Key Witness

by Sandra Bolton

  Abe made a couple of loops through the neighborhoods looking for something that might give them a clue as to where they were going—a motorcycle, maybe. On his second go-around he and Will noticed the same small, dark boy he had seen earlier, peeking at them from behind a rusted Chevy truck.

  “Stop over there in front of that store. Let’s see if the kid knows anything.”

  Abe pulled up alongside the battered building, aware of curious and unfriendly stares from a few housefronts. He stepped out of the truck and walked toward the boy. “Hi there, buddy.”

  The boy looked at him, eyes wide, but didn’t respond to Abe’s greeting. He appeared ready to run.

  “Wait. I just want to ask you a few questions.”

  The boy backed away, and Will jumped down. So did Patch, who hopped over to the youngster, his tail wagging. A shy grin spread over the kid’s face as he reached out his hand and Patch began licking it. He drew it back with a jerk when the big Navajo approached, but relaxed when Will broke into Spanish as if he had been speaking it all his life. Abe watched from the sidelines as the two engaged in an animated conversation, punctuated by occasional giggles from the boy. The kid pointed toward the west, and Abe saw his face change from friendly to somber. Will reached into his pocket and drew a dollar bill from his wallet, and the youngster’s eyes lit up again. Then the kid approached Abe with a smug smile, hand outstretched, and Abe dug into his wallet, wishing he didn’t feel like the newly arrived on an alien planet.

  “I had the impression at your place that you didn’t much care for Mexicans,” Abe said when they returned to the truck. “Now I hear you speaking Spanish like it’s your mother tongue.”

  “Never said I didn’t like Mexicans. I hate Corazón and his type. That’s all.”

  Abe digested this. He figured he still had a lot to learn about Will Etcitty. “What did you find out?”

  “Two miles south of town there’s a cemetery, and right past it on the right is a dirt road. The road winds around the hills for a couple miles, then ends up at an old abandoned turquoise mine and shack. Some kids from Tintown snuck out there one night and saw a bunch of guys with motorcycles hanging around a fire drinking beer. The party got pretty wild and some bikers noticed the kids. They started chasing them and firing guns, scared the little shits to death. Anyway, I think maybe our man lives out there.”

  Driving to the shack in broad daylight sounded like a bad idea to both men, and they still didn’t have a plan. “Let’s wait till dark, sneak up on the place, and check it out. We’ll find out how many are out there. What do you think, Will?”

  “Now you’re starting to sound like a Navajo—sneaky. I like it. Drive back to Bisbee. We can discuss it some more over Paco’s chiles rellenos. I’m hungry.”

  14

  Later that night, clouds erased any light from the moon or stars. The old graveyard, marked with a jumble of wooden crosses, hid behind an overgrowth of cactus and weeds.

  Abe drove past it twice before Will finally spotted a marker and told him to slow down. When they reached the road to the mine, Abe parked the truck behind a shelf of protruding rock formations. Before getting out he told Patch to stay put and rolled the windows down a couple of inches. They were going to walk the rest of the way and couldn’t take a chance on the dog barking and alerting whoever might be in the shack.

  The moon, when it peeked through, was a mere slice. Abe stumbled on something hard and thought ruefully of his flashlight, useless to him with its cache of marijuana instead of batteries. Will had stuck his grandfather’s cumbersome pistol in the back of his pants, but Abe rejected the idea of taking the shotgun.

  “You might need it.” Will kept his voice low. “Self-defense.”

  “I won’t need it.”

  They had decided to do nothing that night but watch the place, figure out who and how many occupied the building. If it became apparent Jackson’s buddy was alone, they’d approach him to see if he would talk. Beyond that, they had no plan.

  “I’ll show him the gun,” Will offered, “if the guy gets belligerent.”

  “Do you think Emily is on our tail yet?” Abe whispered, after several minutes of silence broken only by the soft thud of their shoes on desert sand.

