Windigo Island (13 page)

PART II

Jennifer O’Connor:

“Can the Devil Speak True?”

Chapter 23

M
en never talked. Not about themselves, anyway, not really. They talked about what they’d done, what they were doing, what they intended to do, but they didn’t talk about what was at the heart of them, why they did these things. That’s what Jennifer O’Connor believed, and she believed it in large measure because that was what she’d seen in her father all her life.

Her brother, Stephen, believed that everyone was born with a purpose to serve. Stephen was very Ojibwe in so many ways, and he believed that every human being was a part of the plan of Kitchimanidoo, the Great Mystery, the Creator. He believed that their father was born
ogichidaa
, which was someone who stood between his people and evil. Stephen himself was born
Mide
, a healer. Although in the Ojibwe clan tradition the O’Connors were
makwa
, or bear, Stephen claimed that Anne’s spirit was that of a bird, or
bineshii
. The bird flew in the spiritual realm, and was the teacher of spiritual ways. Stephen firmly believed that Anne had been born to be a nun. And Jenny? She was always meant to be
nokomis
, which literally meant “grandmother.” She was a nurturer, Stephen believed, and Jenny didn’t argue.

So Cork O’Connor was a man born
ogichidaa
, chosen to stand against evil. Which he’d done time and again, often at great risk to himself. Yet he’d failed twice in this purpose, and although he never spoke of it in this way, Jenny believed these failures cut him to the bone.

It had been nearly half a decade since her mother had been
killed, an innocent victim in a grand and brutal plan intended to make a very few men very rich. As a part of that scheme, the charter plane she was on had been lost in a snowstorm in a wilderness in the Rocky Mountains of Wyoming. Jenny’s father had gone searching for her. With difficulty and danger, he’d found the truth, but he’d been too late to save his beloved wife. And only seven months ago, a madman who bore a grudge against her father had, in revenge, tried to kill Stephen. In this instance, too, her father had uncovered the truth too late to stand between the evil of that man and his own son.

Jenny believed her father suffered because of what he saw as his failure, but she didn’t believe this because he revealed himself by talking about who he was deep inside. In that way, he was like a stone. Instead, she saw it in his face, heard it in his silence, felt it sometimes in his touch. Across the course of her life, this was always how she’d known him.

In the small office in Nishiime House, she watched her father’s reaction to all that Bea Abbiss laid out, and she never saw a flicker of emotion on his face. He probably would have told her wryly that it was the Ojibwe in his blood. Partly true, Jenny thought, but she was pretty sure that it also had a lot to do with the Y chromosome he carried in every part of him.

When Bea looked at the photograph of Raven Duvall, and fear and anger and fury exploded on her face, and she said, “Oh, Christ. Oh, dear Christ,” Cork didn’t bat an eye. Nor did Daniel or Henry. Jenny, on the other hand, felt everything inside her go cold and afraid, and she knew that her own eyes grew as huge as eggs.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

Bea looked up from the photo. “I know this woman. What did you say her name was?”

“Duvall,” Cork replied. “Raven Duvall.”

“I don’t know her by that name,” Bea said. “To me, she’s always been Sparkle. Just Sparkle.”

“How do you know her?” Louise asked.

“Through our street workers.” She laid the photograph on
the desk in front of her and shook her head. “We have staff here whose job is just to walk the streets looking for the runaways, the lost kids, the vulnerable ones. We try to get to them before the predators do. Our people go out with what we call Green Bags, full of things that someone on the street might need. Blankets, toiletries, tampons. We don’t try to wrangle kids in here. They might be scared and desperate, but they’ve also been lied to and betrayed and used in so many ways that trust is an enormous issue. So, we just try to make sure they know we’re here and that we want to help.”

“And Raven? Or Sparkle rather?” Daniel said. “She’s come to you?”

“No. But she has sent girls to us from time to time, ones ready to get out of the kind of life Sparkle leads.”

