King smiled like he’d had a lot of practice. “You think Eleanor did it?”
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I think Eleanor is delighted that Michael stole The Harbor from me; it gives her something to needle me with, and if Michael is killed, Eleanor’d lose her weapon.”
“Interesting relationship you have.”
“It has its ups and downs,” King admitted.
“Why stay married?” I asked.
“We love each other.”
For a moment I was convinced he was putting me on, but the smile on his face told me otherwise. The man was serious.
“Whatever works,” I said and changed subjects. “You sold The Harbor to Michael.”
“Common knowledge,” King said.
“Then you got pissed off when news of the casino leaked out.”
“I did.”
“You claimed she ripped you off.”
“Absolutely, she did.”
“And that made you angry.”
“Indeed.”
“And you vowed revenge.”
“Civilization is built on trust,” King answered, continuing to smile even as he rubbed his face. “Trust of your neighbors and business associates, trust of your government, trust of your police. Trust. You need trust. Trust is everything. Trust is essential. Without trust, what do you have?”
“Mistrust?” I suggested.
“You have chaos,” he told me.
“Ain’t that the truth,” I said.
“Mike betrayed my trust. I’m going to make her pay for it.”
I noticed the future tense.
“How are you going to do that?” I asked.
“Hey, that’s what lawyers are for.”
I flashed on Hunter Truman. These guys were made for each other.
“It was suggested that you and Michael are actually partners in The Harbor deal. That you put up the money for her to buy it.”
“Why would I do that?” King asked.
“So you can profit from the casino without alienating all the customers, employees, and business associates who are vehemently opposed to it—people who might boycott your other businesses.”
“That’s nonsense,” Koehn insisted. “Course, now that you mention it, it’s not a bad idea.”
“How much did Michael pay for The Harbor?” I asked.
“One hundred seventy. She got it cheap.”
“Who handled the loan?”
“No loan. She paid in cash.”
“Cash?”
“Actually, a cashiers check.”
“Where did she get the money?”
“It never occurred to me to ask.”
“It didn’t?”
“Hey, don’t ask, don’t tell. Besides, the check was good. What did I care where it came from? I was relieved to be unloading that white elephant.” King sighed dramatically. “Little did I know …”
“I’d like to see your business records,” I told him.
“Do you have a warrant?”
Of course I didn’t, and I wasn’t likely to get one.
“I don’t mind chatting with you off the record like this,” he added, still smiling. “But c’mon, Taylor. I’m not stupid.”
“Refusing to cooperate might make the sheriff angry,” I told him.
King thought that was pretty funny.
“I’m the guy who can have Bobby Orman fired with a phone call,” he reminded me.
“Did it work?” the sheriff asked when I joined him outside. He was leaning against his cruiser.
“Did what work?” I asked.
“Did I frighten King enough to get him to talk?”
That brought me up short. “Good cop–bad cop? You were playing fucking good cop–bad cop?”
The sheriff smiled his answer.
“What? You see that on NYPD Blue or something?”
The smile disappeared.
“All you succeeded in doing was to piss the man off. He’s probably on the phone getting you fired at this very minute.”
The reproach made the sheriff angry. He yanked open his car door and said, “Get in.” But I had seen enough. Way too much, in fact. I had only one more suspect on my list, and I didn’t want the sheriff bungling the interview.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said more harshly than I should have. “I think you’re way over your head, Bobby.” I refused to call him Sheriff. “I think you should get the Wisconsin DCI up here right now, before you botch this investigation more than you already have.”
The sheriff was inside the car, gripping the steering wheel now.
“Are you finished?” he snapped.
“No, I’m not finished.” I was on a roll. “You could be the best investigator in America. You could be Anne Scalasi. It doesn’t matter. You should still hand off the case. You’re too emotionally involved. You shouldn’t be doing the things you’re doing.”
The sheriff was furious. I could actually hear his teeth grinding as I scolded him. And when I was finished, his mouth started moving like he had something to say. It took him a while to get it out.
“I love her,” he told me.
“That’s my whole point,” I told him.
“You love her, too.”
“I don’t even know her,” I admitted bluntly—probably for the first time.
But the sheriff hadn’t heard me. He was too busy slamming his car door, gunning the engine, and peeling out of Koehn’s parking lot, leaving a trail of exclamation points behind him.
twenty-six
“Hey, stranger.” Ginger greeted me when I entered The Height. “What can I get you?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, Taylor, you look like you could use a drink.”
“I’m too tired to argue with you,” I sighed. “Okay, give me a scotch. A double. Neat. And I’ll want to eat the glass, too.”
“Coming up.”
Ginger set the drink in front of me, and I started to sip it.
“So, have you figured out who shot Michael, yet?” she asked.
“We expect an arrest within twenty-four hours.”
“Seriously?”
“No, that’s just the stock reply to that question. Listen, is there a cab or a bus I can catch to Saginau? I need to get my car.”
“We can give you a ride.”
I turned to find Ingrid standing directly behind me, her lustrous blond hair spilling over the shoulders of a heather-gray twill wrap dress with a sweeping skirt and a neckline just deep enough to stimulate the imagination. Lonnie Cavander, the blues-singing Ojibwa, was standing next to her, but I’ll be damned if I can remember what he was wearing.
“I don’t want to be any trouble,” I told her, desperate to keep my eyes above her chest.
“No trouble,” she said. “I have to head in to see my accountant. Lonnie’s coming to keep me company.”
Lonnie smiled and gave Ingrid’s shoulders a five-second massage.
My first thought was that two’s company, three’s a crowd. But I didn’t give in to it.
“I’d appreciate it,” I said.
“Thirty minutes?” Ingrid asked.
“I’m at your convenience.”
Ingrid smiled her breathtaking smile and left through the EMPLOYEES ONLY door. Lonnie followed close behind.
A half hour later the three of us were riding in Ingrid’s white 1997 Sebring convertible. She drove at only five miles per hour above the posted speed limit, but with the top down it seemed much faster. She wore black sunglasses, and to minimize the damage to her hair, she had wrapped a black scarf over her head, knotting it tightly beneath her chin. Lonnie Cavander sat next to her. I sat in back, leaning forward and turning my head to catch their conversation over the wind.
“Do you really expect an arrest within twenty-four hours?” Ingrid asked.
I flashed on Jimmy Johannson. “It’s possible,” I said.
“Who?” Lonnie asked.
“I really shouldn’t say,” I told him. “But I doubt anyone will be surprised.”
“Not King?” Ingrid asked.
“No, not King.”
We were halfway to Saginau. The county road dipped and turned and suddenly we were motoring past The Harbor.