Wolf's Gambit

by W. D. Gagliani

  He stood in front of the door five, ten minutes before finally ringing the doorbell with regret he could almost taste. He had left the shotgun down the driveway, leaning on a crooked sapling.

  Wild-haired Thomas Eagle Feather threw open the door and seemed about to slam it closed again when Sam reached out a hand and stopped its arc.

  “Have to talk to you, old friend.”

  “I haven’t been your friend in years.”

  “Clara and Alfred, Thomas, they’re dead.”

  Thomas stood still and his eyes widened a fraction. “You telling me this officially? You working with the cops suddenly?” The pain was etched on his face, though he chose to pretend otherwise.

  “Not exactly, no, but the information comes to me through Jessie. You trust her, I take it.”

  “Usually. She’s half-white, remember.”

  “That’s a low comment, even for you.”

  “Clara’s dead?”

  “And Alfred.”

  “I don’t give a shit about Alfred. But…Clara.” Sudden tears coursed down his cheeks. “Is it really true? What the hell’s going on? How did it happen?”

  “Like the others, more or less. And yes, I’m afraid it’s true.”

  Thomas Eagle Feather stepped aside, sighing. “Come in.” His eyes roved the street out front, but the early morning traffic consisted only of an occasional rusty pickup, laborers heading off to their rez jobs.

  Sam didn’t feel comfortable sitting, so he stood in the foyer. Thomas seemed shrunken now, no longer the huge presence he’d cultivated on the council. They faced each other over a huge chasm.

  “Well, friends or not, here’s the thing,” Sam said. “I believe you’re in danger. Anybody on the council who voted for the casino project may be in the same danger.”

  Thomas looked far away.

  “We lost our friendship because of your son. Your son and that charlatan shaman he took up with. Whatever no good they got up to, it was enough to almost get you banned, Samuel Waters.”

  “I wasn’t in agreement with him or what he was doing, but I couldn’t—he was still my son…”

  Silence blossomed briefly. Sam looked down.

  “I don’t know what happened to him and you wouldn’t talk about it, but your sorrow speaks volumes. Now we bury two more friends.” Thomas shook his head.

  “Council members.”

  “Friends first. Council members second.”

  “Alfred wasn’t much of a friend to anyone,” Sam pointed out.

  “Nor was he much of an Indian, but he didn’t deserve to die. It’s the whites. They hate the casino. They’re jealous of prosperity, and they fear we’ll take all their money.”

  “They’re right.”

  “You’re just like them. Can’t let go of old prejudices. The old ways don’t work anymore. Many tribes flourish with casinos, bettering the lives of their people. Why not ours?”

  “Because it curses us, Thomas. Look at what’s happening to us now.”

  “That’s no curse,” Thomas spit. “It’s pure racism in action.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What do you think it is? You know how people feel about Injuns. You’ve felt it yourself, even if you won’t admit it.”

  Sam ignored him. “Go somewhere safe, Thomas. There’s reason to believe you and everyone else who voted yes on the casino project is on the list.”

  “You’re not on that list, then, are you?”

  “I didn’t vote yes, if that’s what you mean.”

  “So you’d be safe. Why bother to stick your neck out for us?”

  “I can’t explain it, if you don’t get it.” Sam waved his hand, searching for words. “I don’t care what the reason is, I don’t want this killer getting any more of us.”

  “So then you think it’s related to the council vote? Some-body’s killing the yes votes? It’s as simple as that?”

  “I suspect, but I don’t know.”

  “But why?”

  “Again, I don’t know. If you go somewhere safe, and make some calls to the others so they’ll come too, we’ll cheat him of any more victims.”

  Thomas Eagle Feather drew himself up, marshaling his pride. “I’m not going to run screaming like a woman at the first sign of danger.”

  Sam had been afraid of this knee-jerk response.

  “Thomas,” he said, “if you don’t come with me, any more deaths will be on your head.”

  “I’m head of the council. Way I see it, I’m already responsible for everyone, including the deaths. I ain’t leaving my house without a fi ght.”

