“I mean,” Stephen went on, “it doesn’t matter about her being . . . you know . . . gay.”
“Maybe she’s bisexual.”
“Whatever. That doesn’t bother me. That’s, like, up to her. But shoot, Jenny, she was going to be a nun.”
“Maybe she still is.”
“What? No. She can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . . I mean . . . well . . . she’s not, like, pure anymore.”
“Pure? Oh, Stephen, give me a break. Nuns, priests, ministers, rabbis, they’re all people first and clergy second. They’re human. And purity? That’s a question of the heart, not the body. Why do you think Annie’s out there on Crow Point? It seems to me that maybe she’s doing her forty days and nights in the desert. And Skye? Well, maybe she’s the voice of temptation.”
“She seemed so nice and all.”
“She is nice and all. She’s human, too. And if what you saw is true, then maybe she’s just trying to get in her bid for Annie’s heart.”
Stephen looked at her, not happily. “You make it sound simple. It isn’t.”
“Not simple, Stephen. But understandable. Don’t leap to any judgments, about Annie or Skye, that’s all I’m saying. By the way, what did you do with her? Skye, I mean.”
“Dropped her back at the Four Seasons.”
“Did you say anything about what you saw?”
“Right. You mean like, ‘So how does it feel stealing away a bride of Christ?’?”
“Your aunt Rose married a priest,” she pointed out. “You don’t think ill of her.”
“Mal didn’t leave the priesthood because of her.”
“I think he did in a way. And you can’t tell me that the love between Aunt Rose and Mal isn’t a sacred thing.”
Stephen stood up. He’d hoped that talking to Jenny would help him sort things out, but all it had done was muddle everything even more.
“I’m taking Trixie for a walk,” he said.
“She’s a good dog,” Jenny told him with a sad smile, “but she won’t have any easy answers for you either.”
* * *
Deputy Azevedo placed Dexter’s head in an evidence bag and took it out to his cruiser. After that, he began a canvass of the apartment building to find out if anyone had seen anything, knew anything. Sheriff Marsha Dross stayed with the Daychilds and questioned them. She conducted the interview from the dog-hair-covered easy chair in the living room of Ray Jay Wakemup’s apartment. Stella and Marlee sat on the dog-hair-covered sofa. Cork stood behind them. Stella had her arm around her daughter, whose crying had subsided into an occasional sob and hiccup.
Dross finally closed her notepad, stuck the ballpoint in her shirt pocket, and said, “Someone kills your brother’s dog, then has a go at your daughter, then delivers a brutal message here. And you still say you have no idea what this is about.”
As much as he respected Dross, Cork wanted to tell her to back off. She represented white law, and she was talking to an Ojibwe woman. He knew that the tone she was using would get her nowhere.
Stella looked at her, dark eyes unflinching, and did not reply.
“I can’t help you,” Dross said, “if you don’t tell me the truth.”
“See?” Stella turned and looked up at Cork. “They always think we’re lying.”
“Because you’re Ojibwe?” Dross said. “No. Because you’re Ray Jay’s family. And families close ranks to protect each other.”
Stella said, “I’d protect Ray Jay if I knew what to protect him from.”
Dross directed her next question at Cork. “He told you nothing when you talked to him today?”
“Said he didn’t have a clue why someone would kill Dexter.”
“The truth, you think?”
“Yeah, Marsha. The truth.”
The sheriff let her gaze hang on Cork a moment, then on Stella, and finally on Marlee. “Something like this doesn’t happen out of the blue. And considering Marlee’s recent experience, whatever’s at the bottom of it is as serious as a thing can get. I don’t have the manpower to protect you. And if you don’t help me understand what’s going on, whoever’s doing this could very well succeed in the next thing he tries.”
Stella said, “I get it. Believe me, I get it. I just haven’t got the faintest goddamn notion of what the hell is going on here. Do you understand?”
Azevedo came in and stood quietly.
Dross said, “What did you get?”
“Nobody saw a thing.”
