The Dead Chill

by Linda Berry

  “Something I can do for you?” she asked.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  Granger kicked out their extra chair with his foot. “Have a seat.”

  The man sank into the chair and carefully placed his cup on the table. A tortured look crossed his face. He cleared his throat but said nothing.

  “What’s your name?” Sidney asked. Small talk generally loosened a person’s tongue.

  “Canim. Canim Silvermoon.”

  “You live here?”

  He nodded. “Born and raised.”

  “You work? Go to school?”

  “I help my dad at the shop. Silvermoon Welding.”

  “I know your dad,” Granger said. “Max. Good man.”

  Canim’s face relaxed and he gave a hint of smile.

  “You look about Nikah’s age,” Sidney said gently, venturing into the delicate subject of her death.

  “I’ve known her all my life. We were friends and classmates.” He swallowed and continued in a low, conspiratorial tone. “I saw something you might need to know.”

  “What’s that?” Sidney’s senses were tuned on high.

  “A BMW was parked at her house Friday night.”

  Sidney felt an adrenalin spike. “What time was this?”

  “Nine-thirty. I was coming back from the saloon. Walked by her house.” He released a long breath. “It’s not the only time it was parked there. I saw it once before. Early in the morning when I was leaving for work.”

  “You know who it belongs to?”

  He shook his head. “Doesn’t belong to anyone in the village.”

  “You know the make, model, color?”

  “Black, 320i, fairly new. Maybe a couple years old.”

  Granger whipped out his notebook and scribbled.

  They were interrupted as Badger placed their sandwiches and drinks on the table. Though the food looked and smelled incredible, they ignored their lunches, and the sudden silence at the table communicated their need for privacy. Badger walked away.

  “Did you see the license plate?” Sidney continued.

  “No, it was too far away. Mostly hidden by trees. The only reason I saw it, I sometimes cut through a corner of Nikah’s property to get home. A shortcut. I live with my parents just down the road from her house.”

  “Anything else you can tell us?” Sidney asked. “Did you see the owner? Anyone coming or going from her house?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Can I get your contact info, in case I need to reach you again?”

  “Sure.” He fished his wallet from his rear pocket, pulled out a card and jotted down a number on the back, then handed it to her. “That’s our business number and my cell phone number.”

  Sidney slipped the card into her breast pocket for safekeeping. “You’ve been very helpful, Canim. We appreciate you coming forward.”

  “I want Nikah’s killer caught. She was a beautiful person. She didn’t…” he choked, and gulped in a deep breath. “She didn’t deserve to die. I gotta get to work.” Canim pushed himself up from his chair, nodded with moist eyes, and left the store.

  “Wow,” Sidney said. “That’s a bombshell.”

  Granger took a big bite out of his sandwich and said out of the corner of his mouth, “Sounds like Nikah did have a lover.”

  “Yeah, if it was a man who owned that car. Whoever it was, her visitor was probably the last person to see her alive.” Sidney picked up her sandwich and was about to take a bite when Badger came back to the table to drop off her cake in a take-out box. “You see anyone driving a black BMW around here, Badger?” she asked.

  “Can’t say that I have. That’s a little rich and impractical for this area.”

  “BMW, you say?” The female voice came from the table next to them. Sidney turned to the elderly couple, focusing on the woman whose gray braids fell out of a fuzzy, multi-colored knit cap. She was sixtyish, carrying at least a hundred pounds of extra weight, and her well-padded face melted into a sizable double chin.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sidney said. “Black. A newer model.”

  “I’m Shasta. This is my husband, Pokie.”

  The couple looked like bookends. Pokie was equally padded and had matching gray braids that fell from a fuzzy knit cap, only his was navy blue. They both wore black turtleneck sweaters and jeans. She wondered if their underwear matched.

  Shasta’s hazel eyes sparkled with curiosity and she leaned forward in her seat. “This have to do with Nikah?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Jenna Menowa’s son drives a BMW.”

  Sidney glanced at Granger, who was busy packing his mouth with food. His eyes widened.

