As the Crow Flies

by Craig Johnson

  I moved them toward the door, but Cady balked. “Wait a minute, did you say you saw them fall? You mean you were actually there?”

  I cracked open the door, but she still didn’t move. “We were researching another area for the wedding and happened to be below when they fell. I even had Henry’s camera, which reminds me…”

  Lena looked up. “What?”

  “Nothing.” I scooted the two of them out. “How did the meeting with Arbutis Little Bird go?”

  “Umm,” Cady answered, preoccupied. “She’ll be there tomorrow morning, and we’ll meet with her then.”

  “Well, Lonnie says to bring a gun.”

  Henry met us at the counter, and we moved as a group to the parking lot, where he dangled the keys above Cady’s hand. He dropped, she caught, and we started moving to our neutral vehicles.

  “Daddy?”

  “Yep.”

  She steered me aside, placing her arm through mine and walking me away from both Henry and Lena. “What if I had something that would solve this woman’s murder and I didn’t use it. That’d be pretty bad, wouldn’t it?”

  “I suppose.”

  Unwilling to look me in the eye, she lowered her head, and I stood there staring at the strands of gold, auburn, and strawberry blonde, a combination that became more evident in the summertime. Her voice echoed against my chest. “What if I knew a way to make sure whoever killed Audrey Last Bull would be brought to justice?”

  “I’d say that there’s no such thing as a sure thing.”

  The eyes came up slow but sharp. “I would.”

  She rose up on tiptoes and kissed the grizzle on my chin, then pirouetted away with the keys dangling between her fingers. “Lena and I will spend the night up in Colstrip, but we’ll meet you for lunch, here, tomorrow at noon.”

  I watched her sashay over to the Thunderbird, and the two of them climbed in, fired Lola up, and roared away like a high plains Thelma and Louise.

  As I stood there watching them turn left and head north, the Cheyenne Nation rejoined me. “So, what just happened?”

  I breathed a soft laugh. “Unless I’m mistaken, we just got put back on the case.”

  Henry drove us over to the Law Enforcement Center, but the place was vacant and the door was locked. Lolo Long’s cell number was listed on the door as one of the emergency contact numbers, but I figured we’d just go do a little snooping on our own.

  “What makes you think he is with Inez Two Two?”

  “Inez’s mother told me that Clarence was having an affair with her daughter a while back, and if Clarence is involved, then she might be a good place to start looking for him. If she doesn’t know where he is, then she might have other ideas where we could look.”

  The Bear drove down Main Street and took a right toward the high school gym, which remained open on Saturdays and Sundays in conjunction with the Boys and Girls Club. We parked the ugliest truck on the high plains next to the outside basketball courts with their chain nets and cratered asphalt and walked in down the hall to the unlocked doors of the gym. I could see why the Bear had had no doubts as to Inez’s whereabouts—the place was packed with young people. “So this is the place to see and be seen?”

  The Cheyenne Nation snatched a worn ball from the rack just as a fat man with a whistle was about to yell at him.

  “Ha-ho, Monty. Wassup?”

  “Hey, you lookin’ for a date, bad man?”

  They shook hands and clutched each other’s arms. Fortunately, Henry played youth basketball with Monty Farris, the coach, so there had been no trouble when the Bear asked if we could use one of the smaller, more private, half-court gyms to discuss things with the young woman.

  “You realize, of course, that without jurisdiction she can just tell us to go jump in a lake.”

  Henry dribbled the ball and flipped it spinning in his hands, shrugged, and then began dribbling to the outside reaches of three-point land.

  After about five minutes, a heavyset young woman opened the door and looked at us; she wore an oversized letterman’s jacket despite the season, and a black straw cowboy hat decorated with a gold concho, the stampede strings slung to the back.

  “Howdy.”

  She had the look of a whitetail that had just discovered two mountain lions at the watering hole.

