The Red Power Murders

by Thomas King

  “It’s your story.”

  “No harm done. Massasoit makes a little money, and the FBI arrives just a little late. But what Massasoit doesn’t know is that Begay is too badly wounded to be moved and that neither Buckhorn nor Scout is willing to leave Begay behind. When the feds did arrive early that morning, they expected to take the fugitives with little difficulty.”

  “And instead, they walked into an ambush.” Dakota was on her feet now. “Street led that raid.”

  “Yeah, and he wouldn’t have been happy. He would have wanted to know why Massasoit had sent them into a firefight.”

  “And if he thought Lucy was Massasoit . . .”

  “He would have gone after her.”

  Through the window, Thumps could see the ambulance pull up to the curb, its lights flashing.

  “That’s a great story, DreadfulWater.” Noah sat in the chair and waited. One of his hands had begun to bleed again. “It’s crap, but it’s a great story.”

  “It was the Xeroxed bond that brought Street to Chinook. You knew he couldn’t pass up the chance to catch the person who had made a fool out of him and ruined his career. You were counting on that, weren’t you? What were you hoping? That Street would make a scene? Turn the reading into a circus?” Thumps wasn’t sure if he was feeling angry or numb. “How much would that have been worth in terms of publicity?”

  The attendants settled Noah onto a gurney and wheeled him to the ambulance. Dakota climbed into the back.

  “You don’t have to go with him.”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  “What if I’m not?”

  The ambulance sped away down the block, its lights breaking the silence of the night. Thumps stood outside in his shirtsleeves and watched the street long after it disappeared, until he could no longer hear the siren or feel the cold.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  He had promised one hour, but by the time Thumps caught up with the sheriff, Asah had more than two hours on any pursuit. Not that anyone was going to catch him.

  “You kept your word to a murderer?”

  Street’s field notes were amazingly detailed. The man had collected every fact, every notion, every guess, every fiction about RPM. There was a separate folder for Massasoit with dates and payments. Thumps wasn’t sure he would have liked Street the man, but like Asah, he certainly admired Street the bookkeeper.

  “He didn’t shoot me.”

  “Shit.”

  “What about Noah?”

  The sheriff made a face. “He’ll live.”

  “You going to arrest him?”

  “For what? Being annoying?”

  Thumps ran through the offences that Noah had committed since he arrived in town. Breaking and entering, moving a body, hindering an investigation, public mischief, lying to the police. Breaking and entering a second time.

  “Everybody lies to the police,” said Hockney. “And he’s written a cheque to cover the damage at the Connor place.”

  Thumps knew that Hockney could make Noah’s life uncomfortable for at least a week if he set his mind to it, but he could see that the sheriff wasn’t going to do that. All Duke wanted was to be rid of the man.

  “Besides,” said Hockney, “he gave me an autographed copy of his book.”

  Thumps knew that Hockney had little time for the kind of nonsense that Noah could pull out of a hat, but he hadn’t expected that the sheriff might be subconsciously pleased at having a celebrity in town.

  “Those Street’s case files?”

  “That they are.” Thumps dropped the package on Hockney’s desk.

  The sheriff looked at the folder. “How about I read them later. How about you tell me what’s in them now.”

  “You know most of it.”

  “You know what I like?” Hockney screwed his lips up as if he had just sucked on something sour. “Even if we catch Special Agent Ass-hole, we’ve got nothing. That’s what I like. You like that?”

  “Nope.”

  “But you can’t think of a thing to do about it, can you?”

  Thumps had run out of negatives. More than that, he was tired of being reminded of what he could not do, what he could not change.

  “So, this thing is over.”

  No, Thumps thought to himself, surprised that he still had a negative left, it wasn’t over quite yet.

  THE CHINOOK GENERAL HOSPITAL was a mixed marriage gone bad. The older part of the facility was a stately four-storey brick colonial, while the newer part was a series of squat cinderblock buildings lined up in rows that reminded him of a graveyard.

