Boundary Waters Read Online Free PDF

what do you want with me?”
    “We know she was guided into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness some time ago by an Indian. We need to identify this man so that we can locate her. Sheriff Schanno believes you can help us with that.”
    The room was too warm. Cork wanted to tell Wally Schanno to open a window, let in some cool evening air and let out the smell of the worry.
    “You say she dropped from sight,” Cork said. “Voluntarily?”
    “Yes. We’ve spoken with her publicist and her manager. They both say the move was her choice but that they don’t know anything more. She was apparently very secretive about the whole thing and very sudden.”
    “Then why look for her? Seems to me if she wants privacy, she’s entitled to it.”
    “We have our reasons,” Harris replied.
    “Good reasons,” Cork finished for him. He stood as if to leave. “Gentlemen, it’s been interesting, but you’re on your own.”
    “This is a federal investigation, O’Connor,” Harris warned him.
    “So take me to court.”
    “Look, if you want his help, tell him what’s going on,” Schanno broke in. “Just be straight with him.”
    Harris gave Schanno a sharp look, considering the advice as if it were about as enticing to him as a spoonful of sulfur. His eyes flicked toward the other two agents, and they appeared to have a wordless conference. Harris gave a grudging nod. “Okay, the Bureau’s interest in this case, and its jurisdiction, comes from the RICO statute. You know what that is?”
    “Sure. Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act. How does that tie in with the woman in the Boundary Waters.”
    “Fifteen years ago, this woman, Shiloh, was the only witness to her mother’s murder.”
    “We all know that,” Cork said, and he sat back down. “Her mother was a local.”
    “Then you probably also know that she’s always claimed she couldn’t remember what happened that night. Post-traumatic amnesia. Not unheard of. A few months ago, she was ordered by the court to undergo treatment for substance abuse. She’s been seeing a psychiatrist named Patricia Sutpen. You may have heard of her. Lots of famous clients. Been on Oprah . Her psychological bag of tricks includes regression therapy. We believe that in the course of her treatment, Shiloh may have finally recalled the events of the night her mother died.”
    Harris picked up the tabloid from where it lay on top of Schanno’s desk and slapped it down, hard.
    “This piece of trash appeared a couple of weeks ago. Almost immediately, the reporter—if you can call anyone who stoops to this kind of journalism a reporter—in charge of this story gets a call from a woman named Elizabeth Dobson. She’s a studio musician for Shiloh. Plays the violin.”
    “In country music, they call it a fiddle,” Grimes put in quietly and with a grin.
    “Whatever.” Harris waved it off and went on. “Elizabeth Dobson claims to have letters from Shiloh. Claims that not only do they tell where she is, but they contain some pretty juicy revelations as well. The reporter arranges to meet her at a restaurant in Santa Monica. She doesn’t show. He gets her address from the phone book, goes to her apartment, but gets no answer to his knock. He greases the building manager’s palm, they open her door, and find her lying dead on the living-room rug. Strangled. It appears to be a burglary, lots of stuff missing. Including the letters she claims to have had. LAPD, while investigating, stumbles onto a diary Elizabeth Dobson kept right up to the day she died. Entries indicated that Shiloh was somewhere in the Boundary Waters. She was being supplied by a man she referred to only as—uh—”
    “Ma’iingan,” Agent Sloane said.
    Cork was surprised at the agent’s correct pronunciation.
    “Means ‘wolf,’ in the Ojibwe language,” Sloane said.
    Grimes had taken a pack of Juicy Fruit from his shirt pocket. He folded several sticks into his mouth. “You’re a regular