They drove back to where the man with the pruner pole was at work. When they stopped and got out, he leaned the pole against the branch of an apple tree and turned to them, smiling. “What can I do for you folks?”
Under the shade of the broad brim of his straw hat was the face of a man Cork guessed to be in his early fifties. Deep crow’s-feet fanned out from the corners of both eyes, and laugh lines arced at the edges of his mouth.
“I’m Sheriff Marsha Dross. This is my associate Cork O’Connor. We’re trying to locate Adrian Lewis.”
“Well, good luck with that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I haven’t seen that boy in over a year.”
“We heard he’s in the area.”
“I heard that, too. Just haven’t seen him.”
“What can you tell us about him?”
“What’s your interest, don’t mind me asking? He in some kind of trouble?”
“Maybe,” Dross said. “That’s really what we’re trying to figure out. The more we know about him, the better sense we might have.”
The man looked down the road in the direction of the derelict house. “I’ve been a neighbor of the Lewis family all my life. Now there was a bunch of hard-luckers.”
“How so?” Cork asked.
“I went to school with Adrian’s old man, Davey Lewis. Good football player, running back. Went to the U of M down in the Twin Cities on a scholarship. Got blindsided his first game. Ruined his knee. Never played again. That’s probably what set him to drinking. Came home, worked in the lumber mill, married a girl from Coleraine, Lizzie, real odd one. Lots of fireworks in that house, and I don’t mean the kind you shoot off come Fourth of July. Alcohol usually involved. Then Davey got killed in a mill accident. Things kinda went from bad to worse. Adrian never really stood a chance. You seen that ear of his?”
“We’ve never seen him,” Dross said.
“He’s got this funny-looking right ear. Word was his ma put a hot iron to it. Melted the skin. Don’t know if it’s true, but Lewis always wore his hair long to cover it. Joined the army right after high school. Didn’t see him in forever. Then his ma died couple of years ago. He got the house and came back, driving a truck and hauling a fifth wheel. You know, one of those big trailers. Heard he’d been living in it for a while, don’t know where or doing what. A loner though. Kept pretty much to himself. Got a job as a cop in town. Now if that boy was difficult before, he became a real son of a bitch behind that badge. Maybe because he had to cut his hair and couldn’t hide that ear of his, I don’t know. Anyway, lots of complaints about him. Got let go, as I understand it, about a year ago. Then him and that fifth wheel disappeared. Like you, I heard that he’s been back, working on that pipeline, I guess. But I haven’t seen him at the house. Must still be living out of that big trailer of his. So, this trouble he might be in, is it bad?”
“Yes,” Dross said.
The man gave a nod, as if it didn’t surprise him. “Like I said, good luck finding him.”
Dross handed the man a business card. “If you happen to see him return home, Mr. —?”
“Gavins. Luke Gavins.”
“Could you give me a call?”
“Happy to.”
He watched them return to Dross’s cruiser, then he took up his pruner pole and went back to his work.
As they drove away, Dross said, “Misshapen right ear. Sound familiar?”
“Mathias Paavola’s drinking buddy at the Howling Wolf.”
It was shortly after 1:00 P.M. as they headed back to Hibbing. Cork got a call from Daniel. He put him on speakerphone so Dross could hear and filled Daniel in on what they’d learned about Lewis.
“Still no lead on his location?” Daniel asked.
“No. We’ll talk to the people in charge of pipeline personnel, see what they can tell us. Did you find out anything in Duluth?”
Daniel related what Blue had told them.
“So, after Fawn runs from Sizemore School, this Billy Bones shows up?” Cork said. “Anything more on him?”
“No. But we’ve been talking. A girl is usually groomed to be pimped. Billy Bones, whoever he is, had to have time to do that. We’ve put the timing together and there’s just not enough of it between her running from the school and showing up at the crash pad again in Duluth.”
“So how did this Bones get his hooks into her?”
“Could well have been at Sizemore,” Dross chimed in. “Cork and I were going to head back there today. We’ve got a name for someone who’s been at the school for a while and might be able to give us more information about Irene Boyle and whoever it is she was seeing before she went missing. Maybe she can tell us about Fawn Blacksmith’s time at the school as well.”
“We’re closer,” Daniel said. “Want us to take that while you check with the pipeline security people?”
“That would be good. The woman’s name is Candyce Osterkamp. She’ll probably be at the school. If not, I’m sure they can tell you where she lives. Stay in touch and let us know what you find out.”
“Will do,” Daniel said and ended the call.
“Not much I can tell you about Adrian Lewis,” Hank Robbins said. “He was hired to work security when we moved the pipeline construction into the States. We did a lot of hiring back then.”
They sat in the personnel office, which was housed in one of several operations trailers temporarily situated a few miles west of Spirit Crossing, well away from the protests. Robbins was somewhere in his fifties, solid, white hair in a buzz-cut bristle. He was accommodating.
“Normally, I probably wouldn’t even be aware of him, we have so many men working on the line. But he’s been a bit of an issue from the get-go.”
“How so?” Dross asked.
