Boundary Waters Read Online Free PDF Page B

encyclopedia,” he told Sloane, speaking thickly around the wad of gum.
    Harris gave them both a sharp look, then addressed Cork again. “We’re concerned that whoever killed this woman may be after Shiloh.”
    “Got any idea who that ‘whoever’ might be?” Cork asked.
    “That’s where RICO comes in. The primary suspect in the murder of Marais Grand was a man named Vincent Benedetti. Owns a casino in Las Vegas.”
    “The Purple Parrot,” Cork said.
    “Yes.” Sloane looked surprised. “How’d you know?”
    “Lucky guess. Go on.”
    Harris glanced at Schanno, who only looked back blankly, then the special agent in charge proceeded like a man on a ride he couldn’t stop. “Before her death, Marais Grand and Benedetti were romantically linked. At the time of the woman’s death, Vincent Benedetti was under investigation for racketeering. We’ve always believed the two events were related. Now Benedetti’s nowhere to be found. If Shiloh has remembered what happened that night, we’re here to make certain she has the opportunity to testify.”
    “Why is it you think I can help?” Cork asked.
    “The diary makes it quite clear that Shiloh’s somewhere in the Boundary Waters and that the man who guided her in is an Indian. When we explained the situation fully to Sheriff Schanno, he suggested you might be our best hope for identifying this man.”
    “Because I’m part Ojibwe?”
    “And,” Harris added pointedly, “because he insists you’re smart and can be trusted.”
    “Smart?” Cork smiled at Schanno. “You actually said that, Wally?”
    “Well?” said Harris, interrupting. “Can we count on you?”
    “Could I see the diary?”
    “Give him the photocopies,” Harris said to Sloane.
    Sloane lifted an expensive-looking leather attaché case from where it sat on a chair, snapped it open, and took out a folder. He closed the case and carefully put it back down. He crossed to Cork and held out the folder, which was labeled in small, precise, block letters DOBSON DIARY .
    The diary entries went back several months. Someone had gone through them already and neatly highlighted in yellow those passages that pertained to Shiloh. Elizabeth Dobson wrote like a romantic. Her script was florid, with big loops above the line and elaborate flourishes that ended each sentence. Her writing leaned heavily to the right. Optimistic. The passages that hadn’t been highlighted talked about mundane things: loneliness, whether she should get a cat, worries—a lot of them—about her mother’s health and the cost of caring for her. He found the reference to Ma’iingan, but, in his cursory look, found little else that was very helpful.
    “Before I agree,” Cork said. “I’d like a few minutes alone with Sheriff Schanno.”
    Harris shook his head. “This is my case. Whatever you’ve got to say about it, I’d like to hear.”
    “Your case, my office,” Schanno pointed out. “If Cork wants to speak with me alone in here, he’ll speak with me alone. You gentlemen can wait outside.”
    Harris chewed on the decision a moment, then jerked his head for the others to follow him. When they stepped outside, Cork closed the door.
    “Hate these guys,” Schanno said. “Waltz in here like they own the place.”
    “You ID them?” he asked
    “Yeah, Harris anyway. Why?”
    “Doesn’t it seem odd, them showing up here this way, no introduction from the local field office?”
    “I thought the same thing. So I made a call to Arnie Gooden, the field rep in Duluth.”
    “I know him. A good man.”
    “He worked in the L.A. office for a while. Said he didn’t know anything about this investigation, but he did know Harris. They spoke on the phone a few minutes. Gooden promised to help if Harris needs anything. Look, Cork, you put it all together, it adds up pretty well. If this girl is in the kind of trouble they say, I’d hate to leave her hanging.”
    Cork stood at the window. Across the street, the bell tower of