William Krueger: Mercy Falls

“I don’t do this as a rule,” she said.

She came toward him carefully, as if walking the dangerous edge of a high cliff. Her eyes never left his face.

When she was very near she said, “I told you that men don’t interest me much. But when I find one that does, I’ll let him do anything.” Her smell, partly the Black Cashmere but also something else, better than perfume, profoundly human and female, enveloped him. “Anything.”

He put his glass on the windowsill, reached out and took her. She pressed herself to him, breasts and stomach and hips and thighs, and her arms went around him like soft rope binding them together. She lifted her face hungrily toward his lips. He bent, felt her hot, Scotch-scented breath break against his face.

And the phone rang.

“Ignore it,” she said in a hoarse whisper, and arched more tightly against him.

“It might be important.”

“Nothing’s more important right now than this.”

Cork slowly drew away. “Answer it. I’ll still be here.”

She relaxed, let out an exasperated sigh, and released her hold. At the nightstand, she grabbed the phone from its cradle. “What?” she said, with great aggravation. She listened. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it later.” She listened a bit more, rolled her eyes. “All right, all right. I’ll be down in a minute.” She hung up. “There’s some sort of problem with my credit card. Apparently it can’t wait.”

“Go ahead,” Cork said. “I’ll make myself comfortable.”

She returned to him, cupped his face with her hands, and kissed him. “This won’t take long, I promise.”

As soon as she was out the door, Cork hit the closet, found her suitcase, and opened it. Empty. He checked the shelf, the floor. He went to the bureau, yanked the drawers open one by one, riffled through her clothing. Kneeling, he looked under the bed, then stood up and headed to the bathroom.

When Dina came back a few minutes later, he was standing at the window again. The sky outside was almost dark and Iron Lake was the color of an ash pit.

“False alarm,” she said. “You Minnesotans are very nice, but what you don’t know about doing business would fill an encyclopedia.” She sauntered toward him. “Where were we?”

She was still a few feet distant when Cork brought from behind his back the black ski mask. She stopped abruptly and considered first the mask, then Cork.

“I found it in the bottom of your cosmetics case,” he said.

“In this country, you can never be sure about the weather,” she replied in a leaden voice.

“It’s the one you wore the night you planted the explosives in my Bronco.”

“Were you looking for that, or just on a fishing expedition?”

“Why?” Cork spit the word. “Why bring my family into it?”

“Take your clothes off.”

“What?”

“Take your clothes off. I want to see if you’re wearing a wire.”

He didn’t move.

“Do you want to talk or not?”

He undressed. Sport coat, shoes, socks, shirt, pants. He laid everything on a chair. When he was down to his boxers, Dina said, “That’ll do.”

“Now tell me why,” he said.

“I don’t know why you think I can answer that question, but maybe I can help your thinking a little, provide a dispassionate perspective. For example, it might be productive to think about the explosive itself. If I recall, it was made with a blasting cap that was dead, yes?”

“You know it was.”

“So it couldn’t possibly have detonated. Now, it might be that the person who put it in your Bronco was simply stupid. On the other hand, it might be that it was never intended to hurt anyone.”

“Then why was it put there?”

Dina picked up her glass from the nightstand and finished the Scotch with a clink of ice against the empty glass.

“All right,” Cork said, addressing her silence, “let me do a little speculation. Let’s say the device wasn’t intended to kill anyone. What did it accomplish? It caused me to lose a lot of sleep. It certainly confused the situation. Were either of those the point? Or was it to separate me from my family, send them scurrying to Chicago? I’m thinking this because the night before the bomb was planted, Jacoby was at my house. He learned all about my family. Jenny and Northwestern, Rose and Mal in Evanston. He even knew Jenny was planning on using my Bronco the next morning. I’m thinking that a man like Jacoby believes he can manipulate anything and anyone to get what he wants. So he has someone-someone, let’s say, like you-plant a bomb-or a nonbomb-to scare me into sending my family his way so that he can be with them, comfort them when word of my demise reaches them. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I enjoy seeing a fanciful mind at work. Go on.”

“That’s what the hit was about, I think. To get me out of the way because another man coveted what I have. It wasn’t Lydell Cramer who wanted me dead. It was Ben Jacoby. And he used his brother Eddie to broker the deal. Now, your part in all this is still a little uncertain. What were you supposed to do? In the event that Stone couldn’t complete the hit, were you instructed to kill him, make sure he didn’t talk?”

“I was hired to make sure the investigation into Eddie’s death wasn’t mishandled. Period. When I came here, I didn’t know anything about Stone.”

“Then why this?” He shook the ski mask at her.

“You’ve overlooked something obvious. It could be that the point of the bomb-or nonbomb, as you appropriately call it-was to ensure that your family was out of harm’s way.”

“Is that what Jacoby told you? Or did you even care, so long as he paid you enough? Out of harm’s way, sure. And my wife right into his waiting arms.”

“Not every outcome of an action can be predicted. It seems to me that whether Jo stepped into someone’s waiting arms was entirely up to her, wasn’t it? And as for killing Stone, when I pulled that trigger, I pulled it for only one reason.”

In the little illumination that still fell through the window, he saw anger in her face, and perhaps hurt. He almost believed her.

“Tell me I’m wrong about Ben Jacoby,” he said.

“It’s an interesting speculation. Do you have any substantiating evidence?”

“He’s a thorough man, but I’m sure he’s slipped up somewhere. I’ll find out where.”

He went to the chair and began to dress.

Dina watched him. “What are you going to do?”

“Let Jo know who Ben Jacoby is. Then I’m going to figure how to nail him.”

“Be careful, Cork.”

He pulled on his shoes, tied them, and stood up. “You’re worried about me?”

“Your family’s safe. You need to think about yourself.”

It took a moment for him to weigh her words and her tone. Then he understood. “He offered you the contract on me, didn’t he?”

“If I wanted you dead, I’d have let Stone finish the job on Lamb Lake.”

He still held the ski mask. He threw it to Dina.

“I should have it checked for explosive residue, and I should have your luggage and your car checked, too. If I were a betting man, I’d bet we’d come up with something. But you saved my life. Consider my debt paid.”

As soon as he returned home, Cork called Evanston. Rose answered. Her “Hello?” sounded anxious, and when she knew who it was, her voice took a serious nosedive to a bleak octave.

“What is it?” Cork asked.

“I was hoping you were Jo.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Rose said hesitantly, “she seems to be missing.”

Rose explained that they’d come back from their day in South Bend to an empty house. Jo had left a note on the kitchen table saying she was going out to buy some wine, had an errand to run, and would be back before six. On the note, she’d put the time she left, five-ten. She still hadn’t returned. There was also a message waiting on Rose’s voice mail, from Ben Jacoby, left at five-fifteen, apologizing to Jo for having to cancel out. Something important had come up. He was sorry and promised to be in touch.