Buffalo Bill's Dead Now (A Wind River Mystery)

by Margaret Coel

  He stopped. A noise outside, like a twig snapping under a boot. He stayed very still; he could blend into the stone wall, he was thinking, like the vault. He held his breath and listened. Another sound, so small and muffled that he wondered if he heard it or only imagined it. Then he saw the trouser legs moving past the window in slow motion, as if the man were walking through water. Lift one boot, set it down. Lift the other boot, set it down. There was a remnant of sound, a faint disturbance in the air. The trouser legs disappeared, but only for a brief moment. They were back, patrolling past the window toward the back door. He could barely hear the whispered voices, the short, strained commands. Marks was here, but he wasn’t alone. Sonny heard the back door creak open.

  He took two steps around the side of the stairs, keeping his footsteps light, as if he were floating on air. In the corridor upstairs, the muffled clack of boots. The door to the basement snapped back against the wall, followed by the kind of stillness that comes when everyone stops and holds their breath. A sudden burst of light flooded the stairs and shot across the basement floor toward the vault. Someone whispered, “Basement’s a good hiding place.”

  “Take a look.” Another whisper.

  Sonny folded himself against the wall underneath the stairs. Overhead, the first step groaned and shifted. Through the space between the steps, he could see the gas lamp swinging from a large, mottled hand. Smells of perspiration and tobacco and gas floated toward him. A band of light worked past the stairs and crossed his face. He could hear his heart beating like a drum in his ears.

  The key! He had to hide the key. He managed to pull the pouch out from inside his shirt and grip the key between his thumb and index finger. His hand was shaking. The next step shifted under the weight of the man with the lantern. A puff of dust drifted downward. Sonny held his breath and waited until his hand was steady. Gripping the key in his fist, as if he were gripping his own life, he ran his other hand over the stones in the wall until the tips of his fingers slid into a tiny notch.

  Big enough! He turned his shoulders sideways and pushed the key into the notch, holding it in place for a moment until he was sure it wouldn’t fall out.

  The man was on the next to the last step now, the smell of perspiration so strong that Sonny had to clamp his lips tight to stifle a cough. The long dark shadow fell backward over the steps, the lamp swung out ahead. Light flooded across the basement floor and walls, like a river overflowing its banks.

  “See anything?” The whisper came from the top of the stairs.

  The man with the lamp took the last step and planted both boots on the basement floor, swaying as he swung the lamp from side to side. Then he turned back toward the steps. Sonny could feel the instinct that had turned the man around, as if he had sensed Sonny’s eyes on his back. He pressed himself against the wall and watched Herman Marks lower the lamp until light penetrated the spaces between the steps. He could feel the strips of light splayed over his body.

  “Well, well,” Marks said. “What have we here?”

  29

  THE EMERGENCY WAITING room was empty. Across from the entrance were the metal doors that led into a corridor flanked by examining rooms. A row of plastic chairs with scooped seats lined the wall opposite the counter. There was no one behind the window with the metal intercom inserted in the center. Father John pounded the bell on the counter. “Hello!” he shouted. “Anybody here?”

  God, where was everybody? He pushed on the bell again—once, twice. The high, shrill noise bounced around the waiting room. He was about to crash a fist into the ringer again when a gray-haired, middle-aged woman with slumped shoulders and an irritated expression emerged from beyond a side door.

  “This is a hospital…” She sucked in a breath. “Oh, Father, I didn’t know it was you.”

  “Vicky Holden,” he said. “Where do I find her?”

  “I’ll call the nurse.” The woman stretched a hand toward a phone below the window.

  Father John swung about and strode toward the metal doors. He knew the emergency room by heart; how many times had he been called here? More than he wanted to think about. Arapahos with heart attacks and strokes. Arapahos in car wrecks and fistfights, bucked off horses or fallen off tractors out on a ranch, all rushed to the hospital in an ambulance.

  That was how Vicky would have come.

