Jo had spent the day calling clients, judges, rearranging court dates, appointments. Everyone understood, she told Cork. She’d washed clothes, packed, helped the girls and Stevie get ready to travel. Cork promised to call the high school and Stevie’s teacher and explain the children’s absence.
Dinner was a subdued affair: ham and cheese sandwiches, Campbell’s tomato soup, chips. They talked quietly about Chicago, seeing Rose and Mal, visiting Northwestern and maybe Notre Dame. No one said a word about the dynamite in the Bronco. Afterward, they played a game of Clue. Stevie won, although Cork and probably everyone else knew a couple of turns earlier that it was Mrs. White in the study with the candlestick.
Cork read to Stevie, something he enjoyed doing. The book was Hatchet, about a boy lost in the wilderness who uses his own wiles and strength of character to make his way back to safety. Stevie’s dark brown Ojibwe eyes locked on the ceiling as he imagined the scenes painted by the words, saw the story playing out in his mind. Eventually, his eyelids began to flicker, and when they’d closed for good, Cork kissed him good night on his forehead and turned out the light.
As he came downstairs, there was a knock at the front door. Cy Borkmann.
“Just wanted to let you know that we’ll have someone posted out on the street all night,” Cy told him.
“I never authorized that,” Cork said.
“Nothing needs authorization. We’re all off-duty. Just wanted to make sure everything here is secure until your family’s off safe and sound.”
Jo came to Cork’s side and said, “Thank you, Cy. And please thank the others for us.”
He smiled a little shyly. “Sure. Look, you all sleep well, okay?” He tipped his ball cap and lumbered down the front steps toward the curb where his truck was parked.
With Stevie in bed, the girls probed Cork for information on the dynamite and the rez shooting. He wished he could offer them something substantial-anything-but he admitted he had nothing.
It was after ten when he got the call from Simon Rutledge.
“I’m at the sheriff’s office in Carlton. I’ve been down here all day. I think I might have something. My cohort in St. Paul called me, and guess who just happened to visit Lydell Cramer at the hospital yesterday. His sister. It seemed a big coincidence that each of her last visits preceded a threat to your safety, so I decided to reconnoiter her farmhouse. There’s a good-sized barn, but there aren’t any animals around. I watched a couple of guys go in and out of that barn all day long, one of them always sporting what appeared to be an assault rifle. I did some checking with the police in Moose Lake and found out Lydell’s sister lives with a guy name of Harmon LaRusse.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Exactly. Turns out the Carlton County Sheriff’s Department has a big file on him. On Cramer’s sister, too, and the other guy out there whose name is Carl Berger, an ex-con with a pretty long history of drugs and violence. Sheriff’s investigators have had them under surveillance for a while, after a neighbor complained he’d been threatened. An IR thermal scan of the barn showed a lot of heat. Which might have been understandable if there’d been livestock inside.”
“An indoor marijuana operation.”
“Bingo. A big one. That’s why I’m at the Carlton County sheriff’s office right now. For the last couple of months, they’ve been putting together everything they need for a good bust. They’ve been holding off, thinking they might be able to intercept a sale. When I explained my concern about a possible connection with your incident on the rez, they agreed to go ahead ASAP. They’re hoping for a no-knock first thing in the morning, if you’d care to be here.”
“Got a go time yet?”
“Not until they’re sure they’ve secured the warrant. Want me to call?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Simon. Good work.”
“That’s why I get the big bucks.”
Cork hung up and turned to find Jo watching him. “What’s up?”
He told her.
“You think this woman and Moose LaRusse might be responsible for the shooting and the bomb?”
“It’s certainly a possibility we can’t ignore.”
“Oh God, I hope it’s them and that you get them.”
“I still want you away from here until we’re sure. Besides, the girls are looking forward to visiting college campuses.”
She put her arms around him, pressed her cheek to his chest. “I hate leaving, thinking you might still be in danger.”
“I’ll be fine. I am fine.”
He locked the doors, checked the windows, turned out the downstairs lights, and briefly moved aside a curtain. Out front, Cy Borkmann sat in his truck drinking coffee from his big silver thermos. Upstairs, Cork looked in on his daughters, who were in their rooms, in bed but not yet asleep. He talked with each of them awhile, kissed them good night, then went to his own room, where quietly and rather gently he and Jo made love. For a long time after that, he lay with his wife in his arms. They’d never finished their talk about her past with Ben Jacoby, but at the moment it didn’t matter. Cork knew that despite every threatening thing, past and present, he was the luckiest man on earth.