William Krueger - Mercy Falls

In 1953, Congress passed Public Law 280, which allowed responsibility for law enforcement on Minnesota Indian reservations to be transferred from federal jurisdiction to the state, if that’s what the enrolled members wanted. The Iron Lake Ojibwe had chosen to be policed by the state’s local authority, which was the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department. As sheriff and as a man part Ojibwe, Cork had always tried to be a judicious presence on the rez. For the most part, he’d succeeded. But this time he was bringing Simon Rutledge of the BCA with him, and he wasn’t hopeful about how well that would go over.

Seven of the eight members of the council had managed to be there and were waiting in the meeting room. Seated at the conference table with George LeDuc were Judy Bruneau, Albert Boshey, Roy Stillday, Edgar Gillespie, Heidi Baudette, and Thomas Whitefeather.

“Anin,” Cork said as he entered, offering the traditional Ojibwe greeting.

He shook hands with LeDuc and the others and introduced Simon Rutledge all around. When everyone was seated again, he explained what had occurred at the Tibodeau cabin the night before. He also explained why Rutledge would be in charge of the investigation. He was pretty sure they’d all heard about the shooting-heard some version of what had gone down, anyway-but it was impossible to tell from their faces, which showed little expression. They simply nodded now and then as he spoke. He’d been to lots of meetings on the rez, tribal council and otherwise. When there were only Ojibwe-or Shinnobs, as they often referred to themselves-present, discussions were almost always heated, with long digressions and references to obscure relatives and old incidents that had little if any bearing on the issue at hand. With Rutledge there, an outsider and a white law officer to boot, the council’s silence didn’t surprise Cork in the least.

When he was finished, there was a long silence, then George LeDuc spoke. In the dark, LeDuc might have been mistaken for a bear, an old bear, because he was seventy and huge. Although his long hair was streaked with silver, he still had a powerful look and feel about him. Only two years before, he’d fathered a child with his third wife, Francie. He and Cork had been friends for a lot of years.

“First of all,” LeDuc said in a gentle growl, “we’re all real sorry about Marsha Dross. We sure hope she’ll be fine.” He paused a long time, looking implacably at Cork. “As for that chunk of ear you’re missing, well…” He glanced at the woman on the far side of the conference table. “Heidi, there, told me a little while ago she thinks a few scars on a man is sexy, so maybe it’ll prove a blessing in the end.” He almost smiled. “We’ll do everything we can to help Agent Rutledge with his investigation.”

“George, it would help most if you could encourage anyone on the rez who might know something to step forward. Talk to Agent Rutledge, or give me a call at my office, if they’d rather.”

“We’ll get the word out,” LeDuc promised.

Thomas Whitefeather, an old man who was not an elected member of the council but was a part of it because he was a hereditary chief, spoke up. “Should we be afraid for the safety of the people on the rez?”

Rutledge fielded that one. “Until we know for sure the reason for the attack on Sheriff O’Connor and his deputy, I’d advise that any suspicious activity you observe warrants concern. However, at the moment we’re operating on the belief that this was an isolated incident. I’ll be spending time here today, and later in the general vicinity of the shooting. I’ll be available to speak with anyone who might be able to shed some light on what’s happened.”

Rutledge stayed after, but Cork left and walked to the Pathfinder with George LeDuc.

“You must’ve really pissed somebody off,” LeDuc said.

“Looks like.”

“Folks on the rez, we’ve been glad to see you back in that uniform. Most of us. We hear anything, Cork, you’ll know. But don’t count on anyone talking to your BCA friend.”

“I already told him that, George.”

LeDuc shook his head and his long white hair shivered. “Out here, you can always tell a white man, but you can’t tell him much.”

A little before three that afternoon, Larson strode into Cork’s office. The sun was bright and cast a long blade of light with a sharp edge that cut across Larson’s thighs as he sat down.

“What have you got?” Cork asked.

“A good cast of the tire tracks,” Larson said. “Excellent casting, actually. Rutledge’s people are going to do a pattern match and then we can start checking sales around here. We dug the bullet from the ground, and that’s on its way to the BCA lab. We didn’t find any more shell casings, or anything else on the hilltop.”

“You saw the tracks down the back side of the hill?”

“There were definite signs someone had gone that way, but we didn’t find a good boot print. You took Rutledge out to the rez?”

“Yeah. He’s there now, interviewing, hoping he’ll find somebody who noticed something unusual. Problem is, there’s nobody for a couple of miles in any direction from the Tibodeaus’ place,” Cork said. “And even if they’d seen something, they’re not going to tell Simon.”

“He’s good. Let’s wait to see what he comes up with.” Larson’s mouth went into a tight line, as if he were trying to keep something from slipping through his lips. “Cork,” he finally said, “you need to see Faith Gray.”

Faith Gray, MSW, PhD, was the consulting psychologist retained by the county for a variety of purposes. She did psychological testing for certain positions and was also responsible for counseling any sheriff’s personnel involved in an officer-related shooting until she was ready to certify that they were fit for duty.

“I didn’t shoot anybody,” Cork said.

Cork had been toying with the silver pen he’d used to work on the duty roster. The pen slipped from his hands. He bent to retrieve it and, when he came up, realized that Larson’s dark eyes had followed every move.

“You were shot,” Larson said. “I can get you the policy statement, but you ought to know what it says. You wrote it.”

“All right.” Cork put up his hand as if to stop an argument. “I’ll do it.”

“It would be a mistake to put it off.”

“I said I’d do it.”

Larson nodded, rose from his chair, and left.

Cork sat for a while, eyeing the telephone. Finally he lifted the receiver to call Faith Gray and noted, a little distantly, that his hand was shaking.

As he’d promised, he was home for dinner. Jenny had put in a meat loaf, Annie had done potatoes and a tossed salad, and Stevie had set the table. His children weren’t always this organized or cooperative, but whenever the foundation of the family seemed threatened, they pulled together admirably. They greeted him with prolonged hugs, as if he’d been away on a long trip.

He stowed his gun belt on the top shelf of his bedroom closet and put his revolver in the lockbox there. He took off his uniform, donned jeans and a yellow chamois shirt, and came down to dinner looking like a man who might be doing anything for a living. Except that he had stitches closing the lobe of his left ear where a bullet had narrowly missed piercing his skull. They talked about what happened. The children asked about Marsha, whom they all liked, and they were glad she would recover. As soon as he could, Cork moved them on to other topics.

“Get any great college offers today?” he said to Jenny as he wedged off a piece of the meat loaf with his fork.

She’d taken her SATs early and had done extremely well, scoring in the ninety-fifth percentile. For several months, she’d been considering the schools to which she would make application, and had narrowed her choices to Northwestern, Stanford, and Columbia, none of which the O’Connors could afford outright. They’d filed a statement of financial need, and knew that much of the final decision of a college would rest on what kind of aid Jenny was offered. She was a straight-A student with a lot of extracurricular activities and honors. Through a state-sponsored program, she’d already taken a number of college-level courses at Aurora Community College and aced every one. On top of it all, she was part Ojibwe. According to her high school counselor, all of these things made her an attractive candidate.