“I want a lawyer.”
She smacked the side of his head. “You’re gonna see a lot of lawyers, trust me.”
I took a couple of deep breaths and could smell the strong scent of stale beer coming off of her. “Did you find the bag?”
She smiled as she took the drug dealer’s arm. “I did, and inside was about five hundred grams of methamphetamine in tiny, individual-serving baggies.” I took his other arm, and we walked him up out of the ditch toward the Jimtown Bar parking lot. “That’s almost a pound of Schedule II substance, and you know what that means, don’t you Kelly Joe?”
She was happier than I’d ever seen her as she informed him of his Miranda rights. When she finished, Kelly Joe continued to say nothing so she turned to me. “I’m sorry it took so long and that I smell like an old brewery, but the cans covered up the bag when it hit on the other side of Mount Rainier and it took a while for me to find it.”
“No big deal.”
“Do you know how long I’ve been looking to get this rat?” She laughed, and I was glad I hadn’t spoiled her moment in the sun. “Two months, and this is by far the biggest bust of my career.”
I was happy for her; there’s a camaraderie and euphoria that goes along with these situations, when you get the bad guy with so much evidence that there’s no way an informed jury or sober judge will ever let them walk. It’s a feeling that is amplified only by the fact that no one was hurt and that everybody, with the exception of the perp, got away clean-well, mostly clean.
My mind kept drifting back to the case at hand, though. I thought about the dead father, the injured child, and the woman we’d watched fall. I kept my mouth shut as she stuffed the drug dealer in the back of the Yukon and turned to look at me with her hands on her hips.
The smile, a million watts, only slightly dimmed. “Audrey.”
I focused on the tribal police chief’s face. “What?”
“On the recording; the woman’s voice.”
I waited.
“It’s Audrey.”
14
We had deposited Nattie Tyminski in the BIA jail, where there was a female docent. She would probably walk as we hadn’t actually seen her in possession, but a little time behind bars wouldn’t do her any harm.
We sat on the folding chairs in the Tribal Police Headquarters and stared at Kelly Joe-he sat on the bunk in the corner of the holding cell with his knees drawn up in protection. So far, Artie Small Song hadn’t made any aggressive moves toward him, but the drug dealer was playing it safe; I didn’t blame him-it was like being trapped in a Havahart with a pissed-off badger.
Artie’s fingers were wrapped around the bars like the kind of vines that choked trees to death. “I don’t have any idea.”
“You must have had some kind of interaction with her.”
“No, I didn’t.” He flung himself from the bars and started pacing back and forth, Kelly Joe’s eyes tracking him like radar. “The only time I ever laid eyes on the woman was there at Human Services when I was trying to get my mother’s support check.”
“No other time?”
He turned the corner at the far end of the cell and started back past me. “Never.”
“Not even on the phone?”
He stopped on the next pass. “Ever.” He grabbed the bars again, and Kelly Joe jumped. “And I wasn’t at that bar that night! You ask and see if anybody remembers me being there.”
“Your truck was there.”
“My nephew was driving it.”
“With your elk on the hood?” I got up and leaned an elbow between the bars and paid a glance to Burns. I would’ve been lying if I’d said I wasn’t enjoying the drug dealer’s discomfort. “Then where were you?”
“Hunting!” The spit flew from his lips, and his face moved near mine. “You had part of that elk; you saw it, did it seem fresh to you?”
I nodded. “It did.”
“I went after another one; now let me out.”
“It’s not that easy, Artie. The Feds are convinced that you did it because of the recording, and we haven’t come up with anything that counters that very impressive piece of evidence.”
“That conversation never happened.” He pushed off the bars. “I never spoke to her husband, what’s his name?”
“His name was Clarence.” Burns’s voice rose from the back, and one look at him told you that he wished he’d kept his mouth shut, but he was Kelly Joe after all, and silence was not one of his strong suits.
“Clarence?”
I nodded.
“I had an argument with a guy named Clarence in the parking lot of the White Buffalo one time.”
“About?”
“He left his stupid Jeep in front of the gas pump while he was serenading some teenager. I told him to move it or I was going to get all Crazy Horse on his ass.”
I looked past Artie and raised my voice so that Kelly Joe would know I was speaking to him. “You ever have any dealings with Clarence Last Bull?”
He pulled at the collar of his T-shirt, feeling the heat from me and his tattoo, and then tried to cover it by resting his chin on his knees. “I’m not talking to you.”
“Okay.” I pushed off the bars, leaving a few fingers on the steel like I was loath to leave. “I can see how it is that you wouldn’t want to bother to help Artie with his problems. Chief Long and I are going to walk out of here in about two minutes anyway, so you two are going to have plenty of time to talk about things and work it all out.”
Artie Small Song turned to look at Kelly Joe Burns.
The drug dealer slowly raised himself up and stood on the bunk with his back against the concrete blocks. “Hey, hey, wait a minute. I want my own cell.”
I kept my eyes on Burns but tossed my voice over to the chief. “Anything available?”
She shrugged. “Not just now-housekeeping might have something later.”
I turned back to him. “Looks like you’ve got a roommate for a while.”
