Now, this fourth abduction had the reservation as stirred up as a nest of hornets. The hotheads were forming vigilante posses to roam the desert at night, and he was worried that they’d end up shooting each other or some tourist out for a moonlit hike. Angry words were also flying around about the lack of effective police work; never in front of his face, but he knew it when knots of men would stop talking as he approached. An agent from the Santa Fe office of the FBI had finally shown up on Friday, took a few notes, said he would talk to the sheriff about forming a multiagency task force, and left.
After the agent was gone, the pueblo’s council decided to close the reservation to all but tribal members. Jojola approved of the decision. It would be very hard for an outsider not to be noticed now, and the chances of some tourist getting shot for asking a child for directions would be greatly reduced. But the tribe counted on tourism dollars, and the decision was not an entirely popular one, especially at the height of the season; more accusations had flown about responsible parenting being a better alternative. Nor did closing the reservation mean the children were safe; with permission or without, leaving the reservation to hit the candy and toy stores was too much of a temptation, especially for the boys most at risk.
Trying to protect these children was foremost in his mind. Still, he was the father of a son who was in need of some of that responsible parenting. He knelt in front of Charlie so that he could look in his eyes. “No matter what, you’re still my son. I love you and we’ll deal with it.”
Charlie looked at him and then up at the priest, who nodded, “I looked at some photographs of naked women doing stuff with some guys,” the boy muttered, his voice barely audible.
Marlene and Lucy both almost choked on the laughter that jumped into their throats. Jojola also had to suppress a smile as he asked, “That’s it?”
“No, that’s not it,” Father Eduardo said. “That’s what he thinks he’s in trouble for, but it’s more important than that. Start from the beginning Charlie.”
Charlie scuffed his feet around a bit more then began to speak.
• • •
The night before, he’d gone out to the St. Ignatius Retreat to perform his community service obligation of taking out the trash, sweeping, and vacuuming. Because the priests did not finish their meetings and classes until ten, Charlie and the man he worked with, Lloyd Bear, could not start until then and often didn’t finish until after midnight, which meant the boy got home late and tired. This time, however, he was looking forward to his duties.
The previous week, he’d been emptying the wastebasket in the office of the administrator, Dr. Jonathan Tobias, when he noticed the middle drawer of the desk was open and he glimpsed the cover of a magazine. No one was around, so he’d carefully pulled the drawer open until he got a good view of the cover photograph depicting a nearly nude woman with huge breasts, bound and spread-eagled on a bed and looking up in apparent fright at a large black man clad only in a loin cloth who was standing above her with a whip in his hand. The main headline of REAL SLUTS magazine promised photographs of Virgins Gang-banged with Enormous Cocks! and Country Girls on the Farm with the Animals They Love. He knew it was wrong but he was about to open the magazine for a peek inside when he heard Lloyd walking down the hall. Reluctantly, he’d replaced the magazine and slid the drawer closed just in time.
Then last night, he’d gone back into the office, relieved to find that only the small reading lamp on the desk was on and no one was around. He opened the drawer and was happy to see the magazine still in its place. He pulled it out and was soon engrossed in the photographs—he’d heard about such things from some of the older boys but…He almost didn’t notice until too late the voices coming down the hall. Panicking, he’d quickly returned the magazine to the drawer but, feeling guilty, decided he couldn’t face whoever was approaching and instead stepped behind the heavy curtain in a dark corner of the room.
The voices stopped outside the office and then, to his horror, he heard the door open and two men entered. One of the voices he recognized as belonging to Tobias. He’d been introduced to the doctor the first night he arrived on the job. Tobias had told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to go near the priests at the retreat. “They are here to meditate and relax, not be bothered by children.” Nor was he to go anywhere or do anything except the jobs assigned to him.
Charlie thought the admonition was overkill, as Lloyd Bear had also warned him on the drive over never to go anywhere except on his instruction. “You are not to speak to any person there, unless you’ve cleared it with me. Understand?” the man said. Charlie nodded. He did not know Lloyd well, but he seemed a little overly zealous about protecting the privacy of the priests at the retreat. Charlie had noticed that he was never far from where he was working.
