The Red Power Murders

by Thomas King

“I wouldn’t know.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. If you had known where they were, you would have used them by now. You would have spent the money, maybe turned the documents over to the press. But you wouldn’t have sat on them.”

  “If you say so.”

  Thumps turned to Cooley. “Give me your gun.”

  “You going to shoot him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.”

  Thumps took the pistol, broke the cylinder, and took out the bullets. He held one up so Noah could see it and slid it back into the chamber.

  “You’re not going to kill me.” Noah started to lean back just as Thumps stepped forward and pressed the gun against his kneecap.

  “Yes, I will,” said Thumps. “Just not all at once.”

  Noah looked over his shoulder at Cooley. “Aren’t you supposed to protect me?”

  “You fired me, remember?”

  Thumps pulled the hammer back. “Who killed Lucy Kettle?”

  “Fuck you!”

  The hammer made a sharp crack as it hit the empty cylinder.

  “Jesus!”

  “Let’s try this again.” Thumps cocked the pistol.

  Noah jerked his knee away. “Mitchell Street. The bastard beat her to death.”

  “And you moved the body.”

  “You don’t get it, do you? They find Lucy’s body, the cops don’t come looking for an FBI agent. They come looking for me.”

  Thumps eased the hammer forward.

  “That evening, after the raid, I went to Lucy’s house. I saw Street go out the back. Lucy was in the living room, dead. I cleaned the place up and took her into the mountains and buried her. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, enjoy it, because it’s the only time I’m going to tell it.”

  “You could have gone to the police.”

  “Oh,” said Noah, “is this where you give me the speech on the integrity of law enforcement, where you promise me a fair trial? Why don’t you give Leonard Peltier a call and share those thoughts with him.”

  “You set Lucy up. Street didn’t go to her house by mistake. You pointed him at her.”

  “I didn’t kill her.”

  “No, you just arranged for it to happen. The same way you set up Mitchell Street.”

  “I didn’t send the bond to Street. Okay?”

  “So, you knew it had to be Dakota.”

  “Only person it could be. But I don’t know how she got them. And I don’t know where they are.”

  “But you didn’t want to share that piece of information, did you?”

  “So what.”

  “Sounds like he wanted the money for himself,” said Cooley. “Always easier to get something if you know where to find it.”

  Thumps reloaded the gun and handed it back to Cooley. Noah sat up and shoved his feet into his shoes. “You’re one crazy sonofabitch.”

  Thumps stopped in the doorway. “You better hope I find her alive.”

  Noah was on his feet now. “Or what? Massasoit? Massasoit’s dead. He died when Lucy died. Whether you like it or not. You want the world to have sharp colours and clean edges. Well, it doesn’t. You think I’m the bad guy. You ever see what a coal-mining company can do to the land, you sanctimonious shit? You complain about what’s wrong with the world, but you don’t do a damn thing to change it. You leave that dirty job for someone like me.”

  Thumps let the platitudes blow past him in a rush. “Save the speech for Leno.”

  THE RIDE TO the lobby was slow. Someone had pressed the button for every floor.

  “He’s right, you know,” said Cooley. “There are lots of people who want to see the world change but who don’t do anything about it. I’m like that sometimes.”

  “He’s no hero.”

  “Sure,” said Cooley, “but good ideas don’t always come from good people.”

  THUMPS SAT IN the lobby and waited for Hockney. Not that the sheriff was going to be able to help. A professional such as Asah couldn’t have left empty-handed. He had doubled back. Thumps should have seen that coming.

  Dakota had sent the copy of the bond to Street. Thumps guessed she had sent the postcard too. Only Massasoit knew that the authenticating phrase for any communication with Street was “kemo-sabe.” But Dakota wasn’t Massasoit. Of that, Thumps was sure. But she had wanted Street and Noah to know who was coming at them, and the messages she sent to both men were exactly what Lucy would have said.

  Thumps was pretty sure he knew the why and he was working on the how when Hockney came puffing into the lobby.

  “This better be good,” said Hockney, “because, as a deputy, you’re getting to be more trouble than you’re worth.”