“You were clearly shocked when you saw her photograph,” Cork said. “What’s that about?”

“It’s not about Sparkle. It’s about the men Sparkle works for. They’re what, if you talked to her, she would call her family. And one of the most tragic things in all of this is that she would mean it.”

“Tell us about her family,” Jenny said.

“Most of the girls who are trafficked here are handled by men.”

“Pimps,” Cork said.

“That’s not how the girls see them. It works this way. A girl runs away from home, from the rez, from a situation that’s intolerable or threatening. Maybe it’s parents who are alcoholics or addicts, or a situation of sexual abuse. She ends up here, or in some other city, a place where she’s just another stranger. More often than not, she knows no one. So she’s on the street. I don’t know how they find her so quickly, but the predators are on her in no time. They offer her food, shelter, protection, all the things she needs. They’re kind, like big brothers or good uncles. And for a while they do exactly as they’ve promised. They take care of her. This is what we think of as grooming.

“Then these predators begin with the real agenda. They point out that they’ve given her everything, and they need to have something in return. Sex is certainly part of that, which the girls are too often already familiar with and not so very reluctant to give to the men who’ve been, in a way, their saviors. Then it involves more. This new family might say that they need them to do some stripping. Nothing wrong with a little stripping. And their young bodies are so beautiful, they ought to be proud to show them off. And after that, it’s maybe private parties and lap dances, and eventually it’s sex for money, which is where all the grooming was meant to lead in the first place. And by then it’s too late for the girls. Often, they’ve become hooked on drugs, another way for the family to control them. And they’re emotionally bound, because they know their family loves them and needs this from them. But also they’re afraid, because they’ve seen—or even experienced themselves—the punishment for refusing to do what’s asked of them.”

“They’re beaten?” Jenny said.

“Oh, yes, and worse. But even though terrible fear has become a part of the whole dynamic, they believe that they only got what they deserved, because family comes first. It’s brainwashing, and the men who do it are very good at it.”

Louise said, “But Mariah didn’t just run away. Raven brought her here.”

Bea nodded. “That’s another way this happens. Girls who are older—seventeen, eighteen, nineteen—become procurers. They go back to the rez, looking successful—nice clothes, nice car, jewelry—and like the Pied Piper, they get much younger girls to follow them.”

“Why so shocked when you found out we’re looking for Raven?” Jenny’s father asked, coming back to that point. “What’s so unusual about her family?”

Bea stood up and went to a file cabinet, pulled open a drawer, and brought out a folder labeled
WINDIGO
.

“What you’re going to see is pretty bad,” she warned them. “You might not want to look.”

No one turned away. Bea opened the folder, pulled a photograph from inside, and laid it on her desk. The girl’s face was a mass of bruises and swelling. Her lower lip was torn open, showing the white of teeth beneath. She was holding up a hand on which none of the fingers extended from the palm in a natural way.

“Her name is Melissa Spry. Windigo and his brother did this to her.”

“Why?”

“One night she told them she was too sick to turn any tricks for them.”

“Did she come here?”

“Yes. Sparkle dropped her off.”

“Did you call the police?”

“She wouldn’t let us. She said if we did, she’d just leave. She told us she deserved what had been done to her. She really believed that.”

“What did you do?”

“We took her to a clinic and got her treated. She’s Grand Portage Ojibwe. I returned her to the rez myself, delivered her into the hands of a social worker we have a relationship with there.”

“She’s okay?” Jenny asked.

“Within a couple of weeks, she’d run away again. We heard on the street that she’d gone back to this Windigo.” She tapped the folder. “I have other photos of other girls just like this one in here if you want to see them, all girls that have been part of this Windigo’s family.”

“Windigo?” Henry spoke in a way that made Jenny think they were old enemies.

“That’s what he calls himself and that’s how many of the girls refer to him,” Bea said. “You all know the story of the windigo, right? Once a man, then through dark magic he became a monster, a cannibal with an insatiable hunger for human flesh and a heart made of ice. We see girls who’ve been trafficked by Crips and Bloods and the Native Mob. But Windigo is the worst.”