  Thumps found Dakota sitting in the coffee shop, alone.

  “How is he?”

  “Resting.”

  “How are you?”

  “You’re wrong about him, you know.” Dakota sat up straight and put her hands on the table as though she were going to push it away.

  Thumps checked the cream and poured a little into his coffee. “Massasoit used a keyword so that the FBI knew the information was authentic. That word was ‘kemo-sabe.’ It’s in Street’s notes.”

  Dakota shook her head. “Lucy said that all the time. Anyone could have used it.”

  “Sure,” said Thumps, “but who might have had a reason to frame Lucy? Who had access to the kind of information that the FBI was getting? Who could have known that Buckhorn, Scout, and Begay were in town?”

  “Lucy could have been Massasoit.”

  Thumps knew he was bringing Dakota nothing but pain. She didn’t believe Lucy was Massasoit, but if she had to save someone, she was determined to save the living.

  “It’s possible,” he said, trying to soften the blow. “She might have decided that selling information to the FBI was a means to an end, but why would she want to incriminate herself by using a catchword everyone knew she used? And if she and Reuben were lovers, why would she tip off Street and put Reuben in harm’s way?”

  Dakota cradled the coffee cup in her hands. She looked stronger now, determined. Thumps didn’t know where the strength had come from, but there it was.

  “You don’t like Noah.”

  “Doesn’t change the matter,” said Thumps.

  Dakota rubbed the back of her neck. “They’re going to release him in the morning.”

  “You heading back to Salt Lake?”

  “No,” said Dakota, “we have to fly to Los Angeles for a reading and media. Noah’s doing the Jay Leno show at the end of the week.”

  Thumps almost smiled. The very thing that Noah had worked so hard to get. A four-minute spot on a national late-night talk show.

  “No such thing as bad press, right?”

  “The publishers are bringing out a second printing.” Dakota pushed the cup away and stood up. “But I don’t suppose you see that as justice.”

  Thumps had been wrong. It wasn’t strength, it was resignation, a kind of calm that he had noticed in people who had just been told that their child had been killed or that they were dying of a terminal illness. There was no power to it, just enough brute determination to continue.

  “Good luck.” It was all Thumps could think to say.

  Dakota extended her hand. “It was nice to see you again.”

  THUMPS SAT AT THE TABLE by himself and moved the salt and pepper shakers around.

  There were only two people who could answer the questions that were left. Of course, there was the chance that Buckhorn hadn’t mailed the package to anyone, that it was in a safe-deposit box somewhere or rotting in a bus depot locker or buried by the side of the road. But that wouldn’t explain the Xerox that someone had sent Street.

  Noah was in a private room. Thumps had expected that he would be asleep, but he was sitting up in bed as though he had been waiting for someone to arrive.

  “You just missed Dakota.”

  “How you feeling?” said Thumps.

  “Like shit,” said Noah. “Sonofabitch broke my finger.”

  “He could have shot you.”

  “You sound disappoint
ed.” Noah tried to grin. “You still a cop?”

  “Another day,” said Thumps. “No more.”

  “But you didn’t come to wish me well.”

  “Nope.”

  “You came to harass me.”

  “It’s what I live for.”

  Noah adjusted the bed so that he was more upright. “You want to know if I feel responsible for what’s happened.”

  “No,” said Thumps, “I want to know who killed Lucy Kettle.”

  Noah’s face darkened for a moment. “It’s probably time you go back to your photography.”

  Thumps pulled the chair closer to the bed. “Here’s the deal. You talk to me, and I won’t talk to the press.”

  “And just what would you talk to them about?”

  “Massasoit.”

  “Old news.”

  “I’ll make it new.”

  “Why do you care?” Noah looked more amused than concerned. “You sure as hell didn’t care back in Salt Lake. When it counted.”