  “Asah has Dakota.”

  “You know,” said the sheriff, “I kind of liked the sonofabitch.”

  “Dakota has the bonds and the documents.”

  “Documents?”

  “The documents are what Buckhorn was really after when he and the others hit Morgan Energy. Proof that Morgan was bribing state and federal officials in order to get energy contracts on Indian land.”

  “That’s what all this is about? A bunch of twenty-five-year-old office memos?”

  “Stick ran off some articles for me. One of them was a profile of Morgan Energy. It listed the board of directors.” Thumps took a pen out of his pocket and wrote three names on his hand. “Any of these catch your fancy?”

  “You’re kidding.” Hockney tried to frown and smile all at the same time.

  “Nope.”

  “That’s one big bucket,” said the sheriff. “No wonder they sent Asah. If that shit ever hit the fan, Morgan wouldn’t be able to buy enough mops.”

  “Once he has what he came for, he’ll kill her. He won’t even think about it.”

  “How’d he know she had them?”

  “I told him.” Thumps stood up and brushed himself off.

  Asah would need to find someplace private. But he didn’t know the town that well, so it would have to be a place he knew. “You got any ideas?”

  “No.”

  “You think Dakota has the bonds and the papers with her?”

  “No,” said Thumps.

  “Maybe she left them with a friend.”

  And there it was. The answer to the question. Hockney had it all along. Thumps had no doubt that Asah had already figured it out. Or maybe he had got Dakota to tell him. It didn’t matter. What mattered now was how fast Hockney’s SUV could get them to Glory.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  It had been a long time since Thumps had been in a police car that was racing to the scene of a possible crime with its lights flashing. The road was snow-packed and slick, and even with four-wheel drive, the SUV had no more traction than a pig on grease. But this didn’t seem to bother Hockney, who was able to drive at speeds well above the posted limit and talk at the same time.

  “Hope to hell you’re right about this.”

  “So do I.”

  “You were going to tell me about these documents, weren’t you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  As Thumps tried to put all the parts in order, he realized that the problem was people. There were far too many, and they all wanted different things. Asah had come looking for the missing documents. Street had come looking for Massasoit. Noah had come looking for a way to get back on top. Reuben had come looking for Lucy. And Dakota had come looking for justice. Not for herself. Maybe not even for Lucy. But just a fair reckoning for the grief and tragedy that Noah had caused. The postcard she had sent to him, the Xerox she had sent to Street, and the letter she had written to Reuben were reminders of the past—a past of confusions, of betrayals, of unfinished business. Dakota had discovered that Noah was Massasoit, but try as she might, she couldn’t believe it. Yet she knew it was true. And if Noah was Massasoit, then it meant that Lucy was dead, and it meant that Noah was responsible. Not guilty, perhaps, but responsible nonetheless. Chinook was to be the place of jud
gment, the place where the guilty and the innocent, the living and the dead, were to come together one last time.

  Old Testament. Not New.

  But Dakota hadn’t imagined how deep Street’s hatred for Massasoit ran, hadn’t understood his greed or his desire for vengeance. A Jewish friend had told Thumps of a monster that could be made out of mud and prayer, a creature that would exact revenge on one’s enemies. Very scary. Impossible to stop. And the only problem was that once set loose in the world, no one could control it.

  AS HOCKNEY TURNED onto the dirt road, he shut off the lights. “See they haven’t settled up on the road yet.”

  Thumps wasn’t sure he had all the facts right, though in the end, it wouldn’t matter. Some of the facts had already been lost. Others had proved to be worthless. Of those remaining, only a handful had made any difference.

  Lucy was dead. Street was dead. Reuben was dead. Thumps wasn’t sure that solving any of the mysteries, past or present, was going to be worth the cost.

  But then again, he hadn’t lost anything of value. Not this time.

  Hockney eased the cruiser into the Coast to Coast parking lot and turned off the engine. “Now what?”

  “We find the bad guy and arrest him.”

  “Hell of an idea,” said Duke. “Why didn’t I think of that. You still got the gun I gave you?”

