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evening had put her in a somber mood.
    “I thought you were going to the hospital,” she said to Cork in a scolding tone.
    “I just came from there.”
    “How’s Marsha?”
    “Still in surgery when I left. Thanks for coming early so Patsy could be there.”
    “She seemed to be holding up real good, but I know it’s tough for her. How’s Charlie taking it?”
    “Hard.”
    “Well, sure.” She eyed his uniform and shook her head. “Jo, you ought to take him home so he can change those clothes. He’s not exactly a walking advertisement for law enforcement.”
    Cork said, “I want to listen to the recording of the call that came from the Tibodeau cabin.”
    “Lucy’s call?”
    “That’s what I want to know. Lucy claims it wasn’t her.”
    Bos went to the Dispatch area, where the radio, at the moment, was silent. The public contact phone was linked to two different recording systems. The first recorded date, time, and the number of the phone from which the call had been made. The other system was a Sony automatic telephone tape recorder. It wasn’t top-of-the-line—it had actually been donated to the department by the Chippewa Grand Casino when they’d upgraded to a digital recorder voice bank that fed directly into a computer—but it was a workhorse of a unit. Bos rewound the tape to the call that had purportedly come from Lucy. She played it, and they all listened. Then she played it again.
    Patsy: Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department.
    The caller: I’m telling you, if you don’t get somebody out here, I’m going to kill the son of a bitch.
    Patsy: Who is this?
    The caller: Lucy Tibodeau.
    Patsy: Where are you, Lucy?
    The caller: At my goddamn cabin. And I’m telling you, you better get someone out here pronto, or I swear I’ll kill him.
    Patsy: Kill who?
    The caller: That son of a bitch husband of mine.
    Patsy: Eli?
    The caller: You think I got another husband stashed in the woodpile, sweetie? Well, I wish to god I did, ’cuz the one I got ain’t worth a bucket of warm spit.
    Patsy: Where is Eli?
    The caller: Outside, pounding on the door, hollering to let him in.
    Patsy: You just stay put, Lucy. Take a few deep breaths. We’ll have someone out there right away.
    The caller: I’m warning you, the sheriff better get here real fast, he wants to avoid bloodshed.
    Patsy: He’s on his way, Lucy. You just relax, and don’t you let that husband of yours rankle you, understand?
    The caller: I ain’t making any promises.
    The caller hung up.
    Jo was the first to respond. “If someone’s trying to sound like Lucy, they did a pretty fair job.”
    Bos nodded. “If I hadn’t been leery, I’d have been fooled. I can see why Patsy didn’t give it a second thought. Whoever it is, she’s got Lucy’s speech down pat. But it’s someone younger, I’d say.”
    Cork had Bos play the tape once more. “Hear that?” he said, midway through.
    “What?”
    “Rewind it a bit.” He waited. “Listen.” He held up a finger, then dropped it suddenly. “Now. Did you hear it? A door closing in the background.”
    “Somebody came in?” Bos said.
    “Or went out.” Jo looked at Cork. “Either way, she wasn’t alone.”
    “Pull that tape, Bos. We’ll give it to BCA to analyze.”
    He went into his office and made the call to the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension office in Bemidji, explained the situation to the voice mail, then pulled out the clean uniform he kept in the closet. When he stepped back into the department common area, Jo looked at the uniform.
    “You’re not coming home,” she said.
    “No. I’ll shower downstairs, change, and then I’m going back out to the rez.”
    “I wish you’d come home. You’ve got people who can handle the investigation.”
    “I need to be there. Don’t wait up.”
    She kissed him and he could feel her restraint, her irritation.
    “Be careful,” she said, and left.
    As he showered, he was conscious of his wound. The local anesthetic was wearing off, and a