  “River Menowa,” Sidney thought out loud, picturing the handsome young entrepreneur with the dazzling smile and confident manner. A ladies’ man. It was completely feasible that if Nikah was going to take a lover, it would be River. If so, it was puzzling that at the tribal meeting he showed no indication of knowing Nikah, nor did he display a hint of grief. The young man was either a skilled actor, a sociopath, or he wasn’t the owner of the BMW.

  “River’s BMW is a dark color,” Shasta was saying. “Not sure if it’s black. He doesn’t live here. Comes to visit every so often.” She nodded at her husband. “Sam and I helped him out the other day.”

  “That fancy car of his got stuck in the snow,” Pokie said, wiping pastry crumbs off his rounded belly. “He was trying to put on chains. Didn’t know what the heck he was doing. I put them on for him.”

  “He’s a nice enough young fella,” Shasta said. “A bit full of himself. He tried to pay Pokie.”

  “Whipped out a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet. There were plenty more in there, too.” Pokie snorted. “Didn’t seem to understand that in this village, neighbors help neighbors. I didn’t do it to get paid.”

  “You ever see him with anyone from the village besides his mom?”

  They glanced at each other, thinking. Shasta said, “Well, he came to the winter celebration at the Cultural Center a couple weeks back. He stands out, he does, in his nice city clothes and city talk and that rich man’s look. Seems more white than Indian.”

  “I saw him there, too,” Badger weighed in. “When the ceremony was over, several young ladies were fluttering around him like butterflies.”

  “He attracts the girls, he does,” Shasta said.

  “Do you remember who the girls were?”

  “Sure,” Badger said. “Cadence, Shea, and Nikah.”

  Bingo.

  “Did he leave with any of them?”

  “All of them. They were headed over to the saloon.”

  “Ever see them together again?”

  They shook their heads.

  Granger stopped chewing for a moment, one cheek packed as full as a chipmunk’s. “He ever come in here, Badger?”

  “Yeah. A few times. Picked up coffee and pastries in the morning. A bottle of wine and steaks one night.”

  A romantic dinner for two? “Which night?” Sidney asked.

  “Hmmm. I can tell you in a minute.” He went behind the counter and tapped some keys on his laptop. “I don’t carry much wine. He bought the Pinot Noir Wednesday night at 7:00 p.m.”

  Granger scribbled, then looked up and thanked him.

  “Any of you familiar with Grisly Stokes?” Sidney asked.

  She heard a sharp intake of breath from Pokie. Shasta pursed her lips as though she’d just bitten down on a lemon, and Badger’s face tightened with animosity. She’d hit a nerve. All three started talking at once, their tones ranging from irritation to fury.

  “Okay, one at a time. Badger, you first.”

  Badger stood with his hands on his hips. “He comes in about once a week. Mostly to buy beer. He’s…” Badger paused, his eyes scanning the ceiling while he groped for words. “There’s no nice way to put this. He’s a prick.”

  “Understatement,” Pokie said.

  “Go on, Badger,” Sidney persuaded.
/>   “No manners. He walks in here like he’s god or something. Never says please or thank you. Never smiles or makes small talk, but he stares down his nose at us, like we smell or something.”

  “He’s the one that smells,” Pokie said.

  “Stinks, he does,” Shasta added. She visibly shivered. “He always has dead animals in the back of his truck. Blood dripping off the tailgate, smeared on his clothes. He’s a walking butcher. Everyone hates him.”

  “We hunt to put food on the table,” Badger said. “We use every scrap of an animal. Grisly hunts for sport. To put a new trophy on his wall.”

  “Did he have a beef with Nikah?” Granger asked. “Apparently, she messed with his traps.”

  Pokie snorted a humorless laugh. “She wasn’t the only one. Just about everyone here messed with his traps, whenever we found one. A few trappers out there are poaching, big time. Filing off registration numbers. We know he’s one of them. He’s got too many animals to be legal. Too many traps.”