“Oh, dear God,” Louise said. “You’re not telling me that Mariah is part of this Windigo’s family?”

“If Sparkle—Raven—is involved, that’s probably the case.” Bea spoke in an even tone, but couldn’t disguise the concern in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“How do we find her? Raven, I mean,” Jenny said.

“That would be very difficult. As I understand it, she’s not actually out there being trafficked at the moment. She acts as a sort of big sister to the other girls.”

“Some sister,” Daniel said.

“I know. But understand where her head is at. She’s deep in thrall to Windigo. And give her credit. She’s taken chances sending girls who really need help to us.” She nodded toward the file containing the horrible photographs.

“Do the police know about this?” Cork said.

“Yes, but there’s not much they can do. The girls don’t trust cops. Most of them have grown up believing law enforcement is their enemy. So they won’t speak a word against Windigo.” She started to say something more but hesitated, as if very reluctant to go on.

“What is it?” Jenny asked.

Bea’s eyes flicked to Louise, then back to Jenny. “I’ve heard, only heard, that the girls in Windigo’s family disappear if they talk to anyone about any of this. They’re at risk even coming to us. I’m very afraid that might have been what happened to Melissa Spry.”

“Disappear?” Louise looked frightened to death. “You mean they’re murdered. Is that what was supposed to happen to Carrie Verga? Is that what’s happened to my Mariah?”

“I don’t know, Louise. I just want you to be aware of all the possibilities. I want you to be prepared.”

In the quiet of the room, Jenny asked, “Do you know anything about this Windigo?”

Late afternoon light came through the window at the back of the office and fell across Bea Abbiss. The window mullions cut
the light into squares the color of blood oranges, and it made her look as if she were a prisoner behind dark bars. She shook her head slowly. “There’s not much anyone knows. We think he’s a Shinnob. Some of the girls have called him Angel. I don’t know if that’s his real name or just something he calls himself, like Windigo. I’ve also heard that even the Crips and Bloods and the Native Mob keep out of his way. Apparently he has a brother, someone called Manny, who’s also part of this family.”

“You can find Raven,” Jenny’s father said. He spoke as if it was a truth, not speculation. Jenny was afraid he was too blunt, too confrontational, and they might lose the goodwill of Bea Abbiss.

“I haven’t heard from Sparkle since Melissa Spry disappeared. So I don’t know,” Bea said. “But I’ll try.”

“How?” Jenny asked.

“I know the Native community in Duluth. I have a pretty good ear on the streets. I know who to ask. I can’t promise anything, but like I said, I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” Louise said. She looked in real pain.

Bea gave her a reassuring smile. “We call our house Nishiime—‘little sister’—for a reason. We’re family here, real family, and we do our best to help one another.” She looked to Jenny. “This might take some time. If I find out something, how do I get in touch with you?”

Jenny gave her cell phone number and Cork gave his. Bea walked them to the reception area, where the thin young woman with hair like cotton candy and a long scar across her cheek was still at work on her computer. She glanced up, her face twitched, and she smiled as they passed, an encouraging smile, Jenny thought, and liked her for that. At the door, Bea said, “I don’t want to give you false hope, but I think that hope is always a good thing to hold to. And please believe that I’ll do my best to help.”

Henry took her much younger hand between his ancient, ancient palms, and he smiled in the way he had that was as if he
was offering dawn to a dark world, and he said, “One kind thing is the seed from which a great goodness grows. It is not hope we hold to, Niece. It is belief in the power of that growing goodness.
Migwech. Chi migwech
.”

The old man turned and began down the steps.

