Skeleton Picnic

by Michael Norman

  “Anyway, she said the head of the SPA is a man by the name of Rodney Begay.”

  “Okay. And just who is Rodney Begay?”

  “Curley described Begay as a reclusive Navajo lawyer who lives in Sedona. Apparently, he’s quite wealthy and supports a variety of Native American causes.”

  “Has Curley ever met him?”

  “No. This is all second-hand information. Curley seemed to think that few people have direct access to Begay; that he’s protected by a small inner circle.”

  Books knew that Sedona was anything but the low-rent district. The town catered to an affluent crowd whose interest in the arts rivaled that of Taos, Scottsdale, or Santa Fe. He’d been there a few times as a kid on family vacations. He recalled the long drives from Kanab down through Page, Arizona, across the stunning, but desolate Painted Desert, and on to Flagstaff and Sedona.

  “I’d like you to gather as much information about this guy as you can find,” said Books. “Run him through every on-line site that you can think of. Find out where he grew up, where he went to law school, and where he practices law. In the meantime, I’ll call Dan Walker with the Four Corners Task Force and see whether his group has any intell on the SPA or Rodney Begay.”

  “Okay. I’ll get right on it.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  From his office Books began piecing together information about the SPA and James Earl Buck. He dialed the phone number of the Four Corners Task Force. Walker answered on the first ring.

  “Chief Mendez tells me you’re up to your neck with a pot-hunting case linked to a missing couple from Kanab,” said Walker.

  Books gave him a brief rundown on the Rogers investigation. “I wanted to find out whether you’ve had any similar cases in the Four Corners area.”

  “After I spoke with Chief Mendez and read a newspaper account of your investigation, I went back five years into our records looking for unsolved similar cases. What I found surprised me.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, the records show a total of seven cases during the five-year period where one or more persons went missing and were never seen or heard from again. In one instance, a group of university archeology students, lead by a professor, stumbled upon the skeletal remains of one of the missing victims.”

  “How did you determine that those skeletal remains were part of the seven cases?”

  “The detectives used information they’d gathered from the families of the missing people and determined that this particular victim went missing near where his remains were found. Ultimately they used the guy’s dental records to make the match.”

  “Did the remains show any signs of foul play—bullet wounds, blunt object trauma, that sort of thing?”

  “That’s a problem. I don’t know. The case report doesn’t reflect anything of that sort, but none of these investigations has ever been classified as anything other than missing persons cases.”

  “In other words, nobody thought to examine the remains for foul play.”

  “That’s right. But you’ve got to remember that people go missing in the desert all the time. Most either walk out under their own power or are found by search and rescue. Only a small percentage disappears permanently.”

  “You mentioned that something in the records surprised you,” said Books. What was it?”

  “When I looked for cases where the missing subjects were known or suspected diggers, two things jumped out at me. The first was that I had four such cases, five if we count yours.”

  “And the other?”

  “Each of these cases occurred relatively recently—during the past two and a half years.”

  “Where did they occur—any geographic pattern?”

  “No, not really. They were scattered all over the Four Corners area. In fact, your case is the only one I can find that didn’t occur in the Four Corners region.”

  “Which could mean they’re absolutely unrelated.”

  “Very possible. There’s one other difference. None of our cases included a burglary of the victim’s residence.”

  “Even so, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to have a look at those case files.”

  “I’ll save you the trouble. We’ll review each of these cases and see whether there’s anything that might have been overlooked—anything that might indicate foul play. What concerns me is the possibility, however remote, that we might have a gang of rogue pot hunters who are not only engaged in illegal collecting, but who also prey on rival diggers.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Books. “And if your concerns are correct, that might explain what happened to our missing couple.”

  “I’ve called a special meeting with my staff tomorrow morning ,” said Walker. “I’ll go over all of this and we’ll get to work.”

  Books shifted gears and described the troubling incident that he and Tanner encountered the previous day with the tribal members who had arrested his brother-in-law.

  “And you believe that these four Native American men belong to some group that patrols tribal lands looking for pot hunters?”

  “I know it sounds a little weird, but I’d like to know if your Task Force has any intel on this group.”

  “I’ve never heard of any group calling itself the Society for the Preservation of the Ancients or the SPA, but I’ll sure look into it. One member of our team, George Tso, is a Navajo tribal police officer. I’ll ask him to check it out.”

  “I’ve got one last question for you. Have you guys had any contact with a man by the name of James Earl Buck?”

  “I’ll check. Who is he, anyway?”

  Books explained the fingerprint that had been lifted from the trowel at the site where the Rogers couple had been digging.

  “So this guy’s one of your suspects along with the Navajo kid you were telling me about.”

  “Yup.”