  “It must have been fun,” said Thumps, waving the insult away, “screwing with the FBI, selling it worthless information, controlling the game.”

  “What about you? You feel responsible for doing nothing?”

  “And then Denver comes along, and the game gets deadly.” Thumps willed his body to relax. “You killed Lucy. You know that, don’t you?”

  The fury was back in Noah’s eyes. “You know shit!”

  Thumps rolled the chair back a little so he could see Noah and the heart-rate monitor on the wall above the bed. “Street must have been furious about being blindsided like that. I’m guessing he thought he had been set up, so he went after Massasoit. Or at least the person he thought was Massasoit. Maybe he meant to kill her. Maybe it was an accident.”

  Noah pulled an arm onto his chest. “It’s a great story.”

  “But what I don’t know is how you knew that Street killed Lucy.” As Thumps watched the monitor, Noah’s heart rate took a jump.

  Noah leaned back into the pillow and closed his eyes. “You know, I’m really tired. Why don’t you get the fuck out of here.”

  “And I don’t understand why Street would hide the body. He would have left it where it was. Moving it would have been too great a risk. Where Lucy’s body was found wouldn’t have mattered to him.”

  “I’m going to be on Leno.” Noah kept his eyes closed. “Did Dakota tell you that?”

  “Yeah, she did.”

  “I’m going to talk about casinos and how they’re destroying Native communities. What are you going to do with your life?”

  Thumps walked through the main doors of the hospital just in time to see the sun light up the ice crystals in the air. This was the second dawn he had had to endure in as many days, and while the cold glow of the sun off the snow was interesting, he hoped that these early-morning affairs were not going to become a habit. They certainly hadn’t made him any happier. They certainly hadn’t made him any smarter.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Al’s was crowded. Archie was sitting at the counter, and as soon as he saw Thumps come through the door, he began herding people up and down the stools until he had freed a seat next to him.

  “Boy,” said Archie, “have you been keeping up on all the excitement?”

  “Sorry about your reading.”

  “Did you see me on television?” said Archie. “Now everyone in the world is going to want to come to Chinook.”

  It was nice to hear a positive spin put on the events of the last few days. Thumps would never have imagined felonies and mayhem as tourist attractions, but that was one of the things he liked about Archie. The man could find a fresh peach in a barrel of old motor oil.

  “How are our friends in the media?”

  “Gone,” said Archie. “They all left last night. On their way to Los Angeles.”

  So, Noah had his media parade, and if Thumps knew the man, Noah would be able to milk the coverage for weeks, maybe months.

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The FBI guy,” said Archie. “Aren’t you going to track him down and throw him in jail?”

  News in Chinook travelled at the speed of sound. If Archie knew, everyone in town knew. Not that there was any reason to keep it a secret. Except maybe Hockney’s pride.

  Thumps tried to catch Al’s eye. “I’m going to eat breakfast, and then I’m going home.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  Al slid the coffee pot along the counter, filling cups as she came. When she got to Thumps, she stopped. “You going to catch that FBI guy?”

  “No.”

  “You want breakfast?”

  “I guess.”

  “You want to send me a postcard when you make up your mind?”

  “Hey, Al,” said Archie. “Tell Thumps your good news. That’ll cheer him up.”

  Thumps wasn’t sure he was in the mood to be cheered.

  Al wiped her hands on her apron. “Got my cheque.”

  “Great.”

  “Ten days for a letter to come from San Francisco,” said Archie. “You believe that? Tell Thumps what they said.”

  “Stella at the post office said that wasn’t unusual.” Al put her hands on her hips. “She said if it had been a parcel, it would have taken longer.”

  “If this was Greece,” said Archie, “that letter would have been here the next day.”

  “I guess if it took me nine days to make your breakfast,” said Al, “I could get a job at the post office.”

  Thumps could feel a smile lurking somewhere in his face. “Yeah,” he said, “I’d like breakfast.”

