by Lynne Hinton
As he continued driving, he recalled the few things Frank had said to him during the visit. Frank had given only one-word answers to George’s questions to acknowledge that he was listening as George rambled on about the places he had hiked and camped. He remembered the one question Frank asked, just before George was leaving, and how it had surprised him.
“Did you bring your Bible?” Frank had asked. George had not answered at first. He had patted the front of his jacket, checking the breast pocket, thinking it might hold the small edition of the New Testament that he sometimes took with him to the hospital. Maybe he had placed it in his jacket before leaving Pie Town, he thought, and since forgotten about it. After all, he did go visit Millie Watson; without thinking, he might have left it in his pocket for this visit. But as it turned out, he didn’t have the little volume. He had not brought it with him to the hospital or the jail cell. Millie Watson had not asked for scripture, so he hadn’t thought of it until Frank made his request.
Shaking his head in response, George had wondered why Frank asked that question. “Was there something you wanted to hear?” he had asked, knowing that Frank claimed not to read the Bible, claimed not to be a Christian. And Frank had simply stood up from the table where they were sitting across from each other.
“Jeremiah has always been a favorite of mine,” Frank had said. “I especially appreciate the prophet’s words regarding the joyful return of the exiles. I like that they go back to where they started.” And with that he had smiled and nodded. Frank had then glanced over to the guard and that had ended their time together.
George thought about these parting words. He thought about Frank’s silence for most of the visit and then his surprising question and final remarks. Had it been a clue? George wondered. Had Frank told him something that would help him find Raymond? Was Frank giving him permission to locate his son—and hinting at the direction to take?
George switched on his headlights as the sun set and tried to think about what he knew about the book and the Old Testament prophet Jeremiah. He recalled from his seminary studies that the book of Jeremiah had a wealth of detail concerning various trials faced by the prophet, as well as a series of laments, words of struggle between a man and God. George remembered that the book included a collection of oracles against Judah and the people of Jerusalem as well as a hopeful scroll, the book of consolation, which prophesied what would come when the people of Israel were allowed to return home after being exiled. This was the part, George suddenly realized, that Frank had mentioned.
He drove along, trying to remember the passage, and finally, realizing that he couldn’t recall exactly what was in that section, he pulled off at a roadside rest area, stopped the car, and opened the glove compartment to pull out the Bible that was always in his car. He flipped it open to the book of Jeremiah and searched the pages until he finally found the thirtieth chapter, the beginning of the oracles of hope. He read through that and into the next until his eyes fell upon the fifteenth verse of the thirty-first chapter. Suddenly, Frank’s request for the Bible and his final words made sense. He had indeed given George a clue to Raymond’s whereabouts:
Thus says the Lord: A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping, Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more.
George closed the book and realized that Raymond was likely to be hiding on the Navajo Reservation, north of Pie Town and west of the lava beds, the area where Frank was from and where his family still lived, the area Frank claimed to have recently visited, explaining his absence. By using the Old Testament passage, Father George realized, Frank had let the priest know that Raymond had gone to Ramah, an area in New Mexico with the same name as the place in Jeremiah 31. Even though they were pronounced differently, the two place names were spelled exactly the same, and George was sure it was a clue.
Father George slapped the steering wheel, excited about solving the puzzle. He returned the Bible to the glove compartment and sat back in his seat, pleased with himself for figuring things out. Already planning his trip to Ramah, he laughed and put the car in gear.
He still didn’t know what he would do if he found Raymond, whether he would try to talk him into turning himself in or just explain what was going on in Pie Town. He didn’t have a script and didn’t know what words of assurance or encouragement or comfort he could bring to the young man. But at least he understood that Frank had trusted him with the information on where his son was. That in itself, George thought, was a lot.
He pulled back onto the highway without noticing the dark sedan parked behind him, the one he had seen at the diner earlier that day, the one that had also been in the parking lot at the detention center in Albuquerque, the one driven by FBI agents, the one that had been following him all the way home on Highway 60.
TWENTY-SIX
Trina had had enough. The FBI agents had been sitting in their car outside the garage for two days, they had parked across from her house the entire previous night, and they had even followed her as she drove to Frieda’s house to pick up Alexandria and to Socorro to get groceries. After forty-eight hours of surveillance, she had had enough. She knew there was no reason for her to be watched this way. She knew they had no cause to intimidate her with their vigilance, and she was going to put a stop to it.
After she checked and locked all the outside doors at five o’clock, she stomped out of the office, made a beeline to the car parked in the vacant lot across the street from the garage, and walked right up to the driver’s side of the car. Her back was still tender, and she moved more slowly than she had before the accident, but she could still get to where she wanted to go without too much difficulty.
The man inside rolled down the window.
“Is there something you want?” she asked.
The driver smiled. The encounter seemed to amuse him. “I beg your pardon,” he said.