Quivering with fear behind the curtain, Charlie wished he’d followed the man’s instructions. He had not recognized the voice of the second man, who was obviously angry at Tobias. “Goddammit, you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on your people, especially him,” the man said.
“There’s no proof he’s involved in any of these…um…disappearances,” Tobias protested. “He was in his bed at eleven, as are all of our clients, and attended Mass in the morning.”
“With only eight hours in between when y’all were asleep at the wheel,” the angry man said sarcastically. “He could have just about driven to Denver and back. In the meantime, there’s two fuckin’ dead Injun kids buried out on the gorge with their fuckin’ heads about cut off. Another missin’ for two months, and now a fourth has disappeared. I could give a shit about them little red niggers, but that fucker Jojola is nosing around, and he ain’t stupid. So you git yer ass on the fuckin’ phone to New York and tell ’em to take their problem child back or the lid may come off this pack of fuckin’ perverts.”
Again, Tobias tried to protest. “I do wish you’d watch your language, I am a priest. We’re not a prison; we’re a treatment center for men of the cloth who are troubled by society’s ills, such as alcohol and drug abuse as well as…”
“As well as poking little boys in the behind,” the angry man finished. “Save the bullshit, we’re knee deep in it already, and I’ll speak however the fuck I want. You were told that he was a special case and needed to be watched 24/7. Fuck, he’s big as a goddam buffalo; how the hell can you lose him?”
“As I said, we’re not a prison, and there’s no proof we lost him.” Tobias sniffed in an attempt to show some spine. “How would he accomplish these unfortunate actions? We have guards at the gates, and no one could borrow a retreat vehicle without my knowledge.”
“I don’t know how,” the angry man sputtered. “But if it ain’t him—and New York warned you that he might have a little bit more of a problem than one of your run-of-the-mill butt bangers—then what’s with the fuckin’ beads in the graves. Whoever it is, he’s practically pointing his finger at this place, saying ‘Come find me.’ ”
Tobias sighed. “I know. I know. I’m not saying it’s him, but he thinks he’s fooling us with his participation in our therapy sessions. Says the right things, and is eager to please. But the doctors here agree with me, he’s a dangerous man who belongs in a psychiatric hospital. But what am I to do? For some reason, New York is determined to protect him.”
“Yeah,” the angry man agreed. “He seems to have ’em by the short hairs, all right. But you need to lock him in his room and not let him out until we get New York to take him off our hands. Much more of this, and even the feds are going to get off their asses and be all over this place.”
The two men walked back out of the office still bickering. With his knees shaking and an urgent need to urinate, Charlie remained behind the curtain a few minutes until he thought the men wouldn’t return. Stepping from his cover, he picked up his trash bag and had just left the office when a large hand grabbed his shoulder from behind.
“Vat are you doing in here, Mein Kind,” said a heavily accented voice. T
he hand spun him around like he was a toy, and Charlie found himself staring up at the face of the largest man he had ever seen. The giant was wearing a priest’s black shirt and collar and black pants, but it seemed that darkness filled all the space around him, too. His voice was gentle, but his red-rimmed eyes burned.
Charlie thought he might faint from the foul odor of the man’s breath as he struggled against the man’s grip. “I was just taking out the trash,” he cried.
“Let the boy go!” The voice of Tobias came from somewhere behind the giant.
“I caught him sneaking out of your office, Herr Doctor,” the priest said but released his grip.
“I was emptying the trash,” Charlie said, holding up his bag as proof.
Tobias’s eyes narrowed. “How long were you in there?” he said.
Charlie thought quickly. “I just went in and came right out.”
The psychiatrist seemed to consider that for a moment. “All right, thank you,” he said. “You may go. I’m sure the father did not mean to frighten you.”
