William Krueger - Tamarack County

Stella said, “I get it. Believe me, I get it. I just haven’t got the faintest goddamn notion of what the hell is going on here. Do you understand?”

Azevedo came in and stood quietly.

Dross said, “What did you get?”

“Nobody saw a thing.”

Dross was clearly not happy with the news, but neither did she seem surprised. “All right. Go on back to your cruiser. I’ll be right out.” She stood up and took her parka from the back of the chair where she’d laid it. “I guess that’s it for now. I’ll talk to your brother. Let’s hope that something comes to him that’ll help us get a handle on all this.” Her tone still seemed to imply that she believed things were being kept from her. “Cork, would you walk out with me?”

He grabbed his own coat and accompanied her into the hallway. Several of the building’s residents lounged in their open doorways, curious. Outside in the frigid air, he stood with the sheriff beside her pickup. Azevedo was already in his cruiser, engine running and the heater on.

“Like talking to a wall,” Dross said.

“She told you the truth, Marsha.”

“And Wakemup told you the truth, too? Then you explain to me how something this serious happens without any motivation.”

“I don’t know. It’s clear to me they don’t either.”

“Really? In my shoes, what would you think, Cork?”

“I’d think that there’s another way to look at this, one we haven’t considered yet.”

“And that would be?”

“I’m working on it.”

“You might still be working on it next time someone drives one of the Daychilds off the road, and maybe that time there won’t be any Studemeyer brothers to pull them out of the lake.”

“I don’t know what else to tell you, Marsha.”

“Yeah.” She took a deep breath. When she exhaled, the distance between her and Cork became white fog. “I’ll see what I can get out of Ray Jay, if anything. I’m just wondering if tomorrow, when we release him, he might try to take care of this himself and not in a way that’ll do him any favors, legally.”

“Tell you what. When he gets out, I’ll have a good long talk with him.”

“You already did. As nearly as I can tell, it got you nowhere.”

“It’ll be different if I’m not talking to him through two inches of bulletproof glass.”

“I hope so.”

She was ready to leave, but Cork held her back a moment with “Ralph Carter?”

“Still at home, still sedated. His daughter’s with him at the moment, but if she has her way, he’ll be in a locked unit at a nursing home soon.”

“Is our county attorney still considering charges?”

“He’s looking at the situation.”

“Anything more on Evelyn?”

“Nothing since we last spoke.” She squinted up at the sun, her face pinched in a way that made it look old. “This county’s going to hell, and I can’t seem to do a thing about it.” She eyed Cork again. “Somebody staying with the Daychilds tonight?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

A smile came slowly to her lips. “Why did I know you’d say that?”

Dross left in her pickup, and Azevedo followed in his cruiser. Cork headed back inside. Some of the residents were still in their doorways, most of them Shinnobs he knew. They asked him what was shaking-the white cop had been purposely vague-and he told them some trouble for Ray Jay, and they asked if it was true about the dog’s head, and he told them it was. When he returned to Wakemup’s apartment, he found several women gathered around Stella and Marlee, talking in soothing voices. He smelled coffee brewing in the kitchen. He shed his coat, but before he could go any farther, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“O’Connor.” The voice was deep, graveled in the way of a smoker.

He turned, and his eyes were neck-level with Carson Manydeeds, a man big enough to fill a doorway completely. Manydeeds was in his early sixties, had copper-colored eyes that didn’t blink, and a face as implacable as a bulldozer blade. He wore a red plaid shirt with a quilted lining, unbuttoned, showing the clean white T-shirt beneath that stretched over his broad belly. He jerked his head toward the hallway, turned, and exited. Cork followed. Manydeeds made his way slowly down the hall, walking like a man in pain, which he was. He’d been a Marine in Vietnam, and what he got for his service to his country was a back full of shrapnel, a shattered hip that never set right, a Purple Heart, and a too-meager monthly disability pension. He led Cork to the apartment nearest the front door, which was where he lived. When they were both inside, Manydeeds ambled to the kitchen and came back with two cold cans of Coors Light. He offered one to Cork, who accepted it and popped the tab. Manydeeds opened his own, took a long draw, and sat down in an old recliner whose upholstery had been mended in a couple of places with silver duct tape. A few feet to his right stood a round table on which sat a small, conical artificial Christmas tree, which had been decorated with a chain made of colored construction paper and popcorn on a string and a single set of tiny bulbs. Manydeeds nodded toward a ragged brown love seat on the other side of the tree. Cork was still carrying his coat over his arm. He laid it on the floor near his feet and sat down.

“Saw him,” Manydeeds said.

“Saw who?”

“Son of a bitch brought that dog’s head in.”

“Who was it?”

“Couldn’t tell. All hunched up in a parka. Not a big guy, though. I mean tall. But he looked big up here,” he said, indicating his chest. “Like he lifted weights or something.”

“Shinnob?”

“Didn’t see his face.”

“When?”

Manydeeds took another long draw of beer, and Cork felt obliged to sip from his own.

“Night before last. Two a.m., maybe.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Manydeeds gave another brief nod, this one toward his lower back. “Painkillers don’t do nuthin. I was up readin, right here in this chair.” There was a National Geographic lying on a little end table next to the recliner. “Heard the front door scrape open. Got up, peeked out, saw him creepin down the hallway. Figured it was just Ray Jay let outta jail early, so I went back to my readin. Couple of minutes later, heard the front door scrape again. Looked out through my curtains. No moon, and the streetlight don’t work, so I couldn’t hardly see nuthin, but I could make out that he was gettin into a pickup. Knew it wasn’t Ray Jay then. He don’t drive, not since he lost his license with all them DWIs.”

“A pickup? Catch the color?”

Manydeeds sipped and shook his head. “Lucky I could see the truck at all. Watched it pull away. Didn’t think much more about it until the ruckus today.”

“You tell this to Azevedo?”

“Azevedo?”

“The deputy who interviewed you earlier.”

“What is he? Mexican?”

“It’s a Portuguese name.”

“I told him nothing. Figured I’d tell you. Don’t like your beer?”

Cork realized he’d taken only a couple of swallows, and he remedied that. “Anybody you know of got a grudge against Ray Jay?” he asked.

Manydeeds reclined his chair, set his beer can on the table, and laced his fingers over his belly. He winced at the pain all this caused him. “That man’s been sober going on two years now. Keeps to himself, quiet, good neighbor. Except that dog of his sometimes barked a blue streak. Guess he won’t be doin that no more.” His copper eyes stared at Cork, who couldn’t tell exactly how Manydeeds felt about that particular circumstance.

Cork took a long swig from his beer can, almost finishing the contents. “Anything else worth knowing?”