“Cork,” she said, smiling as she came into the main gallery showroom. Her hair was black and cut very short, which Cork figured was a benefit when she was out in the wild, tramping through underbrush looking for a good subject. Her body was wiry and tanned and full of energy barely contained. She wore cut-off jeans, a high-collar white shirt with the tail out, and tennis shoes without socks. She carried a large framed photograph that she leaned against the counter where the cash register sat. “Haven’t seen you here for a while. Not since you bought that piece for Jo. She like it?”
“It’s in her office, dazzling her clients.”
“I like to hear that. What can I do for you? Interest you in another piece?”
“Not today, thanks. I’m looking for Lyla. I thought she’d be here.”
“Normally. But Tiffany’s graduating tonight, and Lyla’s out shopping. Planning on whipping up a special dinner for the occasion. Anything I can help you with?”
Cork recalled seeing Marion’s name when he and Jo had scanned the guest list. “Maybe,” he said. “I wanted to talk to her about the New Year’s Eve party at Mayor Lipinski’s place.”
“The night Charlotte Kane was killed.” She gave him a look that told him she was pretty but not stupid.
“That’s right. I’m hoping to help Jo put the whole night in perspective. I’m trying to find out if any of the parents whose children were at Valhalla knew about Charlotte’s party.”
“Not Lyla, I can tell you that. She thought her daughter was at a sleepover. Those girls were clever. Gave Lyla a cell phone number to call to check on them that night. You know how unreliable cell phones are up here in the boondocks. Of course, when Lyla did call and couldn’t connect, well, that’s just technology in the deep woods.” She laughed, a soft liquid sound. “Bright girls.”
“So Lyla didn’t call Valhalla directly?”
“No reason to. She didn’t know they were there. Till the next day when everybody realized Charlotte was missing, and Tiffany confessed to her little ruse.”
Cork sauntered to the counter and eyed the framed photograph Marion had brought with her. It was a teddy bear in a garden.
“Going for the domestic look?” he asked.
“A graduation gift for Tiffany. That bear is her favorite. I shot it in Lyla’s garden.”
“Nice,” Cork said.
“Nice? Art is passionate, art is touching, art is orgasmic. But art is never nice.”
“Orgasmic?”
“You have no idea.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know when Lyla and Arne left the Lipinskis’ party, would you?”
“Couldn’t say about Arne. Lyla left at ten-thirty.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. I gave her a ride.” Marion stepped back and cocked her head as she appraised the teddy bear among Lyla’s flowers. “She and Arne got a little of Wil Lipinski’s rum punch under their belts and started taking mean little potshots at each other. Nothing deadly, but Lyla’d had enough of it long before midnight. When she started to leave, she discovered that Arne had taken the keys to her car. He wouldn’t give them back. Told her she was in no condition to drive. Frankly, he was right. I offered to give her a lift.”
“Home?”
“That’s what she wanted, but I saw how upset she was, so we came out here, rang in the new year, and then I took her home.”
“And Arne kept the car?”
“He did.”
“What time did you drop Lyla off?”
“Twelve-fifteen, maybe.”
“Was Arne home?”
“I don’t recall seeing the car. Could’ve been in the garage, I suppose.”
“Were there lights on in the house?”
“I don’t believe so.” She fisted her hands on her hips, squinted at Tiffany’s gift, and shook her head. “Nice?”
Cork said, “Isn’t shooting a teddy bear a little dull for you?”
Marion favored him with a tolerant smile. “If you look at life with the right attitude, Cork, nothing’s dull.”
Cork met Jo at her office.
“Did you get anything from Edith?” he asked.
“Enough to be enlightening. Lyla and Arne had a bit of a tiff, and they didn’t go home together.”
“I know. Marion Griswold gave her a lift. Arne kept the car.”
“Lyla told you?”
Cork shook his head. “Marion. What else did Edith say?”
“Not long after Lyla left, Arne made his apologies and he left, too. Get this, Cork. She said Arne seemed distracted, not his normal glad-handing self. And he asked to use her phone a couple of times. Said he wanted to check on his daughter but his cell phone wasn’t going through. She directed him to the phone in her husband’s study, off-limits to the party.”
“Marion said she dropped Lyla off at home a little after midnight. She didn’t see any indication that Arne was there.”
“Okay.” Jo put her hands together and bowed her head a moment, thinking. “Arne left the Lipinskis’ house shortly before eleven. It’s a good half-hour drive out to Valhalla. Around eleven-thirty, Charlotte told people she was going snowmobiling. But probably she went out to the guesthouse to meet her lover.”
“Arne.”
“Maybe. I’ve been rereading the statements of all the kids at Valhalla that night. Sid Jankowski and Evelyn Foley said that when they went to the guesthouse a little after one ‘to be alone,’ they heard the snowmobile taking off, and Charlotte wasn’t in the guesthouse when they got there.”
“The time frame works, Jo.”
“Everything we have is circumstantial, Cork.”
“Not everything. We have a trump card. The pubic hairs the M.E. combed off her body. Suppose they match Soderberg’s?”
