William Kent Krueger - Blood Hollow (Cork OConnor Mysteries)

ALSO BY WILLIAM KENT KRUEGER

The Devils Bed

Purgatory Ridge

Boundary Waters

Iron Lake

WILLIAM KENT KRUEGER

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright 2004 by William Kent Krueger

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Krueger, William Kent.

Blood hollow / William Kent Krueger1st Atria Books hardcover ed.

p. cm.

ISBN 0-7434-8867-9

eISBN-13: 978-0-7434-8867-9

1. OConnor, Cork (Fictitious character)Fiction. 2. Private investigatorsMinnesotaFiction. 3. MinnesotaFiction. I. Title.

PS3561.R766B58 2004

813.54dc22 2003062803

First Atria Books hardcover edition February 2004

ATRIABOOKS is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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For Diane, of course; and for my children, Seneca and Adam, who cracked my heart wide open and crept inside.

Where the law is concerned, I plead ignorance. So Im grateful that during the writing of this book I received help from others far more knowledgeable than I. Thanks to the Honorable Kevin Eide of Minnesotas First Judicial District Court, Assistant Ramsey County Attorney Tami McConkey, and former Pine County Sheriff Steve Haavisto for their expert advice and guidance in matters of the law and its enforcement.

In addition to my usual gang of cohorts in Crme de la CrimeCarl Brookins, Julie Fasciana, Michael Kac, Jean Miriam Paul, Charlie Rethwisch, Susan Runholt, Tim Springfield, and Anne B. WebbI am also indebted to Joci Tilsen for her astute readers eye and excellent suggestions.

Good editors are the angels of this art, and I have been blessed with help from two of the best: George Lucas, who saw me through the early chaos; and Emily Bestler, who helped me fill the dark holes at the end.

A special note of thanks to my late agent, Jane Jordan Browne, whose honesty, intelligence, compassion, and grit set her apart and above. God bless you, Jane.

And finally thanks to Jim and Elena Theros and the staff of the St. Clair Broiler for the coffee, the quiet, and that little corner sanctuary we all know as booth #4.

JANUARY, AS USUAL, was meat locker cold, and the girl had already been missing for nearly two days. Corcoran OConnor couldnt ignore the first circumstance. The second he tried not to think about.

He stood in snow up to his ass, more than two feet of drifted powder blinding white in the afternoon sun. He lifted his tinted goggles and glanced at the sky, a blue ceiling held up by green walls of pine. He stood on a ridge that overlooked a small oval of ice called Needle Lake, five miles from the nearest maintained road. Aside from the track his snowmobile had pressed into the powder, there was no sign of human life. A rugged vista lay before himan uplifted ridge, a jagged shoreline, a bare granite pinnacle that jutted from the ice and gave the lake its namebut the recent snowfall had softened the look of the land. In his time, Cork had seen nearly fifty winters come and go. Sometimes the snow fell softly, sometimes it came in a rage. Always it changed the face of whatever it touched. Cork couldnt help thinking that in this respect, snow was a little like death. Except that death, when it changed a thing, changed it forever.

He took off his mittens, deerskin lined with fleece. He turned back to the Polaris snowmobile that Search and Rescue had provided for him, and he pulled a radio transmitter from the compartment behind the seat. When he spoke through the mouth hole of his ski mask, his words ghosted against the radio in a cloud of white vapor.

Unit Three to base. Over.

This is base. Go ahead, Cork.

Im at Needle Lake. No sign of her. Im going to head up to Hat Lake. Thatll finish this section.

I copy that. Have you seen Bledsoe?

Thats a negative.

He completed the North Arm trail and was going to swing over to give you a hand. Also, be advised that the National Weather Service has issued a severe weather warning. A blizzards coming our way. Sheriffs thinking of pulling everybody in.

Cork OConnor had lived in the Northwoods of Minnesota most of his life. Although at the moment there was only a dark cloud bank building in the western sky, he knew that in no time at all the weather could turn.

Ten-four, Patsy. Ill stay in touch. Unit Three out.

Hed been out since first light, and despite the deerskin mittens, the Sorel boots and thick socks, the quilted snowmobile suit, the down parka, and the ski mask, he was cold to the bone. He put the radio back, lifted a Thermos from the compartment under the seat of the Polaris, and poured a cup of coffee. It was only lukewarm, but it felt great going down his throat. As he sipped, he heard the sound of another machine cutting through the pines to his right. In a minute, a snowmobile broke through a gap in the trees, and shot onto the trail where Corks own machine sat idle. Oliver Bledsoe buzzed up beside Cork and killed the engine. He dismounted and pulled off his ski mask.

Heard you on the radio with Patsy, Bledsoe said. Knew Id catch you here. He cast a longing look at Corks coffee. Got any left?

Couple swallows, Cork said. He poured the last of the coffee into the cup and offered it to Bledsoe. All yours.

Thanks.

Bledsoe was true-blood Iron Lake Ojibwe. He was large, muscular, a hair past fifty, with a wide, honest face and warm almond eyes. Although he was now an attorney and headed the legal affairs office for the tribal council, in his early years hed worked as a logger and he knew this area well. Cork was glad to have him there.

Bledsoe stripped off his gloves and wrapped his hands around the warm cup. He closed his eyes to savor the coffee as it coursed down his throat. Anything? he asked.

Nothing, Cork said.

Lot of ground to cover. Bledsoe handed the cup back and glanced north where the wilderness stretched all the way to Canada. Its a shame, nice girl like her, something like this. He dug beneath his parka and brought out a pack of Chesterfields and Zippo lighter. He offered a cigarette to Cork, who declined. He lit up, took a deep breath, and exhaled a great white cloud of smoke and wet breath. He put his gloves back on and let the cigarette dangle from the corner of his mouth. Nodding toward the sky in the west, he said, You hear whats coming in? If that girl didnt have bad luck, shed have no luck at all.

Cork heard the squawk of his radio and picked it up.

Base to all units. Its official. Weve got us a blizzard on the doorstep. A real ass kicker, looks like. Come on in. Sheriff says he doesnt want anyone else lost out there.

Cork listened as one by one the other units acknowledged.

Unit Three. Unit Four. Did you copy? Over.

This is Unit Three. Bledsoes with me. We copy, Patsy. But listen. I still havent checked Hat Lake. Id like to have a quick look before I head back.