  “Father! One moment…”

  He pushed through the doors that banged behind him as he strode down the corridor. The door to the first examining room stood open, the room vacant, a white strip of paper pulled over the examining table. The next door was closed. He could hear the muffled sounds of voices inside as he knocked. The door swung back a few inches, and an anxious-looking nurse with blond hair and green scrubs peered out. “Father John!” she said, yanking the door back. “You’re looking for Vicky Holden. I’ll take you.” She stepped out and closed the door behind her, but not before he caught a glimpse of a bulky figure under the white sheet and the strands of red hair spread over the white pillow.

  The nurse hurried ahead. “She’s in here,” she said, nudging open the door to the next examining room.

  There was no one on the table. Then he saw her by the window on the left side of the tiny cubicle. She turned toward him and crossed the space between them. In a second, he pulled her toward him and held her. She was trembling with shock.

  “Are you hurt?” he said, still holding her close, as if he could protect her. How ridiculous. He could never protect her.

  “They tried to kill me.” Her voice was muffled against his shirt.

  “Vicky,” he said. “Are you all right?” God, let her be all right. It was all he wanted, he thought. It was everything.

  She pulled away. Her eyes wide with astonishment, as if she just realized she had been in his arms. “A little stiff and sore,” she said. “The doctor’s reading my X-rays now, but I think I’m okay.”

  “Shouldn’t you be resting…” He nodded toward the ruffled white sheets on the examining table.

  “Rest?” she said. “How can I rest? The bastards are still out there.”

  “The two men in the sedan?” They came and went like gusts of wind, touching down one place, then another. Taking Trevor Pratt’s life. Abducting Eldon White Elk. And now Vicky. My God, where will it stop?

  “I’ve been going over everything in my mind,” Vicky said. “I keep coming back to Jason Gains. He has to be the one who called Petey from the Security Systems office to make sure there was no security guard near the warehouse. He has to be involved with those two white men. I think he must have told them I was catching on. They wanted me dead.”

  Dead. The word hit Father John with the force of an arrow. He wanted to erase the pain and fear in her expression. He had to stop himself from reaching for her again.

  “I’ll talk to Jason tonight,” he said.

  “I think he might work the late shift, since he called Petey about six. He’s probably still at the office. I’ll go with you.”

  “Only place you should go is home.” A tall, athletic-looking man in trousers and short-sleeved white shirt came through the door and walked over to the X-ray screen on the wall. “How you doing, Father?” He was Doctor Larry Harris, an old acquaintance from other trips to the emergency room. Obviously not expecting an answer, Doctor Harris plastered a large black film against the screen and flipped on a light. “You’re lucky.” He threw a sideways glance at Vicky. “Cervical discs look normal. No sign of rupture or bulging. That doesn’t mean you won’t develop symptoms later, such as headaches or fatigue. With some accidents, it can take time for injuries to manifest themselves. But at this point, it looks as if your biggest worry will be stiffness and soreness. You should rest for the next couple of days.”

  He switched off the light and faced them. “I’ll give you a prescription to help you relax and sleep. Questions?”

  “Thanks,” Vicky said. Father John could hear the denial in her tone. She had no intention of taking the prescription. She had
no intention of relaxing or sleeping until two murderers were in custody.

  The doctor nodded in a way that said he also caught the meaning in her tone. He opened the door. On the other side was the nurse in green scrubs, Adam Lone Eagle beside her. The doctor brushed past them, and Adam stepped inside and closed the door.

  “I came as soon as I heard.” He kept his eyes on Vicky. “News about the accident is all over the moccasin telegraph.” He drew in a deep breath and ran a hand through his black, gray-streaked hair. “I’ve been crazy with worry.”

  Vicky seemed to need a moment before she reached out and placed a hand on Adam’s arm. “I’m okay,” she said. “The two men in the dark sedan ran me off the road.”

  “Do the police know?”

  “Police cars, ambulance, they all showed up.” Vicky pulled her hand away. Father John could see she was trembling. “I told them what I had seen. Dark sedan, two white men. They ran up on me and crashed into the tailgate, then came alongside at a curve and pushed me off the road.”

