We were halfway down the path when she grabbed my arm and tried to yank me around. I kept walking, but when we got to the level, she stepped in front of me. “That’s it?”
“Keep your voice down and get in the truck.”
She looked a little startled and then followed me to the Yukon, where we opened the doors and slid in. “He’s there?”
“I don’t know, and that’s the part I don’t like.” I gestured toward the ignition switch. “He’s been there, and he’s going to be there again, and I’m thinking it would be nice if we weren’t quite so conspicuous on the next visit.”
“Okay, Great-White-Detective, so how did you know he had been there?”
“Well, the elk, for one-that old woman didn’t break up that five-hundred-pound animal and rack it herself; besides, I pride myself on knowing what an M-50 can do to living tissue.”
“The very-out-of-season elk?”
“Yep, so all we have to do is wait for the prodigal and well-armed son to return.”
She started the SUV and pulled it into gear. “What are we going to do, go sit up on a hill and wait till he decides to come back?”
I pulled my pocket watch from my jeans and looked at the dial. “That elk should be done in about seven hours.” I tossed a forefinger down the red dirt road. “Let’s go talk to Herbert His Good Horse, and we’ll wander back around here come dark.” I put on my seat belt. “So, what does Se-senovoto ema’etao’o mean?”
She roared the Yukon down the hill. “Red snake.”
The tribal office buildings are a sprawling compound of warrens representing the different factions of tribal government, and there were a lot of them. The original building had burned down in the sixties and then again in the eighties. I remembered the controversy when it had been announced just what the new building was going to cost. Now it was just a question of when it was going to burn down again.
Long parked next to the concrete steps, and we climbed up and then through the double glass doors. Human Services was immediately to the right, but Chief Long continued walking down the polished surface of the hallway toward the center of the building.
I stood there for a second, looking at the sign above the vestibule that read HUMAN SERVICES, and then shrugged and followed after her.
I noticed a young Cheyenne, tall and lean in a black T-shirt, who was seated at a metal desk across from a stairwell at the midpoint of the building. He looked to be around seventeen and stood as we approached. “Hey, Chief.”
She ignored him and signed the register, then handed the pen, attached to the desk with a piece of cotton twine, to me. “Sign in.”
The young man stood, and I thought he looked slightly familiar. His voice was overly obsequious. “Can I help you, Chief?”
Without looking at him, she spoke in a low voice. “What is your desk doing in the middle of the hallway instead of down by the entrance?”
He gave me a look of animated incredulity and then glanced down both directions of the main hall. “You know, Chief, I did a reconnoiter and discovered that there are eight entrances to the building. I thought maybe I’d split the difference.” He glanced at me again, and his eyes were playful. “It also gives me a clear view of the girls in accounting, right across from here.”
Without answering him, she turned and started back down the hall.
He looked at the sign-in book and then at me. I stood there with the pen, glanced down the hall at Lolo Long, and then back to the young man with the smiling, jasper eyes.
“Hey, Sheriff. Nice to meet you.”
I nodded and started after her, coming to a complete stop only two strides away.
There was a glass case like the kind that usually holds photographs and trophies in high schools. There on the third shelf was an 8?10 photograph of Lolo Long in her battle fatigues, steely-eyed, disciplined, and without the scar. There was also a photo of Clarence Last Bull being awarded the armed forces prize for his culinary skills, and a large silver trophy. It was almost as if it was a program for the current investigation.
My eyes came back to Lolo Long.
The young man joined me at the wall case and pointed at a toy vehicle complete with little machine guns alongside a very real Bronze Star Medal with Valor. “They gave her that one for hauling all the bodies out of the Humvee-even the dead ones.” He shot a look down the hall to make sure the coast was clear. “When she got home she was so loaded up with antidepressant, antianxiety, and antipanic medicine that everybody started calling her ‘Anti.’ Have you driven with her?”
“Yep.”
