The Dead Chill

by Linda Berry

  “Yes,” Tegan whispered, absorbing the seriousness of the conversation.

  “If Moolock learns you spoke of this to anyone, even your father, you will never see him again.”

  Tegan’s throat tightened as he conjured the gentle, easy presence of the man who had been his companion in the woods these last three years. With Nikah gone, if he were to lose the ghostly man as well, the loss would be too great. The void would swallow Tegan. He might never find his way back to his untroubled life here in the village. “I promise, Nana. I will go to my grave with this secret.”

  “Let’s us not speak of death tonight, my boy,” she said with a touch of humor. “We do not want to attract that prophecy.”

  He smiled, nodding his agreement. “Tell me, Nana. Who is Moolock?”

  She heaved out a long, deep breath from her bony chest. “Moolock is your great uncle. He is my son.”

  Long moments passed as Tegan digested the weight of her words, and another long moment passed before he found his voice. “Your son? How can that be? You are so old.”

  Elahan laughed, a rare and lovely sound. “My boy, I have not always been as gray and wrinkled as a sagebrush lizard. Once I was young and fresh and pretty. Like Nikah. My hair was as black as the raven. I was a strong girl. I could cook and sew and work like a mule. I could flirt with men. Many were taken with me. Many came to my father and asked to have me as a bride. I chose Black Bear Chetwoot. He was a farmer, a good hunter, a good provider. He was handsome and bold and funny. I was a foolish girl. I think I married him because he made me laugh.”

  Tegan smiled, trying to imagine Elahan as young and fresh and pretty. He had only known her as dry and wrinkled, her bony frame thrust forward, as though being pulled to the earth like a dead tree. Now she spoke with a lyrical quality to her voice. It was like listening to a melody, a fairy tale. He hung on every word, putting them to memory.

  “As you know, Black Bear and I had one son, Chac Chac,” Elahan said. “He is your grandfather. My dear husband died of cancer when Chac was a small boy, and for many years after, I felt his absence keenly. Because I wanted Chac to have a man, a teacher in his life, I married Vane Whitebone. He taught high school on the reservation in Lost River Valley. It was too soon to marry. I did not choose well. Those were barren years. No children came forth.” Her voice shadowed with sadness. “Vane and I divorced. We had no love for each other. I vowed never to marry again.”

  She paused for a moment and sighed deeply. “Many years later, when I was forty-two, a handsome man came into my life. He reminded me of my first love, Black Bear, only he was stronger in character, and more powerful.” Elahan’s voice took on a dreamy quality, as wistful as a young woman’s, and Tegan felt she was breathing in the memories, reliving them. “This man was my truest love. What young people today call a soulmate. We had many happy days, and many, many happy nights.” She was silent for a full minute and Tegan felt she had wandered away from the room, away from the cabin, and traveled into her past. Then her soft voice filled the quiet again. She had returned. “Soon my stomach grew large with child. I was surprised. It was a time of great joy. Moolock was born when I was forty-three. A gift from the spirit world.”

  This was a story that Tegan had never heard before. It was strangely beautiful to listen to Elahan speak of youth and romance and love. Somewhere in that mummified body, the heart of a young woman pulsed. “Why didn’t Dad talk about Moolock?”

  “Your father and Moolock were born the same year.” The elation in her voice disappeared. “He was a baby when Moolock was a baby. Chac did not approve of our relationship. He thought it was sinful that we created a child. He never allowed Moolock and Tommy to meet. The handsome man and I never married.”

  “Why didn’t you marry him, Nana?”

  She was silent for a long moment and her sadness weighed heavily on his spirit.

  “I will share a painful secret because tonight you shared painful secrets,” Elahan said. “A

  secret that no one knows except Moolock.”

  “I promise not to tell,” he said eagerly.

  “Moolock’s father already had a wife.”

  The confession took Tegan’s breath away. He could not find words to express his shock. His face must have told it all, for Elahan’s breathing also stopped for a moment.

  “This is why I never told you,” she said in a tone filled with remorse. “Why I never told Tommy. People are quick to judge.”

