Solemn stood up, then Henry and Cork. Walleye, when he saw the others rise, yawned and stretched, and slowly got to his feet.
“Migwech,” Solemn said to Henry. Thank you.
Henry, a man of few words, closed his eyes, and nodded once.
15
Cork and Solemn walked back toward the Bronco as night swept the light from the sky. Cork was careful because the way was growing dark. They came to Wine Creek. As they prepared to cross, Solemn spoke at his back.
“You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you believe what you saw,” Cork said.
“But it wasn’t real, right? Just a dream. Or maybe a hallucination brought on by the fast.”
Cork turned back. “What did he look like? What was the color of his hair?”
“Black.”
“Long or short?”
“Long.”
“Eyes?”
“Dark brown, kind of like walnuts, but so soft you could lie down in them.”
“You’ve just described a Shinnob. Isn’t it possible that you did hallucinate? Or you know the Shinnob sense of humor. Maybe somebody played a joke on you that, in your weakened condition, you bought hook, line, and sinker.”
“What I saw was real. It’s important that you believe it.”
“What’s important is what the sheriff’s people are going to believe. Put yourself in their place. A guy with your background bolts in the middle of a murder investigation, and next thing they know, you claim to have talked with Jesus Christ. They’re going to think one of two things. Either you’re trying something you hope will give you a shot at an insanity plea. Or you really are crazy.”
“Because people don’t talk to Jesus?” Solemn said.
“Because Jesus doesn’t just step out of the woods wearing Minnetonka moccasins.”
“I’m here to tell you that sometimes He does.”
Solemn leaned very close to Cork so that his face was less than a foot away. For an uncomfortably long time, he looked into Cork’s face, something the Ojibwe did not normally do. To look into the eyes of another was a piercing of sorts. And Cork felt pierced.
“What did you see,” Solemn finally said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s in your eyes. You saw something, too, but don’t understand it. What?”
Was Solemn referring to the gray visage that had guided Cork to safety during the whiteout on Fisheye Lake? How could he know?
“You’re wrong.” Cork turned away, studied the creek in the dark, looking for the stones over the water.
“You told me before that if I turned myself in, you’d stand by me,” Solemn said. “Will you?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you didn’t kill Charlotte.”
“I appreciate that.” Then Solemn said something strange. “What’s ahead won’t be easy.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Cork said. “You’re in deep shit.”
“I mean for you. I’ve talked with Jesus. I have that to give me strength and comfort. But I know that you doubt God.”
“For me, God doesn’t matter. What matters is that I gave you my word.”
His foot found the first stone, and he crossed Wine Creek.
From the pay phone in the waiting area of the sheriff’s department, Cork called Jo at home. He called Dot Winter Moon but got her answering machine and left her a message. Finally, he called Sam’s Place to apologize to his daughters for having deserted. When they heard his reason, they didn’t give him a hard time, and they agreed to close.
Randy Gooding came out of the secured area and seated himself on the hard plastic bench where Cork sat waiting for Jo.
“Winter Moon’s taking all this pretty calmly.”
“He’s had time to think things over.”
Gooding scratched the back of his head. “How’d you find him?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“You convince him to come in?”
“That was his idea.”
Gooding nodded. “Sheriff’s on his way. We had some trouble tracking him down. He was at a swank dinner thing out at the Four Seasons. He’ll probably show up in a tux.”
“Nobody in Aurora wears a tux except to their wedding.”
Gooding smiled slightly. “Having Winter Moon in custody is such an occasion for Arne, I wouldn’t be surprised if he took the time to stop by home and put one on. He’s been taking a lot of grief for letting Winter Moon get away. But if he closes this case, he’s got his future wrapped up like a big, fat cigar.”
Cork leaned forward and clasped his hands. “Solemn didn’t do it.”
“Sure a lot of evidence that says otherwise.”
The front door opened and Jo walked in. She’d come in a hurry. She had on jeans and a gray sweatshirt. Her reading glasses were still propped on top of her head. She held Stevie by the hand. In the years when he’d have been old enough to remember, Stevie had never been in the sheriff’s office. His eyes were like two big, shiny chunks of coal as he took the place in.
“I didn’t have anybody to leave him with,” Jo said in response to Cork’s look of surprise. “The girls are at Sam’s Place, and Rose is at the rectory.”
“No problem,” Cork said. “Come on over and sit with me, Stevie.”
The moment Jo appeared, Randy Gooding had politely stood up. Stevie settled himself in the spot vacated by Gooding.
“Where’s Solemn?” Jo asked.
Gooding said, “We’ve got him in a holding cell at the moment. The sheriff hasn’t arrived yet.”
“Did anybody talk to him?”
“I read him his Miranda rights, but he’d already been strongly cautioned against making any statements without an attorney present.” Gooding cast a glance at Cork. “He was pleasant but he didn’t say anything.”
“I’d like to see him.”
“I’d rather you waited until the sheriff-”
Arne Soderberg swept through the front door. It wasn’t a tux he was wearing, but it was a dark blue suit that probably cost enough money for Cork to have damn near retired on it. The sheriff’s eyes quickly took in everyone in the waiting area, but he spoke only to Gooding.
“He’s in lockup?”
“Yes.”
“Question him yet?”
“He asked to have an attorney present.”
Soderberg looked at Jo. “Lost cause, counselor. County attorney says we’ve already got enough to nail him.”
“That’s what county attorneys are supposed to say,” Jo replied.
Soderberg finally deigned to speak to Cork. “You bring him in?”
“Solemn came in on his own. I just provided the transportation.”
“Fine.” Soderberg smiled and clapped Gooding on the shoulder. “Great day, Randy. Great day. Shall we go have a talk with Winter Moon?”
Soderberg and Gooding started toward the security door. Jo looked at Cork.
“I’ll stay here and keep Stevie company,” he told her. “You see to Solemn.”
Jo spoke quietly, but with great firmness. “I’m not taking his case, Cork. I’ll just see him through things until he can secure representation, that’s all.”
“He wants you to represent him.”
“That’s tough. He’s getting somebody else.”
“Try telling him that.”
Jo gave him a cold eye, but he knew it wasn’t even half the chilly look Solemn would get when he made his request.
“Where do they keep the bad guys?” Stevie asked once everyone had gone.
“Just because someone’s under arrest that doesn’t make him a bad guy. The police sometimes make mistakes, too.”
It was nearing his bedtime, and Stevie settled against his father and yawned. “Can I see the jail?”
“Not tonight.”
“Were you ever in jail?”
“Lots of times. But fortunately, I always had the key.” He tickled his son’s cheek.
Stevie laughed and pushed at his father’s hand. “Will Mom be long?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Stevie slid down, laid his body out along the bench and put his head on his father’s lap. Cork stroked his son’s hair. It was oily, in need of a shampoo. By the time they all got home that night, it would be too late for washing. Tomorrow would have to do.