“Jesus, wear your seat belt and a helmet if you’ve got one.” He leaned in. “I swear to God she still thinks she’s in Iraq and that there are bombs and RPGs all along the roads. That’s why she drives so fast, trying to outrun ’em.”
“Are you coming?” We both glanced up to find the top half of the chief hanging out from the vestibule. “Or have the girls in accounting caught your attention, too, Sheriff?”
He yelled down the hall to her. “Hey, can I have a gun?”
She yelled back, “No,” and then disappeared.
“You’ve got one, and so does he!” He stuck out his hand. “Barrett Long.”
I shook it. “Little brother?”
“Yeah.”
Human Services was a three-office complex with a communal area and a reception desk that barred the way to the inner sanctum, along with the sign in bold print that Lolo had mentioned. When I got there, Chief Long was staring at the photographs on the desk, from the kind of photo packages taken at discount stores. There was one of Audrey holding Adrian, another of Clarence with a chef’s hat and white coat holding a casserole. There were a few more of Ado, smiling at the camera in confusion, and a piece of paper with tiny multicolored handprints.
“You guys know why the chicken crossed the road?”
We turned, and there was KRZZ’s morning drive man, still wearing his top hat with the feather, and beside him in a wheelchair a younger man with two of the most powerful looking arms I’d ever seen. “For the indigenous Indian-because it is the chicken’s inherent right.”
“Herb?”
“For the old Indian-the chicken was escaping from residential school.”
“Herb.”
“Rez Indian-what’s a chicken?”
She gave up and just stood there.
“BIA Indian-the chicken crossed the road because CFR 133, section 242, gives them the authority to do so under Department of the Interior regulations; they wrote a grant and we funded it. We are very proud of that chicken.”
The young man in the wheelchair turned and looked at us. “You’ll have to excuse my uncle-he’s retarded.”
Herbert glanced down at his nephew and smiled. “That’s not politically correct.” He turned back to us with a sigh. “Sorry, I was attempting to lighten the mood. I guess it’s official, then.” He looked at us. “We heard that Audrey met with an accident.”
Lolo gestured toward me. “This is Sheriff Longmire; he’s helping me with the investigation.”
“We’ve met.” He gestured toward the young man with no legs. “The one who doesn’t think I’m funny is my nephew, Karl Red Fox.”
I extended a hand and thought for a moment that he was going to pinch it off. “Hi’ya.”
Herbert looked back at Lolo. “Investigation?”
I nodded and noticed a few more people in the adjoining offices, including Loraine Two Two, quickly dodging back into their own rooms. I threw a hand toward Herbert’s doorway. “We’d like to have a few words with you if we could?”
“Sure.”
He glanced at Karl, who nodded. “I’ll roll out and talk with Barrett about the girls in accounting.” He popped a wheelie and rode it into the hallway.
Herbert led us inside, carefully closing the door of the windowless room behind him. We chose a few straight chairs, and he rounded his desk. His face and his expression were flat with the exhaustion that goes along with public
service, but there was also a deep-seated concern. It was an expression I saw in the mirror every morning. “So, it wasn’t an accident.”
“We’re thinking not.”
He sat and shared his sadness with us. “So, how can I help you?”
I waited as Lolo asked the inevitable. “We were wondering if you knew of anybody who might wish Audrey ill or might want to do her harm.”
“You mean to the point of…?”
He seemed dismissive of the idea, so I softened the angle of the conversation. “We’re not absolutely sure that that’s the case, but we’re going to follow up on all the possibilities.”
I glanced at the framed photos Herbert had on his desk-there was one of Audrey, one of the Two Two mother and daughter, and of course, one of Karl-I was beginning to get worried that the entire tribal government was related. There was also a poster of Karl in the wheelchair with his arms raised in triumph as he crossed a finish line with a ribbon stretched across his chest.
I nodded toward the poster. “Where was that taken?”
He smiled as he took a cigar from his shirt pocket along with the clipper and lighter. “At the Oita International Wheelchair Marathon in Japan.” He turned to look at us. “Lolo knows, but he lost his legs in a car crash; he was drinking. We’ve got a problem in the family. You really think somebody killed Audrey?”