  “Lost it.”

  “Wonderful.” The sheriff opened the glovebox and took out an older Smith & Wesson. “I’m reasonably fond of this gun,” he said. “Try not to lose this one.”

  The lights were on in the Glory Video Emporium, but there was a Closed sign in the window. Thumps and Hockney stood in the archway of the Glory Antique Mall and watched the store.

  “How you want to do this?” said Hockney. “Front door, back door? Break out the bullhorn and pretend we’ve got him surrounded? Wait until he comes out the front door and gun him down?”

  “He wants the bonds and the documents.” Thumps handed the pistol back to Hockney.

  “Jesus,” said the sheriff. “We’re not going to go in and try to reason with him.”

  “Not we,” said Thumps. “Me.”

  Hockney took his gun from his holster. “You see this? This is a Glock 9mm. It’s a reliable firearm, and in the hands of a good marksman, it has an effective range of about sixty feet. After that, you’re hitting golf balls.”

  “You the marksman?”

  “No,” said Hockney, “I’m the golfer.”

  Thumps shook his head. “I don’t need you to back me up.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “I need you to make a phone call.”

  “Now that,” said the sheriff, patting Thumps’s shoulder, “I can do.”

  The main street of Glory was deserted. Thumps knew that there had to be people around. Even in seasonal communities, there was always a percentage of folks who stayed on and looked after the place, who cleared the roads, worked the hotels, rented videos. Maybe during the off-season they got to sleep in late.

  The front door of the Glory Video Emporium was locked. Thumps rattled it so he wouldn’t startle anyone inside. The sign in the window said the store opened at eleven. It was now twelve-thirty. Thumps knocked on the glass and waited. There was the chance that he was wrong, that Dakota had not left the package with Grover for safekeeping. But it was the only place that made any sense. Half of the letters that Grover had given him were from Dakota. It was as if she had stepped in to take Lucy’s place, to be a sister to Grover for the sister he had lost.

  Thumps knocked again, hard this time, insistent. He didn’t want another door on his conscience, but he wasn’t about to stand around in the cold all day, waiting for a killer to kill again.

  “Grover! It’s Thumps!”

  Thumps put a knee against the door and leaned into it. Kicking it down was not going to be an easy task. It might be more effective to shoot the lock off the way they did it in the movies, and he was wondering if that method would actually work when he saw the lights in the store go out and heard the deadbolt snap open.

  As he opened the door, Thumps looked for the reflection of the Glory Antique Mall in the glass. There was no sign of Hockney, which was good, but for a moment, as he stepped into the shadows, Thumps had the disturbing feeling that he was suddenly vulnerable and completely alone.

  “Hello.” Thumps stood just inside the doorway and allowed his eyes to adjust. Grover was standing at the back of the store. He didn’t say anything. He simply turned and disappeared into the backroom. Thumps took a deep breath, let it out, and followed him.

  The backroom of the video store was set up like an apartment, and from the posters on the wall, the clothes draped over the couch, and the unmade bed, Thumps deduced that this was where Grover lived. Men who lived on their own tended to have reputations for being slovenly. It was a cliché, to be sure. Thumps knew that somewhere in the world, there were hundreds of neat single men. Maybe more.

  Dakota had found an open spot on the couch between the jeans and the T-shirts. Grover was on an old beanbag chair in one corner. Asah was sitting at a desk, a cardboard box in front of him. Asah didn’t look happy to see Thumps, but then again he didn’t look surprised either.

  “Anybody ever tell you that you’d make a good cop?” Asah took a bundle of bearer bonds out of the box, set them on the desk, and put his gun on top of them.

  “The documents too?”

  Asah nodded. “All safe and sound.”

  “And nobody else is dead.”

  Asah pushed the box to one side. “Did you get another gun?”

  Thumps nodded. “In my belt. The sheriff asked me not to lose it. Says it has sentimental value.”

  Asah glanced around the room. “Right. And where is our good friend Sheriff Duke Hockney?”

  The phone made everyone jump. Asah stood up and came around the desk. “You expecting a call?”