Charlie dared not look up at the priest. The giant’s eyes softened; he looked almost kindly, but that only reminded the boy of a science fiction movie he had seen in which the space alien could make its features conform to appear human. “Ja, that’s right, little one,” he said with a smile, mussing Charlie’s hair with a huge paw. “I vas just making sure you vas not doing anything naughty. I did not mean to frighten a nice boy.”
“That’s okay, I wasn’t scared,” Charlie lied. He’d turned and walked down the hall as calmly as he could. He turned the corner and received another fright. Lloyd Bear was standing there as if he’d been listening. He grabbed Charlie by the arm and escorted him quickly down the hall. “I told you not to go anywhere or talk to anyone without checking with me,” he hissed.
Charlie thought the man looked frightened, as well as angry. He decided not to tell him the truth, either. He held up his bag again, “I was just getting the trash.”…
“That’s all,” Charlie told his father and the others. “I’m sorry I looked at the magazine and sorry that I spied on people.”
John Jojola smiled grimly. It was obvious that the time had come for him and Charlie to have “the talk” about sex. And culturally, eavesdropping was considered extremely rude for a people who lived in such close proximity as those in the pueblo; they were trained from early childhood to tune out other conversations. But in this case, I’m glad he did.
“It’s okay, son. Heck, me and Charlie Many Horses found a Playboy once that we hid in the woods and looked at until the pages fell apart,” he said. He looked quickly at Eduardo. “Of course that doesn’t make it right, and we’ll need to talk about some of what you saw. But right now I’m more interested in what Tobias and the other man were saying. Are you sure about what you heard?”
“Yes,” Charlie said very much relieved that apparently not only was he not in any major trouble, but he was helping his dad almost like a detective.
Jojola nodded. He wondered about the priest who’d accosted Charlie. The tracks he’d found near the first grave had been made by a big man. One strong enough, as Gates had noted, to nearly decapitate a human being with a single slash, which he knew from personal experience in Vietnam was harder than the movies made it out to be. The single witness they had to one of the abductions had said he’d seen a large man dressed in black talking to the child.
I wonder who the second man talking to Tobias was? Obviously someone paid by whoever it is in New York who wants the doings at St. Ignatius kept under wraps.
“Was there anything else?” he asked his son.
Charlie thought for a moment. “I think I saw the big priest once before. He was walking across the courtyard.”
“Yeah?” his father said.
“Yeah. I remember because he walked with a limp.”
Jojola turned and asked Father Eduardo if he could take Charlie into the center for a soda pop. He wanted to talk to Marlene Ciampi, who’d listened to Charlie’s tale with a frown on her face but without comment. Eduardo gave him an appraising look, but said nothing as he beckoned the boy to follow.
“And oh, Charlie,” Jojola called to his son.
“Yeah, Dad?” the boy said, half worried that the lecture or grounding or whatever he’d expected was now about to manifest itself.
“You done good. You were scared, but you held yourself together like a man. I think if you can still find them, those shoes are yours.”
The sun on the southwestern desert did not shine more brightly than Charlie Jojola’s smile at that moment. It was only with extreme reluctance that he followed the priest into the rec center instead of bolting for home and the army chest under the bed.
• • •
“You done good, too, John,” said a female voice behind him. He turned to find Marlene Ciampi smiling at him.
At dinner the evening they first met, he’d asked about the rosary beads and was surprised to find out that Marlene was no ordinary tourist, or even the art student she claimed to be. She was the wife of the district attorney of New York City for one thing. But more than that, she was a woman of surprising depth, and powerful currents ran beneath the friendly surface.
Never in a million years would he have imagined striking up a real friendship with a white woman. Yet, in the month since they’d met, he felt as though he’d discovered a kindred spirit that he’d known with only a few men of his tribe. One reason, he believed, was that she seemed as haunted by the past as he had been.
He’d even invited her to Blue Lake, one of the holiest places of his people, and outsiders saw it only by invitation of a tribal member. The trip began in an offhand manner when she’d remarked on the photographs of former president Richard Nixon that seemed to adorn many of the walls in the pueblo homes, including his own.
