
“Tell him,” Manydeeds said gruffly.
“Yeah, we broke in,” the kid said. “Me and Goose.”
“Goose?” Liam said.
“Hector St. John,” Manydeeds said. “His cousin. Kinda floats between the rez and Duluth these days. He’s in Duluth right now.”
“You stole things?”
The kid nodded.
“Did you steal drugs?”
“We took stuff we thought could give us a good time.”
“You used the drugs yourselves?”
Leroy gave his head a shake. “Goose took the stuff down to Duluth. Said he could sell it there for some good money.”
“He took all of it?”
The kid shrugged. “We tried a little. Felt too weird.”
Manydeeds put a hand on the kid’s shoulder and dug his fingers in deep. “If you’re lying—”
“I’m not,” the kid said, his face squeezed in pain. “I swear.”
“What do you think, Oscar?” Liam said.
“I think he knows what I’ll do if I find out he’s lying.”
“I ain’t lying.”
“You want me to arrest him, Oscar?”
“Leave him to me.”
“What about Hector St. John?”
“I’ll take care of him, too.”
Liam stood a moment, considering the proposition, then gave a nod. “We done here?”
“For now,” Manydeeds said. “Unless you have anything for me?”
“Nothing new,” Liam said. “When I do, I’ll let you know.” Then he turned to Billy. “You tracked him down?”
“Yeah,” Billy said.
“How?”
“I knew who to ask.”
Liam studied Billy Downwind a long moment, wondering if there was something more that he wasn’t saying. Finally he said, “Thank you.”
When the porch was cleared, Liam closed the door. He turned, found Cork standing there, and said, “It’s always about eliminating possibilities. Come on. The popcorn’s getting cold.”
“So?” Dilsey said when they returned to the living room.
“Oscar found the kids who stole his pentobarbital. Kids from the rez.”
“Who?” When Liam told her, she said, “No fathers, those boys. What will you do with them?”
“That’s up to Oscar.”
“He has no sons,” Dilsey said, and Liam could see that she was turning something over in her head. “Maybe he’ll step up to the plate, give those boys some guidance.” She worked her tongue at some popcorn stuck in her teeth and added, “I think I’ll talk to him about that.”
“What about your investigation?” Colleen said. “Does this help?”
Liam settled himself back into his easy chair. “I’ve got some thinking to do.” And he left it at that.
* * *
The next morning, after Cork had gone to deliver his papers, Liam sat at the kitchen table with his coffee. He hadn’t slept much in the night, arranging and rearranging all the pieces of the puzzle that held the answer to the deaths of Big John and Louise LaRose. There seemed to be so many pieces still missing. He’d been sure that Duncan MacDermid had killed Big John, and he’d been certain why. But the pentobarbital had changed his thinking. He was beginning to believe that Big John had been murdered because he knew who killed the girl. But why the girl had been killed, he had no idea. And no idea either who’d done it.
There was a small knock at the door to the mud porch and Joe Meese poked his head in.
“Saw the light.”
“Coffee, Joe?”
“You betcha.”
“Help yourself.”
Joe pulled a mug from the cupboard, filled it from the pot on the stove, and sat down with Liam at the table. Liam told him about the visit from Oscar Manydeeds the evening before.
“Kids,” Joe said, shaking his head. “One of the things a pharmacist always worries about is kids getting their hands on drugs they think’ll give them a good high. End up killing them instead. They were lucky, those two boys. Pentobarbital is nothing to mess around with. You talk to Cy yet about that list he got from the vet?”
“Not yet.”
“He spent the whole day knocking on doors across Tamarack County.” Joe shook his head. “Nada.”
“But somebody had pentobarbital, somebody with a reason to want Big John dead.”
“Maybe you should talk to Doctor Dave, see if he has any other ideas.”
Liam said, “I’ve got a couple of other interviews I want to do today, folks who might have had contact with the girl. While I’m at it, I’ll drop by the vet clinic.”
Joe sat, turning his coffee mug idly, round and round on the table, until Liam said, “Something on your mind, Joe? Maybe what brought you here this morning?”
“Okay, you’re in charge of this investigation.”
“But?”
“We never tried to find the place where the girl was killed.”
“And you’re thinking there might be evidence there?”
“Yeah. Maybe something that’d tell us who it was. The only thing that makes sense is that whoever killed Manydeeds did it because he saw something he shouldn’t have. I think he knew who killed the girl.”
“I understand, Joe. I’ve been thinking the same thing. But have you ever been out to Moose Lake?”
The deputy shook his head.
“Really big body of water. The Ojibwe call it Naabe-Mooz. Means ‘bull moose’ because it’s like an antler, with all kinds of inlets sprouting off the main body. I don’t know where we’d even begin to look.”
“Where’d they find her?”
“Near the outlet to Spider Creek. But if there’s any current in the lake, it would have pushed her body in that direction. And there’s no telling when the ropes that held her under slipped off, how far her body might have drifted. We’re a small department and we’ve got other fish to fry.”
“I’ll go.”
Liam turned and found Cork standing in the kitchen threshold. Jackson trot
ted past him and went to his water bowl in the corner.
“How long have you been there, Son?”
“Long enough to know that somebody should be going out to Moose Lake. I’ll go.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? I know the way. I’ve gone there lots of times with Billy Downwind and Big John and with my Scout troop. And I wouldn’t go alone. I’d take Billy and Jorge with me.”
“And where would you look?”
“There are lots of places where I’ve camped. Dad, I want to help.”
Joe piped in, “Like I said, Liam, whoever took her in had to have camped somewhere. What could it hurt?”
What could it hurt? As a father, Liam could think of a thousand things that might go wrong. But he looked at his son’s earnest face and he understood the impulse, Cork’s need to feel as if he was doing something, anything that might be of some use. Hell, he felt the same way. And, now that the thought had come into Cork’s head, maybe it would be better to let him go than have him moping around, resentful and fuming because his father had held him back. In truth, Cork was a far more experienced canoeist and camper than Liam, with a bounty of wilderness trips already under his belt. Moose Lake wasn’t that far away, and he’d have his two friends, also experienced in the wilderness, with him.
“Two conditions,” Liam said. “One, Billy and Jorge have to agree to go with you.”
“I know they will.”
“And two, your mother has to sign off on this.”
“Mom? Why?”
“Because I said so. And because if I let you go without asking her, she’d skin me alive.”
Cork gave a reluctant nod.
“Just one day,” Liam said. “I’ll give you one day out there.”
“An overnighter,” Cork said. “We’ll go out today, stay the night, and be back late tomorrow.”
Nothing would come from the expedition, Liam was pretty sure. But so often that summer he’d seen in his son’s eyes a look of confusion, of defeat. Now there was fire in them, and Liam didn’t want once again to be the one who smothered that hopeful flame.
Lightning Strike Page 26