  “It’s the sheriff,” said Thumps. “I asked him to let me come in and try to talk you into giving yourself up. He wants to know how I’m doing.”

  Asah’s face hardened. “And you’d like me to believe that he’s not out there alone.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think I have three hostages.”

  “That might impress the sheriff. But he’s not really in charge.” Thumps slowly reached over and picked up the phone.

  “You’re bluffing,” said Asah. “They don’t move that fast.”

  “I know you never called the bureau about Street,” said Thumps. “But Hockney did. Four agents drove over from Missoula this morning.” Thumps held up the phone. “I need to tell him something.”

  “Tell him if he tries to come in, I’ll shoot everyone.” Asah cocked his head. “But I’m guessing he knows that.”

  Thumps held the phone to his face. “If you try to come in,” he said, “he’ll kill all of us.” Thumps looked at the phone and smiled.

  “What’d he say?”

  “He said I wasn’t much of a deputy anyway.”

  “Now,” said Asah, returning to the desk and the chair, “hang up the phone.”

  FOR THE NEXT twenty minutes, Asah sat behind the desk and read through the documents that Matthew Colburne had so carefully organized. Dakota kept her head down, ignoring everyone in the room. Thumps couldn’t tell if she was angry or frightened or exhausted, not that it mattered. Grover was angry, was ready to pounce on Asah at the first opportunity. Thumps didn’t know which was the more dangerous: Grover looking to play the hero; Asah looking for a way out; or Duke Hockney looking down the barrel of his Glock, trying to keep the good guys and the bad guys in focus. In the end, Thumps decided that it was a three-way tie.

  “You ought to read this shit,” said Asah. “Morgan was really screwing the tribes.”

  “They’re not going to go away.”

  “How many sharpshooters?”

  “Two.”

  “They must be really pissed off.”

  “Somebody killed an FBI agen
t,” said Thumps. “They think it’s you.”

  “But you’re going to convince them that they’re wrong?”

  “Nope,” said Thumps. “But they can’t prove they’re right. My guess is they’d rather shoot you than go to trial.”

  “And Justice?”

  “Same deal as before. Knowing is one thing, proving is another.”

  “You sound like a defence lawyer,” said Asah. “Maybe today is a good day to die.”

  “No, thanks,” said Thumps. “I’d rather die in the summer.”

  “And all of this?” Asah ran his hands over the bonds.

  “Either way,” said Thumps, “you can’t take it with you.”

  Asah dropped the folder back into the box and laid his car keys on the table next to his gun. “Sorry,” he said, turning to Dakota. “Looks as though you’re going to have to manage on your own.”

  HOCKNEY HANDCUFFED ASAH and put him in the back of the sheriff’s SUV. If Asah was angry about the bluff, he didn’t show it. The sheriff was not so sanguine. “Just how the hell did you do that?”

  “Like you said,” said Thumps, “we got nothing.”

  “The feds are on their way. I’ll turn him over, give them everything I’ve got, and Bob’s your uncle.” Hockney glanced at the video store. “Anything else I need to know about?”

  “Nope,” said Thumps.

  “Your girlfriend okay?”

  “Yeah,” said Thumps. “I guess.”

  Hockney turned and walked back to his car. “Tell her she’s got lousy taste in men.”

  GROVER WAS WAITING for him when Thumps came into the store. “So, what happens now?”

  “I drive Dakota back to Chinook,” said Thumps.

  Grover glanced over his shoulder. “Is Lucy dead?” he asked quietly.

  “Yeah.”

  “Ridge kill her?”

  “No,” said Thumps, wondering if the truth set anything free, “but he knows where she’s buried.”

  “You think he’ll tell me?” said Grover. “I’d like to bring her home.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” said Thumps. “I don’t think there’ll be a problem.”

  “You shouldn’t have come,” said Grover. “Everything was going to work out.”

  Dakota appeared in the doorway of the backroom, the cardboard box in her arms. She stood there quietly, as though she were waiting for someone to tell her what to do. But Thumps knew that she wasn’t waiting for anyone anymore.