Copper River (36 page)

Cork glanced at Ren. The boy stood rigid, waiting. His eyes, which had already seen so much horror, were half-closed in anticipation of the truth.

“He’s dead,” Jewell pronounced at last.

The boy broke.

It wasn’t just the cougar, Cork told himself. It was the strain of all that had gone before. Ren knelt and sobbed bitterly over an animal he’d never seen before.

“You killed it,” he accused, his dark eyes attacking Cork. “You murdered it.”

Cork lowered the gun that had been trained on the cougar. “I’m sorry, Ren.”

“It’s not right,” Ren insisted. “It’s not right.”

“He didn’t have a choice,” Jewell said.

“Dude,” Charlie jumped in, “that thing was going after you and Dina. I don’t care how beautiful it was, I’d rather have you alive any day, dork.”

Ren gently stroked the still, tawny body. “It’s so beautiful.” He shook his head. “Everything dies.” It sounded like a hopeless truth.

“You didn’t,” Charlie told him. “And here I am.”

Ren stood up, tears trailing down his cheeks. He turned away and ran toward the cabins.

“Ren,” Charlie called.

“Let him go,” Jewell said. “He’ll be all right.”

Cork watched him stumble away. “Jesus, I feel like a murderer.”

Jewell put her hand on his arm. “Give him some time. He’ll understand.”

Ned Hodder said to Charlie, “Where were you hiding?”

“In one of the summer homes on the river. I broke in. I guess I’m in trouble, huh?”

Hodder gave it almost no thought at all. “Under the circumstances, I think we can square things pretty easily.”

Jewell closed her medical kit. “Ned, would you call DNR and let them know what we’ve got here. Have them pick up the cougar’s body.”

“And how about getting a fucking ambulance for me?” Vernon Mann cried.

Cork’s leg finally gave out. He sat down with his back against the tree where Ren had hung. Dina sat beside him.

“I guess we’re even,” she said.

“Even?”

“I saved your life, now you’ve saved mine.”

Cork heard sirens coming from the direction of the Copper River Club: the state police responding to Hodder’s call.

“We’re not done yet,” he said.

Dina closed her eyes and tilted her head as if listening to a distant song. “I know.”

B
y 9:00
P.M.
the authorities were gone. The state police had taken custody of Gary Johnson. They also took Vernon Mann to be treated for his wounds from the cougar attack, then to be booked. Olafsson headed back to his office in Marquette looking weary at the prospect of the paperwork ahead of him but buoyed by his understanding of how all the tragic events in his jurisdiction were tied together. He’d even agreed to allow Charlie, for the moment, to stay with Jewell while things got sorted out legally. Two officers from the Department of Natural Resources had taken the dead cougar away. Ned Hodder stuck around.

Jo had called to let Cork know she and the kids were safe. They were all at the duplex with Rose and Mal. Boomer Grabowski was there, too. He was just as big as she remembered him.

“What are you going to do?” she’d asked. “You’re not going to just hand yourself over to Lou Jacoby?”

“I don’t know yet, Jo.”

“The police can help, can’t they?”

“If Jacoby wants me dead or my son or the pope for that matter, he’s got the money to make it happen despite the police. At this point, there’s only one way to deal with Jacoby.”

“Cork, I know you’re angry, but listen to me a moment.” She was struggling to remain calm, he could tell. Probably she was fighting back tears. “The Jacobys have hurt us enough. I can live with the rape and everything else that’s happened. I can’t live without you. Come home, sweetheart. We’ll think of something together.”

“I can’t do that, Jo.”

“Is Dina there?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me talk to her, okay?”

He gave Dina the phone. She listened and nodded. “That makes two of us. Don’t worry, Jo. He’s sometimes a little too noble, but he’s not dumb. We’ll see you in the morning, I promise.”

She handed the phone back to Cork.

“I love you,” Jo said. “I miss you.”

“I know. Same here.”

“Then come home.”

“Kiss the kids for me,” he said.

He had hung up before Jo could say more. For a while after that, he didn’t talk to anyone.

Charlie had disappeared into Ren’s bedroom, and the sound of their voices occasionally drifted through the cabin. They knew about the horror at Calvin Stokely’s cabin and were processing it, Cork guessed. He drank strong black coffee from a mug, preparing himself for the long drive ahead. Dina sat on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, the firelight etching shadows across her face. Ned and Jewell sat on the sofa, almost touching.

“It’s time,” Cork said at last. He took a final gulp of coffee and set the mug on the table.

“I’m going with you,” Dina said.