  The silence that lengthened between them was heavy and awkward. Tegan reached out and covered her hand with his. “I won’t judge you, Nana.”

  Elahan cradled his hand between her own and he was comforted by her touch. “The handsome man did not love his wife. They no longer lived together but she would not let him go.”

  “What happened to him, and to Moolock?” he asked.

  “Ah, that is a long story. The handsome man and I lived together for many months. It was the happiest time of my life. Then he was called to war. Vietnam. He was killed. His remains were returned to his family, to his wife.” Elahan’s voice choked and she took a few moments to compose herself. “I wanted to raise Moolock. I didn’t care what others thought. But the handsome man’s parents were rich and powerful. They used their money to take Moolock from me. They lived far away. They would not let me see him.” Her voice choked again and trailed away to a whisper. “That sadness still fills my heart.”

  Tears escaped down Tegan’s cheeks. “I’m sorry you hurt so much, Nana.”

  She softly cleared her throat and stroked his hand. “You are a special boy, Tegan. You feel things deeply. You have my power. Moolock’s power. But you are young. You don’t know how to use it. That can be a danger to you and to others. It is like carrying a loaded gun with no safety.”

  “Teach me, Nana,” he said passionately.

  “Yes, my boy. In time.”

  Tegan’s head was full of questions. “How did Moolock come back into your life? Who is Moolock’s father?”

  “It is late, Tegan. You must rest. Store your energy. You will need it. Moolock will teach you. He will tell you everything.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  GRANGER AND SIDNEY stood on the porch of the single-story, ranch-style house for a full minute, laying on the doorbell, then the knocker, waiting for the sound of interior footsteps to approach the door.

  Nothing.

  Lancer’s truck, parked in the driveway, was covered with an inch of snow. He’d been home for at least an hour.

  “Either he’s avoiding us,” Sidney said. “Or he can’t get to the door.”

  “Could be passed out drunk.”

  “Sounds like a medical emergency,” she said dryly, and tried the door handle. It gave. She pushed the door open and she and Granger beamed their lights into the living room. The room had been ransacked.

  “Holy shit,” Granger said.

  “We’re going in,” she said quietly. “Stay alert.”

  They unholstered their Glocks and entered, gun hands resting on top of their flashlight hands, following their beams through the living room, skirting objects on the floor.

  “Help…help…” a hoarse voice cried out. They followed the sound down a hallway to a bedroom. Their beams illuminated a man sitting in the center of the room, hands and legs bound to a chair.

  “Is anyone else in the house?” Sidney asked.

  “No. They just left out the window.”

  In a heartbeat Granger was over the sill and lowering himself to the ground. Sidney watched him disappear down an alley between the two houses. She holstered her gun, switched on a lamp, turned to the man, and gasped. Part of his scalp had been sliced along the hairline and the wound was bleeding freely. Blood dripped down his face and spattered his white polo shirt. One eye was swollen shut and his bottom lip was split.

  Unnerved, Sidney grabbed a folded hand towel lying on the bed and pressed it against the man’s head. He moaned and tried to jerk away.

  “Hold still. I need t
o stem the bleeding.”

  He winced, but didn’t move. “How bad is it?”

  “Not too bad. Two-inch laceration. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  “No.”

  “Sir, are you Lancer Richards?” Sidney asked.

  “Yes.”

  With her free hand, Sidney hit her lapel mic and radioed dispatch. In a town as small as Garnerville, the ER was often empty. She wanted to make sure a doctor would be waiting. “Hey Jesse. Contact the ER. We’re bringing someone in who needs stitches.”

  “Copy that.”

  A noise from the front of the house sent her hand back to the hilt of her Glock, but then she heard Granger call out, “It’s me.” He appeared in the doorway, eyes widening as he took in the bleeding man and the ransacked room.

  “See anything?” Sidney asked.

  “Two men. They got away in a dark pickup.” His eyes met Sidney’s and a silent communication passed between them—probably the same men from the village.

  “Could you fucking untie me?” Lancer said, straining against his ties.