She’d asked about them with a quizzical look and the comment, “He’s not exactly the most popular president…outside of New Mexico, anyway…though in his dotage he managed to salvage some of his reputation because of his diplomacy with China. But a lot of people still resent him for the breach of trust and the lies.”
“Yes, Watergate, the missing minutes on the tape,” Jojola acknowledged. “But you have to understand, that was all outside world stuff to us. We are a sovereign nation, you know, surrounded by and bound by most of the laws of the United States. Many of us, including myself, served in the U.S. military and consider ourselves to have dual citizenship. We are Taos, and we are Americans. Or as my uncle used to joke, ‘We’re the first Americans. We just needed better immigration laws.’ What affects the United States, of course, affects us, but what we care most about is what happens here on our ancestral lands. Blue Lake provides us with our spiritual lifeblood, the stream that flows through the heart of the community, the ancient pueblo. But for many years, the United States government did not recognize its own treaties that Blue Lake belonged to us, and instead considered it U.S. Forest Service land. For decades, we sent delegations to Washington, D.C., to ask the treaty be honored and the lake returned to us. But we are not a pushy people and did not understand the white saying that the squeaky wheel gets greased—especially in the nation’s capital. To us that concept is rude, and such a person would be less, not more, likely to be heard by the elders or tribal council. So our delegations would go and politely sit around, ignored until it was time to return home with empty hands. But in 1971, for reasons that are still unclear, President Nixon learned of our request and insisted that the treaty be honored and Blue Lake given back to us. Ever since, he’s been a hero to the Taos Pueblo as we remember what was important to us, and it was not Watergate. I guess it’s all about perspectives.”
Jojola had described for her the beautiful crystal-clear waters of the lake nestled high up in the arms of the Taos Mountain, surrounded by conifer and aspen forests. “It sounds lovely,” Marlene had remarked, and before he thought about it, he invited her to see for herself. As they drove to the lake, he told her
how his people believed that the waters had healing properties for both the body and soul and that if she wanted, she could immerse herself in the snow-fed waters.
“Why, John Jojola,” she replied, “are you trying to sneak a peek at this fine body without any clothes on it?”
Jojola felt his cheeks burning, as if he’d stood too close to a fire. “No, I don’t want to do that,” he stammered. “I mean, I’m sure you have a very nice body. But I just meant…well, I could show you a place, a little inlet, where you could have privacy…and I…” He stopped and looked at her for mercy.
Which she granted. “Hold on, oh brave and noble warrior of the Taos Pueblo. I was just teasing. I am sure you realize that there is nothing much to look at on this old woman, but I accept your offer. Who knows, maybe I’ll be cleansed of my past sins.”
Jojola thought Marlene was wrong about whether there was anything worth looking at in regard to her body. But he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut before he put his boot in it again. He’d showed her the inlet and then walked over the hill. She’d emerged from her dip looking refreshed, if not healed. “Thanks, John,” she said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek, which got the blush burning again. “I know this was irregular, and I appreciate the gesture, but I’m afraid even a place this beautiful can’t cure what ails me.”
Jojola understood her comment. Many times in his dark days he’d bathed in the waters of Blue Lake hoping for a miracle, but none had appeared. At least not all at once. But he also understood that miracles sometimes took time, and they weren’t always dramatic. He thought the same would be true with Marlene, so he smiled and said, “No, but you probably made some trout happy.”
They’d seen each other often during the month. He’d found her abilities as the former head of a security firm and assistant district attorney helped him sort through the child abduction/murder cases, and agreed with Gates’s assessment that they were dealing with a serial killer. She’d also contacted her friend, Father Dugan, and asked where he purchased the rosary beads he’d given Lucy. He said he’d received them from Archbishop Fey at some celebration at St. Patrick’s but otherwise didn’t know where to find more like them, though he’d ask around.
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