Jacoby accepted the coffee she offered him and sat in one of the chairs available for clients.
Cork took the other client chair. “So,” he said. “Law school together.”
“My second year.” Jo put the coffee server back on the tray with the mugs she kept on hand, went behind the desk, and sat down.
“My last,” Jacoby said. “But you still practice, Jo.”
“You don’t?”
“I never did. I do investments.”
“In Chicago?”
“We’re in the Sears Tower.” He shook his head and smiled. “You look wonderful. You haven’t changed at all.”
“What are you doing here?” She furrowed her brow. “Jacoby. Eddie?”
“He was my brother. My half brother.”
She folded her hands on her desk, then unfolded them. “I never made the connection. I’m sorry, Ben.”
Jacoby looked at his coffee mug but didn’t take a sip. “No reason you should be. You and I, we knew one another a very long time ago. And Jacoby’s not that unusual a surname.”
“I mean I’m sorry about Eddie.”
“Ah, yes. You dealt with him, with the business he had here?”
“That’s right.”
“Then maybe you can help me.”
“In what way?”
“Before Eddie left for Aurora, he told me this visit would be different, that I’d understand when he got back. I got a call from him yesterday, late in the afternoon. He said he was going to celebrate. He sounded as if he was already two sheets to the wind, so I didn’t know how much more celebrating he planned on doing. I wonder if you have any idea what that might have been about? Business?”
Cork looked at her, too.
Jo chewed on her lower lip, something she only did when she was very nervous. “It’s possible. He’d been working for months to get the Iron Lake Ojibwe as clients for his company. He presented me with the contract yesterday. The RBC won’t vote on it for a while, but they’re certainly favorably disposed at the moment. So maybe that was it.”
Jacoby thought it over and nodded slightly. “Maybe. Nothing Eddie touched ever turned out right. I think he was in trouble with Starlight and needed this casino deal.” He glanced at Cork. “Does that help you at all?”
“We’ll be looking into the possibility that his murder is related to his stay in Aurora, certainly, but is it possible this was something tied to his life in Chicago?”
“You mean somebody came out here to kill him?” The skepticism in his voice was obvious.
“I’m just asking are you aware of any circumstances in his life that ought to be considered.”
“Did you know Eddie at all?”
“I’d met him a couple of times.”
“Did he strike you as a gentle soul?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d just answer my question.”
“Look, Eddie and trouble were old friends, but I’m not aware of anything at the moment that I would connect with this. I can easily believe, however, that while he was here he pissed off somebody enough to want him dead.”
Cork was making notations in a small notepad he kept in his shirt pocket. While he wrote, Jacoby turned suddenly toward Jo.
“Kids?” he asked.
Jo hesitated. “Three.”
“I have a son. His name’s Phillip. He’s in his senior year at Northwestern.” He waited, as if expecting Jo to reply in kind.
There was an uncomfortable silence, and Cork finally said, “We have two girls and a boy. Jenny’s a senior in high school. Annie’s a sophomore. Our son Stephen is in second grade.”
Jacoby spoke toward Jo. “Sounds like a nice family.”
“We think it is,” Cork replied. “Interesting that your son’s at Northwestern. That’s Jenny’s first choice for college.”
“She couldn’t choose better as far as I’m concerned. It’s my undergraduate alma mater.” He set his coffee mug on Jo’s desk. “Sheriff, do you need anything more from me right now? I’d like to go to the hotel and check on my father.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Quetico Inn.”
“I’ll take you there.”
The two men stood up, and Jo after them. Jacoby reached across her desk and warmly took her hand. “It’s good to see you again, Jo. I’m just sorry it couldn’t have been under more pleasant circumstances.”
“I’m sorry, too, Ben.” She drew her hand back, and addressed Cork. “Will you be home for dinner?”
“I’ll try.”
“I’d like you there. For the kids.”
“Like I said, I’ll try.” He kissed her briefly and followed Jacoby out the door.
In the Pathfinder, as Cork pulled out of the parking lot of the Aurora Professional Building, Jacoby said, “Do you believe in synchronicity, Sheriff?”
Cork made a left onto Alder Street and headed toward the lake. “If that’s anything like coincidence, no.”
“I prefer to think of it as the convergence of circumstances for a particular purpose.” He looked out the window. They were passing the old firehouse that had been converted into a suite of chic offices. “Nice town,” he said, and sounded as if he meant it. “Aurora. The goddess of dawn.”
Cork said, “What kind of man was your brother?”
Jacoby looked at him. “You’ll get a prejudiced answer.”