  “Yeah, Sis is tracking us like a bloodhound. She’s part coyote, part eagle, you know.” Will paused and smiled, as if remembering something about his sister, before he continued. “But she’s mostly a woman looking for Mr. Right. Hey, I think she likes you, though I can’t say why.” He chuckled quietly. “You ought to hook up with her after we settle the score with Corazón. Doesn’t matter to me that you’re a white guy. She hasn’t had much luck with red men in the past.”

  Will’s words caused mixed emotions in Abe—pleasure, guilt, embarrassment. He didn’t know how to respond, so he laughed. “Why would you say a thing like that? Are you nuts?” Before Will could answer, Abe continued, “She sure as hell doesn’t like me now. When she finds us, we’re both going to jail.”

  Will started to say something, but stopped short and held his hand up for Abe to do the same. “Shhh. I think I hear something.”

  Abe listened, and heard it, too. “It’s a car engine. Quick, get off the road.” He ran to the side and fell flat on his stomach, with Will diving right behind him. Cactus thorns pricked his hands and legs, gouged his arms, but he stayed frozen in place. A vehicle’s headlights shone briefly, then disappeared before reappearing at the top of a rise.

  “Keep your head down,” Will warned.

  The vehicle came from the direction they were headed and, judging from the rumble of the engine and distance between headlights, it was a big car, so low to the ground it occasionally scraped bottom. Abe hugged the earth as the vehicle neared them, but glanced up when it passed. Kansas plates glowed in the taillights. He felt a sense of déjà vu, positive the car, a black Buick, was the same one he had seen in Clayton, New Mexico.

  The two men stayed where they were until they could no longer see or hear the vehicle. When it seemed safely down the road, Abe stood up and brushed at his hands, trying to dislodge cactus spines embedded in his palms. He wanted to explain the Buick’s significance, but decided to do it later when they could speak freely.

  Will lifted an index finger to his mouth, cautioning Abe to keep quiet. They moved ahead, walking toward the house. “Either he had company, or he’s leaving home,” Will whispered. “Let’s find out.”

  A parting of clouds provided enough illumination from the silver sliver of moon to allow a quick glimpse of a wooden structure built onto the side of a cliff. Light, fluttering as if from a kerosene lantern, flickered through a broken window, but no sounds emanated from the building, and except for a far-off coyote call, a pervasive quiet engulfed the scene.

  Spooky, Abe thought. He surveyed as much of the surroundings as he could in the obscure darkness and felt a chill run up his spine, and the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

  Will, silent as a ghost, approached a window to get a better look inside while Abe lingered behind. When Will reached the window, a sudden explosion rocked the structure, bursting it into flames and sending debris flying.

  Abe called out, “Will, get back,” then dove for the ground, his head crashing onto a boulder. So this is what they mean by seeing stars, he thought briefly as the pain nearly blinded him. He buried his head under his arms while pieces of burning wood flew around him. One landed on his leg, and he quickly rolled over, kicking it away. He shouted Will’s name again, but received no answer. Then, in the glow of fire, he saw the big Navajo lying ten feet from the burning building and ran to him. “Oh shit.”

  Will wasn’t moving and appeared unconscious. He lay on his stomach, head to the side, his hair and clothing smoldering. Abe took off his shirt and beat the still-glowing embers. Then he knelt down and put his face close to Will’s nose. The Navajo man groaned, and Abe detected a faint breath. He appeared badly burned, and Abe didn’t know the extent of any other wounds, but he had to move h
im to a safer place. The shack had turned into a raging inferno. If there had been anyone inside, that person could not have survived.

  “Sorry, buddy,” Abe said as he carefully removed Will’s gun and rolled the man onto his back. He shuddered when he saw his burned flesh, but grasped him under the armpits and dragged him to a clearing another twenty feet from the flames. “Goddamn it, Will. Why did I listen to you? We should never have come out here, you son of a bitch.” Abe gently positioned the wounded man’s body on the soft sand, then covered him as best he could with his flannel shirt.

