Northwest Angle: A Novel (Cork O'Connor Mystery Series)
William Kent Krueger
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With his family caught in the crosshairs of a group of brutal killers, detective Cork O’Connor must solve the murder of a young girl in the latest installment of William Kent Krueger’s unforgettable New York Times bestselling series.
With his family caught in the crosshairs of a group of brutal killers, detective Cork O’Connor must solve the murder of a young girl in William Kent Krueger’s latest unforgettable New York Times bestseller.
During a houseboat vacation on the remote Lake of the Woods, a violent gale sweeps through unexpectedly, stranding Cork and his daughter, Jenny, on a devastated island where the wind has ushered in a force far darker and more deadly than any storm.
Amid the wreckage, Cork and Jenny discover the body of a teenage girl. She wasn’t killed by the storm, however; she’d been bound and tortured before she died. Nearby, underneath a tangle of branches, they also find a baby boy, hungry and dehydrated, but still very much alive. Powerful forces intent on securing the child pursue them to the isolated Northwest Angle, where it’s impossible to tell who among the residents is in league with the devil, but Cork understands that to save his family he must solve the puzzle of this mysterious child whom death follows like a shadow.
The baby needed changing. She remembered seeing a squat wicker hamper beside the bunk. When she lifted the lid, she found clean diapers inside, folded neatly, along with baby clothing. She took one of the diapers, spread it out on the damp mattress of the bunk, and set the squalling child on it. “Ah,” she said, when she’d unpinned the soiled diaper. “A boy. No wonder you scream so loud.” She could tell he hadn’t been changed in a good long while, but fortunately no rash had developed. She
was the sound of the wind in the trees. Her father turned back to the rise. “I’m going to see what he’s up to now.” He climbed the sloping rock wall and cleared the top of the trees. The moon had long ago passed its zenith, and the island across the channel was a tapestry of silver and black. Off the eastern tip lay a little islet barely more than a round cone of bald rock the size of a two-story house. He tried to reckon where the cigarette boat might be anchored now, and figured that the far
the only human presence. Cork understood that it was going to be the longest and most miserable boat ride of his life. He’d always believed that particular distinction would belong to the dinner excursion he’d made on Lake Michigan the night he proposed to Jo. It should have been romantic but turned out to be comic tragedy. Although they were never out of sight of land, the wind had been strong and the cruise a little rough and Cork hadn’t been able to eat much. He’d managed near the end of
over the events of the last couple of days in his head again and again, and no matter how he juggled things, nothing made sense. He couldn’t wrap his thinking around a man like Smalldog, a man who may well have abused and then tortured and killed his own sister. A man who hated white people yet smuggled arms to a group of white religious zealots. A man who’d been raised by a father whom the Ojibwe of Windigo Island admired but had, nonetheless, turned into hate on two legs. What caused a man’s
piece together life with the Church of the Seven Trumpets. “Lily,” Sarah said, sounding immeasurably sad. “She was such a lonely girl. She had her mama mostly, and when Vivian was gone, she didn’t have nobody. I wanted to help her, honest, but if I did anything to give myself away, Lord only knows what they’d’ve done to me. I heard some talk about her getting visits in the night from Indian men. Joshua, he seemed real interested in that.” Cork glanced her way and saw that the woman was staring