“We’ll be walking into a real mess.”

“Like we haven’t already?”

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re leaving?” Charlie stood near the kitchen. Cork hadn’t heard her come in. She was staring at Dina, looking worried. “For good?”

Dina got up slowly. “For a while.”

“But you’ll come back?”

“You want that?” Dina asked.

Charlie looked down at her hands and spoke softly. “Yeah.”

“When this business down in Illinois is finished, I’ll come back.”

Charlie raised her eyes, hopeful. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

“How’s Ren?” Cork asked.

Charlie shrugged. “You know.”

Jewell stood up. “Let me have one last look at that leg, Cork. In the bedroom.”

She got her medical bag and Cork followed her to the guest room. She closed the door. He dropped his pants and sat on the edge of the bed. She knelt and examined his wounds.

“The new stitches are holding,” she said. “No infection. Let me clean them again, then promise me that when you get to Chicago you’ll see a physician.” She opened her bag.

“I’m sorry, Jewell. I was wrong coming here,” Cork said. “I thought it would keep my family safe and wouldn’t threaten you and Ren. I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

“I don’t mind how it’s worked out.”

“We were lucky.”

She looked up into his eyes. “I don’t think so. I believe we were guided by a wiser hand than we realized.”

He winced as she took a cotton ball soaked in hydrogen peroxide and wiped away ooze that had crusted over the line of stitches. “I’ve got a friend, an old Ojibwe Mide named Henry Meloux,” he said.

“Meloux? My mother used to talk about him. Fondly.”

“A wise man. He told me once every falling leaf comes to rest where it was always meant to.”

“You haven’t come to rest yet.” She finished with his wounds and laid her hand against his cheek. “You’ll be careful?”

“Of course. And I won’t be alone.”

“Dina.” She seemed comforted by that. “When it’s done, let me know that you’re safe. And, Cork, let’s be family again.”

“We never stopped.”

She closed her bag. Cork hiked his pants up and they returned to the main room.

Ren was waiting. “I didn’t mean to be, like, such a…you know.”

“It’s okay,” Cork told him. “I feel bad about killing the cougar, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant saving you.”

The boy thought about it. “I guess that’s being a man, huh?”

“I don’t know about that. It’s what I’d do, is all.”

“If it was you, I guess I’d do the same.”

Cork put his hand on Ren’s shoulder. “I’m sorry my situation got you in serious trouble. I made a mistake, a pretty big one.”

Ren waved off the apology. “It’s okay. I just wish you didn’t have to go.”

“But you understand?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be back. A lot, I promise.”

Ren tried to smile. “You want to see something?”

“Sure.”

He led Cork to his bedroom and picked up the big drawing pad from his desk. Cork studied the fine line sketch of Ren’s hero White Eagle swooping out of the sky over a rocky shoreline that was clearly a Lake Superior landscape. He was pleasantly surprised by the figure of White Eagle, whose face now very much resembled Daniel DuBois, Ren’s father.

“He would have liked this,” Cork said.

The boy held the drawing in his hands and nodded. “I know.”

When the Pathfinder was loaded, they gathered on the porch of Thor’s Lodge.

Ren stood next to Dina, eyeing her shyly.

“I’ve got something for you,” he said. He handed her a rolled page from his sketchbook.

Looking over her shoulder, Cork saw that it was the drawing Ren had done of a cougar with Dina’s face. The boy had managed to make her seem mythic, a creature both wild and lovely. Cork thought Ren had captured her spirit beautifully.

Dina looked down and her face grew soft in a way Cork had not seen before. “It’s the nicest gift anyone’s ever given me, Ren.”

Charlie, who was standing beside Ren, said, “Most of the time he’s pretty lame. But once in a while he gets it right.”

Dina kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Oh Jesus. Now he’s never going to wash his face.” Charlie laughed and playfully punched Ren’s arm.

Cork signaled Hodder away from the others and spoke to him quietly. “Ned, I’m worried about someone else showing up before I’ve taken care of Jacoby. Also, this place will be crawling with reporters by tomorrow.”

“Until I get the word from you that things are squared, I’m not leaving here,” Hodder replied. “I may not carry a handgun, but I’m good with a rifle, believe me. And I’ve got a part-time deputy constable I’ll call in to help. We’ll keep things covered, and I’ll give Jewell a hand dealing with reporters.”

“Thanks.”

Hodder offered him an easy smile. “I’m not doing this for your peace of mind.”

“That makes it even better.” They shook hands.

