Thomas turned and grinned, shoving his chin at the load of groceries and water barrels filling the back of the pickup. “The professor said to pick up this stuff before we came back out today. It took a little longer than we thought.”
Harley piped up, “The road crew shut down for the weekend due ta the ‘accident’ and George thought we all needed a break anyway, so he gave us a day off. We’ll be on our way back up there shortly––we just wanted ta hear what was up with Billy.” Harley turned to the policeman. “I see you still got your badge Billy. Good for you!”
Billy Red Clay nodded. “It went better than I thought…thanks to Charlie I guess.”
Charlie waved this off, “I think it’s going to be all right, at least for the present.”
Thomas hopped down from the truck. “That’s good to hear, Nephew. I’d hate to see the reservation left unprotected.” He then turned back to Charlie. “The professor is in town, too, said he had to check his mail and tend to a few things…like laundry.” He grinned again and motioned Harley off the tailgate. “We’re running a little late, we should already be back up there.” Thomas was already in the truck when he hesitated and slid back off the seat. “Oh, I almost forgot, the Professor said he would drop by your office before heading back up to the dig. He said there was something he’d meant to tell you up there.”
Back at his office, Charlie ran through his messages and saw there had been a call from Captain Beyale. When he rang him back the captain sounded in a hurry. “Charlie, we’ve had a further development in the Hoffman case.” There was the sound of the officer clearing his throat. “Karl Hoffman’s second in command has come up missing… I guess it could be anything…or nothing, but we are checking it out now rather than waiting. His name is James Erdric; his truck was discovered abandoned in a grove of trees just south of the road construction site. He has a trailer up there but it’s locked…the caretaker says it’s locked from the inside.” There was a pause and Charlie could hear voices in the background. “I just thought I’d give you a heads up. I sent Officer Sosi up there to look into it and thought you might be interested in having a look around for yourself. I’m going to hold off on notifying the FBI until we know what we have here.
Charlie had no more than hung up the phone when he saw George Custer approaching the open door––apparently the receptionist had gone to lunch when he was on the phone with tribal.
The professor was smiling, but not for long, as he listened to the update on the latest happenings up at the construction site he said, “I’m on my way back up, I’ll follow you if you don’t mind?” Dr. Custer said nothing more as he fell in behind the tribal investigator.
~~~~~~
Thomas Begay and Harley Ponyboy finished unloading the supplies, and Thomas hand-carried the bags of more fragile items up to the professor’s tent while Harley put the packsaddle on Jake and loaded the panniers with the more durable goods. The mule packed, but still had a little problem avoiding juniper trees along the path. After two days in the little three panel corral attached to the horse trailer Jake had finished the rather generous portion of hay Harley left him, and was nearly out of water––his energy level was way up and he showed this by banging his way through the trees. In the tent, Thomas could hear Harley cursing; the little man had come to believe it helped a mule pay attention, though he was yet to see much lasting good come of it.
Thomas went to the tent flaps and looked out. The lop-eared creature in question stood tied to a sapling. The packs had been offloaded and were sitting on a flat slab of rock. Although Harley was nowhere in sight Thomas could hear him quite plainly in the distance, still cursing. Harley wasn’t ordinarily given to such language except when scolding Jake, and when he found his friend on his hands and knees in the kiva, Harley had grown quiet. The little man had used up the list of curse words he was familiar with and was about to start over from the beginning, when he felt Thomas’s hand on his shoulder and looked up.
“I can understand you cussing that mule, Harley, but I don’t think it’s gonna work on these rocks.”
Harley shook his head. “…You said this thing had been here a thousand years and wasn’t going anywhere…now it’s gone.”
“What’s gone Harley?”
“Well, I don’t know exactly…but someone’s been into this vault and there’s something missing,” he said, gently blowing away the crumbling remains of what appeared to be some fibrous material leaving only the impression of something that had been half buried.
“You mean someone’s been up here digging while we were in town?”
Harley snorted, “That’s just exactly what I mean…looks to me like it was that first night, too.” He reached to one side and picked up a small, shallow grey bowl the rim of which was decorated with tiny black swallows. “I found this over by the wall, wrapped in a rag. They must have lost it climbing out of the kiva. He held it up for Thomas to look at but didn’t hand it over. There was a tiny hole drilled in the bottom. “You see that hole, this is a “killed” bowl and it was upside down over whatever was hidden under there. The slab was pried off, the bowl set aside and something taken. They must have been in a hurry not ta keep digging… that, or what they found was too important to risk staying any longer.” The little man stood up and squinted down toward the road. “Whoever they were, they knew what they were doing.” He paused and smiled. “Except for one thing.”
“What’s that Harley?”
“They brushed out most of their tracks… but they forgot this one under the rock cover they set aside. All’s we got ta do is find who’s wearing these boots.”
Harley pointed at the only track still evident in the kiva. “The path up here is so rocky they didn’t leave much sign except right here in the soft dirt where we’ve been digging.”
Thomas stared at the track. “How do you know there was something under that bowl?”