  Jesus, Sam thought. Now what? He wondered if he should pick up his shotgun from outside and just force Eagle Feather into leaving. But what would that prove?

  He settled in for a long argument. Outside, the sun rose anemically over the spring day.

  Heather Wilson

  She carefully applied her makeup while Tim waited outside, checking his camera equipment. She was bummed about Robbie, but he chose to bolt and no one had seen him since.

  “Fuck him,” she muttered. He was far less interesting than her new boy toy, Tef, who was most definitely worthy of her attention. She smoothed mauve on her lips and then her trademark, a striking violet gloss, thinking of him. How could she not? She still tingled all over from his attentions.

  His eyes, though. His eyes were what drew her in. And made her want to know more.

  She had begun asking questions about him, but had little response. He was new in town, he came into a couple of the bars for beer but didn’t seem to enjoy it, and he looked harshly at anyone who wanted to talk to him. That was all she had. Of course, it wasn’t the way she saw him. He had picked her out of a crowd and made her his with a look; she didn’t doubt the chemistry. But what about the rest?

  Go on, say it.

  What about…?

  Go on, say it!

  Fine then, she scolded herself, putting away the makeup and taking a good long appraising look, patting down her hair where the cheap motel dryer had failed.

  What about the murders? Was Tef the mysterious Indian killer?

  She thought she might be able to find out something about him today.

  Messages about the two murders the night before had filled her voice mail overnight, and she’d gotten up to speed with her laptop and the motel’s wi-fi, e-mailing her assistant producer back and forth for an hour after Tef had left. She knew the sheriff might be a dry well today. He was probably under fire from the town and county officials, and chances were very good he’d been told to shut up when a camera rolled. There’d be no information there. But she was good at what she did, and she had infallible instincts when it came to investigating weird crimes. Now she began to wonder if the story had come to her.

  The way he had sought her out bothered her. Not what they’d done after that, but just how he had set his sights on her and zoomed in to the target without even a side glance. Last night he could have killed the two and then come to her. She remembered his blood smell.

  She sprayed the hair that rebelled against her brush. It was a windy day, and she would do at least one live remote and a couple of taped updates.

  Some murderers lusted for attention and media coverage almost as much as they lusted for the kill. It was definitely possible Tef was one of those, maybe one who wanted her to cover his story.

  Maybe one who wanted to make her part of his story.

  While he slept, she had slipped out of the sweat-soaked bedclothes and snapped a picture of him with her trusty Sony set on Night Shot. The picture was a grainy black-and-white and lit eerily like an alien portrait, but she’d e-mailed it to Deb and then printed it on her portable Epson. Inquiries might be more fruitful with a photograph and a twenty to hold up. Maybe Deb could match him with any of their wanted and “person of interest” databases, using some of her Madison law-enforcement connections.

  Until she heard something from Deb, Heather was going to spend the day checking up on her n
ew lover and digging into the new murders.

  She pushed away from the chipped vanity and hoped this story would lead her to a big city, preferably New York—where she could stay in hotels near Central Park and do fol-low-up reports from the Village or on Wall Street. Hell, even Newark was better than this.

  There was a knock at her door. Tim must have been getting impatient. She swept up her purse and keys and headed out to see how this story could help her escape these nowhere burgs.

  Lupo

  Arnow was in the middle of a greasy burger he didn’t seem to want. When he looked up and saw them approaching, a shadow passed over his weary features. He put the food down on his desk. Maybe he’s glad for the excuse, Lupo thought. Maybe he has a sour stomach. Not much chance of helping him feel better.

  “Detective.” Arnow nodded at him before his gaze lingered on Jessie. “Dr. Hawkins.”

  Arnow pointed at the chairs. Pushed the burger aside with a bitter look. “They told me I should eat, but they can’t make me call that food.” He half smiled. “Thanks for coming in. I’m glad to get your advice. I respect your expertise.”

