“You still haven’t given us a reason to believe you,” Lindstrom said.
“This hip of mine that is such a torment.” She touched herself there. “Despite what you may have heard, that wasn’t my doing either. Someone tried to kill me. One of the big lumber companies, I believe. Or maybe several acting together. I know how awful it is to be the victim of violence. I would never target a human being that way. You must believe that I had nothing to do with what’s happened to your families.”
“Why are you telling us this?” Cork asked.
“To free you, so that you can look in a more fruitful direction. I’m a mother. I know what it is to worry about my child.” Although she remained rigid and erect, something about her seemed to have given in, given up.
“Is that all?” Lindstrom asked.
“Yes. I wanted you to know. I wanted you to hear it from me.”
Kay said, “I’m going to need a more formal statement. Gentlemen, I believe you’ve heard what you need to.” She opened the door for them.
In the hallway, they were joined by Schanno, who’d been watching through the mirror. “What do you think?” the sheriff asked.
Cork said, “She always struck me as a pretty tough cookie, but she seems to have broken pretty easily.”
“The feds have her dead to rights now on the mill bombing,” Schanno pointed out.
“What about the kidnapping?” Lindstrom asked. “Do you think she’s telling the truth?”
Schanno shrugged. “A good liar can make you believe the sun is blue. She knows she’ll be charged in Charlie Warren’s death. If she is, in fact, responsible for the kidnapping, maybe she’s stalling, hoping to use the whereabouts of the hostages as leverage in bargaining with Kay.”
“And if she’s not responsible?”
“Then someone else is.”
“And we’re no further than we were before. Wonderful,” Lindstrom said bitterly.
“I’m sure Agent Kay will keep the pressure on her. We’ll find out soon enough if there’s more to know.” Schanno couldn’t disguise that he was more hopeful than certain. “In the meantime, Karl, maybe you should go back out to your house and stick by the phone. Just in case.”
“What about Meloux and LeDuc and the others?” Cork asked. “You’re not going to hold onto them, are you, Wally?”
“I don’t know, Cork. Seems to me they were clearly involved with Broom, who, don’t forget, was carrying a significant amount of explosives in the back of his truck. There’s still the question of why they tried to elude us.”
“The fire,” Cork said vehemently. “They were trying to save Our Grandfathers.”
“The Forest Service says there’s no fire.”
“I told you, if Meloux claims there is, then there’s fire.”
“There’s fire,” Deputy Marsha Dross said, striding toward them down the hallway. “We just got word. A big blaze is heading right toward Our Grandfathers. The Forest Service has a crew on its way up there right now.”
Schanno gave Cork a look of apology. “I’ll tell you what. Isaiah Broom stays for a while. That man still worries me. But I don’t see any reason to hold onto the others. Let me talk to the feds. Then you can take Meloux home, all right?”
“Thanks, Wally.”
Cork and Meloux slipped unaccosted through the media people outside. The reporters were looking for the face of authority-Schanno or some other law enforcement officer-or for the face of tragedy-a glimpse of Joan of Arc of the Redwoods. When he reached his Bronco, Cork felt as if he’d escaped a nest of snakes.
“You okay, Henry?” he asked when they got inside.
“Why would I not be okay?”
“I know that wasn’t a picnic in there. I hate the thought of them throwing you in jail like that.”
“A lot of good Indians spend time in white men’s jails, Corcoran O’Connor. Not many get out so quickly.”
“You knew, didn’t you, Henry?”
“What did I know?”
“That Joan of Arc killed Charlie Warren. That’s what she came to see you about the night Stevie and I were with you on Crow Point.”
“She came to see me because Charlie Warren was dead, yes.”
Cork could feel that Meloux had made a subtle sidestep. Cork held off starting the engine and looked keenly at his old friend. “She confessed to the bombing, Henry. Even though it was an accident, she did kill Charlie Warren. Didn’t she?”
“In a meadow, sometimes, I will see a killdeer flutter across the ground very near me, pretending her wing is broken. She does this, places herself in danger, for the best of reasons.”
“To draw you away from her nest,” Cork said. He thought about it a moment. “Are you saying Joan of Arc is protecting her son?”
“I am only telling you about a bird.”
“The sweat. That wasn’t for her. It was for her son.”
The look Meloux offered Cork was really a question.
“I was at your cabin this evening,” Cork explained. “With my daughter. Looking for you. Hail hit and Jenny and I took shelter inside. I saw the madodo-wasinun on the table. The stones for the sweat. I didn’t mean to trespass.”
“I do not have a lock on my door because there is no one who is not welcome. Why were you looking for me?”
Cork told the ancient mide about the kidnapping. He confessed to feeling helpless and hopeless.
“I am sorry,” the old man said. “That is a heavy burden to shoulder.” He was quiet for a moment. “What did you expect me to do when you came to my cabin?”
“I don’t know, Henry. It’s just that whenever I talk to you, things seem clearer.”
Meloux nodded and thought for a while. “I do not have any answers. I will tell you what I would have told you at my cabin. You have a choice, Corcoran O’Connor. You can keep company with despair, or you can choose a different companion.”
“I’m tired of despair, Henry.”
“Then abandon it.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
Cork turned himself over to his trust of Meloux. And almost immediately he felt something vital flowing back into him. He got out of the truck and began to pace the parking lot, unable to contain his energy. The old man stepped out and watched him.
“What about the Hamilton kid?” Cork said, mostly to himself. “If he was responsible for the mill bombing, could he have done the other things, too?”
“I think he is not yet a man in many ways,” Meloux said. “To steal women and children is no small matter. That takes a dark heart and the balls of a warrior.”
Cork stopped. “Hell Hanover.”
“The scribbler?”
“He’s more than that, Henry. And he threatened Jo already.”
“I have heard he is a man who loves weapons.”
“Why do you say that?”
“These woods have been friendly to the Anishinaabeg for a very long time. These woods see everything and speak to a man who knows how to listen.”
Cork puzzled a moment. “Are you talking about the cache of weapons the Minnesota Civilian Brigade hid? Do you know where they are?”
The old man gave a slight shrug.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything, Henry?”
“It was a business between white men. Now it involves you and Jo O’Connor and little Stephen.”
Full of gratitude, Cork faced Meloux. “Henry-” he began.
The old man cut him off. “It is time we acted.”
“We?”
Henry Meloux grinned. “A good fight is something I have always loved.”
“I think we may need some help in this, Henry.”
There was a commotion at the front door of the sheriff’s department. LeDuc and the Ojibwe loggers from the rez wordlessly shoved their way through the reporters and headed toward the far end of the parking lot where LeDuc’s towed pickup had been left.
Meloux eyed Cork and nodded approvingly. “I think Kitchimanidoo is finally listening.”
34
FOR JOHN LEPERE, the drive to Purgatory Ridge was like a slow trip to hell. He had a lot of time to think, and what he thought was that no matter how he looked at it, he was screwed. They were all screwed. The O’Connor woman had seen his face, and it was obvious she’d recognized him. As he negotiated the dark, winding highway that led to the north shore of Lake Superior, his own thinking was taking a lot of twists and turns, trying to find a way that could keep things from ending badly. Was there a way to deal with the O’Connor woman, to strike a bargain that would avert disaster? No matter how he looked at the situation, no matter how he imagined Bridger and himself playing things out, it seemed clear that someone had just rolled snake eyes.