to the south. Maybe they’re just busy and doing things as they’re able. The shooting didn’t occur in their jurisdiction.” I stood up and stretched my back. The place where Morrisseyhad sucker-punched me was feeling pretty sore. “Did Morrissey have family?”
“Not that we’ve been able to identify so far. The Ontario police are still checking.”
“So maybe in the end he’s the kind of man nobody cared much about alive or dead.”
“And maybe the kind of guy who’d kill an old man over an antique watch? I don’t know.”
“Neither do I. Care to speculate?”
“I don’t know enough.”
“So what are you going to do?” I asked.
She stood up and stared out at the lake that was almost fully black now. “Just be patient, I guess. I’ll see what the Ontario investigator has to say and go from there.” She turned to me. “But, Cork, if Morrissey wasn’t acting on his own, the people who sent him still don’t have what they want, whether it’s the watch or Henry Meloux dead.”
“He’s with his nephew, Ernie Champoux, out on the rez. Strangers come looking for him, word’ll get out fast, and nobody’s going to give them directions.”
“All right,” she said. She headed back to her cruiser.
After the sheriff left, I went inside. “Let’s close up early,” I told the girls. “You guys have had a hard day.”
“Like you haven’t,” Anne said.
I called Jo and told her I was going out to the rez to check on Meloux.
“Cork, Jenny’s here. She wants to talk.”
“Can it wait until after I see Meloux?”
“Will you be long?”
“I don’t think so.”
“We’ll wait up,” Jo said.
EIGHTEEN
I t wasn’t hard dark yet as I headed up the eastern shoreline of Iron Lake toward the reservation. In the west, the sky still held a whisper of pale blue daylight. Far across the water, the lights of isolated cabins and resorts had emerged, like the eyes of night animals awakening. The road was empty, but I took it slow anyway. Twilight’s when the deer and moose haunt the edges of highways.
Ernie Champoux had been twice married, both times to smart, pretty women. Neither of the marriages took, but the divorces sure took Ernie. Because he was Iron Lake Ojibwe, he received a nice distribution from the casino profits, but much of that money went right out in alimony. Ernie also liked vehicles. He had snowmobiles, ATVs, a personal watercraft, motorcycles—two dirt bikes and a slick red Suzuki— a couple of pickups, an SUV, a station wagon, and an old yellow VW bug he’d spent a good deal of time restoring. What money didn’t go for supporting the lifestyles of his ex-wives went to maintaining his fleet. As a result, Ernie held down a job. He’d been employed at the Chippewa Grand Casino since it had opened several years earlier. These days he worked swing shift, heading up a maintenance crew.
So I was surprised when I approached his cabin, which was situated in a stand of poplars on the lakeshore just south of Allouette, and the old VW pulled out of his drive and swung wide, directly into the path of my Bronco. I swerved. The VW jerked back toward the proper lane and rolled on down the road. I watched the taillights in my rearview mirror. The brake lights flashed a good deal. Whoever was driving was riding the brake pedal. I was concerned they were drunk, but I wasn’t a cop anymore, and chasing down a DUI wasn’t my responsibility.
Champoux’s vehicles were parked in a neat row next to the garage where he did all his own maintenance and mechanic work. I saw that there were a couple of gaps, like missing teeth, in the row. Gone were one of Ernie’s pickups and the VW. I thought about the Bug I’d narrowly missed and figured a relative of Ernie’s had taken it. On the rez, property was loaned and borrowed freely. Lights were on in the cabin, and I hoped Meloux was still up, though it was late for an old man, especially an old man who lit his own place with a kerosene lamp. I
“Not that we’ve been able to identify so far. The Ontario police are still checking.”
“So maybe in the end he’s the kind of man nobody cared much about alive or dead.”
“And maybe the kind of guy who’d kill an old man over an antique watch? I don’t know.”
“Neither do I. Care to speculate?”
“I don’t know enough.”
“So what are you going to do?” I asked.
She stood up and stared out at the lake that was almost fully black now. “Just be patient, I guess. I’ll see what the Ontario investigator has to say and go from there.” She turned to me. “But, Cork, if Morrissey wasn’t acting on his own, the people who sent him still don’t have what they want, whether it’s the watch or Henry Meloux dead.”
“He’s with his nephew, Ernie Champoux, out on the rez. Strangers come looking for him, word’ll get out fast, and nobody’s going to give them directions.”
“All right,” she said. She headed back to her cruiser.
After the sheriff left, I went inside. “Let’s close up early,” I told the girls. “You guys have had a hard day.”
“Like you haven’t,” Anne said.
I called Jo and told her I was going out to the rez to check on Meloux.
“Cork, Jenny’s here. She wants to talk.”
“Can it wait until after I see Meloux?”
“Will you be long?”
“I don’t think so.”
“We’ll wait up,” Jo said.
EIGHTEEN
I t wasn’t hard dark yet as I headed up the eastern shoreline of Iron Lake toward the reservation. In the west, the sky still held a whisper of pale blue daylight. Far across the water, the lights of isolated cabins and resorts had emerged, like the eyes of night animals awakening. The road was empty, but I took it slow anyway. Twilight’s when the deer and moose haunt the edges of highways.
Ernie Champoux had been twice married, both times to smart, pretty women. Neither of the marriages took, but the divorces sure took Ernie. Because he was Iron Lake Ojibwe, he received a nice distribution from the casino profits, but much of that money went right out in alimony. Ernie also liked vehicles. He had snowmobiles, ATVs, a personal watercraft, motorcycles—two dirt bikes and a slick red Suzuki— a couple of pickups, an SUV, a station wagon, and an old yellow VW bug he’d spent a good deal of time restoring. What money didn’t go for supporting the lifestyles of his ex-wives went to maintaining his fleet. As a result, Ernie held down a job. He’d been employed at the Chippewa Grand Casino since it had opened several years earlier. These days he worked swing shift, heading up a maintenance crew.
So I was surprised when I approached his cabin, which was situated in a stand of poplars on the lakeshore just south of Allouette, and the old VW pulled out of his drive and swung wide, directly into the path of my Bronco. I swerved. The VW jerked back toward the proper lane and rolled on down the road. I watched the taillights in my rearview mirror. The brake lights flashed a good deal. Whoever was driving was riding the brake pedal. I was concerned they were drunk, but I wasn’t a cop anymore, and chasing down a DUI wasn’t my responsibility.
Champoux’s vehicles were parked in a neat row next to the garage where he did all his own maintenance and mechanic work. I saw that there were a couple of gaps, like missing teeth, in the row. Gone were one of Ernie’s pickups and the VW. I thought about the Bug I’d narrowly missed and figured a relative of Ernie’s had taken it. On the rez, property was loaned and borrowed freely. Lights were on in the cabin, and I hoped Meloux was still up, though it was late for an old man, especially an old man who lit his own place with a kerosene lamp. I
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