  After he did what he could to make Will comfortable, he stuck the bulky gun into his pants and took off running in the direction of the truck. Along the way he tripped over a boulder and fell, bashing his head once more. Blood ran down his face from the open wound. He wiped the blood from his eyes, disoriented, not sure where to go or why, then remembered Will and pulled himself to his feet. Running blindly ahead, he didn’t know if he was going toward or away from his truck. Then he heard Patch, and followed the sound of the dog’s barks.

  Once he reached the Toyota, he debated whether to drive into Tintown and call for help, or go back for Will and take him to the hospital. He started the engine, and decided he could not lift his friend into the vehicle without doing more harm. Abe spun the truck around, the wheels throwing sand and gravel, shifted into third, and bounced down the potholed road, hell-bent for Tintown.

  As soon as he arrived at the outskirts of the village, he started looking for anyone, at least a building with a light on. He didn’t have to go far. Word of a fire at the old miner’s shack had spread through the community, and a throng of people stood in front of the abandoned slaughterhouse, staring at the orange glow lighting up the southwestern horizon.

  Abe pulled to a stop in front of the crowd, put the truck in neutral, and jumped out. “I need help,” he shouted. “My friend’s hurt. Call an ambulance!”

  Suspicious and uncomprehending gazes turned in his direction.

  Oblivious of how he must look, drenched in blood, Abe pleaded: “Somebody, listen, please. My friend needs help. Don’t you understand?”

  A barrage of incomprehensible Spanish met his appeal for assistance.

  “Telephone,” Abe said, making the sign of a phone to his ear. “Isn’t there a phone in this town?” He had never learned Spanish, but now tried desperately to remember any word that might help him get his point across. Then, he spotted the boy they had spoken to earlier that afternoon. The kid emerged from the crowd and approached him. A teenage girl, perhaps an older sister, rushed forward to join him.

  “The fire department is on its way. As soon as we saw the flames, my father called them. The firemen are coming from Bisbee. They’ll be here soon.”

  The high shrill of a siren drowned out her voice. Then, a man who might have been the father of the two children approached. “You’re hurt, mister. Paramedics are coming, too. They’ll take care of you.”

  Abe had forgotten the cut on his head. “Not for me. My friend. You have to find him. Someone else . . . in the shack . . . the Buick.” He could no longer form the words he wanted to say. Abe felt his head spinning just before his knees buckled. He had to lie down, at least for a minute. Abe shook his head and fought to keep from losing consciousness. “Find Will,” he said, then, in a final burst of resolve, he reached into his pocket and pulled out Emily’s card. “Call this number . . . tell her . . . sorry.” Before he could say more, Abe slipped into darkness.

  15

  His head pounded in perfect sync with the rhythmic beep-beep-beep emanating from something nearby. He opened his eyes to a washed-blue wall, and then to the matching eyes of a skinny gray-haired woman standing over him. He realized he was in bed, and lifted a hand to his throbbing head.

  “Where am I?” He tried to focus on her Winnie the Pooh scrubs. “What happened?”

  The woman hung a plastic drip bag on a stand and checked the tube connected by a needle to his wrist. “Copper Queen Hospital. You have a concussion and lost a lot of blood, plus you’re dehydrated.” She whipped out a thermometer and stuck it under his tongue while she gripped his free wrist with a sun-spotted hand. “I’m the day nurse. Sally’s my name. Don’t move, now.”

  Abe cringed as a sharp pain shot across his forehead and through his eyes. He reached for the bandages that encircled his head. Fragments drifted through his mind—running; flames everywhere; someone on the ground; Will; Patch barking. He pulled the thermometer out of his mouth and tried to sit up, but the surprisingly strong hands pushed him back while another lightning bolt cracked across his skull.

  “I said, be still. Now we’re gonna have to do this all over again.” The nurse gave him a scolding look and put the thermometer back under his tongue.

  “What happened to my friend? And my dog? Where’s my dog?”