  “Bear with me a second, Lancer. We need to document this for our report. Granger, take a few pictures, then untie these knots.”

  Granger took a couple shots with his phone, and then got to work on the knots.

  Once freed, Lancer rubbed his wrists and stretched his legs, flexing his feet.

  “I’ll get something to wash off the blood.” Granger left the room and returned holding a washcloth in a pan of water.

  “Let me do it.” Lancer wrung out the cloth, covered his face and pulled it down with both hands, repeated, leaving just a few specs of red in the folds of his neck. Despite his swollen eye, Sidney recognized him from the photos in Nikah’s bedroom. Sandy hair, blue eyes, even, white teeth.

  Granger attended to Lancer’s wound while Sidney held the towel to his forehead to catch escaping blood. “Who were those men?” she asked.

  “No clue.” Lancer’s fingers gripped the armrests. He was struggling to keep a handle on his rage. “They wore ski masks. They were dressed in black from head to toe. Wore gloves.”

  “Were they young, old?”

  “I’d say in their twenties, or thirties.” While Lancer gritted his teeth, Granger applied a bandage and wrapped gauze tightly around his head.

  “One was about my height, six-two. Athletic build. The other was around five-ten, husky.”

  Very observant. Sidney fished out her phone. “Lancer, do you mind if I record our conversation?”

  He shrugged. “Go ahead.”

  She pressed the record icon, and asked, “What were the men looking for?”

  “Hell if I know.” Lancer clenched and unclenched his fingers, working the circulation back into them. “They kept asking me about a key, and some fucking medallion. I didn’t know what they were talking about.”

  Sidney understood exactly what they wanted. The contents of the tin box. “Did they say what the key was for?”

  “A safety deposit box. I don’t even have one.”

  “Did they say what was in the box?”

  “No.”

  “What was the medallion all about?”

  “Don’t know. I asked, and the fucker hit me. Called me a liar. Said I knew exactly what it was.”

  “How long were they here?”

  He squinted and stared at the floor, thinking. “I got home around nine. Ate a sandwich, took a shower. They surprised me when I came out in the hall. One had a gun. A .38, I think. They tied me up in here. That must have been around nine-thirty.”

  Sidney glanced at her watch. “It’s ten. A half-hour sound right?”

  “Yeah. I lost track of time.” He heaved out a breath. “The tall guy kept hitting me. Yelling for me to answer. But I couldn’t tell him what I didn’t know. The shorter guy started tearing the place apart. The tall guy pulled out a freaking hunting knife and held it to my temple. He sounded desperate, like he would do anything to get me to talk. He said he was going to scalp me if I didn’t tell him. Every time I said I didn’t know, he cut me.” Lancer grimaced, and said between clenched teeth, “Hurt like hell. Still does.”

  Sidney believed he was telling the truth. Not too many folks can stand up to torture.

  “Freaking Indians,” Lancer hissed.

  “You think they were Indians?”

  “They were going to scalp me.” He touched his bandage, winced. “What do you think?”

  “Did they say anything that led you to believe that?”

  “No. I couldn’t see much of their faces, just around their mouths and eyes. They had brown skin and brown eyes. I saw a lock of black hair hanging out of the short one’s mask in the back.”

  “Can you tell us anything else that might help us identify them?” Sidney asked.

  “Anything unusual?”

  He thought for a moment. “Not really.”

  “Did either use the bathroom?”

  “The tall guy kept me pretty distracted, but I think I heard the toilet flush.”

  “I’ll go take a look.” Sidney made her way down the hall to the bathroom. Unlike the rest of the house, it had not been searched and looked tidy. Nothing on the counters. She looked in the toilet. No bodily waste, so no DNA. The waste can was empty. Then she spotted a crumpled tissue on the floor between the can and the wall. Someone had missed the can. Sidney lifted the tissue with her ballpoint pen, and walked back into the room. “Did you drop this tissue on the bathroom floor?”

  “No. I just use toilet paper.”

  “Maybe we’ll get some DNA.” Sidney pulled out an evidence bag, deposited the

  tissue, and sealed it.