  Walker put Books on hold while he ran a check on Buck. Moments later, he was back. “We don’t have anything in our records on him, but when I ran his name through the database at the Colorado Bureau of Investigation, they show he’s got priors from the Grand Junction Police Department.”

  “When and for what?”

  “Let’s see. 2008, domestic violence, 2009, assault and battery, 2009 again, this time in Durango for hit and run auto—all misdemeanors.”

  “Is he on probation?”

  “Could be, but I can’t confirm it from this record. I’ll have to make a call and get back to you. Hold on a moment and let me check one more thing.”

  Books waited. “Mr. Buck’s got a suspended Colorado driver’s license showing a Cortez post office box for an address. I’ll scan it and send it to you in an email.”

  The men disconnected with Walker promising to recontact Books as soon as he had further information.

  Books leaned back in his office chair and planted his size elevens on the top corner of his desk. Slowly, a picture of James Earl Buck was starting to take shape. For starters, he had probably been a damn good soldier. He’d risen through the ranks to a leadership position in the U.S. Army’s prestigious 86th Airborne Division, no small feat in itself. His scrapes with the law seem to have begun after his discharge in 2007. Books wondered what might have triggered the onslaught of arrests, maybe post-traumatic stress disorder, or drug abuse. From the information he’d collected so far, it was impossible to tell.

  As Books prepared to leave the office, his phone rang. The caller identified herself as a probation and parole agent with the Utah Department of Corrections. Her name was Roslyn Jones and she was James Buck’s probation officer. Jones explained that Sergeant Dan Walker of the Four Corners Task Force had asked her to call him.

  “So he is on probation,” said Books. “I’m surprised he’s in Utah. I thought he was living in Colorado.”

 
“He is on probation, and he was residing in Colorado until recently,” replied Jones. “His offenses occurred in Colorado, but he compacted last year to Utah. He lives in Blanding in an old house he and his younger brother inherited from their late mother.”

  Blanding, thought Books, the heart of Four Corners pot hunting.

  “By compacting you mean he got permission from the Colorado court to move to Utah and you lucky folks get the privilege of babysitting him.”

  “That’s about it. All states belong to the Interstate Compact. That means that an offender like Mr. Buck is adjudicated in one state but decides he wants to live in another. In the case of Mr. Buck, that would be Utah. The offender applies, and if permission is granted, he’s allowed to move to another state. Utah provides complimentary community supervision of Mr. Buck for Colorado.”

  “I see. And if Buck screws up in Utah, you ship him back to Colorado authorities.”

  “That’s how it works. Now how can I help you? Is James in some kind of trouble?”

  “He could be. At the moment I’d call him a person of interest in a federal antiquities investigation and an aggravated kidnapping case that occurred this past week along a stretch of the Arizona strip.”

  “Can’t say I’m surprised, given the family history.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mr. Buck comes from a military family, albeit a dysfunctional one. When the boys were young, the family moved frequently following their father’s base assignments. His father served in the Army for thirteen years until he was drummed out for a variety of criminal offenses—nasty-tempered guy, from what the record suggests.”

  “What became of the father?”

  “Good question. The mother divorced him and took the boys back to her home town in Blanding. The father pretty much dropped out of sight. He’s been busted twice by Colorado Fish and Game for poaching, and he hasn’t filed federal or state income tax forms for years.”

  “The old man sounds like a wonderful role model.”

  “That’s part of James’ problem. Instead of looking at him like the creep he is, James, unfortunately, sees him as some kind of modern-day mountain man who lives off the land and fights the good fight against an oppressive government.”

  “You’d better give me any information you have on the father,” said Books. “For all I know, he could be involved in this thing right along with James.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have much on the father. His name is Earl Wilson Buck. People call him Willy. He’s fifty with a DOB of 3-11-61.”

  “That’s okay. I can do the rest.”

  Anything else I can help you with?”

  “If you can reach James, I’d sure like to talk to him.”

  “I think I can help you with that. He’s in violation of his probation agreement if he’s committed any new offenses. And in fact, if he leaves the state of Utah at any time without my written permission, that’s a violation as well. We can either prosecute him here for new offenses or simply return him to Colorado.”

  “How often do you see him?”

  “Once a month by appointment.”

  And where do you meet?”

  “Usually we meet here in the Moab office, but once in a while, I visit him at his home in Blanding.”

  “When’s his next appointment?”

  Jones looked in her planner. “Here in my office, at nine a.m., one week from today.”

  “Hmm. I don’t have a week to spare. How about employment? Where does he work?”

  “I’m afraid that’s gonna be a problem. He works sporadically as a day laborer—mostly seems to be getting by on unemployment checks and food stamps. The best bet would be to catch him at home.”

  “Can you help me with that?”