Cork spent a few final moments in the porch light with Jewell and Ren. Their three shadows stretched away and merged into one form just this side of the dark.

“You have a long way to go,” she said, and hugged him. “I’ll be praying.”

Cork turned to Ren and laid his hand the young man’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself.”

“You, too.”

Cork got into the Pathfinder. Dina drove down the bumpy lane and turned onto the main road. The moon was up, the sleepless eye of night. As they crossed the bridge over the Copper River, Cork stared at the water, a long sweep of silver that ran to the great lake. The river had carried the body of the dead girl far, carried it right under the noses of Ren and his friends. An accident? There was spirit in all things, Cork believed, knowledge in every molecule of creation. Nothing ever went truly unnoticed, from the fall of a single leaf to the death of a child.

“Long night ahead,” Dina observed.

“God willing, we’ll find daylight at the end,” Cork replied.

He settled back and closed his eyes to rest and to plan.

T
he call came when they were south of Green Bay, in the dead of night. It was Captain Ed Larson calling from Aurora, Minnesota. Dina gave the phone to Cork. Larson told him that Gabriella Jacoby, Lou Jacoby’s daughter-in-law, had been picked up by the Winnetka police and questioned about the death of her husband. They had a lot on her and she’d rolled over and given them her brother, Tony Salguero. She claimed he planned the whole thing and that he was the one who killed Jacoby’s other son, Ben. The Winnetka police were looking for Salguero. He’d disappeared.

“Anybody tell Lou Jacoby this?”

“He knows.”

“Thanks, Ed.”

Cork ended the call.

“So,” Dina said, “that’s it?” She looked straight ahead, eyeing the highway, black and empty in the headlights. Nothing in her voice gave away what she might be thinking.

“No, that’s not it.” Cork tossed the cell phone into the Pathfinder’s glove box. “I want to see Lou Jacoby. I want to get right up in his face.”

Dina shot him a look that might have been approval. “Whatever you say.”

A little before seven
A.M.
, they stopped a hundred yards south of Jacoby’s estate on the shoreline in the exclusive community of Lake Forest. The predawn sky above Lake Michigan was streaked with veins of angry red. They got out and began to walk. The air was cool and still and smelled of autumn and the lake. Their shoes crunched on the loose gravel at the edge of the road with a sound like someone chewing ice. They passed through the front gate onto the circular drive. Jacoby’s house looked like an Italian villa. The windows were dark.

“Motion sensors?” Cork asked quietly.

Dina shook her head. “Not outside. Security system is all internal.”

She led the way to the rear corner, where Cork could see the back lawn, big as a polo field, stretching down to a tall hedge. Beyond the hedge lay Lake Michigan reflecting the red dawn. Dina stopped at a door on the side of the house and took from her jacket the pouch with her picklocks.

“Will you trip the alarm?” Cork asked.

“Relax. I designed the system for him.”

They were inside quickly, staring at a large kitchen hung with enough pots and pans and shiny cooking utensils that it could have served a fine restaurant. Dina tapped a code into the alarm box beside the door. She signaled for Cork to follow her.

They crept down a labyrinth of hallways and rooms and up a narrow set of stairs at the far end of the house, and came out onto a long corridor with doors opening off either side. Dina moved to the first door on the left. She reached down and carefully turned the knob. The door slid open silently. She stepped in.

They found themselves in an anteroom that opened onto an enormous bedroom. The place smelled heavily of cigar smoke. The drapes in the anteroom were drawn against the dawn, but the bedroom was lit with the fire of a sun about to rise. Dina stepped silently through the far door. She turned to her right and spoke. “Up early, Lou.”

Cork heard Jacoby reply without surprise, “No, Dina. I’m just not sleeping these days. I thought you were with…” He paused as Cork limped into the room. “…O’Connor.”

Lou Jacoby stood framed against the window. He wore a dressing gown and slippers, and smoke rose from a lit cigar in his right hand. He was nearing eighty. In the light through the window—the only light in the room—he looked pale and hard, more like the plaster cast of a man.

“Our business is finished,” the old man said.

“You put a contract out on me,” Cork replied.

Jacoby waved it off. “That’s been taken care of.”

“An eye for an eye, you said. You threatened my boy. Another kid I’m fond of was kidnapped by someone looking to collect on that half-million-dollar bounty you put on my head. A lot of other innocent people stood to get hurt.”

Jacoby looked unimpressed. “And you’re here to what?”

“Maybe start by beating the living shit out of you,” Cork said.

“Bloody an old man?” Jacoby opened his arms in invitation.

