“You don’t think he did it?”
“No.”
Farrell sipped his beer and considered Cork. “All right.” He settled back in his chair. “The department got a call from the girl’s parents the first night she disappeared. The chief sent a couple of uniforms out. Folks said she told them she was going to the library. Later on, we turned up some kids who said different. She was going to a party up in the foothills, planned to score some weed before she headed out. Never showed at the party. For a couple of days, our guys come up with nada. Then Long Beach P.D. finds her car abandoned in a vacant lot, blood all over the backseat. That’s when I got involved. We looked at every possibility. Known drug dealers in the Pomona area. Carjackers. Her friends, acquaintances.”
“Her parents?”
“Them, too. Nothing. It was the worst kind of case. A nightmare for everybody. I raised a couple kids of my own. Think I didn’t worry? You say to yourself, God save ’em from all the crazies in this world, because you can’t be there to protect ’em every moment. I felt for her folks, I really did. They weren’t bad parents. Wasn’t their fault. Just one of those things.”
“The blood in her car, could it have been a smokescreen? She just ran away?”
Farrell shook his head. “It was her blood, and there was buckets of it. And near as we could tell, there was nothing for her to run from. She was smart, popular, good parents, good friends. The weed thing? Hell, kids that age, they all seem to do it. I’d say it was just a drug deal or maybe a carjacking, something that went really bad. Kid was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m guessing here.” He picked up the newspaper and looked a long time at the photo. “Like seeing a ghost.” He handed it back to Cork. “Whether it’s her or not, I don’t suppose it matters much. Either way she’s dead for sure this time. Ready for another beer?”
“No, thanks. Anything else worth knowing?”
“You like her old man for it, don’t you? It’s what I’d be thinking if I were you. He’s the constant in the whole equation. But I wouldn’t be too quick to jump to any conclusions.” He pointed at the paper. “That kind of tragedy, it lays folks open. You get a good look inside. I don’t know what Dr. Kane was like out there, but here all I saw was genuine grief. Doesn’t mean absolutely he didn’t do it. No matter how long you’ve been in this business, you can still be fooled. I’d just be reserved in my judgment is all I’m saying.”
“Thanks. Appreciate your perspective.” Cork finished his beer in a couple of long swallows and stood up. “I should be going.”
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“Two Charlottes. If I were you, I’d think about the fact that Kane’s a plastic surgeon. From what I learned in my investigation, one of the best. That ought to suggest something to you.”
“It already has.”
Buster Farrell walked him to the door.
“Miss it?” Farrell asked.
“What?”
“Being a cop.”
“Never said I was.”
“You were. I can tell.” Farrell stared hard into his eyes. “Yeah, you miss it.” He gave Cork a quivering, parting handshake. “Me, too.”
37
Cork bought a U.S. road atlas at a 7-Eleven on Murchison Avenue, then went back to the restaurant where he’d had breakfast. He ordered coffee and a BLT and opened the atlas. He located Dansig, Iowa, a small dot on State 26 just south of the Minnesota border. He wanted very much to talk with Glory Kane. Or Cordelia Diller, if that was what she was calling herself now.
When he returned to his motel room, he realized it was dinnertime back in Minnesota. He called home and was surprised by the voice that answered.
“Rose?”
“Hello, Cork.”
“Did you drop by for dinner?”
“Actually, I’m preparing it. Ellie Gruber came back today. She’s at the rectory now, so… I’m back here.”
Back here, Cork thought. Why didn’t she say back home?
“That’s good, I suppose.”
“Of course, it’s good.” Her voice brightened, the chipper tone a little forced. “Have you talked with Glory?”
“I tried to call,” he said. “All I got was a busy signal.”
“That’s probably because of the tornadoes. Several last night in southern Minnesota, northern Iowa. Knocked out power all over.”
“That probably explains it. Is Jo around?”
“She’s coming into the kitchen right now.”
“Good to have you home, Rose.”
“Thanks, Cork.”
A few moments of dead at the other end, then Jo came on the line.
“Cork?”
“Hi, kiddo. Full house again.”
“Not entirely. You’re not here. How’d it go today? Did you find out anything?”
“Fletcher Kane’s a lot more complicated than I imagined. I don’t know what to think now.”
“What about Charlotte?”
“I believe there were two, and one of them may well have been manufactured.” He told her the details of his conversations that day. “I spoke with Hadlestadt again. He said that with the amazing advances in facial bone reconstruction these days, it’s not at all outside the realm of possibility. Highly unethical, but not illegal.”
“He created a look-alike?” she said.
“It’s possible he simply stumbled onto a girl who looked exactly like Charlotte, but what are the odds of that? Given that he was a desperately unhappy man, I think it’s more likely that he used his skill as a surgeon to bring his daughter back.”
“My god, that’s so grotesque.”
“I’ll know more after I’ve talked to Glory. Or Cordelia. Christ, is anybody who they seem? How are things there?”
“No more stalkers, thank God.”
“Don’t anyone get lax.”
“Don’t worry. By the way, I’ve heard that Nestor Cole may withdraw the charges against Solemn.”
“Why?”
“Word of your suspicions about Fletcher Kane’s relationship with Charlotte leaked out.”
“Cy Borkmann,” Cork said. “Damn, he never could keep his mouth shut.”
“What’s being said about Fletcher isn’t pretty. I think our county attorney is afraid the waters may be too muddy now for him to be sure of a conviction.”
“Well that’s something anyway.” He took a deep breath. “Good having Rose back?”
Jo was quiet, then said, “We’ll talk when you’re home.”
“All right,” he said. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He hung up, wondering why Jo was reluctant to speak about Rose.
He was getting hungry, thinking of dinner though it was still early, coast time. He walked to the window and looked out. A few ragged palm trees, too many cars, a dirty haze. A megalopolis full of people, and he still felt alone. He knew it was nothing compared to the loneliness of Solemn Winter Moon.
Cork walked back to the bed, sat down, picked up the phone and called Rosemount. This time he got through. The connection was scratchy, a sound like the crackle of tinder-dry brush. He asked for Cordelia Diller. In a minute, the woman he knew as Glory Kane was on the line.
“Glory?”
“It’s Cordelia, actually.”
“What’s with the new name?”
“Not new. Old. Before Glory. Long before Glory.”
“So why Glory?”
“We need to talk. Where are you?”
“California.”
She hesitated. “Then you know about Charlotte.”
“Not everything. How about you tell me?”
“I’d rather not talk over the phone.”
“All right. I’m flying back to the Twin Cities tomorrow. I’ll drive down to Rosemount as soon as I’ve landed.”
She thought it over. “All right.”
“I should be there midafternoon sometime.”
“Cork?”
“Yes?”
“You think Fletcher is a good man?”
“People here seem to think so.”
The dry brush sound filled the empty line for a moment. Then she said, “I used to think so, too.”
38
Cork picked up his Bronco at the Twin Cities airport and headed south. In the bluff country near the Iowa border, he began to see the effects of the storms that had swept through two nights earlier. Great trees lay uprooted. High water had left tangled debris in the undergrowth along stream banks. Road signs hung bent on their metal frames. This was the Midwest and it was that season.