Free Purgatory Ridge by William Kent Krueger Page B

reminded Cork of a stiff old tree in a hard wind. As Cork approached with Jo, he saw that, in fact, Schanno was bent to listen. From beneath the blackened chassis, two legs protruded.
    Cork started toward the rig, but a voice behind him called him back.
    “Can’t go there, O’Connor.” Karl Lindstrom was wearing the same clothes he’d worn that morning. He looked beat. His eyes were deep-sunk in their sockets. His stiff, military bearing had wilted visibly. “Nobody goes beyond this point except the police.”
    Schanno looked up and, seeing the small gathering, came over. “Cork, Jo.”
    “Long day, Wally,” Cork said.
    “Yeah.” Schanno looked over the burned area in back of him. “Had my men out here most of it, and Alf Murray’s volunteers, doing a quadrant search.”
    “Did you find anything?” Jo asked.
    “Lots of pieces of things.”
    “No other explosive devices?”
    “No.”
    “Thank God for that,” Lindstrom said. “But I’ve still got to shut the mill down for a couple of days at least until they’ve finished with the investigation and we can get this mess cleaned up.”
    Cork turned back toward Schanno. “Quick ID on the body, Wally.”
    Schanno poked a thumb north. “Found Charlie’s truck parked in the woods half a mile that way. I had the medical examiner compare his dental records with the victim’s teeth.”
    “Do you have any idea why Charlie Warren would have been here, Mr. Lindstrom?” Jo asked.
    “You mean besides blowing up my mill?”
    “I wouldn’t make accusations at this point,” Jo cautioned. “You didn’t know Charlie Warren.”
    “Right.” Lindstrom gave her a sour look. “The only time I ever spoke with him, he told me basically I was about to stick my financial dick into Grandmother Earth, and if I did, he would see to it that it got cut off.”
    “Charlie Warren was outspoken,” Jo said, “but he wasn’t a violent man.”
    “Then you tell me what he was doing out here, Ms. O’Connor.”
    Cork asked Schanno, “Did you talk with the night watchman?”
    “At length,” Schanno replied. “He makes his rounds every hour. Carries a key that has to be turned in alarm boxes at various locations. He was about halfwaythrough, on the far side of the mill, when the blast occurred.”
    Lindstrom said, “Harold Loomis’s job is to prevent vandalism and major theft. This is a big mill. It wouldn’t be hard for one man to climb the fence and hide himself.”
    “Did you check the perimeter of the fence?” Cork asked.
    Schanno nodded. “Nothing conclusive. Ground’s too hard for prints.”
    Jo asked, “Has the medical examiner determined the cause of death?”
    “Asphyxiation. Then he burned.”
    “Trapped in the explosion,” Cork guessed.
    Schanno gestured vaguely in the direction of the debris. “When that LP tank went, it demolished the shed instantly. Whatever he was doing inside, Charlie was caught.”
    “For Christ’s sake, he was watching the truck where he’d planted his damn bomb,” Lindstrom said.
    Cork gave him a hard stare. “I know it looks pretty bad, but anybody who knew Charlie Warren wouldn’t believe for an instant he’d do something like this.”
    Jo changed the subject. “Have you told Charlie’s daughter, Wally?”
    “I sent Marsha Dross out before I called you.”
    “That brings up an interesting question, Sheriff,” Lindstrom said. “Why did you call Ms. O’Connor?”
    “Jo’s the attorney for the Iron Lake Ojibwe,” Schanno answered with an obvious effort at patience. “I also called George LeDuc. I believed these people had a right to know this particular development.”
    “Okay.” Lindstrom seemed to accept it, although nothappily. “Then what about him?” He jabbed a finger at Cork. “What’s he doing here? Unless you’re allowing him privileges in some ex officio capacity, he’s got no business here.”
    Schanno didn’t seem to have an answer for that one. He said, “Look, Karl, it’s been a long day