His hands came out, attempting to hold the air between himself and Artie. “Look, it was purely business. Clarence dealt in bud-that was all. Sometimes he ran short, and I’d front him product. That’s all.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Kelly. Why would the Feds be interested? It’s not exactly high on their substance abuse table.”
The drug dealer continued to keep his eyes on Small Song. “How the hell should I know; go ask them. What the fuck-you think they’re pals of mine?”
Lolo’s voice sounded from the hallway where she now stood. “That’s okay, white boy, they’re gonna be.”
I joined her, and we started out.
“Hey, wait a minute!”
I turned and looked back at him-Artie had moved closer to Kelly Joe and was now standing in front of the corner bunk where you could hear his fists clinching, the sound like bark tightening.
“What?”
“I could make you a list of users.”
Chief Long crossed her arms. “Oh, you and the Federales are going to get along.”
Small Song leaned in closer to him. “You scumbag.”
“Artie?”
He turned his head and looked at me. I suppressed the smile that was growing on my lips and gestured for Small Song to move. “Give him a little room, Artie.” I waited until he stepped away. “How is that going to help us, Kelly Joe?”
He seemed relieved to have even the smallest amount of breathing room. “It would be all the people that Clarence had anything to do with.”
I turned to Lolo. “You think we can trust Mr. Burns in your offices if we give him a pencil and paper to make a list?”
She looked at him. “If we handcuff him to the radiator.”
I turned back to the drug dealer. “You right- or left-handed?”
I joined my family at the Law Enforcement Center parking lot as they sunbathed in Henry’s convertible. The Cheyenne Nation leaned against the front fender and pointed at a mark on the hood of the ’59 Thunderbird about a quar
ter of an inch in length. “You scratched my car.”
“I’ll buy you some rubbing compound or one of those bulldog hood ornaments with the eyes that bug out and light up.”
He closed his eyes, canting his head toward the sun’s rays like some Algonquin sunflower, as he always did. “I understand you arrested Kelly Joe Burns?”
“The chief did.”
The Bear silently applauded. “Bravo.”
I looked at Cady, who was applying suntan lotion to her feet. “How was your discussion with Arbutis Little Bird?”
“I made a deal with her. They won’t reschedule, but I convinced them that we could combine the wedding with the language immersion retreat.”
Lena adjusted her sunglasses. “I am beginning to think that your daughter could litigate ice from an Eskimo.”
I walked the rest of the way around Lola and looked at the two exquisite women, replete with bikini tops and suntan oil, towels lying over the reclined seats of the T-Bird. “A Cheyenne language immersion retreat and your wedding-how are you going to manage that?”
“It’s going to be traditional, performed entirely in Cheyenne.” Cady tipped her Prada sunglasses up and looked at me with her frank, gray eyes. “We convinced her that it was a wonderful opportunity for the students to experience the Cheyenne language in a unique context.”
I glanced at Lena, who had yet to move. “How does the Moretti contingency feel about that?”
The mother-in-law-to-be rolled her head toward me. “ He’ehe’e, na-tsehese-nestse.”
I shook my head and watched the traffic on 212. “The two of you wouldn’t want to work on this homicide case, would you?”
Cady removed her glasses completely but shaded her eyes with a hand. “I thought you arrested somebody?”
“We did, but it’s the wrong guy.”
A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “What about the drug dealer?”
“He’s in the office making a list of known associates of the deceased, but I don’t think he did it either.”
“Sounds like you’ve got more real work to do.”
“Yep, but…”
“We don’t need you.”
I was a little hurt. “At all?”
She caught my tone of voice and sat up, turning in the seat and pulling herself onto the sill, clutching onto my shirt in a playful manner. “I always need you, but I don’t need you this afternoon if you’ve got things to do.” She looked at the shirt in her fingers, especially the name PRETTY WEASEL. “Did you hire on?”
“I just needed a clean shirt.”
“It’s not that clean.” She studied me, with the smile she reserved for me playing on her lips. “Repeat after me- Na-he-stonahanotse.”
“What does it mean?”
She was more emphatic this time. “Repeat- Na-he-stonahanotse.”
“ Na-he-stonahanotse.”
She nodded at my pronunciation. “Good, now try this one: E-hestana.”
“ E-hestana.”
“Now put them together.”
I thought. “ Na-he-stonahanotse. E-hestana. Now, what did I just say?”
“This is my daughter; he may take her.”
Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the lack of sleep, but I felt my knees give just a little bit. I swallowed and could feel my eyes well and just hoped that she wouldn’t notice, but of course she did.
Her eyes softened, and she placed her head against my chest. “I’m getting married, Daddy.”
I laughed, but it was short and choked in my throat. “Yep, I guess it just hit me.” She pulled her head back, and I swept a wave of the strawberry blonde hair away, just a little damp from the sunbathing.
“You won’t have to worry about me so much.”
“Right.”
She continued to smile. “I’m settling down and having a baby; things get easy from here on out, right?”
I shook my head. “Oh, yeah.”
“We’re stealing the Bear and going to Billings for supplies, but we’ll be back tonight with another Moretti.”
“The groom?”