  Sally furrowed her wrinkled brow and pursed her lips into a thin line. “I don’t know nothing about a dog, but if your friend is that big ole Indian, he’s down in intensive care. Burned up pretty bad.” She finished her ministrations and jotted a few notes on a clipboard hanging at the end of the bed. “Your vitals look good. Got a doozy of a knot on your head, and that cut had to be stitched up. Lost some blood, like I said, a few first-degree burns on your hands, nothing too serious.” She handed him a small cup with three pills of different colors, and a glass of water. “Swallow these down—painkiller, antibiotic, and something to help you rest. You’ve been out for a whole day, and there’s a lady out there that seems real anxious to talk to you, but I told her no visitors yet.” The nurse moved as if to leave, then turned back. “What were you boys doing out there, anyway?” Shaking her head, she slipped out the door.

  What were we doing out there? He realized it had to be Emily who wanted to see him. What could he possibly tell her? Abe tried to sit up again, but felt weak and dizzy. He slumped back on the pillow, a shitload of worries on his mind. But even in his anguished state, he succumbed to the sleeping pill.

  In the dream, fire-throwing demons with shaved heads and tattooed arms covered with festering pustules chased him through a maze of cacti. Each time he chose an escape route, another identical group confronted him. He could hear Patch barking, but when he tried to call him, no sounds came from his mouth. He awoke and opened his eyes in a state of panic, to find a very non-dreamlike Emily staring at him, her own eyes squeezed into narrow slits of rage.

  “Why?” Her voice was as cold and sharp as a frozen yucca point. “As soon as they dismiss you, Freeman, I’m arresting you for theft of an impounded motorcycle, criminal endangerment, illegal flight, and that’s only the beginning,” she hissed while extracting a pair of handcuffs. “My brother almost died because of you. He’s scarred for life, crippled,” she said, her voice breaking. “I don’t know what’s stopping me from shooting you right now.”

  “Wait, Emily, let me . . .”

  “Shut up. Your free days are over, asshole, so don’t try to talk your way out of this one.” Showing no sign of her former professionalism, she stood stiffly in front of him in blue jeans and a plaid shirt, tousled hair hanging in messy strands, eyes piercing him like poison darts. Without another word, Emily Etcitty clasped a handcuff around his free wrist and one to the bed frame, spun around, and left before he could say a single thing in his defense. He heard her voice in the hall, arguing with the nurse.

  “I don’t give a damn if he dies. He’s my prisoner and I’m staying right here until he’s discharged. Then he’s going with me, handcuffed and shackled if necessary.”

  The nurse’s voice barked back in outrage. “Nobody leaves this hospital without the doctor’s clearance, and don’t you go in there pestering that patient, young lady. There’s a no-visitors rule in place. You don’t look like the law to me, anyhow. Now get on out of here before I call the sheriff and have you arrested.”

  “I’m an officer with the Navajo Nation Police, and if you need some ID, I have it right here. I cuffed the prisoner because he�
�s a flight risk. He ran away once before. Go ahead and call your sheriff,” Emily shot back.

  “You what? Now you listen here. This is a hospital. You can’t go around handcuffing patients, and I do believe you are out of your jurisdiction. Ain’t no Navajo Police station around these parts.”

  As the voices faded, Abe closed his eyes and tried to piece together the events that led to his present situation. Remnants of his dream and the sound of Patch’s howling kept coming back, but gradually his thoughts coalesced into a semicoherent memory. He heard the explosion and saw the fire, saw Will’s body, blackened, unmoving. He had tried to save Will . . . run for help. Oh, Christ. Is Will going to die? Where is Patch? What happened to my dog? Abe had to find out. He tried to get out of bed, but felt the pull of the cuffs and fell back. Emily. If I can get through to her and explain things, I might have some answers.

  Abe maneuvered the IV tube and managed to reach the call button with his free hand. He pushed, waited a few minutes, pushed it again, and again—finally he held it down.

  After what seemed like forever, Sally flew in like a hot desert wind. “What’s so God-almighty important? I’ve got my hands full with that feisty little Indian gal, who’d just as soon string you up as look at you.” She craned her turkey neck over the bed and caught sight of Abe’s cuffed wrist. “Holy shit. She did cuff you. I don’t know what kind of trouble you boys got yourself into, but if this don’t beat all.”