  I slipped off my own hat and stuck out my hand. “I’m Sheriff Longmire, and this is my friend, Henry Standing Bear.”

  She took my hand with a great deal of trepidation and allowed the door to slip shut behind her, the sudden sound in the empty gymnasium causing her to jump. I gestured toward one of the fold-out wooden bleachers. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  She did, and I took the one beside her.

  I waited a moment, but she just watched the Bear as he dribbled and strolled the arc. “I don’t know where he is.”

  I waited a good long time and placed my hat on the bleachers brim up; I needed all the luck I could get. “And who’s that?”

  That got a glance. “Clarence.”

  Henry twirled the ball in his hands. “We understand you know him pretty well.”

  She glanced at him, and her voice became flirty. “I know you.”

  “Yes, but not in the same sense.” The Bear’s face remained immobile as he turned and effortlessly sank a thirty-footer. She looked at him and smiled as he retrieved the ball and dribbled back toward center court.

  I shook my head at his prowess. “Can I ask you some questions, Inez?”

  She took off her hat, which she placed brim down; evidently she didn’t need any luck.

  “When is the last time you saw Mr. Last Bull?”

  She sniffed and took a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her coat. “Can I smoke?”

  I looked around the school property for emphasis. “I don’t think so.”

  She stuffed the pack back in her jacket. “About a week ago.”

  I paused again. “Before the accident.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And where did you see him?”

  The shrug was one I remembered my daughter perfecting at that age. “Where we always meet, at the Buffalo.”

  “The White Buffalo convenience store?”

  She watched Henry some more and then spoke. “Yeah.”

  “Did you arrange a meeting there, or did you just run into each other?”

  “Just ran… what you said.”

  I nodded and thought about what kind of chance Inez Two Two had in this world and was not overcome with confidence. The Reservation schools were consistently ranked as the worst in the state. The pay scale for teachers wasn’t bad, but the turnover rate was horrific and truancy was rampant; the student dropout point was around sixth grade and wasn’t improving.

  “I didn’t know he had a kid.” She continued to watch the Bear. “He told me he couldn’t have kids.” She called out. “I bet you can’t do that again.”

  The Cheyenne Nation shrugged, turned from the top of the key, and drained another twenty-five-footer.

  Even I was impressed. I looked back at her. “Inez, I doubt that anybody would blame you for the responsibility of that relationship. Clarence is a grown man, and I think it would’ve been his responsibility to know how old you were.”

  “I liked his Jeep.”

  Henry bounced the ball off the wall and slowly dribbled toward us.

  “His car was cool.” There was a trace of a sneer in the next part. “So we took a ride. That’s how it all started.”

  I thought about it. “Did he ever take you to the cliffs at Painted Warrior?”

  “Yeah, it was one of his favorite places.” She made a face. “Or used to be.”

  Henry arrived and stood there flexing his fingers into the ball.

  “What were some of his other favorite places?”

  She thought about it. “He used to work for one of those Amish guys who’d fallen out with the others and lived down near Birney. The guy did handmade boots and had a cabin on the Tongue River near his
place.” The shrug again. “Clarence promised me a pair of boots, but I never got them.”

  “Do you happen to remember the boot maker’s name?”

  She laughed, and I could sense she was in the act of shutting down. “Stoltzfus, try and forget that one; but they had a falling out and I don’t think Clarence was welcome there anymore.”

  “Anywhere else, places where you think he might go if people were looking for him?” I was losing hope. “Anywhere at all.”

  She actually smiled. “No.”

  The Bear interrupted. “Hey, Inez?” She took her time, turning to look up at him. “You know who the smartest man I know is?” The fingers laced around the ball and he palmed it, one-handed, in my direction. “Him.” The Cheyenne Nation took a few steps back onto the court. “Now he may come on with the ‘just-an-ol’-cowboy routine,’ but when he does that it means the wagons are circling and pretty soon there is not going to be anywhere to go.” He bounced the ball to her, and she caught it. “You and me, we are going to play a game of TALK; you win—you walk, I win—you tell us Clarence’s hiding place. These are the rules—you shoot and miss, it is a letter for me. I have to match the shot to keep the letter. You shoot and make the shot, I will subtract a letter, two letters if I miss. That sound fair?”

