William Krueger - Copper River

They’d been interviewed separately by the state investigators, had given their statements, and were free to go. Neither of them was ready. Cork still felt stunned, as if he’d been hit between the eyes with a big mallet. He’d seen bad things in his time, but nothing compared to this.

Hodder walked toward them from where he’d been conversing with one of the investigators. He leaned against the side of the Cherokee, folded his arms across his chest, and stared east where Bodine lay a few miles on the other side of all those thick, autumn-fired hardwood trees.

“Children,” he said. “They’re all children. Fourteen, fifteen years old. Mostly girls. Some of the graves are several years old. So far, the most recent looks to be a couple of weeks. That’s the one the cougar messed with.” He let his arms fall uselessly. “God, how did this happen?”

“We abandoned them,” Dina said. She threw the butt of her cigarette onto the road, where it smoldered, white smoke against dun-colored dirt. “Cats, dogs, we spay or neuter, but people we let procreate with blithe abandon, people who have no business bringing children into this world. When those kids become desperate we don’t see them, don’t hear them. As long as they’re not haunting our block, staring hopelessly into our windows, we can pretend they don’t exist or worse, that whatever horror they deal with they’ve brought on themselves. They’re not our children. They’re not even like our children. Believe me, this is something I know about.”

Cork rubbed his leg, which was hot and throbbing. He hadn’t done himself any favors that day.

“Sara Wolf was Ojibwe,” he said. “Born to The People. It used to be, in a village everyone watched out for the children. Blood ties, clans, those things didn’t matter. Now…” He looked up at the sky and sighed. “It feels like everything everywhere is falling apart.”

Hodder eyed another body bag being carried from the woods. “Where did they all come from?”

“Providence House for one,” Dina said. “When I talked to Mary Hilfiker, she told me the kids there came out of nowhere and vanished the same way, and she had no resources to track them. She told me that in this country nearly a million go missing every year. A child abandoned with no one who cares, that’s the perfect prey.” She leaned over as if she were going to be sick. “What I can’t understand is why they’d hire someone like Bell.”

“If they did a background check-and they probably did-they wouldn’t find anything. He managed to keep his record clean,” Hodder said.

“How do you know?” Dina asked.

He shrugged. “My town. I know things like that.”

Terry Olafsson and a state investigator came from the wood shop. Isaac Stokely, head of security for the Copper River Club, was with them. The investigator led Stokely toward the A-frame cabin. Olafsson walked to Hodder’s Cherokee. He stood a few paces away and stared down at the cigarette butt Dina had tossed.

“Looks like the wood shop I’ve got at home,” he said. “Smells like it, too. Shavings, sawdust. Always meant good things to me. Not anymore. There’s a trapdoor in the floor of Stokely’s: leads to a small cellar room, a cinder-block bunker kind of a thing, no bigger than a jail cell. There’s a cot, slop bucket, video equipment, some bloody kids’ clothes wadded up and thrown in a corner.”

He stopped. The line of his mouth went taut. He looked pale.

“The minute you go down there you can feel it. It’s like the walls are soaked full of all that horror. It’s quiet as a tomb, but Christ, I swear you can hear the screams. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“What about Isaac Stokely?” Hodder asked. “Was he involved?”

Olafsson shook his head. “Claims he knows nothing about it. He’s cooperating. We’ll have to wait and see, but I get the feeling he really didn’t know anything. He seems just as horrified as the rest of us. He’s definitely not protecting his brother.”

“It’s isolated here,” Cork said, indicating the clearing with a wave of his hand. “Controlled access. The security patrols skirt this area. Bringing in a drugged child in a car trunk-”

“Calvin Stokely drives a Dodge Ram with a camper shell,” Hodder put in.

“There you go. A perfect setup until one of the children, a kid with a strong will to survive somehow gets herself free and runs. Gets lost maybe or is being chased and stumbles into the river.”

“I can’t sit here anymore,” Dina said. “I’ve got to do something.”

“What?” Hodder asked.

“Find Charlie.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet. You coming?” she said to Cork.

“On the ATV?” He winced. “I don’t think so.”

Hodder moved toward the driver’s seat. “I’ll give you both a ride. They don’t need me here. You can make arrangements to pick up the ATV later.”

Olafsson put his hand on the door before Hodder closed it. “It would be a good idea to be available at your office, Ned, in case they decide they want some more information on the locals.”

“Will do.”

Cork and Dina settled in, slammed doors.

“A BOLO’s been issued for Calvin Stokely,” Olafsson said through Hodder’s open window. “There aren’t a lot of roads in this part of the U.P. We’ll get him.”

He stepped back and Hodder swung the Cherokee around and headed out of the clearing toward the road that would take them to the gate a couple of miles away.

“So Stokely left the Copper River Club yesterday and never came back,” Cork said.

“That’s how the log at the gate reads,” Hodder confirmed. “His dog was hungry, too, which would tend to verify that he didn’t return.”

“Why stay away?” Cork said. “Nothing had been discovered yet that would incriminate him.”

“Probably he killed Bell and panicked.”

“And he killed Bell because…?”

Hodder shrugged. “Maybe he thought Bell was ready to break, spill the beans. Maybe they argued. Who knows?”

Dina was quiet in back, staring out the window at the trees that lined the road like a wall of flame.

They stopped at the gate. Hodder spoke to the guard.

“Still pretty quiet, Wes,” he observed of the empty road beyond the gate.

“Until the media gets hold of this, then all hell’ll break loose,” the guard replied.

“What do you think?” Hodder jabbed a thumb back in the direction of all the activity.

Wes leaned against the Cherokee and spoke through the window. “Nobody’s asked me yet, but I always got the willies around Calvin. Hell, he wouldn’t have the job if it weren’t for his brother and we all knew that. We all knew better than to go near his place, too. I mean, the guy freaked. Big duh, huh? Heads are going to roll up here. You want a job as chief of security, there’s sure to be an opening, Ned.”

“Say, Wes,” Cork said. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Who’s he?” the guard asked Hodder.

“Somebody whose question you should answer,” Hodder replied.

The guard said, “Shoot.”

“Does it say on your log when Calvin Stokely left yesterday?”

“I’d have to check.”

“Check,” Hodder said.

Wes went into the guardhouse and came out half a minute later. “He got off duty at three, split from the Club at three-thirty.”

“Thanks. One more question,” Cork said. “Anybody visit Calvin Stokely on a regular basis?”

“Only one I can think of. A drinking buddy from Marquette. Guy name of Delmar Bell.”

“That’s it?”

“Believe me, Stokely wasn’t the kind who’d have a lot of friends. And anybody who visited would have to come through here, so I’d know.”

“Thanks, Wes,” Cork said.