Harley opened his hand. “These,” he said. “These turquoise beads were scattered in the dirt around a hollow…an effigy or some sort of ornament or something. I can’t make out what it was, but it had ta be something pretty special, probably strung on a necklace of beads.” Harley gazed thoughtfully out past the kiva. “I’m pretty sure they waited for us to leave… then sneaked in here after dark.”
Thomas peered up at the ceiling of the alcove rubbed his chin with two fingers and thought aloud. “I wonder how good they are at making owl hoots?”
Harley grimaced, “I already thought of that, I guess they know something about Navajos, too.” Harley put the beads back where he found them, then carefully put the grey bowl back just as the ring in the dirt showed it had been and then replaced the stone slab. “The professor will want to take a look at this in situ,” he said, proud of his latest archaeological term. He scratched his head. “I can’t figure out why they didn’t come back for that bowl the second night we were gone. It has to be worth five hundred, at least, on the black market”
~~~~~~
When Charlie and the professor pulled up at the construction site, Officer Hastiin Sosi was already there, speaking with the maintenance man, the same man Billy Red Clay had talked to the day of the Hoffman shooting. He was Indian, but probably not Navajo; he appeared worried, and seemed careful about how he answered the policeman.
Charlie stood back, not wanting to interfere with the Tó’á háni clan lawman; most Near to Water people he had known were a little high-strung at times and this one looked like he might be one of them.
Professor Custer nudged him and gestured toward a trailer whose door hung ajar. It had obviously been recently jimmied open, a crowbar still leaned against the siding, a number of flies were buzzing in and out and appeared quite excited about what was inside. Charlie nodded and the two moved toward the trailer––a shout from behind stopped them in their tracks, causing them to turn as the policeman waved them away from the trailer then held up a finger for them to wait. Hastiin Sosi wagged that same finger at the man he had been talking to, and pointed
at a thirty-gallon drum. The man took this to mean he was to have a seat and wait, and this proved to be the case.
As the policeman approached, Charlie couldn’t help but notice his right hand hovering over his sidearm, this must be something new they’re teaching at the academy, he thought to himself. He remembered the professor mentioning the same thing in his deposition regarding Billy Red Clay on the day of the confrontation with Karl Hoffman. Over the past year or so Charlie himself had attended several state-mandated classes at the academy, but didn’t remember this degree of readiness being encouraged.
At closer range, Officer Sosi saw the badge on Charlie’s belt and then recognized the tribal investigator. Just the hint of a smile appeared at the corners of his mouth and his gun hand quickly reached to scratch his ear. “Sorry about that, Yazzie, but there’s a dead man inside and all the usual people are on their way––like a herd of turtles––including the FBI, and you know how they are. As soon as I got the door open and saw what was what I just closed it back up. That’s the way the FBI wants it.”
Charlie gave him a conspiratorial wink followed by a halfway salute. “Not a problem, Hastiin.” Then looking at the man sitting on the little oil drum he smiled, “You seem to have things well in hand out here and it’s not our intention to interfere. It’s just that your Captain Beyale suggested I come out and have a look, as he put it. I don’t mean to get in the way, but there are a few questions a quick look inside might resolve.”
The mention of his captain’s name caused an immediate change in the policeman’s attitude and he stuck out his hand. Charlie shook hands and introduced Professor George Armstrong Custer. Hastiin Sosi looked askance upon hearing the name but shook hands, all the while studying Charlie and the professor’s face for some sign of a joke. When neither of the two men smiled or gave any indication this was not the professor’s real name, the lawman cleared his throat and nodded vigorously, “Yes… well I’m sure it won’t hurt for you fellows to have a peek at the remains. I know you won’t touch anything. …I’m sort of responsible you know… until the FBI gets here I mean. That Ute over there is the maintenance man, he says he heard this Erdric fellow come in late at night but said that was often the case and he didn’t pay it any mind until this morning. When he didn’t show up at seven this morning like he usually does he thought he’d better investigate. He couldn’t rouse the guy so thought he might be sick or something and pried open the door. That’s when he called the authorities.”
Charlie and the professor smiled agreeably at this information and turned once more to the trailer. One look at the body was enough to convince them they’d rather read about it in the autopsy report when it came out. There wasn’t much blood but what there was appeared almost black in the shadows of the trailer house. The body was sprawled across the floor, feet almost at the door, and it was obvious the person was trying to escape from someone when he made it inside and locked the door before collapsing. Due to the trailer’s off-road axles, the threshold was just below waist high and the men stood at the side of tall metal steps to gaze inside at the body, nearly within reach. The injuries, one obviously from a bullet, seemed to them more than sufficient to kill a man. The professor bit at his bottom lip and said, “That’s the guy that was down at our camp with Karl Hoffman the other day.”
Charlie hadn’t mentioned the name Captain Beyale had given him that morning. “Are you sure? What was his name George?”
The professor peered over his shoulder. “I have no idea. Hoffman skipped the social amenities.”
Charlie nodded and pointed. “His name is James Erdric… I believe some of those injuries might be knife wounds and serious ones, too. What do you think?”
