Purgatory Ridge

LePere eyed him a while before answering. “Wait here.” He went in the front door.

Cork walked around behind the cabin and to the dock. He studied the cove and Lindstrom’s log home across the water. He turned and surveyed the woods that isolated LePere’s place, that formed a wall all the way out to the point at the entrance to the cove. A man could easily slip among the pines undetected, post himself out there near the end of the point, watch Lindstrom’s home without being spotted. Eco-Warrior had been smart about everything. There was no reason LePere should have seen him.

It was different being on this side of a crime. Frustrating. Frightening. He felt he ought to be doing something more, something substantial, but he didn’t know what that was. Two of the people he loved most in the world were in terrible jeopardy, and there didn’t seem to be a thing he could do about it. As sheriff, he’d often had to offer the only comfort he could-We’re doing our best. That sounded so feeble from this side.

Think, he told himself desperately. Think like you’ve been trained to think.

Who was this Eco-Warrior? Was he really what he seemed? If the whole point of all that had gone before was to set up the kidnapping, it seemed too risky, too complicated. Why not just make the snatch, deliver the demand? Why all the theatrics? On the other hand, theatrics seemed often to be a part of terrorism.

Two million dollars. That was a huge leap from demanding the safety of Our Grandfathers. What were they after? What would the money do? Buy weapons? Bombs? A more sophisticated arsenal for their terrorism?

His thinking went immediately to Hell Hanover and the Minnesota Civilian Brigade. They could put two million dollars to good use. Hell had already threatened Jo to get Cork to back off the investigation. It seemed the newspaperman had a lot to be nervous about.

But what about Joan of Arc of the Redwoods? Or Isaiah Broom? Two million could finance the saving of a lot of trees after the fight over Our Grandfathers was finished.

And wasn’t it possible, also, as Schanno had speculated, that Eco-Warrior was simply a cover for an old grievance? Or maybe now for simple greed?

“You’re trespassing,” LePere said at his back.

Cork turned. LePere had a glass in his hand. Water with ice.

“Sorry, John. I’m just trying to figure it.”

“Some things are beyond figuring.”

Cork took the water. “It’s my wife and my boy. What am I supposed to do?”

LePere looked away. “I can’t help you with that one.”

Cork drank the water and handed the glass back. “The wind’s up.”

A breeze had risen, quite suddenly. The water on the cove began to ripple. Far west of Iron Lake, thunderheads began to mount.

“Rain maybe,” LePere said. “Finally.”

“Thanks for the water. If you think of anything, anything that seems like it might help, you’ll let me know?” LePere only stared at him, and finally Cork started back toward his Bronco.

“O’Connor,” LePere called after a dozen steps.

Cork turned back.

“Good luck.”

Cork got in the Bronco and started away. There was a lot on his mind, but he found himself puzzling over a small detail. On the way to the dock, he’d passed

LePere’s garbage can. The lid was off. Yellow jackets and flies buzzed over what was inside. Paper, coffee grounds, discarded food. The odd thing was that there wasn’t any glass. In Cork’s experience, alcoholics generated lots of empty bottles.

30

JOHN LEPERE WATCHED O’Connor’s old Bronco head off between the pines.

Damn.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. When O’Connor was sheriff, he’d always treated LePere decently, even in the days of the heaviest drinking. The man was part Shinnob, too, so he understood the difficulty of growing up mixed blood. LePere was sorry for the turn of events. Nothing was anything like he’d expected. Still, he told himself as he stepped back into his cabin, nothing really terrible had come of it. If it all ultimately went the way Bridger had planned, O’Connor would have his family back together in a couple of days. It would give him a greater appreciation of how precious were the people he loved, and all it would cost him in the end was a bit of worry. To LePere, who’d lost everyone he loved, that seemed a small price.

He took his field glasses from the hook beside the back door and stepped outside again. Across the cove, Lindstrom’s home was a busy place. The shoreline was still crawling with uniformed officers, as were the dock and the woods. They’d come across Blueberry Creek, trespassed on LePere’s land. That was fine. They’d find nothing, and they’d turn away. Although the ransom note had clearly said no cops, Bridger had called this one, too. “There’ll be cops,” he’d said. “A shitload. Don’t let that scare you. We’ll have them fooled. They’ll be looking for that Eco-Warrior, and there’s nothing to connect you with him. You don’t give them just cause, they can’t do a thing. Just be cool, my man. Just be cool.”