Mercy Falls (20 page)

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.”

B
EN 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.”

“Ben, my life in Aurora is good and I don’t regret leaving anything behind.”

He looked hard at her face, searched her eyes. Finally he said, “I’m happy for you, then.”

A passenger jet flew overhead, banked south, circled back toward O’Hare, high enough that it caught the rays of the sun, which was already below the horizon, and for a few moments it glowed like a giant ember.

“I never told you why I left you,” he said.

“No, you never did.”

He shifted uncomfortably, watched the plane slide out of sight. “When I met you I was already promised to someone else.”

“You were engaged?”

“Not exactly. It was an arranged marriage. There are still such things. I knew from the time I was very young that I would marry Miriam. My father had arranged it, an agreement with his business partner, Miriam’s father. It was conceived as a union of great fortunes, and it was. Her family, my family, everyone wanted it.”

“So, was I a complication or simply a diversion?” The acid in her tone surprised her, and she saw Jacoby flinch.

“You were love,” he said. “I wanted to tell you, to explain everything, but there never seemed a right time. I always thought that in the end I might make a different decision. When I walked out that night, I knew I was turning my back on happiness. I told you I didn’t have a choice, but I did. I chose family.” He breathed deeply, his broad shoulders rising. “Sometimes when my father stood up for Eddie, protecting him after the schmuck had done another stupid or cruel thing, I’d shake my head and wonder. I have a son now, and I understand. People fall out of love, but family is different.

“You told me about your mother, the Captain, about how awful you had it growing up, all the moving and the drinking and the fighting. That was your experience. Mine was different. My father isn’t perfect, but I grew up knowing he loved me, knowing my family loved me. The idea of turning my back on them…” He shrugged. “I just couldn’t do it. So I gave you up. I gave up love.”

“You could have told me all this then instead of just walking out.”

“Would it have made a difference? Would it have hurt you any less? Would it have made me any less a bastard in your eyes? I’d seen you argue on behalf of your storefront clients. I didn’t want you to dissuade me from what I believed to be the right thing. And you found happiness. You met Cork. Me, my whole life I’ve loved one woman, and I didn’t marry her.”

“People fall out of love, you said. But love also fades, Ben, especially if it isn’t nurtured.”

“That’s not been my experience.” He finished his drink and signaled for another. “I have a confession. When I found out that Eddie was dealing with you in Aurora, I imagined for a little while that I might be able to step back into your life, still somehow create everything we might have had together. Then I saw your family and Cork and how happy you are, and I knew it was stupid and impossible.” He looked out the window, stared into the distance above the cold lake water. “In the end everything fades but family, doesn’t it?”

His cell phone bleated and he answered it, listened, and smiled. “I’m at a bar, actually. You’ll never guess who with. Nancy Jo McKenzie.” He laughed. “No, really. Would you like to talk to her?” He glanced at Jo with a welcome humor in his eyes. “I’ll ask but my guess would be no.” He said to Jo, “It’s my sister Rae. You remember her?”

“Of course.”

“She’s at my father’s house. We’re sitting shivah tonight for Eddie. Rae wants you to drop by so that she can say hello in person.”

“I don’t think so, Ben.”

“We’re just fifteen minutes away. Stay fifteen minutes and leave. It would be less than an hour out of your life.”

“I’m not dressed—”

“You look fine. It would thrill Rae no end. Please.”

Jo thought it over. “All right. Fifteen minutes.”

Along Lake Drive in Lake Forest, the homes became palatial. Jacoby pulled through a gate and into a circular drive that was lined with cars. Jo, who’d followed in her Toyota, parked behind his Mercedes, got out, and joined him.

“Very rococo,” she said, looking at the house.

“My grandfather had it built to remind him of Italy, where he studied as a young man. The happiest time of his life, he used to say. He came to America to seek his fortune, something that didn’t make him very happy, I can vouch for that.”

“Looks like he succeeded in making the fortune.”

“He was a harsh man in a lot of ways, but he knew how to handle money.” He took her arm and gave her a brave smile. “You ready for this?”

As they neared the front door, a Jeep Cherokee pulled into the drive and parked behind Jo’s Toyota. A six-footer got out, attractive, with long dark hair, thirtyish.

“Just arriving, Ben?” There was a Spanish roll to his r’s.

“Good evening, Tony.”

Tony looked long and appreciatively at Jo.

“Tony, this is Jo O’Connor. Jo, Tony Salguero.”

He wrapped Jo’s hand very warmly in his own. “You’re here because of Eddie? Did you know him well?”

“Not well.”

“A pity, his death.” Tony turned his attention to Ben. “By the way, that package I flew back from Aurora. Any word?”

“Aurora?” Jo said. “Minnesota?”

“That’s right.”

Ben said, “Tony flew some samples back yesterday for DNA testing.”

“My husband is Sheriff O’Connor,” Jo told him.

“Your husband?” He looked to Ben, then back to Jo, and smiled wickedly. “A long way from home, are you not?”

“What about the DNA?” Jo said.

“They were hairs taken from Eddie’s SUV,” Ben explained. “And a cigarette that had been smoked by a woman in Aurora. There’s a lab here that’s doing a match. Your husband thinks the woman might have been with Eddie the night he was murdered.”

“What woman?”

“Her name is Fineday.”

“Lizzie?”

“You know her?”

“I know who she is. Is she a suspect?”

“Dina reports that she’s the focus of the investigation at the moment.”

She was thinking like a defense attorney, thinking that Lizzie’s presence in the SUV meant nothing in itself. There had to be more to tie her to Jacoby’s murder.