There was a woman on the passenger side, and Trina stuck her head in the window to get a good look at both of them. She noticed that they were young, maybe thirty, and that they both were wearing dark blue suits, white shirts, and a short hairstyle. The woman appeared more masculine than the man who was driving.
“Is there some reason you’re watching me?” Trina asked, pulling her head out of the window now that she had seen both of the agents. “You follow me to work. You follow me home. You follow me to my daughter’s caregiver’s house. I’m beginning to think you might have a crush on me.”
The driver laughed. “Which one of us?” he asked.
“Well, now that I’ve seen you both up close, I’d have to say I’m not sure about that.”
The man punched the woman next to him and laughed. He turned to Trina. “I’d say it was her.”
The passenger punched him back.
Trina rolled her eyes. She had expected a more mature response than the one she had been given. “Look, I don’t know where Raymond is. I haven’t seen him in almost a week. He’s taken off somewhere, and nobody knows where he is. I don’t know. His father doesn’t know. And you’re never going to find out by sitting out here where everybody can see you stalking me.” She placed both of her hands on the driver’s door.
“Well, we’re just going to stay right here to make sure he doesn’t need a hug and come home,” the driver responded. He grinned at Trina. “Why are you walking so slowly?” he asked. “You hurt or something?”
“Why are you sitting in a car? You fat or something?” she replied.
The passenger laughed.
“Why do you have Frank Twinhorse locked up?” Trina asked.
The driver stared straight ahead and didn’t answer. That last question had apparently angered him.
“Because he is a known associate of the fugitive,” the passenger replied. “And we have reason to believe that he knows the whereabouts of his son and is refusing to give us proper information. We also have suspicions that Frank Twinhorse may be running a drug operation out of hi
s garage.”
Trina laughed. “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard. If you have those suspicions, why don’t you come into the garage and see for yourself? Come and inspect the place where Frank spends most of his time. Come on, I’ll gladly give you a tour.”
There was no response.
“Well, I’ve got some proper information for you.” Trina walked slowly to the other side. She tapped on the window, and the female agent watched as the driver rolled down the other window. She leaned inside.
“Raymond Twinhorse is not a drug dealer. He did not steal from Gilbert Diaz. He doesn’t even know about the incident at the Silver Spur. He left Datil, and somebody else stole the money you seem so concerned about. And Frank Twinhorse doesn’t sell or do drugs. So why don’t you save the taxpayers some money and go search for somebody else?”
The female agent glared at Trina. “How do you know what Raymond knows and doesn’t know?” she asked. “Have you had contact with your boyfriend?”
Trina grinned. “Well, you ought to know the answer to that since you’ve been glued to those binoculars following every move I’ve made in the last two days. Did you see me having any contact with my boyfriend?”
The woman shrugged. “Not lately, but you just never know when lover boy might show up,” she said with a sneer.
“Oh, so that’s it,” Trina said, still leaning into the window. “Miss Secret Agent, you can’t find your own boyfriend, so you took this job to watch and learn from other girls who do have a love life.”
She stood up.
“ ’Course, now that I have seen you in that attractive uniform, wearing that butch haircut, and discovered your winning personality, I’m not sure that even getting a good look at how it’s done is really going to help you out that much.”
The driver cleared his throat.
“You just watch yourself, Ms. Thing,” the female agent warned.
“I don’t think I have to do that since it clearly appears as if you’re doing that for me,” Trina replied. She kicked the car and stormed back to the office.
She had said everything she could think to say, and it was clear that nothing was going to change the agents’ plan to watch her. Pulling her keys from her pocket, she decided to get ready to leave for the day.
Confronting the agents hadn’t changed anything. They were there to stay. But then she had another thought.
She didn’t have to pick up Alexandria until after dinner since she had told Frieda that she had to go over to Malene’s. She glanced in the direction of the agents. She figured that since she was feeling better and had a little extra time, and since the agents had been so condescending toward her, she might as well have some fun.
She got into her truck gingerly, careful not to irritate her back, and started the engine. She pulled around the garage and stopped in front of the FBI agents’ car. She rolled down her window and stuck out her head. “Okay, I know you want to follow me, so here we go. Don’t lag behind now,” she said with a smile. “Oh, and you might want to buckle up. This little drive may be a bit tricky.”
With that, she rolled up her window, revved her engine, and spun her tires as she pulled off. She watched in the rearview mirror as the car hurried to catch up.
She started up Highway 60, heading east out of town, trying to figure out the best road to take. When she got to the intersection, she knew exactly what to do. She waited to make sure the agents were following, then pulled onto the worst dirt road in the vicinity, Forest Road 56, south behind Alegres Mountain.
She didn’t know what kind of engine the agents had in the four-door sedan they were driving, but she was sure their shocks weren’t like the ones in her truck. The heavy-duty shocks that she and Frank had installed were well suited for the unpaved roads in Catron County. She had also made sure she had four-wheel-drive capability to handle the off-road terrain, and she had bought oversized tires to raise the body of the truck. She was well prepared for this drive.