  She smiled and slipped off her coat, allowing it to fall to the floor. “You’re on, Old Bear.”

  “I’ll give you a couple of warm-ups.”

  I leaned back to watch and, spreading my arms, rested my shoulders on the next seat level.

  Inez threw the ball back to the Bear. “Don’t need ’em.”

  Evidently the hook had gone out with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, because after Henry’s graceful arc that hit nothing but net, Inez tossed a brick.

  The Cheyenne Nation pivoted with a reverse layup and deposited the ball in the hoop. Again. He caught the ball and tossed it to her. “T. Reverse, left-handed.”

  Inez misjudged and bounced the ball off of the underside of the rim, almost crowning herself.

  He went to the three-point line again, this time to the far end of the baseline, and sunk another. “A.”

  Inez took a deep breath and followed suit, and this time the ball rebounded off the rim.

  He continued in his around-the-world venture and paused at the top of the key, raised his arms and, with his thick wrist, flicked the ball and swished another one. “L.”

  “Jesus.” I whispered the word before I knew it.

  She moved to the same spot, but you could see her enthusiasm was flagging. She shot again, and this time she made it. “Take that, Old Bear.”

  Henry gripped the ball and dribbled for a moment, possibly having pity on the kid, but it wasn’t in him and he moved another thirty degrees along the perimeter, took a deep step into two-point territory, and drained another. “Back to A.”

  Inez moved to the spot and shot, but this time it jumped off the backboard over to me. I picked up the ball and stood, giving the Bear a good chest-to-chest pass.

  Henry moved to the top of the key again and drained it. “L.”

  She slumped and slowly moved out to the spot to give the shot a try. “One step?”

  “I’ll give you two,” he said, unsmiling.

  It was the Cheyenne Nation’s form of charity.

  The young woman heaved the ball up to where it bounced off the rim twice and then kicked back off the backboard. He retrieved the ball and casually sunk another hook shot. “K.”

  He strolled over to her, slipped his arm around her shoulders, and brought her over to the bleachers, even going so far as to kiss the top of her head. “I guess we cannot call you Inez Two Two anymore.”

  She laughed in spite of herself and stooped to pick up her coat. After a moment she turned to look up at me, and I smiled.

  “There was a fire lookout tower that he took me to down near Black’s Pond. It was locked up, but he broke the clasp off and we spent the night there one time. Diamond Butte Lookout, I think.”

  Henry tucked the ball under his arm. “Anywhere else?”

  “Not really; he was always looking for a place where we could, you know…” She turned to me and then back to him. “When he could.”

  Henry asked. “Meaning?”

  She glanced down and shrugged. “He had problems, down there.”

  I threw her a line. “Inez, do you know a man by the name of Artie Small Song?”

  Her eyes widened just a bit. “I don’t want anything to do with that guy; he’s crazy.”

  “Do he and Clarence know each other?”

  “I guess. They had a run-in one time.”

  “In all honesty, we’re looking for both Clarence and Artie. Do you have any idea where Artie would be?”

  The answer was hard and fast. “No.”

  “Is there any chance they would be together?”

  “No.”

  “You make it sound like they don’t like each other.”

  She looked at me, incredulous. “They don’t; when I saw the two of them together they were screaming at each other and threatening to do things, kill each other and shit.”

  “And when was that?”

  “About a month ago.” She was silent for a while and then took a deep breath. “Can I go now?”

  “Sure.”

  She took her hat and started for the door.

  “Hey, Inez?” She stopped when she heard Henry’s voice but didn’t turn. “Be good, because I will be watching.”

