Mercy Falls (30 page)

R
OSE 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.

Jacoby again
, Cork thought.

“Cancel out on what?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Cork.”

“Was she going to meet Jacoby?” he asked.

“She didn’t say a word to me about it.”

“Did you try her cell phone?”

“Yes. She doesn’t answer.”

“How about Jacoby? Did you call him?”

“We don’t have his number,” Rose said. “It was blocked on our caller ID, and when we tried directory assistance, they told us it’s unlisted.”

“I have it,” Cork told her. “I’ll call.”

“Oh, good. Let me know what you find out.”

In his wallet, he had the card Jacoby had given him when the man came to Aurora after Eddie’s murder. Only his business number was printed on it, but on the back Jacoby had written the number for his cell phone. Cork punched it in.

The phone rang at the other end. Jacoby didn’t answer. The recorded voice said the customer was not answering calls at this time but a message could be left. Cork left one telling Jacoby to call, it was urgent, and he gave his cell phone number.

After a minute or two of hard, desperate thinking, he called the Quetico Inn and asked to be connected with Dina Willner. She didn’t answer. He called the front desk.

Dick Granger told him Dina had just gone into the dining room. Should he page her?

“No. Just make sure she doesn’t leave before I get there.”

He called Rose and told her he’d had no luck with Jacoby, but he knew someone who might have a better idea how to get in touch with him. He’d let Rose know.

“How’re the kids?” he asked before he hung up.

“Mal and I are downplaying this, but if we don’t find her soon they’ll know something’s wrong.”

“Do what you can, Rose. And thanks.”

He found Dina seated near the fireplace, a glass of red wine in front of her, a thick New York strip bleeding onto her plate.

“This is a pretty good steak,” she said, “and if you don’t mind, I’d just as soon enjoy it alone.”

“You told me my family’s safe. You lied.”

“Oh?”

“My wife’s missing. She went to meet Jacoby and hasn’t come back.”

“Does she have a cell phone?”

“She’s not answering it.”

“What about Ben?”

“No answer there, either.”

“Did you try his townhouse?”

“I don’t have that number.”

With an exaggerated effort, she reached into her purse and brought out a pen and a small notepad on which she wrote two phone numbers. “The first number is his townhouse, the second is his home in Winnetka.”

“Thank you.”

Cork stepped away from the table and tried the numbers. He didn’t get an answer at either of them, but he left messages saying basically “Where the hell is Jo?” He turned back and found Dina watching him. Her steak was getting cold.

“What now?” she asked.

“I’m going down there.”

“How?”

“Driving, I guess.”

“Long drive alone.”

“At this point, it’ll be just as fast as trying to get a flight out of Duluth or the Twin Cities.”

“How much sleep have you had?”

“Thanks for your help,” he said grudgingly, and turned to leave.

“Wait.” She wiped her mouth carefully with her napkin. “I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t need—”

“You try driving to Chicago alone right now and you’ll be a danger to yourself and everyone else on the road.” She stood up. “You know what I’m saying is true. If you want to get to Chicago in one piece, let me help.”

The weight on him felt enormous. Worry, sleeplessness, a long drive in the night with only his fear and uncertainty for company. He knew she was right, but didn’t trust her motives.

“Look,” she said. “Whether you believe it or not, I’ve always been on your side. And think about it. If I’m riding shotgun, am I going to shoot you while you’re going seventy?”

He gave in because her logic was sound, and he knew he needed help to get to Chicago.

“Give me a few minutes to change and I’ll meet you in the lobby,” she said.

While she was gone, he called Rose and told her he was coming. She didn’t try to argue him out of it. He instructed her to call the area hospitals in the meantime.

He phoned Ed Larson at home and filled him in.

“You really think there’s reason to be concerned, Cork?”

On a normal day, maybe not, but Cork couldn’t remember the last day his life felt normal.

“I’m going, Ed. That’s all there is to it.”

“We’ll hold down the fort here. Keep me posted.”

Dina came down dressed for business—black jeans, black sweater, black sneakers, and a black windbreaker. A large black purse hung over one shoulder.

“Let’s do it,” she said, and hit the door ahead of him.

Cork glanced at his watch. It was almost nine o’clock. He figured if the roads stayed dry, if a cop didn’t pull him over for speeding, if he didn’t hit a deer, he’d be in Evanston in just under eight hours.

A lot of ifs.