The professor had looked away but dutifully glanced back at the corpse. “Maybe… I’m not sure.” He’d seen all he had the stomach for and turned away. The professor had seen plenty of dead people, but most of them had been a thousand years old, and while some were remarkably well preserved, there still had been that certain detachment of time and culture. The remains of a person he had seen alive only three days before was an entirely different matter. George moved a short distance away before taking a fresh breath of air, leaving Charlie peering into the trailer where he reached unnoticed into the shadows and past the edge of the doorway.
The two men didn’t wait for the FBI’s entourage from Farmington, and only waved at the tribal policeman as they left. Officer Hastiin stood with one foot on the oil drum, his former detainee standing respectfully to one side, as Sosi took notes on a pad balanced on one knee. He was a very thorough policeman and determined to get things exactly right. He knew his words would soon be scrutinized by his superiors and dissected in minute detail.
Later, as Charlie and the professor rejoined the crew at the dig, preparations for lunch were underway. Thomas had put himself in charge of the meal, and had chosen one of his favorite midday snacks. He distributed small cans of potted meat and passed around a box of soda crackers to accompany them. He smiled at Harley, knowing it was a favorite of his as well. It was, in fact, Harley, who had taken it upon himself to add a case of this delicacy to the grocery lading. He apologized for not having bought the better brand with the little red devil on the label, but declared this to be nearly as good. Being both cheap, and readily available, potted meat has long been a favorite on the reservation.
In the old days, when Harley was a boy up in the Tsé Bii’ Ndzisgaii a Navajo might refer to any meal time as “Lunch.” Rising at daylight his grandfather might exclaim, “Get up everybody, it’s time for lunch!” Or at the evening meal, regardless of what it was, his mother might be heard to say, “Okay you people, lunch is ready.” The old people still liked the sound of it. Lunch is an easy word to say in English and everyone gets it.
Charlie had eaten plenty of this particular brand of potted meat in his childhood, but had never really read the label. Now out of curiosity he held his can up close and examined the ingredients which caused him to make a little noise in his throat, after which he passed the remainder of the can to Thomas, who had finished his, and was quick to smile his appreciation.
Around reluctant nibbles of his last cracker, Charlie related what they had seen up at the road-camp.
Thomas looked over at Harley but addressed his question to Charlie Yazzie. “You say you saw the dead guy?”
Charlie was still choking down the last of the cracker and before he could answer, the professor answered for him. “We saw him, all right. It was the guy that was down here with Karl Hoffman last week. He had apparently run into someone with a little less patience than us.”
Harley coughed at this, his mouth dry from the crackers, and then reached for his water bottle before going on. “You didn’t happen ta see what kind a boots he was wearing did you Doc?”
The professor and Charlie seemed a little surprised at the question, but Thomas wasn’t, he had been about to ask that same thing himself and stopped chewing momentarily to hear the answer.
“Yes, his boots were right in front of us.” Charlie didn’t even have to think about it before answering. “Looked like the typical oil field boots to me, the kind any construction worker out here might wear.” He pulled up the image of those boots in his mind and examined it before continuing. “They did have a little different tread pattern than I’ve seen before and a yellow logo imprinted in the heel.”
Harley smiled and nodded. “A pattern on the sole like little plus signs… and a size nine maybe?”
Charlie again looked surprised. “I guess so.” He looked at the professor. “What do you say George?”
“That’s about right, I guess.” George Custer was now looking directly at Harley Ponyboy. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with what you wanted me to see up at the kiva would it…? You really think it has something to do with the murder of this Erdric fellow?”
Harley laughed, “I would pretty much bet on it Doc. I put a cover over the track we found up there. Maybe those FBIs can do a match… b
ut I bet it is the same guy.”
Charlie looked from one to the other and wondered what he had missed.
6
1075 A. D.
The Pursuit
The hulking form of the young man from the village was barely visible in the darkness. He ran at a relentless pace and it was clear he didn’t mean to stop any time soon. That was all right with the younger boy, he was a good runner himself and had no trouble keeping up.
The village elders had spoken the truth when they described their young man as big and strong. He was larger than most men the boy had known but probably only a year or so older than himself. He had yet to speak a single a word, whether unable, or just that he preferred quiet for the work ahead remained unknown. Both boys were adept at signing and had no trouble understanding each other.
Each carried a light pack of provisions, parched corn mostly, and wore cloaks of woven rabbit fur and turkey down. They carried their weapons slung on their backs. The younger boy had never seen such a lance as the other carried, heavy and long with a leaf-shaped chert point. Most likely it was from one of the raiders he’d killed at the village. The elders said he had no weapons of his own, finally admitting he was no longer allowed them, but didn’t say why. The younger boy’s father gave him his atlatl after hearing the young man was expert in its use. The pair carried no water as the older boy was familiar with the way north and knew of several seeps and tiny springs. There was still enough water to drink in that country should one know where to find it.
The younger boy had seen no lack of acuity in the other’s thinking and wondered what was meant when the elders intimated he was not right in the head. Whatever problem this huge person had, there had been no sign of it, yet.
Wolves of Winter: A Navajo Nation Mystery Page 6