  Sidney felt the hostility wafting off the villagers.

  “Have any of you seen Grisly wandering around the village at night?” Sidney asked.

  Dead silence. None of them would meet her eye.

  “Look, we know about the break-ins,” she said. “We know two women have been attacked. If you want to help us find the Stalker, tell us what you know.”

  Badger cleared his throat. “The problem is, none of us has any proof it’s Grisly. Some people think it’s Lancer. We take turns patrolling the neighborhood but he slips in and out like mist. Raping women wasn’t enough. Now he killed Nikah.”

  Shasta nodded, fear raw on her face.

  “You sound convinced the Stalker committed all these crimes,” Granger said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

  “We never had much crime here before,” Pokie said.

  “What do you think, Chief Becker?” Badger asked. “You think there’s more than one sicko running around here?”

  “We’re investigating all possibilities,” she said evenly.

  Badger wiped his hands on his apron and nodded at Sidney’s food. “Well, we better let you eat, Chief. You haven’t touched a thing.”

  “Thanks for your help.” She lifted her sandwich and took a bite. The tender beef practically melted in her mouth. She sipped her latte. After completing her meal and draining her cup, Sidney had one last question to ask. “What can you tell me about Fitch Drako?”

  “Fitch?” Badger raised his brows. “Not much. Hardly ever see him. Comes in for groceries every now and then. Very quiet. But polite.”

  “He keeps to himself,” Pokie added. “He’s a vet. Been back from Iraq a few years. Lives alone. Can’t hold down a job.” He tapped his forehead. “Demons. PTSD.”

  “He drinks a lot?”

  Pokie shrugged. “Never seen him drunk. Comes to the saloon on a rare occasion. I think he hunts for his food. Seen him skinning a deer behind his garage once when I was walking down by White Tail Creek. Runs right behind his house.”

  “So, he’s not a troublemaker?”

  “No. Keeps a low profile.”

  “Last night at the saloon he was plastered, and revved up,” Granger said. “He was itching to take someone’s head off. Preferably a cop.”

  “I’ve never seen him like that,” Pokie said, scratching the back of his neck. “Just like Badger says. He’s quiet and polite. Must’ve been an off night.”

  Filing that info away, Sidney and Granger got up to leave, putting on their jackets, hats, and gloves. She smiled at Badger and the older couple. “Thanks. Appreciate your time.”

  “Come back and see us again,” Badger said.

  “You can count on it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  SIDNEY PRESENTED the warrant to the manager of First Bank of Garnerville, Dudley Schneider, a balding man in his fifties with stooped shoulders and a bookish manner. He was quick to accommodate them. He identified a John Kruger as the owner of the contents of the box, who resided at Nikah’s address. Clearly an alias. Most likely Lancer, using a phony ID. The box had been rented a week ago and had not been accessed since.

  Schneider led them through a locked metal door into a windowless room stacked with deposit boxes. Sidney’s stomach fluttered with anticipation as she pulled vinyl gloves from her duty belt and snapped them on. Schneider located box 064 and inserted his key as Sidney inserted hers. The lock clicked. She pulled out the long thin metal box and placed it on a table in the middle of the room. Schneider promptly left.

  Sidney lifted the lid. Her profound disappointment was echoed by Granger’s exasperated sigh.

  “Damn,” he breathed.

  “Damn,” she repeated.

  The box was empty except for an antique silver key about four inches long with a smoky patina and an intricate, decorative handle. Upon closer look, Sidney realized it was embellished with the same symbol as the medallion found in the tin box. The two were a pair—same material, same beautiful craftsmanship—but like the medallion, it presented no clue, no answer to the mystery of Nikah’s death. “What the hell does this open?”

  “Million-dollar question.”

  Sidney slipped the key into an evidence bag. Granger unfolded a larger bag and she slipped in the box, then sealed and labeled both.

  Dudley Schneider’s eyebrows arched when they appeared back in the lobby with the bagged box.

  “This is evidence,” she said before he could protest. “We’ll return it as soon as the lab releases it.”