Lolo answered. “Can you think of anybody?”
He shook his head and then clipped the end of his cigar, gesturing toward us. “Would either of you care for one? It’s the only vice I allow myself anymore.”
We looked at each other and then back to him. “No, thanks.”
He leaned forward and lit the cigar with the cut-down Zippo I’d noticed yesterday, then switched on a fan mounted in the wall above his head. “No windows, but I’ve got my own exhaust fan, so nobody complains.” He studied me. “You were in Nam?”
I nodded. “Yep.”
He turned to Lolo. “Hey, Chief, how many Vietnam vets does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”
She stared at him. “I don’t know.”
He pointed his cigar at her in an agitated fashion. “That’s right, because you weren’t there, man!”
We shared a smile as he slumped back in his chair and tossed the lighter onto the desk toward me. “Got that from a friend who was in Saigon in ’67.”
I picked up the tarnished, encrusted lighter. Across the front was SAIGON, 67–68, 101ST AIRBORNE, and on the back, WHEN THE POWER OF LOVE OVERCOMES THE LOVE OF POWER,THE WORLD SHALL KNOW PEACE
I handed it back to him. “Thoreau?”
“Hendrix, Jimi.” He sat there for a minute, puffing on his cigar. “We get the usual malcontents in here; people that are angry just because-and don’t get me wrong, they’ve got a right to be angry. We only get so much support money and we go through a lot of it at the beginning of the month. People have problems, I mean real problems, and we’re the ones with the money so they come here.” He paused to take another puff, and you could see him going through a mental list of everybody who might’ve ever threatened the young woman. “I’m not sure I want to implicate anybody on just hearsay.”
Long cleared her throat. “You’d rather whoever did this got away?”
He darted his eyes between us. “No.”
“Then why don’t you give us a few names to go on; just anybody that might come to mind.”
Even though the door was closed, he lowered his voice. “Have you spoken with Clarence?”
Long started to speak, but I cut her off. “Why would we want to do that?”
He looked around as if his office might be bugged. “She would come in with marks on her arms and face sometimes, nothing big, just bruises. I tried to get her to talk about it, and she said that he hurt her, sometimes. I mean, I assume it was Clarence.”
In my peripheral vision, I could see Lolo’s jaw muscles tighten. “How often?”
He thought about it. “Once a month, I guess.”
“Once a month?”
“Yes.”
She spit out the next words. “Why didn’t anybody report it?”
Herbert His Good Horse leaned across his desk and spoke in a slightly more aggressive tone, dashing some ashes off his cigar into the ceramic ashtray on his desk. “You know how hard it is to get these things investigated or to press charges when the victim refuses.” He looked at me, imploring. “She didn’t even want to talk to me about it.”
I glanced at the chief. “We understand.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I’m not accusing anybody, but…”
“Right.” I waited a moment. “Is there anybody else you can think of?”
He gestured helplessly.
“Anybody who might have seemed particularly angry with Audrey-any kind of odd behavior on her part when somebody might’ve come in?” He didn’t say anything, but I could tell my soundings had touched something. “Anybody?”
He sighed. “There were a few, now that I think about it-I mean, I don’t know if this means anything…”
Long produced a small notepad and pen. “Please.”
Herbert stared at the journal and then slowly spoke. “There’s an individual from the eastern part of the Rez, a man by the name of Small Song.”
For the second time today, I completed the man’s name. “ Artie Small Song?”
“I hate to bring it up because his nephew, Nate, works with me up at KRZZ, but yes, that’s him.” The social worker nodded. “Artie was in here last week about his mother’s Elder support checks-we would give them to him to give to her. She’s a medicine woman out that way-big medicine. We were worried that she wasn’t really getting her checks and discovered she hasn’t for the last three months-so, this time we refused to give him her check. He was very angry.”
Chief Long was attempting to catch my eye, but I ignored her. “I bet he was.”