  “Thank God you showed up when you did. They would have killed me.” Lancer’s eyes sharpened on hers. “Why are you here, anyway?”

  “We’ll get to that in a minute,” Sidney said. “First, I need you to answer a few questions.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Are you involved in illegal activities?”

  “No,” he said emphatically. “You can ask anyone. I don’t touch dope.”

  “What about Nikah?”

  “Hell no. She’s as clean as they come. Barely even touches alcohol.” He looked sheepish for a moment, swallowed. “I drink too much. I’m trying to quit. I promised Nikah.”

  “They kick you out of Two Creeks for drinking, Lancer? For hitting Nikah?”

  He inhaled deeply. Clenched his jaw. She saw anger spark in his eyes.

  “You beat your girlfriend?”

  His fists clenched and unclenched. “Okay. I hit her once. One time, dammit! And yeah, I drink. So do a lot of guys up there. But none of them got kicked out of their homes.”

  “Did Nikah stand up for you?”

  “No. She should have. But they’re her fucking people. She does whatever they say.” He glowered. “Shows where her loyalty lies.”

  “They kicked you out. She didn’t stand up for you. That must have made you mad.”

  “Hell yeah, it made me mad!”

  “You were at Nikah’s last week. Were you two seeing each other again?”

  “No.”

  “Nikah had a bruise on her neck the day after you were seen at her house. Did you hurt her?”

  “What? No! I just went to pick up some clothes. She wasn’t even there. She was at work. What do you mean, a bruise? Did she say I hurt her?”

  Sidney and Granger exchanged glances. Lancer was either a good liar, or he genuinely didn’t know Nikah was dead. She needed to find out which. She let a long silence stretch between them. Generally, suspects were uncomfortable with silence and started filling in the blanks.

  Lancer fidgeted, shifted in his seat. “What’s going on here? Did Nikah send you?”

  “No. Nikah didn’t send us.”

  “Then they sent you…”

  “Who’s that, Lancer?”

  “The tribal council. They’ll do anything to get me locked up. They want to make me the fall guy. I’m not going to let that happen!” Lancer�
�s face flushed bright red and the cords in his neck stood out like rope.

  “Fall guy for what, Lancer?”

  “Ask them!” He peered up at her through his one good eye, piercing blue. “Talk to Nikah. She’ll tell you. She promised me she’d move out of there. Get away from the Village tyrants. “After a long pause, he continued. “We agreed to get back together when I’m six weeks sober. It’s been three. We’ll rent out her house. She’ll move in here with me.”

  “Can you tell me where you were Friday night?”

  “Friday night?” He thought for a moment. “I was here. Watching TV.”

  “Can anyone vouch for you?”

  He looked from her face to the recorder, and back again, as though realizing how serious the situation was. “What do I need an alibi for?”

  There was no way to soften the hammer blow she was about to deliver. Sidney drew in a deep breath, and said gently, “I’m sorry to tell you this, Lancer, but Nikah is dead.”

  Stunned silence.

  “What? I don’t believe you! What freaking game are you playing?”

  “It’s no game. Nikah’s dead. That’s why we’re here tonight.”

  His face was expressionless. “What happened?”

  “She was murdered.”

  Lancer shook his head and looked like a man trying to come out of a trance, grasping threads of reality. His eyes locked on Sidney’s. “Was she strangled?”

  Sidney waited a moment too long to answer. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Oh my God. She was strangled, wasn’t she?” Lancer leapt from the chair and started pacing the floor in an agitated manner. “I knew this would happen. They wouldn’t listen. It’s their fault she’s dead.” Lancer suddenly looked faint. A sound that was part scream, part sob tore from his throat. He slumped back in the chair, leaned over with his head in his hands, and wept. His chest heaved, and sounds she barely recognized as human escaped from his mouth.

  Granger and Sidney watched in silence. Granger’s expression of abject misery mirrored her feelings exactly. Witnessing a person’s raw grief was the most gut-wrenching part of the job.

  Lancer eventually lifted his tear-stained face, wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, and said hoarsely, “Was she raped?”