  “Sure, if you tell me how you want to play it. If I spook him, he might run.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  She thought about that. “Here’s what we can do. I’ll call him and feed him a bullshit story that we are altering the conditions of his probation agreement by loosening some restrictions. He’ll like that. I’ll tell him that he must come to my office immediately to sign the new probation contract. When he gets here, you’ll be waiting.”

  “I like how you think, Agent Jones.”

  Before they disconnected, they agreed that she would notify Books the moment the appointment was set, and that Books would be ready to leave for Moab at a moment’s notice.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  While Books finished with Agent Jones, he received an incoming call from Randy Maldonado. Maldonado left a message cancelling their scheduled dinner and explaining that he had been delayed in Salt Lake City and wouldn’t make it to Kanab until the following day.

  One less complication, thought Books.

  Books drove to the hospital to check on the condition of Joe Benally. He learned that Benally’s surgery had gone well, and that he had just been moved from intensive care to a regular hospital bed. A uniformed Kanab police officer sat outside the door reading a magazine while Benally’s mother remained at his bedside. Books stopped at the nurse’s station and was told that doctors expected Benally to sleep for several more hours. That meant his best hope for an interview would likely be sometime the next morning.

  As he left the hospital, his cell chirped. The caller was Greg Jasper, a fingerprint technician who had processed the stolen Ford Explorer and the note found in Joe Benally’s pants pocket.

  “What have you got for me, Greg?”

  “On the note, I found latent prints as we expected from Joe Benally and Officer Harris. I also found a third set of prints but, unfortunately, they don’t match James Earl Buck.”

  “Whose prints are they?”

  “Wish I knew. When I ran them through the AFIS, I didn’t get a match.”

  Damn, thought Books. He had been confident the prints would have come back to Buck. If they weren’t his, whose were they? They couldn’t belong to Earl Buck. His prints would have yielded an AFIS match, since he had both a military and criminal history. An ugly thought entered Books’ head one he hadn’t thought about until now.

  “Greg, I’ve got another individual whose prints I’d like you to look at.”

  “Sure. Who is it?”

  “The man’s name is Robert Douglas Case. He was just arrested for pot-hunting. You’ll find a copy of his prints at the Kane County Sheriff’s Department.”

  Books saw no reason to explain to Jasper his relationship with Bobby.

  “I’ll get right on it for you. Now as for the Explorer, I’m afraid that’s a bit more complicated.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve identified several sets of prints both in and outside the Explorer. Chances are good that some of them belong to the family from whom the vehicle was stolen. Several of them came back as a match to James Buck. But I also got a hit on somebody named Earl Buck. Does that name ring a bell?”

  “Sure does,” replied Books. “Earl is James Buck’s father.”

  “I figured he had to be family. If you like, I’ll go ahead and compare the latents I lifted from the SUV to the prints of Robert Case. Maybe some of the prints are his.”

  Books doubted that but told him to go ahead.

  ***

  A few minutes later, Books turned the Tahoe down a gravel road leading to the Case cattle ranch. He hadn’t spoken to Bobby since his release from jail the previous day, and with Maggie still in Salt Lake with their father, he was worried about Bobby and his two nephews. Much to his surprise, he found Maggie’s Subaru parked in the driveway in front of the house.

  He knocked before poking his head inside and shouting, “Anybody home?”

  “In here,” said Maggie.

  She and Bobby were seated across from one another on leather couc
hes. There was no sign of the boys, and tension in the room was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Bobby glanced up, tears in his eyes, nodded, but said nothing.

  “I can see this isn’t a good time,” said Books. “Sorry for the interruption. I can touch base with you sometime tomorrow.”

  “That would probably be better,” replied Maggie. She got off the couch and walked him outside to his truck.

  “Sorry I didn’t call you to let you know I was coming. I was so upset when you called, I just had to come home and get this sorted out.”

  “Don’t blame you a bit, sis. How about the boys? I didn’t see them.”

  “Not to worry. When I decided to come home, I made arrangements with Grandma and Grandpa Case to pick up the boys and keep them overnight.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Yeah, you can take Bobby out to the barn and pound some sense into that thick skull of his.”

  “Besides that.”

  “I don’t think so. His dad had him surrounded with lawyers the minute he got out of jail. He isn’t saying much, not even to me.”

  “I don’t suppose he’d talk to me. I really need to know the name of the individual who introduced him to Benally. So far, he’s refused to give up that person. My detective nose tells me that whoever this individual is may hold the key to resolving this mess.”

  “Let me ask him. I’m sure he won’t talk to you—lawyers orders.”

  Books changed the subject. “How’s Bernie?”

  “Dad’s doing great—improving by the hour.”

  “He always was a tough old bird, gotta give him that. I’ll call him first thing in the morning. I feel awful that I couldn’t make the surgery, sis. I can’t thank you enough for taking such good care of him.”

  “You’re welcome. I think a call from you would bolster his spirits.”

  “How long will he stay in the hospital?”