  “Next stop, Tammy Muehler.”

  ***

  They stashed the box in the back of the Yukon, drove two blocks down Main Street, and parked in front of Thunderhead Gifts. As they entered the shop, Sidney inhaled the earthy scent of sage incense and recalled her many pleasant visits here, selecting unique treasures as gifts for friends. An impressive variety of Native American crafts were tastefully displayed on shelves and walls. She immediately recognized Tommy’s pottery, Elahan’s baskets, and the exquisite wood sculptures carved by Tegan. Sidney imagined Nikah working here, stocking the shelves and catering to patrons, along with the woman who now stood behind the counter waiting on a customer. Sidney and Granger busied themselves looking at merchandise until the customer left, then Tammy locked the door, turned the OPEN sign around, and faced them.

  She didn’t look like the drunk, loudmouthed woman Grisly had characterized. Just the opposite, in fact. Tammy was petite, with a slender figure, a sheath of glossy black hair, a delicate face with large dark eyes, and a full, sensuous mouth. Tammy’s persona could be described as demure. She wore skinny jeans and a white tunic with intricate beadwork stitched along the collar and cuffs.

  “There’s a break room in the back,” Tammy said in a soft, lilting voice. She gestured for them to follow her through a curtained doorway, down a hallway, into a small room equipped with a kitchen and an oak table and chairs.

  “Have a seat. Can I get you coffee?” she asked. “Perrier?”

  Sidney was still jacked up on caffeine from Badger’s latte. She and Granger both opted for Perrier. When they were settled with their chilled bottles, Tammy sat quietly with a tense expression.

  Sidney cleared her throat and initiated the difficult conversation. “Tammy, we need to talk to you about some unpleasant topics. As you know, we’re investigating Nikah’s murder.”

  She nodded. “Yes, word has gotten around. You’re questioning everyone in the village.”

  “We aren’t questioning so much as hoping folks will share information.”

  “I see,” she said, her tone wary. “I don’t really have any information about Nikah. We were more acquaintances than friends.”

  “We’re also investigating crimes committed by the Stalker.”

  Her face paled. She tilted her head and coughed into her shoulder, said hoarsely, “Sorry. Aren’t they one and the same?”

  “Two burglars ransacked Nikah’s house last night. We have reason to believe this was a separate inciden
t from the crimes committed by the Stalker.

  “Great. One maniac running around isn’t enough. Now we have three.” Her hand tightened on her bottle and she gave Sidney a direct stare. “Jenna told you Cadence and I were the women attacked.”

  “Yes. We’ve already spoken with Cadence.”

  “Poor Cadence.” Her eyes shadowed. “She’s too young to cope with this kind of horror. She still lives with her parents. A very sheltered life.” She heaved out a ragged breath. “It’s been hell for me, too.”

  “We understand this is an intensely painful and private matter,” Sidney said gently. “Are you willing to talk to us?”

  Tammy stared at her Perrier bottle in silence.

  “It could help us catch him,” Sidney said. “Put him in a cage where he belongs. Keep him from doing this to anyone else.”

  “The experience was terrifying.” Tammy’s eyes widened so that the whites were showing, then her face crumbled and her eyes filled with tears. She pushed back her chair and stood in front of the sink, staring out the window at the rear parking lot. Trees laden with snow ringed the lot and several parked cars braved the cold, frosted in white. A shudder passed across her shoulders. She crossed her arms, hands cupping her elbows, and spoke so softly Sidney had to strain to hear.

  “It happened two weeks ago. My husband was out of town for the weekend on business. I didn’t like being left alone, but I felt safe enough. I had a loaded gun under his pillow.” She swallowed.

  “Take your time,” Sidney said.

  Tammy drew in a long breath, blew it out. “Something woke me in the middle of the night. Before I was even fully conscious, a bright light blasted into my eyes. I felt the mattress sink on my husband’s side and a man’s voice whispered, “Don’t say a word, or you’re dead. Turn over.”