They didn’t talk much at first. Cork kept hoping his cell phone would chirp any minute and it would be Rose with word that Jo was fine and there was a good explanation for her disappearance. What that explanation would be, he couldn’t imagine. Maybe her cell phone battery had died, although that was not like her. Why didn’t Jacoby answer his phones?

“You have connections on the Evanston police force?” he asked Dina.

They were outside Duluth, heading over the bridge on the interstate into Superior, Wisconsin.

“I have connections on every police force.”

“How about calling to check out accidents with injuries.” He waited a beat, then added, “Or fatalities.”

She talked to a guy she called Red, shot the breeze for a minute, then ran her request past him. She gave him Jo’s name, the car make and license plate number, which Cork fed to her. It didn’t take but a minute for Red to respond. Nothing involving Jo or even an unidentified victim. So far, it had been a quiet night in Evanston.

“How about Winnetka?” Cork said when she’d completed the call. “You know the cops there?”

“Couple.”

“Think you can get them to send a patrol to Ben Jacoby’s place?”

“What’ll I tell them?”

“That some fuckhead rich bastard thinks he owns the universe and everyone in it.”

“What’ll I tell them?”

Cork let out a breath that momentarily fogged the windshield in front of him. “That there’s an emergency, and Ms. O’Connor needs to be contacted and we believe she’s at the Jacobys’, who aren’t answering their phone. You can embellish as you see fit.”

She did a nice job of embellishing and got a promise that a patrol car would swing by. It was, apparently, a quiet night in Winnetka, too.

“Today, after we came out of the Boundary Waters, did you give Jacoby an update?” Cork asked.

“That’s part of what he pays me for.”

“So at this point, he knows everything?”

“Everything we know.”

“Is there anything you know that I don’t?”

“Nothing that would help right now.”

“Do you think Jacoby knows anything that would help right now?”

“Ben Jacoby always knows more than he tells.”

She was quiet, staring out the window as the empty streets of Superior slid by. It was an old port town on the harbor, and its glory days were a memory. In the daylight, everything about the place seemed gray. At night, it looked even worse.

“When I told him about the Fineday girl’s recollection of the night Eddie was murdered, something happened. I could hear it in his voice.” Dina seemed to be addressing the door window, or her own faint reflection in it.

“What did you hear?”

“Like lock tumblers clicking into place. I think he put something together.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. But he told me I was done in Aurora.”

“Except for killing me, if you wanted the contract?”

In her seat, she pivoted toward him angrily. “Just who the hell have you been talking to about me?”

“A reliable source.”

“Let me guess. One of my colleagues in the security business.”

“Someone I trust.”

“Who repeated shit he knows nothing about.”

Cork swerved to miss a black cat with glowing green eyes that had frozen in the headlights. “So that was nothing but a lucky shot on Lamb Lake?”

“I train for that kind of shot. That doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”

“And Jacoby didn’t offer you a contract on me?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

They took US 53 south out of Superior and in a while were skirting the Brule River State Forest. There wasn’t much traffic and the road seemed to tunnel through the trees into endless black.

On the seat beside him, Cork’s cell phone bleated. He picked it up. Rose was calling.

“We’ve tried all the hospitals anywhere near here, Cork, but nobody will tell us anything. They say legally they can’t. But they’re also saying that if Jo had been admitted and they were looking for nearest relatives, you’d have been notified. So I guess that’s one way of saying she’s not there.”

“Okay, Rose. That’s good. Evanston Police Department said they have no report of her being involved in an accident. And we’ve got someone checking out Ben Jacoby’s house in Winnetka right now.”

“What if she’s not there?”

“Then we’ll keep looking.”

“The kids are scared, Cork.”

“I don’t blame them.”

“Shouldn’t we notify the police that she’s missing?”

“They won’t do anything, Rose. Not for at least twenty-four hours. Adults disappear all the time for their own private reasons.” It was a line he’d delivered many times as a cop to a worried husband or wife. The truth was, most people showed up, came back after they’d had time to think things over. “Do what you can for the kids, okay, Rose? And thanks. If you hear anything—”

“I know.”

Cork put the phone down beside him.

“Nothing?” Dina asked.

“Nothing.” Cork swung around a slow-moving Voyager, the speedometer at eighty when he pulled back into the lane. The broken white lines came at him like tracer bullets from a machine gun. “You think I’m wrong about Jacoby wanting my wife?”