Chapter 24

J
enny had always loved Duluth, its hills, its great mansions, its sense of grand history, its cultural crazy quilt, its location there against the largest and most beautiful freshwater lake in the world. When she was a girl, she and her mother used to drive from Tamarack County and spend the day doing what girls did together—shopped, ate, strolled through Canal Park. They bought ice cream cones at the DQ and stood licking them at the edge of the ship channel, while they watched the Aerial Lift Bridge rise and the huge boats pass beneath. Sometimes when they were in the city, they visited a spa or had their nails done, just for the fun of it.

For the girls helped by Nishiime House, Duluth was a different place, and what they did there gave them no pleasure. After Bea Abbiss opened her eyes, Jenny realized how blind she’d been. The city seemed terribly different to her from what it had been before. She felt wounding all around her. She felt deceit, menace. And she might have succumbed to a sense of hopelessness in what they were attempting if it hadn’t been for the indomitable spirit of Henry Meloux. She loved that old man.

The visit to Nishiime House had unwound Louise. Though all the activity of that day had clearly been exhausting, she’d held herself together well. When they left the brownstone, she was silent. She labored into the truck with Daniel and Henry and sat staring ahead, a distant look in her eyes. Jenny leaned in the window.

“You okay?”

“She’s with the devil,” Louise said in a small voice. “My girl is with the devil.”

Which, in its way, was promising, Jenny thought. Promising because it meant Louise still held to the belief that Mariah was alive. Which was a tough thing for Jenny to do. In her own mind’s eye, she couldn’t help seeing Mariah’s little body draped, like Carrie Verga’s had been, across the broken rocks of Windigo Island.

“We’ll find her,” Jenny said. “We’ll find her and take her from the devil.” Then she repeated those wonderful words Henry had spoken. “One kind thing is the seed from which a great goodness grows. We have that seed now, Louise.”

Louise gave a small nod and managed a smile.

They drove back to Canal Park and sat at a table in a little café on Lake Avenue. None of them seemed very hungry, but they ordered something to drink. Jenny ordered coffee, regular. She knew it would keep her awake that night, but she wanted to be alert. She stirred in cream and added Splenda and asked, “So what now?”

“We wait,” her father said. He drank coffee, too. Regular, black.

“For what?” she asked.

“Something to break. Someone to call us. The dawning of an idea that hasn’t occurred to us before.”

“That seems so . . . impotent.”

She knew immediately it wasn’t the best choice of word in the presence of men, and she could tell that it needled her father.

“Do you have a better idea?” he asked, a little sliver of iron in his voice.

“I could try talking to the women on the street,” she suggested. “I’d be less threatening than you or Daniel.”

She could see that didn’t sit well with him. She also saw something in Daniel’s expression, but it didn’t seem so much criticism as concern, maybe for her safety. She was beginning to like him, quite a lot. He was beautifully Shinnob. His cheeks were high. His eyes were the color of pecans. His skin reminded her of doe hide, soft and tanned. He was quiet, but when he said something, it was well considered and worth listening to. She was glad he was
a part of this investigation, though she had no intention of telling him that.

“I think we risk word getting back to Windigo,” Cork said. “And that strikes me as a bad idea on lots of levels.”

“I don’t know. Wouldn’t it, like, flush him out?” Jenny had never been a hunter, but she heard herself use that hunting phrase—“flush him out”—as if what they were looking for was a quail or something. It sounded stupid, even as she said it, but she was trying to relate to her father on his terms.

It was Henry who answered. He said, “There are two important rules in hunting, Jennifer O’Connor. The first: you always stay downwind of your prey. The moment a hunted thing catches your scent, it will disappear. Or worse, if it is also an animal of prey, it may turn on you, and the hunter becomes the hunted.”

He paused, and Jenny waited. But he simply continued to stare at her placidly, until finally she blurted, “And what’s the second rule, Henry?”

“Patience,” he said with a wry smile. “That is the second rule. It is also a hunter’s best friend.”

Louise came to her rescue. “The longer we sit, the more chance this Windigo might hurt Mariah. Or worse.”

“Unless he feels threatened, there’s no reason for him to do anything to Mariah,” Jenny’s father said.

