William Krueger - Mercy Falls

“Was he able to give you a description?”

“No, but he did give us something very interesting. Whoever those two people were, they spoke Spanish.”

“ Pobrecito, Ed.”

“What?”

Cork told him about Gabriella Jacoby and Antonio Salguero, and explained his thinking about Eddie’s murder.

“The Salgueros lost everything in Argentina. Marrying Eddie Jacoby gave Gabriella a handle on another fortune. With her husband dead, she probably stands to get her hands on a significant chunk of change. Insurance, at the very least. Maybe she even moves up a notch in the old man’s will.”

“They’d been married for years. Why kill Eddie now?” Larson asked.

“Maybe she waited until she was solid with his father. She’s given Lou grandchildren, weaseled her way next to his heart. I’d bet she and Tony have been thinking about it for a while. Could be that Aurora’s isolation seemed to offer the opportunity they’d been hoping for.”

“And the hick cops they figured would do the investigating.”

“Probably that, too. Look, it’s a lot of speculation, I know.”

“Makes sense, though.”

“When Dina gave Ben her report on our questioning of Lizzie Fineday, Jacoby must have known what ‘poor vaceeto’ was really all about. He took Dina off the case in the hope of keeping her ignorant, and I’ll bet he canceled his rendezvous with Jo because he went to see Gabriella or Salguero, to confront them.”

“Didn’t want the police involved?”

“Exactly. A family matter. The family name at stake. Something like that. There’s a lot of digging to do, Ed.”

“I’m on it, Cork,” Larson said. “I’ll keep you posted.”

The next call was to Dina Willner’s cell phone.

“Tell me what you know about Tony Salguero,” he said when she answered.

“Handsome. Educated. Refined. Daring.”

“Daring? What do you mean?”

“He flies. He sails. Like his father, he’s a world-class big-game hunter. He was in the Argentine military for a long time, an officer.”

“Special training?”

“I could find out. Why?”

“I want to know if he’s the kind of man who’d know where to thrust a knife to kill somebody instantly.”

Dina’s end of the line went silent a long moment. “As in Eddie Jacoby.”

“Exactly.”

He told her what he knew and what he suspected.

“Gabriella and Tony together.” She was quiet, probably rolling the idea around in her thinking. “Gabriella was a better woman in almost every way than Eddie could have hoped for. Murder might not have been on her mind at first, but I imagine anybody married to Eddie would, over time, begin to think about it seriously.”

“There’s something else,” Cork said. “I think Ben suspected. I think that’s why he took you off the case. ‘Poor vaceeto.’ He put it togther right away.”

“God, why didn’t I?”

“It had been a hard day, remember?”

“Still…”

“Look, with your connections, any way you could find out quickly who Ben called after he talked to you yesterday afternoon?”

“You’re thinking he called Gabriella or Tony?”

“And then went to see them.”

“That’s why he canceled on Jo. Cork, do you think they killed him?”

“Not necessarily themselves. They may have had it done. Ed Larson’s working on the connection with Eddie Jacoby’s murder. Once we have that, Winnetka PD might be persuaded to look at them for Ben’s murder as well. Given the ties between the Jacobys and local law enforcement, it might be best not to tip our hand too early.”

The silence again. Then: “It feels so cold, Cork.”

He thought about Gabriella, the shadow she’d cast over Lou Jacoby that morning, her control. It may all have started as a way to rid herself of a man no woman in her right mind would want, but it was different now, huge and malevolent. It had probably taken the life of Ben Jacoby, and Cork could feel the menace at his own back, in Lou Jacoby’s ignorant vow, “An eye for an eye.”

“Watch yourself, Cork.”

“You, too.”

He put the phone down. He’d made the calls in the front room of the duplex, away from the rest of the family who were all gathered in the kitchen around the table talking and laughing. He could hear Mal and Rose, each of the children, and Jo. He thought about the Jacobys, the various reasons they had married-money, position, beauty, prestige, duty. For all its pain, all its uncertainty, all the terror of the power it wielded, love was still, in Cork’s book, the best reason.

He started toward the kitchen, toward the laughter that was a song, toward the love that was everything.

He heard the phone ring, looked at the clock beside the bed, wondered who would be calling at two in the morning. In the hallway, the floorboards creaked, and Mal Thorne said, “Hello?”

He didn’t say anything else. A minute later, a cupboard door squeaked open in the kitchen, followed shortly by the rattle of glass in the refrigerator.

Cork threw back the covers, pulled on his pants, and slipped from the room where Jo lay sleeping.

The kitchen light was on. Mal stood at the counter near the sink, a glass of milk in one hand, a cold chicken leg in the other. He held up the leg. “There’s more in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“No, thanks.”

Mal wore a white T-shirt, red gym shorts, white socks. “Trouble sleeping?”

“Can’t get my eyes to close. My brain won’t stop working. Who was on the phone?”

“Nobody there. Second time tonight. Would it help you to talk?”

“Maybe.”

Mal used the chicken leg to point toward the kitchen table. “Confessional’s open.”

Cork sat down. His feet were bare and cold on the linoleum.

“I’ve been thinking about everything that’s happened recently,” he said. “A lot of what’s occurred I understand now, but I’m having trouble understanding my place in all this.”

“How so?”

“Jo’s a wonderful woman.”

“You won’t get an argument from me on that.”

“She didn’t want me to take the job as sheriff, Mal.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“No, but I knew. She’s always been afraid of the effect it’s had on our family.”

“Cork, if you’re going to start blaming yourself for what’s happened-”

“It’s not that, Mal. It’s a realization. I was doing fine running Sam’s Place. It’s a pretty location there on Iron Lake. I grilled good burgers. I set my own hours, closed up at night, went home, and what did I have to worry about except making sure there were enough potato chips for the next day? Now I lie awake worrying about everything. The department budget, county politics, the safety of my people.” He glanced toward the hallway. “The safety of my family.”

“Why did you take the job?”

“I told myself there were good reasons, but in the end it was pride, plain and simple.”

“I suspect there was more to it than that, but I understand what you’re saying. So what are you going to do?”

The fridge kicked on, and the hum grabbed Cork’s attention. He looked at the refrigerator door, which was decorated with photos, mostly ones Jo had sent of the children and her and Cork.

“I’m going to quit. When I get back to Aurora, I’m going to tender my resignation.”

Mal took a bite from the chicken leg and didn’t seem inclined to argue.

The phone rang in the hallway.

“There it is again,” Mal said. “The caller who isn’t there.” He got up to answer. “Hello?” He paused. “Yes, he is. Just a minute.” He brought the cordless into the kitchen. “It’s Dina Willner, for you.”

“Dina, what’s up?”