  Lupo could see the cop’s brain spinning behind his quiet eyes, beneath his relaxed look. He sensed the relaxation was a well-practiced front. And the intense eyes were hooded, not quiet.

  Frightened?

  He gave little away, this big-town cop trying to squash himself into a little pond. But the pond had gotten a whole lot deeper, and now he felt the lack of land under his feet. Lupo didn’t want to extend the metaphor, but he couldn’t help thinking the cop had realized he would soon be over his head. Something had broken, and he’d missed it. Missed the chance to stop it, and now it was growing and would swallow him up. He looked lost, and he must have been, to call for Lupo to come down.

  A strange series of looks washed over the sheriff’s face. He was embarrassed to have called Jessie the night before, Lupo realized. Ambivalent. Didn’t quite want to admit it, but felt trapped.

  The new murders had probably ratcheted up the pressure. The city council was likely in special session. The media was hovering. He remembered the luscious but predatory Heather Wilson. She was just the first, the quickest out of the gate. It was a weekend in the off-season. Soon the Milwaukee and Madison and Green Bay trucks would show up, bristling with antennas and perfectly turned-out reporters. Arnow was seeing all this in his head, already measuring the size of the media circus. He had been desperate late last night, feeling his own weakness and flailing about for help.

  Lupo and Jessie had discussed it.

  With no real choice, Lupo jumped in. “Sheriff, I think we can help you, but not quite the way you’re expecting.”

  “Oh?”

  “Let me just get to the point. We might have information you’ll find useful in your investigation of these murders.”

  Arnow leaned back and twined his fingers, wincing as if the motion hurt. “Might have? Information?”

  “Jessie said you called asking for advice last night. By now I’d bet you’re more in need of information.”

  Arnow looked lost for a moment, but then he chose to process Lupo’s words as an insult. Lupo saw it happen, wished he could have rephrased. He had misread Arnow, thinking blunt would be the best approach.

  Arnow’s eyes turned cold, his demeanor defensive. “And what would this information consist of?”

  Lupo looked at Jessie, made a micro-shrug, but didn’t get any words out.

  “There’s more going on here than a crime wave. Look, I’m not in the best of moods, so I’ll be blunt. Information? When I called last night, I was asking for help, I guess. Not information. I used to get that from snitches.” He squared his gaze at Lupo. “Care to confess?”

  Lupo dismissed the awkward question. A mite too condescendingly, he realized. “No confessions. But we have some inside knowledge we’d share with you. Call it a professional courtesy.”

  Arnow squinted at each of them in turn. The look on his face seemed to waver between anger and amusement, curiosity and disbelief. “Look, I appreciate the gesture from a fellow cop. And I respect the hell out of you, Doctor.”

  “Tom, I know how you feel, but—”

  He held up a hand. “My perspective changed overnight. But I’m trying. This is still my case until somebody takes it away. I have all my men, every shift working on this, even though we’re stretched thin. I’ve got calls in to the state police, but so far they’ve been slow in responding.”

  “What about the feds?” Lupo asked.

  Arnow grimaced. “Not yet, but I may be forced to make that call if something doesn’t break by tomorrow, or if another victim lands on my doorstep.” His irritation was showing now, though he covered it with smiles. Strained smiles. “So then please feel free to inform me about my murders.”

  Lupo saw through the bluster. Arnow was floundering, but unwilling to let it show. Who could blame him? A man in his position, new and with an impressive résumé, yet here he was, completely baffled by what was happening and insulted by the whispers that probably followed him into each doorway. The mayor breathing down his neck, the city council fighting over whether to fire him and bring in the cavalry. But who was the cavalry?

  Arnow wanted the cavalry, but he wanted to resolve his own problems, too. Lupo understood him, but he wasn’t sure Arnow wanted to be understood. And he clearly didn’t want to be understanding. He was impatient to hear his visitors and then usher them out and get back to chewing his nails, waiting for inspiration. Maybe driving around, hoping a clue would land on the road in front of him.

  Well, Lupo thought, here’s your clue.