“I’ve never met your wife.” She laid her head against the seat back. “But I know that people kill for less compelling reasons than love.”

“A man like Jacoby, does he even understand love?”

“We most desire what we can’t have.”

“Desire’s not love.”

“No,” she said. “It isn’t.”

Her phone rang. She answered and listened. She said thank you and hung up.

“Winnetka PD. A couple of uniforms stopped by the Jacoby residence on Sheridan Avenue. Phillip Jacoby answered the door. That’s Ben’s son.”

“I know,” Cork said.

“He told them Jo wasn’t there, that he hasn’t seen her at all and he’s been home all evening.”

“Was Ben Jacoby there?”

“The cops talked to Phillip, that’s all I know.”

“Does he lie?”

“I don’t know anyone who doesn’t. Do you?”

In Eau Claire, they stopped for gas and Cork drove through a McDonald’s because he hadn’t eaten all day. Dina took the wheel and guided them to I-94, which would take them to Chicago. Cork ate, barely tasting the food. All he could think of was Jo. Where the hell was she, and was she safe?

And when that became almost unbearable, he thought about Jacoby and wondered what Dina had said that made him want her off the investigation.

T
HEY TOOK TURNS
driving, nodding off briefly when they weren’t behind the wheel. Once, Cork jerked awake with a terrified suck of air.

“Bad dream?” Dina said, shifting her attention momentarily from the road ahead. “You have a lot of those?”

“Tell me someone who doesn’t.” Cork rubbed his eyes and directed her to pull off at the next exit. He was ready to drive.

He wondered what was true about Dina Willner. How much of her had Jacoby bought? Was she really along to keep him from sleeping at the wheel or mostly to keep him in her sight for Jacoby? He was tired, knew that his judgment was off, and decided if he couldn’t trust himself it was best to trust nothing.

They hit Evanston around five-thirty and fifteen minutes later pulled up in front of Mal and Rose’s duplex. There was a faint glow in the eastern sky, but under the trees on the street where Cork parked, night still held solid. Most of the homes were dark. Upstairs in the duplex, a light shone behind the curtains.

Mal opened the door and hugged Cork in welcome. Rose was right behind him.

“Anything?” he asked. He’d checked in by phone only an hour earlier, but he still hoped that good news might have arrived.

“Nothing,” Mal said.

“This is Dina Willner.” Cork stepped aside. “She’s been helping with the investigation in Aurora. She offered to come along and make sure I didn’t fall asleep at the wheel.”

“Won’t you come in?” Rose said to her warmly. “I’ve got coffee.”

“Thanks. I could use a cup.”

Inside, Cork asked, “The kids?”

“Asleep,” Mal said. “The girls have been up most of the night but they finally conked out a couple of hours ago.”

“Let them sleep,” Cork said.

They sat around the kitchen table, hunched over the coffee Rose poured. Jo’s note lay in front of Cork. He could almost hear her voice in her carefully handwritten script.

“I feel so helpless,” Rose confessed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Let’s start with what we know,” Cork said. “She left to meet Ben Jacoby, but before he called to cancel. Did you save Jacoby’s message?”

“Yes.”

“Let me hear it.”

Rose brought him the phone and punched in the number for voice mail. She tapped in a security code, then a code to replay the message, and handed the phone to Cork.

“Jo, it’s Ben. I apologize, but something extremely important has come up that I have to take care of right away. I won’t be able to meet you. I’m hoping you haven’t left yet, but just in case you have, I’m going to call Phillip and let him know to expect you. You can certainly leave the painting, but I’d much rather you gave it to me personally. Again, I’m sorry to bail on you at the last minute. Honestly, this is business that can’t wait. I’ll be in touch.”

Cork handed the phone back to Rose.

“Time on the message is five-fourteen. And the note Jo wrote said she left at five-ten.”

“Yes,” Rose said.

“So he just missed her.” He looked at Dina. “You said you updated Jacoby about Stone. When did you talk to him?”

“As soon as we came out of the Boundary Waters. Later I gave him a full update on what we learned from Lizzie Fineday.”

“About Eddie’s murder?”

“That’s right.”

“What time?”

“I don’t know. Around five, I’d guess.”

“And when you talked to him, you had the feeling things seemed to fall into place for him, right?”

“That’s the feeling I got, yes.”

“A few minutes later, he calls Jo, cancels their meeting, and rushes off to take care of something that can’t wait. Something that had to do with Eddie’s murder?”

