“The Wrangler’s in there,” Daniel said, tapping the side of the garage.
He waved to Agent Shirley, who joined them, and they stepped behind the garage, out of view of the house.
“How do we want to play this?” Daniel asked.
Monte said, “A couple of us up front while one of us covers the back.” He eyed Agent Shirley. “Are you looking for more Jesus in your life?”
Cork and Dross put Margot Lachance in the backseat of the Expedition.
“Where are you taking me now?” she asked.
“To the sheriff’s office, in Hibbing,” Dross said.
“Juvie.” Margot said the word as if it were a four-letter expletive.
“You’ll be taken care of, your feet treated properly.”
“You’ve never been in juvie.”
“I’m very familiar with juvenile detention,” Dross said.
“Not from the other side. Ever been in foster care?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
“Shit. You privileged white people. You don’t know anything.”
“You’ve been trafficked, Margot. You’re the victim, not the perpetrator. You cooperate in the investigation of what Adrian Lewis, Liam Boyle, and Mathias Paavola have been doing, and I guarantee you won’t go to jail. Protective custody, yes, for a bit, while we get all this sorted out and we figure what’s best for you next.”
“I got no next. None of us got a next. That’s why we stuck with Toad and Billy and Matt. What do you care anyway?”
“Let’s take this one step at a time, Margot. We’ll figure out a next for you, I promise.”
“Yeah. Billy was full of promises, too.”
“I’m not like Liam Boyle.”
“He’ll kill me. That’s what’s next for me. I’ll bet he killed Toad. He’s probably already killed Brandi and Coral. He was screaming about killing Matt, too. And some damn kid.”
Cork had said nothing during the exchange between Dross and the girl. Now he asked, “What kid?”
“Some kid Billy said talks to dead people. Said it was all his fault.”
Cork’s jaw went tight. “The guy who took a shot at Waaboo,” he said to Dross. “We figured it might have been Adrian Lewis, except for the ball cap with the Thunderbird on it, a Native symbol. What if it was Boyle trying to silence Waaboo?”
“Makes sense now,” Dross agreed.
Cork stepped away from the Expedition and punched in Jenny’s cell phone number. He got no answer. Next he tried Prophet’s cell phone, a number very few people had. Same result.
“Damn,” he said.
“What is it?” Dross asked.
“Jenny’s on Crow Point with Waaboo. I’m not getting an answer.”
“Reception’s iffy out there. You know that.”
“I’d just as soon be sure.” He punched in the number for the Iron Lake Ojibwe Tribal Police. LuJean Desjardins answered, and he explained his concern.
“I’ll get out there and make sure everything’s okay,” she promised. “I’ll keep you informed.”
He thanked her and ended the call. But he wasn’t comforted.
Monte Bonhomme took the rear of the house. Daniel went with Agent Shirley up front. They mounted the rickety steps, and Daniel moved to the side of the door, out of sight. Agent Shirley opened the torn screen door and knocked hard on the peeling paint of the inside door. There was no response. She knocked again, then glanced at Daniel, who gave a nod.
“Jesus loves you! I’m here to spread the word of his everlasting love! Praise God!” she sang out. She paused a moment, then knocked again and said, “You can hide from men, but you can’t hide from God. He sees all. He knows the sin in your heart. He sent his son to suffer for those sins and to redeem you, praise the Lord!” Still nothing. She knocked a third time and cried out, “I will not leave this house until I have prayed the sin out of it and done the work mighty Jehovah has called me to!” In the voice of a banshee she cried out, “Dear God, hear my prayer!”
At which point the door swung open and a woman said, “Please move on. We don’t want whatever religious crap you’re selling.”
Agent Shirley pushed into the open doorway, Daniel with her, his Glock drawn. “Police!” he shouted as the woman inside stumbled back.
To the right was the living room, empty of furniture except for an old table where a large laptop computer sat open, displaying a paused image from a video game. To the left, a bare dining room. Ahead, a flight of stairs leading directly to the second floor. The place smelled of mildew, dank air, and wood rot.
The woman held up her hands. “Don’t shoot. Please.”
“Irene Boyle?” Agent Shirley said.
“Yes.”