He spoke as if it was an obvious truth, and Louise seemed to accept this perception. She closed her eyes, and Jenny could see her face melting into exhaustion.

“Should we think about a place to stay tonight?” Jenny said. “Because it doesn’t appear that we’re going to finish this business any time soon.”

Cork said, “We’re an hour and a half from Aurora. We could drive back and wait there.”

“No.” Louise’s eyes popped open, and her voice was strong. “I don’t want to leave here without Mariah.”

Cork showed no reaction. He simply said, “Fine. Then we should get rooms somewhere.”

Daniel nodded toward the north. “There’s a pretty good hotel next street over, on Canal Park Drive. You’re helping my family. The rooms are on me,” he insisted.

“All right,” Cork said without argument.

A short time later they found themselves checked in to the Canal Park Lodge. Cork, Henry, and Daniel shared a suite. Louise and Jenny took a room with two queen beds. It was early evening by then. Jenny stood at the window, looking out at the lake, which was only a stone’s throw from the hotel. Behind her, Louise lay on her bed, her wooden peg removed and propped against the nearby wall, along with her crutches. She’d given herself an insulin shot, then exhaustion had overwhelmed her. She was already sound asleep. Jenny had called Rose and had talked with little Waaboo. He said he missed her. He wanted to know if she had found the girl who was lost and when would she be home. “Soon,” Jenny told him, which was purposely vague, and what did
soon
mean anyway to a boy who couldn’t tell time and kept no track of days?

The color of Lake Superior was changeable, and not just with the weather. Henry Meloux believed, and Jenny did, too, that everything had spirit. Kitchigami wasn’t just a great hollowed bowl of rock filled with water. It was a living thing and had moods. She’d seen it silver and calm, black and angry, nearly turquoise and coquettish. That evening, under a sky laced with ragged clouds, it was like fabric washed so many times the blue had faded to almost white, and the lake seemed tired. In her hand, she held one of the copies they’d made of Mariah’s photograph in order to show it around. She looked down at that young face, a child’s face, and felt a deep stab of fear. How could a child stand against the kind of man Bea had described that afternoon? What chance did she have? Jenny thought of Mariah’s Facebook postings, of her telling anyone who cared to read about it that she was learning to play her new guitar on the lakeshore of the Bad Bluff Reservation, telling of the eagle that had flown overhead, and that was a good sign, wasn’t it? She knew so little of the world then, but, oh, Christ, she’d had an education since.

You save her.
That’s what Waaboo’s murdered birth mother had said in Jenny’s vision.

And now she thought of Waaboo and how she’d pulled him out of the reach of people as bad as Windigo, pulled him from the very hands of death. But she hadn’t saved his mother, who wasn’t much older than Mariah. Was that what she was supposed to do now? Save this child, this little girl in the photograph she held. Even if it was not what was meant in her vision, it was what she wanted. She wanted it for Mariah, and for Louise, whose exhausting fear Jenny understood so well, and for herself, too, because she cared so deeply now.

You save her.

“I will try,” Jenny said, as if someone were listening.

There was a knock at the door. Louise didn’t stir. Jenny opened up, and her father stood there. “We’ve ordered pizza,” he said. “It’ll be here in half an hour.”

“Thanks.”

“You two doing okay?”

She glanced back at Louise. “This is taking such a toll.”

“She’s strong,” Cork said. “She wasn’t, but she is now. She has to be.” He smiled, genuine and happy. “By the way, I got a call from Stephen and Annie. They took a walk today. Not a long walk but a real one. Stephen thinks he’ll be coming home within a week or so.”

“That’s wonderful,” Jenny said, a bit too loud. On the bed behind her, Louise made a sound but didn’t wake. Jenny whispered, “Let me know when the pizza comes. I’ll see if Louise is up to eating.”

Cork didn’t turn away immediately. He looked deep into her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve told you, but I should have. I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re a part of this. At least for now.”

He kissed her forehead, turned, and was gone.