  Adam did a little half turn, as if he had to look away from what might have happened, then he pivoted back to Vicky. “A couple of white men on the rez can’t hide forever. The cops will get them.”

  Hundreds of miles of empty roads, Father John was thinking. And in Riverton, obscure motels that blended in with the strip malls and warehouses. Anybody could disappear in the area for a long time.

  He tried to focus on what Adam was saying. Something about Petey Many Horses and the accident.

  “This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t asked you to talk to Petey,” Adam said. “Mary told me you talked to his boss this afternoon.”

  “What else did Mary tell you?” Vicky said.

  “Come on, Vicky.” A sharp note of irritation punctuated the Lakota’s voice. “We talked about Petey. She said you were trying to get his job back. I could never forgive myself if…” He sucked in the rest of it. “I should never have gotten you involved.” He moved forward and placed his arms around her. “Why didn’t you call me right away? I see you called your friend.”

  Father John could feel the laser heat of the glance the man shot him.

  “I came as soon as I heard,” Father John said, but he doubted the words had registered with Adam Lone Eagle. Everything about the man was focused on Vicky, the way he stood, holding her like a fragile and breakable sculpture. He was in love with her. And now he was back.

  “I’m going to take you home,” Adam said.

  “I’m not ready to go home just yet.” Vicky pulled away, scooped a black bag off the only chair in the room, and fidgeted with the strap on her shoulder, avoiding Adam’s eyes, Father John thought. Then she shouldered past him, flung open the door and walked into the corridor.

  Father John started after her, but the Lakota caught up and pushed past. He took hold of Vicky’s arm and swung her toward him. “You’ve been in a serious accident. You might have been killed. The Jeep’s probably totaled. Let me take you home, Vicky. Let me take care of you.”

  Vicky had started backing up, shrugging out of his grasp. “Two men tried to kill me,” she said. “When they failed, they would have come back if a couple hadn’t come along when they did. I could be dead. Don’t you get it? I have to know why.”

  THE EVENING WAS warm with the smells of sage and dust that blew past the opened windows of the Toyota pickup. Vicky sat huddled in the passenger seat, arms wrapped around her black bag, eyes fixed ahead. “Adam and the doctor are both right,” Father John told her as he’d driven out of the hospital parking lot. He had offered to take her home, but she had given him such a look of determination that he knew, even if he took her to her apartment, she would find a way to get to Security Systems and talk to Jason. He had pressed the play button on the CD player, and now “Ch’ella mi creda” drifted beneath the wind.

  He turned onto Federal. The traffic light, a few SUVs and pickups crawling along, the red stop lights taking forever to change. “Robert RunningFast came to see me earlier.” He tapped the steering wheel. Then he told her how Robert worked unloading cargo at the airport and how, for a thousand dollars, he had agreed to call a certain number and report the time the artifacts were placed in the warehouse.

  “A thousand dollars.” Vicky said slowly, as if she were trying to fit this new information into its proper place. “How much did the white men pay Jason to call off the security guard?”

  “We don’t know it was Jason,” Father John said. But someone at Security Systems had no doubt made the call, and whoever it was had also alerted the two white men that Vicky was close to the truth. He could feel a rash of anger moving into his neck and face. Jason—or someone—it hardly mattered who. All that mattered was that the person had to be held accountable.

  “A perfect setup,” Vicky said. “Trevor tracked the shipment, so he knew when the artifacts arrived. He had Eldon contact the shipping company, change the delivery until the next morning and make arrangements for the artifacts to spend the night at the warehouse where they would be safe.” She laughed, but Father John glanced over to see if she was crying. “How many others are involved?” she said after a moment. “Robert, Jason, even Petey, although he didn’t know he was being set up. You have to hand it to them,” she hurried on. “A couple of strangers on the rez, flashing money around, pretending they wanted to buy artifacts. What they wanted was to get close to people who could help them steal the most valuable artifacts.”