Jacoby said to Tony, “Why don’t we go inside. Gabriella is there, I’m sure.”

A cadaverous white-haired man in a black suit opened the door for them all.

“Good evening, Evers,” Jacoby said.

“Mr. Jacoby,” Evers replied with a trace of a bow. “Mr. Salguero.”

“Everyone here?” Ben asked.

“They come and go, sir. May I take your wrap?” he asked Jo.

“We won’t be long,” Jo said.

“Safer to surrender it,” Ben advised her.

Tony left them as Jo removed her coat and handed it to Evers.

Beyond the expansive foyer, the house opened left and right onto huge rooms filled with people. Some of the guests wore black, but many—the family members, like Ben—had only a torn black ribbon pinned to a lapel or bodice. They didn’t appear necessarily to be dressed for mourning, but all were dressed elegantly.

Ben led her into a room dominated by a Steinway baby grand. There were two mirrors in the room, both completely covered by fabric to block any reflection, a custom of sitting shivah, Jo figured. Seeing them arrive, a woman separated herself from a small group on the far side of the Steinway.

“Ben,” she said, languorously drawing out the word. She took both his hands and kissed him on the cheek. Her hair, dark red and expensively cut, brushed against her shoulders. Her face, tight skin over wonderfully sculptured bones, was so skillfully made up, Jo guessed it had been done professionally. She carried herself with finishing-school panache. Although her dress was the appropriate color for the occasion, it was cut low enough to show off substantial cleavage with freckles like splashes of rusty water. She looked forty, although Jo had the feeling that she was much older. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you, Rachel.”

Rachel seemed to notice Jo as an afterthought. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“This is Jo O’Connor. An old friend. Jo, Rachel Herschel.”

“How do you do?” Rachel’s eyes cut into Jo, but she forced a smile, then looked back at Jacoby in a knowing way. “Lovely,” she said, with an edge of ice.

“Have you seen my father?”

“It seems to me he was heading toward the veranda. For a cigar, no doubt.” She still hadn’t let go of Jacoby’s hands. “I’d love to have a moment to talk with you. It’s been…a while.”

“Call me,” he said, extracting his hands and looking past her toward a set of French doors on the far side of the room.

“Of course.” She gave Jo another lengthy appraisal, pursed her pomegranate-red lips, and turned abruptly back to the piano.

They made their way through groups that were like floating islands on the soft white sea of carpet. Everywhere it was the same. Jacoby was greeted heartily, sometimes greedily, and Jo was addressed through a veil of civility that barely hid the looks of appraisal and approval, as if she were something that had been bought at auction for a good price.

Jacoby finally reached the French doors and opened them for Jo to pass through ahead of him. Outside on the veranda, the air was cool. Jo could see the back of the estate stretching to the lake, the long expanse of lawn turned nearly charcoal in the fading light. The water of an unlit swimming pool flashed now and again with a reflection from the windows of the big house. In a corner of the veranda sat a man in a great chair of white wicker, the glow of a cigar reddening his pinched, narrow face, lighting a dull fire in his eyes as he stared at Jo and Ben Jacoby.

“Escaping, Dad?” Ben said.

“What needs taking care of is being seen to. Has there been any more word from Minnesota?”

“Nothing from Dina.”

“What about that yokel sheriff?”

“There’s someone here you should meet,” Jacoby said.

“I don’t want to meet anyone right now.”

“This is Jo O’Connor. She’s the wife of Sheriff Corcoran O’Connor in Aurora.”

The cigar reddened considerably. “When your husband has the murderer of my son in jail, Ms. O’Connor, I’ll gladly take back the
yokel
.”

“I’m sure my husband is doing everything possible to make that happen.”

“Why are you here?”

“I asked her, Dad. Her daughter’s applying to Northwestern. They came to see the campus.”

Lou Jacoby took the cigar from his mouth and studied the long ash beyond the ember. “You know each other?”

“I told you,” Jacoby said. “We went to law school together.”

“That’s right.” He seemed to be putting it together now. “You were Eddie’s attorney in that town.”

“Not exactly,” Jo said. “I represent the Iron Lake Ojibwe. Your son was trying to negotiate a management contract with their casino.”

“That have anything to do with his murder?”

“I can’t imagine that it did, but that’s really a question my husband should answer.”

“Does he confide in you?”

“Sometimes. In this, he’s told me nothing that you probably don’t already know.”

He slipped the cigar back into his mouth, took a long draw, and sent out enough smoke to temporarily obscure his face. “Then I don’t really want to talk to you right now, Ms. O’Connor. You either, Ben boy. I’d rather just be alone.”

“All right,” Jacoby said dutifully. He opened the French doors and waited for Jo.

“Grief can be blinding,” Jo said, standing her ground. “But at some point, you’re going to have to take a good long look at the man Eddie was.”

“You think I don’t know? Hell, I know all about my son.”

“And loved him anyway,” Ben said bitterly.

“I told you, I want to be alone.”

Without another word, Jacoby strode back into the house. In the corner of the veranda, the cigar flared and little points of fire lit the old man’s eyes as he glared at Jo.

“He’s got himself a little blond shiksa this time,” he said. “A shiksa with spine.”

Jo turned and followed Jacoby.

She caught up with him in another room where he’d stopped under a chandelier to speak with a black-haired beauty who had two young boys at her side. As Jo neared them, the woman looked her way.

“Jo,” Jacoby said, “this is Gabriella. Eddie’s widow.”

“How do you do?” Gabriella spoke softly and, like Tony Salguero, with a Spanish accent. She offered a tanned hand with nails red as rose petals. A diamond tennis bracelet sparkled on her wrist.