Dina nodded thoughtfully. “If I were you, that’s the first question I’d ask when I see him.”

“Second,” Cork said. “The first thing I’m going to ask is ‘Where the hell is Jo?’”

He stood up and took his mug to the coffeepot on the counter.

“Okay,” he said, pouring himself a refill. “She was headed to Jacoby’s place. He has two residences. A townhouse near downtown Chicago and a home on Sheridan Avenue in Winnetka. Her note says she’ll be gone less than an hour. I’d say that eliminates the townhouse. During rush hour, it would take at least that long just to get there. So I’m betting it was the house on Sheridan.”

“The uniforms who talked to Phillip said she hadn’t been there.”

“Maybe Phillip lied.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, but it’s the only solid lead we have, so that’s where I’m starting.” He grabbed his yellow windbreaker from where he’d draped it over the chair back.

“What are you going to do?” Dina asked.

“Pound on the door, or on the kid, until I get some answers.”

When Cork pulled off Sheridan onto the private brick drive that led to Ben Jacoby’s palatial home, the sky along the horizon above Lake Michigan burned with a warm orange glow that was dawn. The trees of the estate, a mix of yews and Catawba and maples, were eerily quiet, and Cork, as he stepped from the Pathfinder, realized that there were no birds in them and wondered where they’d all gone.

Curtains were drawn across the windows. The panes reflected an empty sky. At the end of the drive, which circled a small fountain edged with dewy grass, Cork spotted the garage doors, three of them, each with a row of glass panes roughly at eye level. He walked to the doors, Dina a step behind him, and peered in. It was an area large enough to accommodate four vehicles. Currently it was full. There was a Mercedes, a Jaguar with a smashed front headlight, a Lincoln Navigator, and a blue Toyota Camry with Minnesota plates.

“She’s here.”

“And that’s Ben’s Mercedes,” Dina said.

He went back to the Pathfinder, opened the glove box, and took out his Smith & Wesson .38 Police Special and a box of cartridges. He filled the cylinder and snapped it shut.

Dina watched him. “You’re not going in shooting.”

“If this isn’t a kidnapping, I don’t know what is.”

She put a hand on his arm. “Cork, what if she’s here because she wants to be?”

“If that were true, she would have called. She wouldn’t want Rose or the children to worry. Or me.”

He approached the front door under the portico and tried the knob. Locked. He stepped back, looked left and right, turned toward the south corner of the house.

“I’m going around in back, see if I can find an open door,” he said in a low voice.

“Why don’t we just ring the doorbell?”

“You wait here,” he said. “And don’t ring the doorbell. Not yet.”

He started across the lawn, the heavy dew soaking his shoes and the cuffs of his pants. He tried to move carefully, to keep his breathing steady while he battled fear and a mounting rage. Though his brain was fried from exhaustion and worry, he kept focused on the one thing he knew absolutely: Jo was somewhere inside this house, and she was not there because she wanted to be.

He turned the corner and lost sight of Dina. Trimmed bushes grew against the length of the house and Catawba branches reached above him. It seemed as though he’d entered a long, dim hallway that opened at the end onto the back lawn.

He’d gone less than halfway when shots rang out, two of them. Without thinking, Cork dove for the cover of the bushes and lay in the dirt, gripping his .38. He scanned what he could see of the estate, which wasn’t much. In his mind, he replayed the sound of the shots. They’d come from ahead, from somewhere behind the house, out of his line of vision. He decided that they were probably not meant for him.

The quiet had returned immediately, pressing so heavily on Cork that he felt as if he were underwater. He forced himself to move and in a crouch went forward. At the back corner, he peered around the edge of the house. The yard was empty. He saw a pool, a small pool house, stairs that led up to a veranda. A black robe hung over the back of a lounge chair beside the pool.

He hugged the wall, edging his way toward the stairs. He finally pushed from the house and swung his revolver toward the veranda, which proved to be as empty as the yard. He looked at the pool, at the rose-colored stain spreading across the water. He crept nearer and bent over the edge. The body lay on the bottom, eyes closed, two dark plumes rising from somewhere underneath, near the middle of the back.

He didn’t hear her but felt her presence. He turned his head and there she was, gripping a white robe closed over her breast, her hair a tangle, her feet bare, her blue eyes wide with astonishment.

“Oh, Cork, no,” she whispered.

He was so happy to see her, he wanted to cry.

“Jo,” he said, “I came to bring you home.”