Dross was clearly not happy with the news, but neither did she seem surprised. “All right. Go on back to your cruiser. I’ll be right out.” She stood up and took her parka from the back of the chair where she’d laid it. “I guess that’s it for now. I’ll talk to your brother. Let’s hope that something comes to him that’ll help us get a handle on all this.” Her tone still seemed to imply that she believed things were being kept from her. “Cork, would you walk out with me?”
He grabbed his own coat and accompanied her into the hallway. Several of the building’s residents lounged in their open doorways, curious. Outside in the frigid air, he stood with the sheriff beside her pickup. Azevedo was already in his cruiser, engine running and the heater on.
“Like talking to a wall,” Dross said.
“She told you the truth, Marsha.”
“And Wakemup told you the truth, too? Then you explain to me how something this serious happens without any motivation.”
“I don’t know. It’s clear to me they don’t either.”
“Really? In my shoes, what would you think, Cork?”
“I’d think that there’s another way to look at this, one we haven’t considered yet.”
“And that would be?”
“I’m working on it.”
“You might still be working on it next time someone drives one of the Daychilds off the road, and maybe that time there won’t be any Studemeyer brothers to pull them out of the lake.”
“I don’t know what else to tell you, Marsha.”
“Yeah.” She took a deep breath. When she exhaled, the distance between her and Cork became white fog. “I’ll see what I can get out of Ray Jay, if anything. I’m just wondering if tomorrow, when we release him, he might try to take care of this himself and not in a way that’ll do him any favors, legally.”
“Tell you what. When he gets out, I’ll have a good long talk with him.”
“You already did. As nearly as I can tell, it got you nowhere.”
“It’ll be different if I’m not talking to him through two inches of bulletproof glass.”
“I hope so.”
She was ready to leave, but Cork held her back a moment with “Ralph Carter?”
“Still at home, still sedated. His daughter’s with him at the moment, but if she has her way, he’ll be in a locked unit at a nursing home soon.”
“Is our county attorney still considering charges?”
“He’s looking at the situation.”
“Anything more on Evelyn?”
“Nothing since we last spoke.” She squinted up at the sun, her face pinched in a way that made it look old. “This county’s going to hell, and I can’t seem to do a thing about it.” She eyed Cork again. “Somebody staying with the Daychilds tonight?”
“I’ll make sure of it.”
A smile came slowly to her lips. “Why did I know you’d say that?”
Dross left in her pickup, and Azevedo followed in his cruiser. Cork headed back inside. Some of the residents were still in their doorways, most of them Shinnobs he knew. They asked him what was shaking-the white cop had been purposely vague-and he told them some trouble for Ray Jay, and they asked if it was true about the dog’s head, and he told them it was. When he returned to Wakemup’s apartment, he found several women gathered around Stella and Marlee, talking in soothing voices. He smelled coffee brewing in the kitchen. He shed his coat, but before he could go any farther, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“O’Connor.” The voice was deep, graveled in the way of a smoker.
He turned, and his eyes were neck-level with Carson Manydeeds, a man big enough to fill a doorway completely. Manydeeds was in his early sixties, had copper-colored eyes that didn’t blink, and a face as implacable as a bulldozer blade. He wore a red plaid shirt with a quilted lining, unbuttoned, showing the clean white T-shirt beneath that stretched over his broad belly. He jerked his head toward the hallway, turned, and exited. Cork followed. Manydeeds made his way slowly down the hall, walking like a man in pain, which he was. He’d been a Marine in Vietnam, and what he got for his service to his country was a back full of shrapnel, a shattered hip that never set right, a Purple Heart, and a too-meager monthly disability pension. He led Cork to the apartment nearest the front door, which was where he lived. When they were both inside, Manydeeds ambled to the kitchen and came back with two cold cans of Coors Light. He offered one to Cork, who accepted it and popped the tab. Manydeeds opened his own, took a long draw, and sat down in an old recliner whose upholstery had been mended in a couple of places with silver duct tape. A few feet to his right stood a round table on which sat a small, conical artificial Christmas tree, which had been decorated with a chain made of colored construction paper and popcorn on a string and a single set of tiny bulbs. Manydeeds nodded toward a ragged brown love seat on the other side of the tree. Cork was still carrying his coat over his arm. He laid it on the floor near his feet and sat down.