Cork had been thinking that they had a long day ahead of them. He liked the sound of this. “Where is it?”

“Up on Little Trout Lake, about twenty miles north.”

Cork looked at Dross. “That would put it about ten miles from Spirit Crossing.”

“Any idea exactly where on Little Trout the cabin’s located?”

“Can’t help you there, sorry. Just know that Davey Lewis used it as a getaway from that she-wolf of a wife he had.” He thought a moment. “Wait. Davey used to tell me that he liked it because it was a five-minute walk from some bar where he did his drinking. Let me think.” He closed his eyes. “I believe it was called the Wild Trout or maybe Angry Trout. Place right on the lake.” He gave them a puzzled look. “But if Adrian’s dead, why the interest in his trailer?”

“We think a man who is also of interest to us might be hiding there.”

“Got a name you’re willing to share?”

“Mathias Paavola.”

“Did he shoot Adrian?”

“He might have.”

“Then I hope you get him.”

“Thanks for your help,” Dross said. “If you think of anything else, could you give me a call? You still have my card?”

“Still got it.”

They found the bar. It was called the Crazy Trout. It wasn’t open yet, but there was a car parked in the gravel lot. Dross pounded on the front door until a big man with an angry look on his face opened up.

“What? You can’t wait for another hour to get drunk?”

Dross flashed her wallet ID. “We’re looking for a man who may have been a customer here. Name’s Adrian Lewis.”

“Davey Lewis’s kid.” From the man’s tone, it sounded like he didn’t much care for Adrian Lewis. “He used to drink here. Not any longer. That man was certifiably nuts. I told him after the last incident that if he ever came back, I’d take great pleasure in personally stuffing his head up his ass.”

“What did he do?” Cork asked.

“Made some off-color remark to one of my waitresses, then threatened her when she told him to get lost. It wasn’t the first time he’d pissed me off.”

“Davey Lewis, his father,” Dross said. “We understand he has a fishing cabin near here.”

“Yeah. Quarter mile north there’s a lane runs down to the lake. Can’t miss it. Big Coca-Cola billboard on the other side of the road.”

They found the billboard and took the lane. It led a hundred yards through a mix of evergreen and broadleaf trees to an opening on the lake where a small cabin stood. Parked next to the cabin was a Jayco Eagle fifth-wheel trailer.

CHAPTER 37

On Crow Point that morning, Jenny walked Daniel to his truck. “Take care of yourself. And good luck with the hunt today.”

“You take care of Waaboo,” Daniel told her. “Mathias Paavola is still out there.”

“Between Prophet and Henry and me, we’ll keep him safe, I promise.”

She kissed him goodbye, and in his rearview mirror as he drove away he saw her standing there, waving, struck with sunlight in a way that made it seem as if her blond hair had been spun from pure gold. Then she turned back to the cabin where Waaboo was still sleeping.

Daniel headed to Allouette along a rugged track mostly used by Prophet in the ATV on those rare occasions when Meloux wanted to go into the reservation town. It led along the northern shore of Iron Lake, which, through the broken wall of trees, was cobalt blue under the morning sky. As he jostled over the rough ground, he thought about what might be ahead that morning. Events had been unpredictable for so long now, he desperately wanted a day in which he could grasp something solid, put all the upheaval to rest. Along with Monte Bonhomme and Agent Danette Shirley, he hoped he might be able to do just that.

The tragic history of Fawn Blacksmith had led them to the speculation that human trafficking was at the heart of the events in Tamarack County. They were looking for a connection between Fawn Blacksmith, Adrian Lewis, and Mathias Paavola. Billy Bones seemed the most likely candidate.

When he arrived at the tribal police office, Daniel found Monte, Agent Shirley, and Officer LuJean Desjardins in conversation over coffee. Monte looked up and smiled. “Ready to roll?”

“Whenever you are.”

“Zippy could hold down the fort,” LuJean said.

Monte shook his head. “I need you here.”

“Do me a favor, then,” LuJean said.

“What?” Monte replied.

“You get this Billy Bones, you bring him here. I want to personally kick him in the balls.”

Agent Shirley said, “I understand the feeling, but we’ll let the law do that. You’ll get a visit from BCA today. They’ll be following up on a discussion I had with them last night about what’s gone on out here, the shot at Waaboo and the shooting of Lewis. Be helpful.”

“Always am with our fellow law enforcement agencies.”

“Feel free to tell them where we’ve gone,” Monte said. “But don’t say anything about kicking Billy Bones in the balls, okay? If we get him, I don’t want any claim of police brutality.”

Desjardins shrugged, then said unconvincingly, “You’re the boss.”

They took Monte’s cruiser and headed south toward Bixby and Sizemore School. As they drove, they went over what they knew and what they suspected.

Mathias Paavola was the most likely link to the blueberry patch and old cabin. Paavola and Lewis were connected at the very least through their drinking together at the Howling Wolf, but probably also through their work on the pipeline. If Fawn Blacksmith was being trafficked, it might well be that she was being used to service the men working the pipeline, a common circumstance in places and on projects that involved a lot of manpower. If someone had been grooming her for trafficking, Billy Bones seemed to be the likely candidate. The most promising lead on how he’d managed that seemed, at the moment, to be Sizemore School.

There was another wrinkle. Irene Paavola was still missing.

“Maybe her brother was afraid of what she knew and that she might talk to the police,” Daniel said.

“Cork and Marsha Dross questioned her,” Agent Shirley pointed out. “She didn’t seem to be able tell them much that was helpful except how to track down her brother.”

“That doesn’t mean she didn’t know more,” Monte said.

“If her brother grabbed her, what are the chances she’s still alive?” Daniel asked.

“We don’t really know Mathias Paavola or what he’s capable of,” Monte said. “If he was involved in the death of Fawn Blacksmith and Olivia Hamilton, he could be capable of anything.”

The day before, they’d been directed to talk to Candyce Osterkamp, who, apparently, was close to Irene Paavola. She’d been gone picking blueberries that day, but she was at work at the school when Daniel and the others arrived. They tracked her down to a flower bed filled with an array of blossoms.

“My butterfly garden,” she explained, rising from where she’d been at work on her knees, a little trowel in her gloved hands. She wore a broad-brimmed straw hat that shaded her face. She was sixtyish, slender, smiling. “What can I help you with?”