  “Listen, Arnow, we’re here to offer help, but there’s information we have to give you first, and it’s not gonna sound terribly sane.”

  Jessie cut in before Arnow could respond. “Tom, you saw for yourself how the victims looked. No sane person would do that. No sane human.”

  “Yeah, so you’re selling me an insane perp?” He laughed, a little too hysterically. He was on edge. “That’s not a stretch. So, who’s doing this and why?”

  “We don’t know why,” Jessie said, “though we think the tribal council is the key. So far, all the victims are connected by being Indians, being on the council, and one other thing that wouldn’t be as obvious.”

  “Something that would be private, privileged information and not accessible to the general public,” Lupo said. “They all voted in favor of the casino project. It wasn’t unanimous.”

  “So there were two groups? For and against?” Now Arnow looked interested. He reached for a legal pad and scrawled something too quick to be legible to anyone else. “Who else was on the yes side?”

  Lupo nodded. “We thought of that and have calls in to them all. I’m going to sequester them.”

  “I’m the law here. I’ll do whatever sequestering needs to be done.” He didn’t like his feet stepped on quite so openly. “I need that list.”

  Jessie spoke up. “Tom, your plate is full. Believe me, we’re only trying to help. There’s a couple things we can do for you, uh, unoffi cially, that no one else can.” Her level voice, her perfect face delivering the words, kept the sheriff from exploding.

  It had been a clear tactic, bringing Jessie to help the medicine go down. Arnow was so smitten, he’d fight the urge to get ugly in front of her. Lupo was sure he had him pegged.

  Lupo directed a half smile at Jessie while Arnow fixed his gaze on her, unsure how to respond.

  “Sheriff, I guarantee you need to listen to us. We’re not grandstanding or trying to hog the spotlight or whatever you might think.”

  “That might convince me of your motives, Doctor, but I’m not sure about other people’s.”

  Lupo smiled crookedly. “Your employers are breathing down your neck, right? You’re not at all sure you’ll still have this job next week. Might have to sell that cozy condo you bought, thinking you’d be here twenty years. Believe me, we don’t have an axe to grind, but we do have an opportunity
to help you and keep some people from getting killed.”

  Lupo knew it had backfired as soon as he’d said it.

  “Look, Detective, I’m not sure I like the way this is going. You have information, then lay it out. If not, I am busy.” He shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry, Jessie, but I’m not in a good position here. You turned down the autopsy, and now…” He waved at them. “You two are in here talking about information. I wanted a consultant, not a snitch. Sorry, that’s how I feel right now.”

  Lupo said, “A half hour of your time. Just what you need to help you digest that burger from Joy’s Diner. Not the best place in town, by the way. The Lifeson Café is a lot better.”

  Arnow grimaced. “That’s what I get for taking some peo-ple’s advice. Why’s yours any better?”

  “Because we live here, Tom. We care about the place.”

  He sighed, exhaustion written on the lines in his face. “All right, tell me what you have. Insane or not, I’ll listen.”

  They looked at each other sheepishly for a moment. Lupo spoke up. “Follow us to where we can talk privately. My car’s outside.”

  “What?” Sudden anger flared up and colored Arnow’s face. “All that talk about caring and then I’m supposed to follow you somewhere? You can’t talk here? What the hell’re you saying about my people?”

  Lupo tried to soften the words. “We just need you to follow us, Tom. Just out of town, away from prying eyes. It’s better if people don’t see us talking to you.”

  “You’re here and people see you.”

  “Please, Tom, trust us,” Jessie implored.

  “Son of a bitch, Doctor, I don’t like being manipulated.”

  She nodded. “I know it looks like that. But you really should set aside the notion and just go with your gut.”

  Arnow smirked. “My gut tells me I’m being played.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” she said with sadness in her voice.

  “Nevertheless, I’d rather have help that makes sense to me. Insanity I can understand. But following you somewhere, you being coy about your connection to this case, it all makes me very uncomfortable.”

  Lupo stood. “All right, then, Sheriff. We’ll be on our way. But I think you’ll be calling us again.”