“Unless we can actually put Arne at Valhalla that night, I don’t think we have enough to compel him to submit to a DNA test.” For a minute, Jo stared out the window. Then her blue eyes widened and she said, “Oh, my god.”
“What?”
“Tiffany Soderberg.”
Jo grabbed a stack of manila folders from a corner of her desk. It looked like the same stack she’d taken to bed with her the night before. She thumbed through quickly, found the folder she was looking for, and opened it. She flipped a couple of pages and scanned the text.
“Here it is. In her statement, Tiffany says she got to the party early, around nine, and that she got a ride to and from Valhalla with Lucy Birmingham. She didn’t drive herself.”
“So?”
Jo held up her hand, indicating Cork needed to be patient. She located another folder and flipped through the pages, found what she wanted. Her finger followed the text as she spoke. “In his statement, a young man named Peter Christiansen says he didn’t arrive at Valhalla until eleven. He wasn’t going to stay at the party long. About twelve-fifteen, he tried to leave, but couldn’t because his car was blocked by Tiffany Soderberg’s car. He went back to the party looking for Tiffany, couldn’t find her, drank another beer, and when he went outside again, her car was gone, and he left.” She looked up at Cork. “If Tiffany didn’t drive there, why did he think it was her car blocking him in?”
Cork thought a moment. “Because it was clearly a Soderberg vehicle.”
“And what Soderberg vehicle really stands out?”
“Lyla’s gold PT Cruiser.”
“Let’s find Peter and make sure that was the car.”
“Then what?”
“Then we visit Arne and if necessary, play our trump card.”
They located Peter Christiansen at the Iron Lake marina, where he had a summer job. After he confirmed the information they needed, they headed to the sheriff’s department and caught Soderberg just as he was leaving his office. He seemed in a particular hurry.
“Clocking out already?” Cork cast an obvious look at his watch.
“My daughter’s graduating tonight, O’Connor.”
“A big celebration?” Jo asked.
?
??Lyla’s got a special dinner planned. So whatever it is you want, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
“I don’t think this one can wait, Arne,” Cork said.
Jo touched her husband’s arm. “Of course it can. Congratulate Tiffany for us, and tell her we wish her good luck. We’ll come back in the morning and talk.”
After Soderberg had gone, Cork turned to Jo. “What was that about?”
“If he is the one,” Jo said, “this may be the last good time he and his family have together for a long while. We can wait until tomorrow, can’t we?”
They left the sheriff’s department. In the park across the street, the crowd had thinned considerably in the summer heat. A few blankets were still on the ground in the shade of the trees. Music played on a boom box, but softly. A red helium balloon had escaped, and its string was snagged in the branches of a maple. Cork watched the balloon pull gently at the end of its tether. The late afternoon was still, like a held breath. All of them, those who waited in the park hoping for a miracle that would free them from their own tethers, whatever they were, looked toward the jail that held Solemn Winter Moon.
“Come on,” Jo said. “Let’s go home.”
26
ARNE SODERBERG held a coffee mug in his hand and a look of contentment on his face. A slice of morning sunlight, lemon yellow, lay across his desk. The cool scent of pine drifted in through the open window. It was the day after his only child had walked across the high school stage and received her diploma, and Soderberg wore his satisfaction like a new suit.
Cork almost felt sorry for what Jo was about to spring.
“So, what’s up?” the sheriff asked.
At Jo’s request, Gooding was in the room. He leaned against a file cabinet with his arms crossed. Jo and Cork sat in chairs, the high polish of the sheriff’s desk between them and Soderberg.
“I’m trying to get a handle on the situation between parents and the kids who were at Valhalla the night of the New Year’s Eve party,” Jo said.
Soderberg looked confused. “To what end?”
“Everything we know about that night helps us put it in better perspective. I’m wondering about Tiffany.”
“What about her?”
“Did you know she was at Valhalla?”
“No.”
“You didn’t call her there to check on her?”
“Why would I, if I didn’t know she was at Valhalla? She was supposed to be at Lucy Birmingham’s house.”
“You were at the Lipinskis’ New Year’s Eve party, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t try to call Tiffany from there? I mean try to call her at the Birminghams’?”
“No.”
“Edith Lipinski says you asked to use her phone. You told her you wanted to check on your daughter and your cell phone wasn’t connecting.”
“Then maybe I did. I’d been drinking a little that night. I don’t really recall everything.”
“I understand how it is at a party like that. Did you call the Birminghams’ house directly?”
“I don’t remember.”
“If you’d called the Birminghams’ house directly, you would have discovered that Tiffany wasn’t there. Isn’t that right?”
“I suppose.”
“So maybe it wasn’t Tiffany you called?”
The sheriff didn’t answer.
“I thought perhaps it was really Lyla you tried to call?”
“Lyla?”
“Edith told me that you and Lyla had a bit of a tiff and Lyla went home early. I thought maybe you called to apologize to her, but didn’t want to tell Edith that.”
Soderberg thought a moment. “That could have been it.”
“You called her at home?”
Soderberg said carefully, “I must have.”