  She nodded solemnly, but she didn’t say anything as she opened the door and escaped.

  Henry looked after her. “Rarely do you see the promise of a man in a boy, but you almost always see the threat of a woman in a girl—and sometimes the threat is not hollow.”

  “She’s young.”

  “Not that young.”

  I tipped my hat back down. “Well, that was an interesting departure from the good-cop/bad-cop—the good-cowboy/bad-Indian.”

  He sighed. “Her family has a history of playing hand games. I knew I could count on her sportsmanship, if not her honor.”

  He easily evaded me when I attempted to slap the ball from under his arm.

  “You never did have the guts to play in the paint, Henry.”

  He laughed.

  The agent in charge was standing by Rezdawg when we got outside, along with two other agents, one still in the Crown Vic and the other examining Henry’s truck, probably wondering if it ran.

  “So, do I have to go talk to Inez Two Two, or have you done my work for me?”

  I walked over and stopped, laying an arm on the bed of the truck. “I didn’t know you guys worked on Sundays.”

  He slipped off his sunglasses, and we both looked around at the gorgeous day. “Neither rain, nor snow…”

  “That’s the postal service.” I thought about it and quoted. “Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these courageous couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.”

  “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever heard the whole thing.”

  I nodded. “They stole it from Herodotus, about 500 B.C. during the Greek/Persian war—he said it about the Persian mounted postal couriers.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. “Are you sure you’re a sheriff?”

  I ignored the remark and joined him, tipping my hat back and absorbing the warmth of the sun. “Hey, you don’t happen to have a copy of the phone recordings between Artie and Clarence on you, do you?”

  He gave a small laugh. “Those recordings are FBI property.”

  “You don’t have a copy?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “How ’bout we trade you what Inez said for a copy of the recording.”

  He lounged against the scaly surface of Henry’s truck. “Not a good enough trade. I can always just go inside and question the girl myself.”

  “You might not get anything; she’s tough.” I gestured toward the Bear. “And you don’t have an Indian scout.”

  Henry s
pun the basketball in his hands and glanced up at the outside hoop about thirty feet away. “I will play you for it.”

  The agent in charge’s head came down, and he smiled at the Cheyenne Nation. “As much as I’d like to, I don’t have time.”

  “Three letters.”

  Cliff Cly studied my friend for a moment, and then a broad grin spread across his face. He ceremoniously pushed away from the truck and then carefully took off his jacket, folded it, and placed it on the side of the bed and began loosening his tie. “I should probably warn you that I played JV ball at Rutgers.”

  Henry looked impressed. “Wow.”

  Rolling up the sleeves on his dress shirt, the FBI AIC paused. “Do I get to pick the three letters?”

  The Bear dribbled the ball once, and then held it, his dark eyes studying the federal agent. “Funny, I was thinking A-I-M.”

  10

  “Rutgers must have been really shitty that year.”

  He smiled to himself as we bumped along in Rezdawg, whose top speed today was, evidently, fifty-two miles an hour.

  I held the CD in my hand and studied the broken AM radio with its cracked glass and missing buttons, the optic orange indicator frozen permanently at the bottom of the dial. “Have I told you lately just how much I hate this truck?” I sighed, and popped the CD back into its paper envelope. “What do you know about this Amish boot maker?”

  “He makes really good boots.”

  “Other than that.”

  “He supposedly got into trouble for his tastes in women.”

  “He married an Indian?”

  “He did. In many ways, Levi Stoltzfus is doing his part for the integration of the high plains races.” He coaxed the truck off the rumble strip and back into the center of the lane with a movement that would’ve sent any other vehicle slashing into the opposite ditch. Rezdawg considered the movements of the steering wheel in Henry’s hands as mild suggestions. “To his credit, he just loaded up his boot shop and moved on down the Tongue River to Birney.”

  “White Birney?”

  “No, Red Birney; once you have gone red, you cannot get it out of your head.”