  Father John waited for the SUV in the oncoming lane to pass, then took a left down a wide, dimly lit street with darkened commercial buildings—a mixture of metal structures and garages, flat concrete aprons in front, a graveyard of vehicles spread over the lots. Ahead, a circle of light flared from the pole next to another concrete apron. He turned under the light and parked in front of a slope-roofed, brick building with slats of light that glowed through the blinds at the front windows. He got out and started around the pickup to open the passenger door, but Vicky was already marching across the sidewalk.

  30

  THE RECEPTION AREA was all plastic and vinyl under stuttering, buzzing fluorescent lights. Father John followed Vicky across the vinyl floor to a counter that divided the area from rows of desks stretching toward the back wall. Most of the desks had been cleared, chairs pushed in, computer monitors blank. Two women sat at the front desks. Jason hunched over a monitor in the back. The tap of computer keys pierced the quiet. No one moved.

  “Hello,” Father John said.

  A moment passed before a gray-haired woman swung around and gave them a flat, appraising look, as if they had materialized out of nowhere. “Help you?” she said, without getting up. Then she pointed a finger at Vicky. “You were here this afternoon. Mr. Ritter’s gone home. You can try to catch him tomorrow, but I doubt he’ll want to talk to you again. From what he told me, Petey Many Horses is not coming back.”

  Jason was on his feet, hurrying up the aisle. “I’ll handle this,” he said out of the corner of his mouth as he passed the woman’s desk. “What do you want, Father?” He clasped his hands on the counter. His hands were shaking.

  “This is Vicky Holden,” Father John said.

  “I know who she is.”

  “Can we talk privately?”

  “Go away, okay? You’re gonna get me fired.” He squared his shoulders toward Vicky. “You think you’re helping Petey, coming around here and threatening the boss? Well, you’re not. I heard him say he’s sorry he ever got involved with Indians. That means I’m next to go.”

  “Is that what you’re worried about?” Father John said. Jason was gripping his hands as if he were afraid they might detach themselves and fly away. “We had better talk.”

  Jason glanced over his shoulder. Both women were watching, elbows on desks, heads bent toward the counter, a mixture of curiosity and boredom in their expressions. “I’m gonna take a smoke break,” he said. Then he came along the counter, lifted the gate, and headed toward the door.

  Outside, Jason flic
ked a cigarette out of the package he’d slipped from his shirt pocket and fumbled with a lighter he’d produced from a trousers pocket. His hands were still shaking, and his thumb kept slipping off the switch. The cigarette between his lips bobbed up and down.

  Father John took the lighter, flipped it, and held the tiny flame to the cigarette until Jason managed to suck in enough air that the end glowed red. “Why are you here?” he said, drawing down the smoke. The man’s chest rose and fell.

  “Your friends tried to kill me a couple of hours ago,” Vicky said.

  “What?” Jason belched the word around the cigarette dangling from the side of his mouth. “What friends? What are you talking about?”

  “Listen to me,” Father John said, crowding the Arapaho. “You could be in a lot of trouble. Conspiracy to commit theft and abduction. Murder. You could be looking at the rest of your life in prison.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jason had gone back to sucking on the cigarette. Smoke trailed out of his nostrils. He held the cigarette with one hand; the other hand banged against his thigh.

  “Trevor Pratt was murdered,” Father John said. “The museum director has been abducted. Vicky was nearly killed.”

  “I didn’t have nothing to do with any of it, I swear.” The man might have been standing in a fierce wind, he was shaking so hard. He dropped the cigarette and ground it into the concrete with the heel of his boot.

  “We know the call to Petey came from this office,” Vicky said. “It’s only a matter of time before the fed proves it came from your desk phone.”

  “A slam dunk,” Father John said. Not quite true, he was thinking. Even if the call was traced to a specific extension, there was no proof Jason had made the call. All they had was a theory. And a young man, blanched and wide-eyed and shaking.

  “I’m swearing to you, Father.” The man ignored Vicky and stared at Father John as if he hoped he would throw him a lifeline. “On the graves of my ancestors. I didn’t know anybody was gonna get killed. I never been in trouble…”