“I told you it wasn’t me who killed your son,” Cork spit out.

Jacoby almost laughed. “And I was supposed to take your word for it? Hell, I know my garbageman better than I know you.”

“How does it feel having to accept that it was family killing family—your family? And by the way, Salguero’s disappeared. Doesn’t that leave your coffer of vengeance a little empty?”

Jacoby lifted his cigar, took a draw, and said through the smoke, “Does it?”

Dina gave a short, hollow laugh. “They’ll never find Tony Salguero, will they, Lou? You had him taken care of.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jacoby said.

“There’s still Gabriella,” Cork pointed out. “With a good lawyer—”

“She’ll use the lawyer I pay for,” Jacoby said. “And he’ll make sure she rots in prison.”

Jacoby moved away from the window to the side of the great bed. He reached out and pressed a button on the wall.

“And her two boys?” Dina looked at the old man with a kind of sickened awe. “You’ll take them from her, won’t you, Lou?”

“I’ll raise my grandsons to be the men my sons never were.”

Cork went for Jacoby and grabbed a handful of his soft robe. Somebody needed to take this son of a bitch down. Jacoby dropped his cigar and looked startled, then afraid. Cork pinned him to the wall. The old man seemed flimsy as cardboard.

Cork felt Dina’s hand on his arm, gently restraining. She moved up beside him. He looked into her eyes and their calm brought him back to his senses. It would be easy enough to beat the old man to a pulp, and probably not hard to go further. But to what end? His own family was safe. Giving in to anger would only start the trouble all over again.

Sometimes a man had to swallow hard and accept what he could not change.

He nodded to Dina, and she dropped her hand. He let go of his grip on Jacoby and stepped back. The old man smoothed his robe and bent to retrieve his cigar.

Shuffling came from the hallway. A moment later, Evers, the houseman, appeared at the bedroom door. He was almost as old as Jacoby and, like his employer, wore a robe and slippers. His white hair was mussed from sleep. He looked at Dina and Cork with surprise but said nothing.

“See them out,” Jacoby said.

“Yes, sir.”

“And tell Mrs. Portman I’m hungry. I’d like breakfast.”

“Very good, sir.” Evers stood aside so that Cork and Dina could go before him.

They drove to Evanston, to the duplex that belonged to Cork’s sister-in-law and her husband. He’d used Dina’s cell phone to call ahead and let them know he was coming. Dina parked on the street in front but left the motor running.

“I guess this is it,” she said.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Go home, get a little sleep, then head back to Bodine.”

“Charlie?” he asked.

“Charlie,” she answered.

“You’ve only known her a couple of days, Dina.”

She shook her head. “Her, I’ve known my whole life.”

“Back there at Jacoby’s, I was ready to kill him. Thanks for stopping me.”

“You were about to make a mistake I knew you’d regret. And I’d hate to lose you to the Illinois state penal system. It’s a harsh world, and men like Lou Jacoby will always be in it. What keeps things balanced is men like you.”

“Yeah?” He turned to her. Her face in the rising light of morning was soft and bright. “Seems to me not long ago you accused me of being a lot of things that aren’t good. What was that all about?”

She reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand. “Mostly this: You always struggle so hard to do the right thing. Nobody always does the right thing, Cork, not even you. Be easy on people when they disappoint you. And be a little easier on yourself while you’re at it.”

She leaned to him and kissed his cheek.

“Go on.” She nudged him gently. “Time for you to go.”

He got out, walked around the car, and leaned in her window. One last time he looked into her eyes, which were as green as new leaves.

“Let me know how it goes with Charlie, okay?” he said.

“The truth is I’m a little scared.”

“You? That’s a first.”

“Good-bye, Cork.”

She slipped the car into gear and drove away. He watched until she turned the corner and was gone.

He stood on the sidewalk of a street still deep in the quiet of early morning. Behind closed curtains, men and women shared their beds, their fortunes, their lives, and their dreams, and their children were the sum of all these things made flesh. To rise in the morning and watch his sons and daughters stumble sleepy-eyed into the day, to send them out into the world on wings of love, to lie down at night and draw over himself the comforting quilt of the memories he shared with them—batting practice on a softball field or wrestling in the living room after dinner—what more could a man ask for or want?

Cork looked up and a seven-year-old boy appeared in the upstairs window of the duplex. Stevie’s face lit up as if the sun had just risen after a very long, dark night. He smiled beautifully and his lips formed a single word that Cork could not hear but understood absolutely.

Daddy.