I’ll keep you apprised of everything I learn. But I want something in return.”
“And that would be?”
“I want to know everything you know about the bodies in the Vermilion Drift.”
“Everything I know now?”
“Now and as it’s revealed.”
“Full access to everything?”
“That’s the deal.”
She frowned, thinking. “All right. But I want two more things from you.”
“Name them.”
“First of all absolute silence. Whatever you learn on the reservation, whatever you learn from me, it stays between us.”
Cork opened his mouth to say fine, but she held up her hand.
“I know you, Cork. I know that being part Ojibwe sometimes pulls you in a direction counter to the interests of this department. I have to believe absolutely that in this you’re with me. You understand?”
“I understand. And the second thing?”
“Everything you find out that pertains to the case you share with me. You don’t hold anything back. You don’t protect anyone. This goes right back to my concern about your Ojibwe ties.”
Dross was right. This had been a problem in the past, and so Cork had to think before he answered.
“It’s a deal,” he finally said. “What do you know about the bodies so far?”
“Not much. We got all the skeletal remains bagged and they’ve been taken to the BCA lab in Bemidji. Agent Upchurch is working on them now. The preliminary autopsy report on Lauren Cavanaugh indicates death from a single gunshot wound to the chest. The bullet pierced her heart. Luckily, it stayed in the body, and wasn’t badly deformed, so Simon’s people can run ballistics on it.”
“Any indication of sexual assault?”
“No.”
“Okay, go on.”
“One of the skeletons also shows evidence of a gunshot wound, probable cause of death.”
“What evidence?”
“Agent Upchurch found a bullet lodged in the spine,” Dross replied. “She’s not able at the moment to say anything about the other victims. Our crime scene techs did a good job of clearing the area. We have clothing fabric still intact. We’ll get good dental impressions. If some of the remains are from the Vanishings, we’ll know.”
“Time of death for Lauren Cavanaugh?”
“Tom Conklin’s put that at approximately a week ago. He’s still trying to nail it down more specifically. The last recorded call on the victim’s cell phone was Sunday night at eleven-eleven P.M. Nobody’s seen her since that night. In their canvass of the neighborhood, one of Ed’s guys talked to Brian Kretsch.”
“Lives in that sprawling house across the road from the Parrant estate, right?” Cork asked.
“That’s him,” Dross said. “He recalled hearing squealing tires a little before midnight. Odd, because North Point Road is usually so quiet. He was just locking up for the night and looked out his picture window, but he was too late to see anything. We haven’t found anyone who saw Lauren Cavanaugh the next day or anytime after. So at the moment, we’re operating on the theory that she was killed that Sunday night sometime after eleven-eleven P.M. and before midnight.”
“Did Kretsch hear a shot?”
“Nope. Apparently he was watching a Jackie Chan DVD. Lots of gunplay and explosions, I guess.”
“What about the two bodies we can’t account for, what do we know about them?”
“Not much. You seem to think they’re Ojibwe. Any way you can be certain?”
“I’m headed out to check on that now. What about you?”
“At the moment, I’m trying to keep a lid on what we’ve found. I’d like to get a few more answers before we have the media hopping all over this.”
“All right.” He stood up and started out.
“Cork?” Dross called.
He turned back. She had pushed away from her desk, and the sun through the window had settled on her lap like a sleepy yellow dog. She was as fine a woman as he’d ever known and as skilled a cop as he’d ever worked with. “It’s good to have you on the team again,” she said.
He
“And that would be?”
“I want to know everything you know about the bodies in the Vermilion Drift.”
“Everything I know now?”
“Now and as it’s revealed.”
“Full access to everything?”
“That’s the deal.”
She frowned, thinking. “All right. But I want two more things from you.”
“Name them.”
“First of all absolute silence. Whatever you learn on the reservation, whatever you learn from me, it stays between us.”
Cork opened his mouth to say fine, but she held up her hand.
“I know you, Cork. I know that being part Ojibwe sometimes pulls you in a direction counter to the interests of this department. I have to believe absolutely that in this you’re with me. You understand?”
“I understand. And the second thing?”
“Everything you find out that pertains to the case you share with me. You don’t hold anything back. You don’t protect anyone. This goes right back to my concern about your Ojibwe ties.”
Dross was right. This had been a problem in the past, and so Cork had to think before he answered.
“It’s a deal,” he finally said. “What do you know about the bodies so far?”
“Not much. We got all the skeletal remains bagged and they’ve been taken to the BCA lab in Bemidji. Agent Upchurch is working on them now. The preliminary autopsy report on Lauren Cavanaugh indicates death from a single gunshot wound to the chest. The bullet pierced her heart. Luckily, it stayed in the body, and wasn’t badly deformed, so Simon’s people can run ballistics on it.”
“Any indication of sexual assault?”
“No.”
“Okay, go on.”
“One of the skeletons also shows evidence of a gunshot wound, probable cause of death.”
“What evidence?”
“Agent Upchurch found a bullet lodged in the spine,” Dross replied. “She’s not able at the moment to say anything about the other victims. Our crime scene techs did a good job of clearing the area. We have clothing fabric still intact. We’ll get good dental impressions. If some of the remains are from the Vanishings, we’ll know.”
“Time of death for Lauren Cavanaugh?”
“Tom Conklin’s put that at approximately a week ago. He’s still trying to nail it down more specifically. The last recorded call on the victim’s cell phone was Sunday night at eleven-eleven P.M. Nobody’s seen her since that night. In their canvass of the neighborhood, one of Ed’s guys talked to Brian Kretsch.”
“Lives in that sprawling house across the road from the Parrant estate, right?” Cork asked.
“That’s him,” Dross said. “He recalled hearing squealing tires a little before midnight. Odd, because North Point Road is usually so quiet. He was just locking up for the night and looked out his picture window, but he was too late to see anything. We haven’t found anyone who saw Lauren Cavanaugh the next day or anytime after. So at the moment, we’re operating on the theory that she was killed that Sunday night sometime after eleven-eleven P.M. and before midnight.”
“Did Kretsch hear a shot?”
“Nope. Apparently he was watching a Jackie Chan DVD. Lots of gunplay and explosions, I guess.”
“What about the two bodies we can’t account for, what do we know about them?”
“Not much. You seem to think they’re Ojibwe. Any way you can be certain?”
“I’m headed out to check on that now. What about you?”
“At the moment, I’m trying to keep a lid on what we’ve found. I’d like to get a few more answers before we have the media hopping all over this.”
“All right.” He stood up and started out.
“Cork?” Dross called.
He turned back. She had pushed away from her desk, and the sun through the window had settled on her lap like a sleepy yellow dog. She was as fine a woman as he’d ever known and as skilled a cop as he’d ever worked with. “It’s good to have you on the team again,” she said.
He
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