“And you worked things out, I hope. Cork and I have a rule.” She smiled at her husband. “We try never to go to bed angry. Edith said you left the party shortly after Lyla, a little before eleven. So you went home still thinking Tiffany was at the Birminghams’?”
Soderberg gave a nod.
“Okay. Lyla left the party at ten-thirty. She got a ride from Marion Griswold because you thought she was too drunk to drive. You kept the car, that gorgeous PT Cruiser, right?”
“I thought this was about Tiffany.”
“I’m getting to that. You did keep the PT Cruiser?”
Soderberg hesitated. “That’s right.”
“You left the party at eleven and then what? Did you go straight home?”
He considered her a moment, then said, “I think we’re done talking.”
“Just a couple more things. You told Edith Lipinski that night that you wanted to use her phone to check on Tiffany. But you didn’t check on Tiffany, did you? And it wasn’t Lyla you called either. She wasn’t home. She was at Marion Griswold’s place. Why are you lying about the calls you made?”
“I’d like you out of my office,” Soderberg said.
“Phone records indicate that two calls were made to Valhalla from the Lipinskis’ home the night Charlotte Kane died. I think you made those calls. Around eleven o’clock, you left the party and drove to Valhalla. We have a witness who puts Lyla’s PT Cruiser at Valhalla in that time frame. Why were you there? I believe for a sexual liaison with Charlotte Kane. I believe you’d had a relationship with her for some time.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Soderberg said.
“I also believe it’s possible that you killed Charlotte Kane and planted evidence that would implicate Solemn Winter Moon. Were you angry with Charlotte for having an affair with Winter Moon? Or had Charlotte threatened you with exposure—you, the newly elected sheriff of Tamarack County?”
Gooding slowly uncrossed his arms. His gaze shifted to the sheriff.
The frail vessel that had held Soderberg’s contentment that morning had shattered. The happiness had drained from his face, and he looked stunned.
“I killed Charlotte?” He frowned. “Maybe I kidnapped the Lindbergh baby, too?”
“Much of this we can prove,” Jo said.
“How?”
“By matching your DNA against the results of the DNA testing that was done on the pubic hairs taken from Charlotte’s body during the autopsy.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Is it? You never bothered to widen your investigation beyond looking at Solemn Winter Moon. I think it was because you were afraid that evidence might be found that could incriminate you.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Did Charlotte threaten to make it all public? Was that why you killed her?”
“I didn’t kill her.”
“Or were you just blind with rage because she’d been with Solemn, had let him touch her in the same way you had?”
“Gooding, get these people out of here.”
The deputy didn’t move.
“You were at Valhalla that night,” Jo said. “You had opportunity and motive.”
“No.”
“You used your position as sheriff to protect yourself.”
“No.”
“You loved Charlotte Kane.”
He opened his mouth but the denial died before he spoke it. That was the moment Cork knew Soderberg had cracked, the moment he knew Jo had him. Soderberg stood up and put his hands on his desk and leaned forward like a tree about to fall.
“Get out of my office.”
“I’m prepared to ask the court to compel you to submit to DNA testing.”
“You wouldn’t.”
She opened her briefcase. “This is your copy of the motion. It sets forth all the evidence and the reasoning. When I leave here, I’ll go directly to the county attorney’s office and give Nestor Cole a copy. From there I head to the courthouse to file and to request a date for the motion hearing. This isn’t a bluff. It will get public and ugly, Arne. Why don’t we talk now?”
“I have nothing to say to you,” he replied hoarsely. “Deputy Goodi
ng, I told you to get these people out.”
Jo rose from her chair. “We’re leaving, but we’ll be back, Arne. While we’re gone, take a few minutes and think clearly. And get yourself a lawyer.”
She turned and walked out. Cork followed and closed the door behind him.
Outside Soderberg’s office, he said, “What now?”
“I make good my threat.”
“At the moment, all we’re able to offer is speculation.”
“No, we’re citing a number of incriminating facts from which very reasonable suppositions can be drawn.” She looked back at the closed door. “Maybe he killed Charlotte, maybe he didn’t. But of the rest, he’s guilty as hell, I know it.”
“You need me?”
“No.”
“Do you think we should let Solemn know what’s up?”
“I don’t see why not. He’s got more at stake in this than anybody. Would you talk to him?”
“Sure.” Cork touched her cheek. “Have I told you how glad I am that you’re on our side?”
Cork spent a long time with Solemn, laying it all out carefully. In the end, Solemn appeared troubled by the news. He stood up from the table in the interview room, walked to the door, and put his hands flat against it. He tilted forward until the crown of his head touched as well. He seemed to ground himself on the hard reality of the jail.
“Do you think he killed her?” he asked.
“My gut feeling is no,” Cork said.
Solemn stared down at the gray sneakers worn by all the long-term guests of the county. “So. It may do me some good, but I imagine it’ll pretty well mess up Sheriff Soderberg’s life.”
“I imagine.”
And he did. Cork imagined Lyla like a withered fruit, sucked dry of compassion. And he pictured Arne on the streets of Aurora, a man people would pretend not to see.
“He never seemed to me to be very happy,” Solemn said. “I can’t help feeling sorry for him.” He turned to Cork. “Is he a religious man?”