“I just remember him because Audrey read him the riot act and told him that he should be ashamed of himself.” His eyes went to Lolo. “Your brother had to throw him out. I thought he was going to kill Barrett.”
Chief Long started to close her notepad and stand. “Thank you, Herb.”
I placed a hand on her arm and reseated her. “Are there any others you can think of?”
His eyes, once again, went back and forth between us. “There are a few others.”
“Who?”
“Kelly Joe Burns down in Birney.”
I assumed it was Red Birney, which was not too far from the incident.
“Birney Day.” He quickly added.
Evidently political correctness was making headway on the Rez.
“Is that that white asshole meth-head Houdini who can run a hundred miles an hour I’ve been chasing for a month now?”
Herbert nodded his head. “There was also Louise Griffin, who got in a shouting match with her a couple of weeks back.” He thought. “You know? No, none of these people would ever…”
“Not even Artie Small Song?” He glanced up at me but didn’t say anything. “It’s not your responsibility to make those choices, Herb; we’re just relying on you to provide us with some names. It’s up to us to move forward with the investigation.”
He didn’t seem completely comfortable with my assurances. “You’re not going to mention my name; I mean, I have a small and deeply disturbed following on the radio.”
“Not to worry.” I glanced at the door. “Is there anybody here in the building, people she might’ve worked with?” I paused. “I noticed Loraine Two Two out there.”
“Well, considering what happened, they weren’t the best of friends.” He laughed. “No, God no. Audrey was a saint around here; everyone loved her. Everyone. She came in on her day off to do extra work, baked cookies on Fridays-that’s what makes this so hard to believe.” He glanced up at the poster behind him. “She ran and worked out with Karl, getting him ready for his races.” His words caught in his throat, and he placed a hand over his face. “Excuse me for just a moment.�
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Lolo tapped my arm. “I think we’ve taken up enough of your time here, Herb.”
We stood, and I nodded to him in appreciation of his help. “Thank you.”
His eyes shone like puddles in his face. “Hey, there was this Indian woman hitchhiking back to the Rez in the middle of the night and this white woman picks her up. The Indian woman says, ‘Hey, thanks for picking me up. What are you doing out on the road this late?’ The white woman points to a bottle in a brown paper bag sitting on the seat between them and says, ‘I got this bottle of wine for my husband.’ The Indian woman nodded, ‘Good trade.’”
Lolo Long smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder as we turned and left.
In the hallway, Barrett and Karl were chatting up who I assumed was one of the girls from accounting, who beat a hasty retreat when she saw Lolo coming. “You had a wrestling match with Artie Small Song last week?”
Barrett crossed his arms-it must have been a family trait. “Huh?”
Chief Long flipped through the register and then turned the book around on the desk and shoved it toward her brother, a finger pinning the personage on the page. “Him.”
The young man leaned forward and read the name as Karl nodded a hello to me and backed his chair out of the line of fire.
“Oh, yeah, that guy.” Barrett looked up at his sister. “He had a screaming fit down the hall. Said he was going to come back in here with an atomic bomb and blow the place up.”
“Did he threaten Audrey Plain Feather?”
“He threatened everybody on the planet.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Does that mean I can have a gun now?”
She turned and leafed through the rest of the book in a disinterested fashion. “No.”
“If he comes back, I could shoot the nuke out of his hand.”
The chief looked at me and then returned her eyes to the register. “Why don’t you tell my little brother about the 50 percent of cops that get shot?”
I shrugged.
Karl continued to study me and then spoke. “If you’re going after Artie Small Song, you better take an army with you.”
“That’s what I had in mind.”
He grinned at the floor. “Back before I lost my legs, some friends and me, we were out hunting one time and shot this whitetail deer up near Kelly Creek. When we got to it, that dude Small Song was already butchering it. This buddy of mine steps up and says, ‘That’s my deer.’ He didn’t even look at us, four of us, but stood there with that skinning knife just moving back and forth.” He looked up at me for the first time. “Swaying, you know, like a snake before it strikes.”
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