Trina watched the car behind her as it tried to keep up and laughed when she realized that government agents might know how to handle city streets, but they sure didn’t have the skills or equipment to drive the forest roads in New Mexico during monsoon season. She knew what everyone in Catron County knew but most outsiders didn’t: the mud in the summer was worse than the snow and ice in the winter.
She kept driving south, watching the agents’ car in her mirror, laughing every time she led them over a rough patch, through the deep mud, across the switchbacks. She was enjoying herself. She had always liked four-wheeling anyway. And this spot east of town happened to be an area she knew and liked especially well.
The road returning to town was easy to miss, and anyone who missed it could end up driving around lost for days. She figured that if the agents kept dropping back, she’d be able to lose them by the time she hit the fork at Nester Draw. Then they would be stuck out there until somebody came to get them—if they could contact anyone. The cell signals in Catron County weren’t all that reliable.
Trina noticed the car swerve and slide and suddenly felt a twinge of guilt. She thought about Roger and what he would think, about Frank and how unhappy he would be that she had made a tow truck driver have to go out there. On the verge of changing her mind, she hit her brakes and stopped. Maybe it wasn’t very nice to drive the city folks out there and leave them stranded. However, her resolve to do the right thing didn’t last long. Trina recalled how rude the two agents had been when she confronted them, how arrogant they had both been, and she couldn’t help herself—she sped up. She didn’t really care what Roger or Frank would say about her actions. She decided for herself that a lesson in humility might be just the thing the FBI agents needed.
She laughed and hit the accelerator, making a quick right while the agents in the car behind her spun and slid, finally landing in a spot where the mud was more than a foot deep. Trina kept driving west on 56 and then headed north on 95 at Mangas. When she returned to Highway 60, just south of Omega, she turned east and drove into town.
“Good luck getting out of there!” She yelled to no one in particular, rolling down the window and laughing.
She slowed down as she made her way into Pie Town and headed toward her house, not wanting to call attention to herself in case other agents in town were watching or had gotten a call from the ones who were now stuck. Passing her house on her way to Malene’s, she immediately noticed the black truck sitting in her driveway. At first she wasn’t sure if she had company or not, but then she figured it was more likely that the relief agents had already arrived to take over for the two she had just lost.
Trina was going to just drive by and let them try to find their colleagues on their own, but when she got to the corner she turned around, once again feeling a little guilty for what she had done. She decided that, at the very least, she would tell the new pair where the other agents’ car had stalled.
Trina returned to her house. She pulled into the driveway and got out of her truck and walked up to the other vehicle. She was grinning as she sidled up to the driver’s side. She tapped on the window without looking inside.
“I hate to be the one to tell you, but you boys may need some chains to help pull your buddies out of the mud.” She stopped talking as she peered into the lowered window. When the driver showed his face, she fell back a few steps. She could hardly believe her eyes.
“Hello, Trina,” the man said with a grin. “Been a while since Tucson.”
“It’s you” was all she could think to say.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Francine was watching the scenery out of the passenger’s window. It was the desert, a lot like Catron County, but it was not Pie Town. Where she was used to seeing empty spaces, cattle ranges, and forest roads, there were apartment buildings and strip malls. This was the big city, Phoenix, Arizona, and after being away for four days, Francine was starting to get homesick.
“You want to eat at that little Mexican place we went to the first night?” B
ernie asked. They were driving back to her friend Pam’s house after visiting the museum downtown. “Pam was going to church tonight, right?” he asked.
Francine nodded. “Yes, I told her not to worry about our dinner tonight.” She shook her head. “I hate how she thinks she has to fix all of our meals while we’re here.”
“She’s just being a good host,” Bernie responded.
Francine smiled. She turned to Bernie. She was so glad they were together, so grateful for the relationship. She reached over and squeezed him on the arm. “Thank you,” she said.
“For what?” he asked.
“For bringing me here,” she replied. “For being with me.”
Bernie shrugged. “I didn’t do anything special.”
“Yes, you did,” she said. “You supported my decision. You left everything and came out here with me.”
Bernie looked over at Francine. He could see she was bothered by something. “You okay?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’m just worried about things at home,” she replied.
Francine had wanted to call Fred and Bea every day since she left town just to find out the latest on Raymond and what was going on in the investigation, but every time she reached for the phone she stopped herself. After talking to the priest and making a quick exit, she had chosen not to contact anyone. She was afraid that the FBI might be searching for Bernie and her and figured the less she knew the better off they would be. She didn’t want to have to make another choice about what to say or tell someone what she knew. She didn’t know what to think. She had been miserable back in Pie Town, and she had remained miserable ever since she left.
Bernie turned back to the road and kept driving. “It’s lovely here, don’t you think?” he commented. “The lemon trees are nice, and I like Pam’s little neighborhood.”