She smiled. “ He’ehe’e — I asked him if he could come early and help, and besides, I kind of miss him. The rest of the family is staying in Denver till the last hour so we don’t have to worry as much about the rooms, which, by the way, were okay. Michael, Lena, Henry, you-we’re all having dinner.”
I glanced at the Cheyenne Nation as if I didn’t know. “At Chez Bear?”
Cady retrieved her sunglasses. “Actually at the Charging Horse Casino if we don’t get going. Could you make us a reservation, just in case, Dad?” She glanced at the clock in the T-Bird’s dash. “You have six hours to catch a killer.”
Lena Moretti was looking at me again. “No pressure.”
Cady kissed my grizzled face and lowered herself back down, put on her shirt, and stretched the seat belt across her lap.
Part of me wanted to go, but I knew I’d be more help to Chief Long. “I don’t have a vehicle.”
The Cheyenne Nation pushed off the fender of the Thunderbird and turned to stand over the passenger-side door, his gaze tracking first to Lena Moretti and then to his truck parked behind the car. “I’ll leave you Rezdawg.”
He fished the keys from his pocket and tossed them to me, assorted fetishes, feathers, and all.
I couldn’t believe he actually bothered to take the keys out of the thing.
I studied the fob in my hand and then looked at the rusting hulk. The bunch of them wheeled out of the parking lot, made a right, and headed for the big city.
“Like I said, I don’t have a vehicle.”
When I walked back into the Tribal Police office, Lolo Long was on her way out. “What are you doing here?”
I shrugged. “Abandoned.”
“Good, you can come to KRZZ with me; Nate called and said that he’s got more for us.”
“What about Charles, Artie, Kelly Joe, and the impending euthanasia?”
“Mom brought over lunch, and she’ll stay till we get back.” She pulled a slip of paper from her shirt pocket and handed it to me.
“What’s this?”
“The list of people on the medications that were on the old bracelet you found. The database only goes back about twelve months, but she said she would check and see who might have had anything critical before that that would have led to that amount of medication.” She gestured toward the waiting GMC. “To the radio station?”
I raised a fist. “Stay calm, have courage, and wait for signs.”
With the chief driving, we were there in three minutes. The same vehicles were parked, with the addition of Herbert’s Cherokee. “I guess the morning drive guy finally showed up for the afternoon shift.”
Lolo led the way in, and the Sudoku gamer pointed toward the production studios beyond. Bill Miller’s Ghost Dance hovered in the speakers, and I could see Herbert His Good Horse wearing his signature mottled-gray top hat with the leather studded band stuck with the large eagle feather. He was in the on-air studio and turned and waved at us, pointing past the offices to an area where we hadn’t been before.
We turned the corner-Nate was sitting in a stripped-down studio about the size of a walk-in closet, his head resting in his hands as he listened intently, a pair of hi-tech headphones over his ears. Chief Long stepped up behind him and casually placed her hands on his shoulders, causing the young man to leap up and turn around.
Lolo raised her arms, and we watched as he slipped the headphones off. “Jeez, you guys scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry.” She smiled. “What’s up?”
He stepped past us and started around the corner. “Hold on, let me get Herbert.”
We stood there looking at the rock-and-roll posters of artists I certainly didn’t know, and after a moment Nate reappeared with Herbert in tow. Nate pushed past us, and Herbert stuffed the rest of the room with himself before closing the door on the clown-car studio.
Nate cleared his throat. “This is
pretty important.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked worried.
Herbert gestured toward the young man. “Tell ’em.”
“This tape…” Nate paused. “It’s produced.”
I shot a glance at Lolo, but she looked as confused as me. “What do you mean produced?”
His eyes flitted around in a nervous way. “The Feds made this recording. These two guys aren’t even talking to each other.”
Chief Long leaned into him. “What?”
“I was listening to the amplified tape, and I kept hearing these little bumps-you know, sounds between the people speaking. It’s really well done, but it’s dubbed.” He gestured toward the equipment behind him. “This conversation’s been patched together-the Feds made this up, man.”
He half-turned and hit a few keys on the computer-and Artie Small Song’s and Clarence Last Bull’s voices exploded through the speakers. He immediately turned the volume down. “I edited it so that you can listen to the transition points between them talking.”
I listened carefully to the amplified version-and he was right.
Lolo Long’s eyes were wide as she turned to me. “I can hear it.”
“Yep, so can I.”
Nate punched some more keys, and the music in the background leapt forward. “There’s something else.”
I listened for a moment. “ Ira Hayes, I know. We checked the jukebox up at Jimtown, and it’s not there.”
Nate shook his head. “No, not that. Listen.”
We all did, but it was Lolo who asked. “What are we listening for?”
“The lyrics.”
The chief and I looked at each other and then at Nate. He gave us an exasperated look. “They’re repeated.”
We listened to the portion about the flag and throwing a dog a bone and then listened to it again.
Lolo laughed. “It’s the chorus.”
Nate frowned. “No, it’s not, and even if it was it wouldn’t be repeated that soon. Somebody dubbed the music in so that it would drown out the edits, but they didn’t realize they were repeating those lyrics.”
I glanced at Herbert, who had had a lifetime of experience in the field. “What do you think?”
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