“I’ll work around the prejudice.”
“He was the kind of man I’d rather have working for Starlight than for me.”
“Why?”
“He had a style I strongly disagreed with. What’s that wonderful smell?”
“It’s Thursday, barbecued rib night at the Broiler.”
Jacoby smiled vaguely. “What was last night?”
“Homemade meat loaf and gravy.”
Jacoby gave his head a faint shake. “Must be comforting.”
“To live in a small town and like it, you have to appreciate routine.”
“Routine. There are days when I’d sell my soul for a little of that.” The sentiment seemed sincere.
The main lodge at the Quetico Inn was a grand log construction that stood on the shore of Iron Lake a couple of miles south of town. Cork pulled up to the front entrance and put the Pathfinder in park. Jacoby reached for the door handle.
“I’d like to talk more with your family,” Cork said.
“We’ll be in town a couple of days.” He gave the handle a pull, opened the door, and stepped out. He tossed Cork a bemused look. “Nancy Jo McKenzie. Who would’ve thought it? Good afternoon, Sheriff.”
He meant to get home for dinner as Jo had asked, but when he returned to his office, he found the department besieged by the media, and he arranged for a press conference at the courthouse at five o’clock. He contacted Simon Rutledge, who agreed to be there, but Rutledge was delayed and the conference began twenty minutes late. Cork had prepared an official statement that included the first public announcement of the identity of the murdered man, and he dispensed the statement to all the reporters. News cameras had also been sent by network affiliates in Duluth and the Twin Cities. Simon Rutledge deferred to Cork on most questions, and Cork answered honestly what he could, indicating that evidence had been gathered and that they had leads which he declined to go into.
After the press conference, he met with Rutledge and Larson in his office. They didn’t feel either of the investigations had made much headway.
“I’m expecting to have a fax of Jacoby’s phone records by tomorrow. I’m hoping that’ll give us some direction,” Rutledge said.
Larson chimed in. “In the meantime, we’ve pulled prints from his room at the Four Seasons. The linen gets changed daily, and it appears he didn’t sleep in his bed last night, but we’ve taken the bedspread and maybe we’ll get something from that-hair samples, for example, that match those from the SUV.”
“How about the cigarette butts?”
“Still being analyzed,” Rutledge said, with a note of apology.
Cork knew that the resources of the state BCA crime lab were in great demand, and whatever was sent from Aurora would have to wait its turn.
“One thing, though,” Larson said. “When I talked with the Four Seasons staff, they told me that in the past Jacoby stayed for only two or three days. This time, he’d been there more than a week.”
“And this time,” Cork said, “the RBC is getting ready to vote on a contract proposal for Starlight’s services.”
“A lot of heavy lobbying on Jacoby’s part?” Rutledge said.
“We should find out. I’ll head out to the rez first thing tomorrow and talk to LeDuc and some of the other members of the RBC,” Cork said.
“Another thing to think about is Jacoby’s libido,” Larson said. “I talked to the staff at the Boundary Waters Room.” He was speaking of the restaurant at the Four Seasons. “Jacoby ate late, usually after a couple of drinks at the bar, then he generally left the inn. He sometimes came back with company.”
“He got lucky?”
“Or he was the kind who didn’t want to be alone, even if it cost him.”
“I talked with Newsome,” Larson said. Then, for Rutledge’s benefit he added, “The night bartender at the Four Seasons. Newsome said Jacoby had asked him once where a guy with cash could find himself a little company.”
“What did Newsome tell him?” Cork asked.
“Claims he said he didn’t know.”
“How hard did you lean on him?”
Larson said, “There are a lot of people to talk to, Cork.”
“I know there are, Ed.” He took a moment, shifted his thinking to the incident on the rez. “Did your man or Pender come up with anything on those Goodyear tires?”
“Nothing. They’ll widen their area of inquiry tomorrow.”
“How about the ammo?”
“Nothing there, either. But we’ll keep on that, too.”
“Simon, anything from your talk with Lydell Cramer’s sister?”
“I never got to her. She lives on a farm. The road’s gated and locked. I wanted to get back here for the press conference, so I’ll try again tomorrow, talk to the local cops, see what they can tell me.”
They ended their meeting. As he was leaving, Larson said quietly to Cork, “How’re you doing?”
“Tired. I imagine you are, too. But if you’re worrying about my mental state, don’t. And by the way, I have an appointment to see Faith Gray tomorrow.”
“I wasn’t worried, Cork,” Larson said. “Just concerned.”