  Al wandered back to attend to her grill, and Archie settled into a marathon of local news, items, and events that Thumps might have missed while he was chasing bad guys around the countryside. There were days Thumps found great comfort in simple things. Casual conversation, good food, a warm place to sit. This was one of those days.

  Before it was done, Noah would be on his way to Los Angeles and fame and fortune. Thumps didn’t think any better of the man now than he had in Salt Lake. In fact, he had seen a side of Noah that was more sinister and callous than he had remembered. But maybe that was how you had to be to do the work that Noah did. Or maybe that was what the work did to you.

  “First thing this spring,” said Archie, “we should go up to the Pipestone Range and look around.”

  “Sure.”

  “You never know,” said Archie. “This could be the year we get rich.”

  “Maybe the snow will melt early.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Archie cut one of Thumps’s sausages in half and ate it in one bite. “Always plan ahead. That way, if something goes wrong, at least you have a plan.”

  Thumps wasn’t sure if it had come to him in pieces, and he just hadn’t noticed until everything had worked its way into place, or if the answer he had been looking for had just arrived, suddenly and complete.

  “Jesus.”

  “You okay?” Archie put the toast back on Thumps’s plate.

  “You know when Noah plans on leaving?”

  Archie shrugged. “Only one plane to Missoula. Doesn’t leave until this afternoon.”

  “Call the sheriff.” Thumps slid off the stool. “Tell him to meet me at the Tucker.”

  CHECKOUT AT MOST HOTELS was eleven. The Tucker would probably let you stay longer, especially if you were a celebrity. Thumps went straight for the house phones. There was no answer in Noah’s room. Or Dakota’s.

  “Hey, Thumps.”

  If ever Thumps was happy to see Cooley Small Elk, it was now. “You still working security?”

  “Just signed on with the hotel for another six months.”

  “I need your help.”

  Cooley’s eyes sparkled. “Do I need my gun?”

  “Yes,” said Thumps.

  “Outstanding,” said Cooley.

  On the elevator, Thumps considered explaining the
situation to Cooley, but it would have taken too long, and he wasn’t sure he could explain it to himself without getting lost.

  Dakota’s room was the first stop. Thumps slid Cooley’s card key into the lock while Cooley stood to one side, his gun at the ready.

  “Doesn’t look like she’s here. You want me to call downstairs? Maybe they checked out.”

  Thumps waited while Cooley called the front desk. He should have seen the problem in the timeline long before now. He couldn’t imagine that Asah had missed it. Buckhorn had mailed the bonds and the documents from Denver. Thumps was sure of that now. It was the only explanation that fit the facts. And he was reasonably positive that Buckhorn had sent the package to Lucy. But the package wouldn’t have left Morgan’s mail room until Monday morning at the earliest. There was no chance that it had arrived before Buckhorn was killed and Lucy disappeared. So, what had happened to it?

  That was why Asah hadn’t killed them all when he had the chance. He didn’t have to. Somewhere in the process of torturing Noah and chatting to Thumps, he had figured out who had the bonds and the documents.

  “They’re still here.”

  The kettle on the stove was hot. Thumps picked the coffee cup up off the floor. She had been here not too long ago, and she had left in a hurry.

  “Come on.”

  Noah’s room was two floors up. Cooley didn’t even bother knocking.

  Noah was lying down, reading a newspaper. Thumps ignored him, checked the rooms, and came back to the couch on the fly. Cooley stood in the doorway, the gun cradled against his stomach. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  “Because I didn’t feel like it.”

  “Where’s Dakota?”

  “In her room. Don’t you get tired of harassing me?”

  “No, she’s not,” Thumps grabbed Noah by the shirt and jerked him up. “Asah has her.”

  “Take your hands off me!”

  “You don’t care, do you?”

  “Bullshit,” said Noah. “That sonofabitch is long gone.”

  “Dakota has the bonds and the documents. She’s had them all these years.”