Abducted Innocence (Emily Etcitty)

by Sandra Bolton

  “Fucking cops,” said the man as Abe and Hosteen turned to leave.

  Will waited outside the open door of Hosteen’s camper. “Good, you’re back. I didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary with those stinking assholes. Anyway, I got what I wanted, and they don’t have a mark on them. Still crying for their mamas, though.”

  Abe perked up. “What do you mean, Will? You got some information about the girls?”

  Hosteen joined the two. “What’s up?”

  “I think I know where Langley might be hiding out. He has another ranch. Same kind of cult thing going on there, too. Only he goes by a different name.”

  Hosteen, his eyebrows lifted, put his hands on his hips. “Tell me about it, Will.”

  “Ever been to South Dakota? I understand they’ve got a lot of Native Americans up there, Ojibwe and Sioux. And a pervert who likes little girls—this time calls himself Jason Blakely, but to his followers, he’s known as ‘the Prophet.’”

  Hosteen let his mouth hang open while he digested this information. He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t even want to know how you persuaded them to fess up, but we’re going to check it out. I need to make a couple of calls before we take these dirtbags back to the reservation and book them on kidnapping charges.” He smiled broadly, a rarity for Hosteen. It showed his brilliant-white teeth. “Did you happen to catch the name of that ranch?”

  “Get this, and try not to puke—‘Heaven’s Gate: A Rest Stop for Disadvantaged Girls.’ It took all my willpower to keep from pigsticking those two slimeballs. They’ve been helping Langley-Blakely commandeer young girls for a long time. I think they’re hired guns without a lick of religious leanings.”

  “Shit.” Abe shook his head. “Where in South Dakota are you talking about?”

  “My sources tell me it’s about forty miles north of a nowhere place called Faith.”

  “The irony never stops, does it?” Abe said. “Faith—hard to believe. What’s the next move, Joe?”

  Hosteen scribbled the information in his notebook. “We only have one move left, partner, and you can’t take part in this one. I’m going to contact Sheriff Turnbull in Montezuma County. He’s in charge of the investigation, and he’s earned the right to be in on the takedown. The Feds will have to be involved—they’ll most likely secure an arrest warrant for Langley and raid the ranch. They could use Emily up there to make a positive ID of the perp. After they’re done, Turnbull can have them extradited to Colorado. With the captain’s permission, I’ll book a flight to South Dakota and bring those little girls home. Will, you sure as hell came through. Even if I can’t report it the way it happened, I have to give you and Abe a hell of a lot of credit for your help. Damn, I need to find a telephone ASAP.”

  Will chuckled. “Can’t divulge how I got them to talk. Shaman’s secret.”

  While Hosteen returned to the Crosstown office to make his calls, Will and Abe checked on the two prisoners under the camper shell. When Abe lifted the door, he saw both men cowering in the far corners. Will had found a coil of rope and tied their hands to D rings on the inside of the camper so they couldn’t move around.

  “Don’t let that Indian near me. He’s crazy!” Harris shrieked.

  Mackey began to whimper once again. “Stay away from me. I already told you what I know.”

  “See what cowardly bastards they are when they’re not dealing with helpless, drugged little girls?” Will said, slamming the door of the camper shell shut. “These white scum disgust me.”

  Abe leaned against the back of the truck, thumbs in his pockets. “You sure as hell put the fear of a crazy redskin in them, Will.”

  Will grinned. “I always thought you were kind of soft, but you didn’t even use a gun to stop Mackey. Nice going.”

  “Huh.” Even though he had nothing but contempt for Mackey and Harris, inflicting pain on another living being still left Abe feeling uneasy. He ran a hand through his hair before speaking. “You know what I think, Will?”

  Will cocked an eyebrow and looked at Abe. “What’s up, buddy?”

  “If those two girls are in South Dakota, you and Emily should go up there with Hosteen and bring them home. Joe’s right, the Feds need her on that trip to make a positive identification once they find Langley. Emily said the hospital would discharge her tomorrow, and she can use a wheelchair or crutches, as long as she isn’t on her feet too long.”

  “Hmm,” Will said, slowly nodding. “I know they’d feel a lot more comfortable if a woman they knew was with them, but why me?”

  “Because those young girls are going to be traumatized and in need of a lot of support, and you are a spiritual leader, someone they look up to and feel safe with.” He glanced up to see Hosteen emerging from the manager’s office. “Let’s get Hosteen to make a quick stop at the hospital so we can give Emily the news.”

  33

  Thursday, April 19, 1990

  En route to Faith, South Dakota

  The plane touched down at the Pierre, South Dakota, airport and rolled to a stop. From there it would be a two-hour drive to the small rural town of Faith, where Rupert Langley allegedly maintained a private ranch. Emily felt tired but emotionally pumped. This time Langley would not get away, and she would be there to help nail his ass. She sighed and closed her eyes, calming herself, silently mouthing the words of the Beauty Way Prayer:

  Today I will walk out, today everything evil will leave me,

  I will be as I was before, I will have a cool breeze over my body.

  I will have a light body, I will be happy forever,

  nothing will hinder me.

  I walk with beauty before me. I walk with beauty behind me.

  I walk with beauty below me. I walk with beauty above me.

  I walk with beauty around me. My words will be beautiful.

  The biggest thing in the flat prairie town of Faith was a life-size metal sculpture of Sue, the most complete Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton ever found, which was discovered only fifteen miles outside of town. Emily stretched her injured leg on the backseat of the rented jeep while Hosteen cruised the main street. Will swiveled his head to get a better look at Sue as they drove past. He had said little on the long trip from Albuquerque.

  “What are you thinking about, Will?” Emily asked.

  “That’s one hell of a big lizard. I’d like to see the site where they found her—take a look at the rock type and depositional environment,” he said, the trained geologist in him coming out. “Someday, when all this is over.”

  When a convenience store/gas station appeared on the right, Hosteen pulled in. They needed directions to the fishing camp on Durkee Lake where they would meet with Sheriff Turnbull and the FBI agent assigned to the Colorado crime scene. The two men had arrived in Faith the day before to set up plans for the raid on Langley’s “Heaven’s Gate.”

  Hosteen returned with directions to Durkee Lake and a temporary South Dakota fishing license. “I didn’t want to arouse suspicions,” he said. They had been forewarned not to be seen in uniform until the actual raid so that no one in town could alert Langley. A mile out of town, they checked into a motel, The Broken Arrow, a single strand of eight rooms plunked down in the prairie. After unloading their bags and freshening up, they continued on to the fish camp. The short trip took them down a dirt road and through a wooded area that ended at a lake bordered by a small cluster of buildings.

  “Here we are,” Hosteen said as he stopped the jeep near the front of a bait-and-tackle shop. Four unmarked, midnight-blue Chevrolet Suburbans were parked near a campground close to the lake’s shore. Hosteen stepped out of the jeep and stretched while Will unloaded the rented wheelchair.

  “I don’t need a wheelchair,” Emily said. “I’ll use the crutches.”

  Will flashed her a big-brother look. “Don’t argue with me, sis. Yes, you do. I promised Mom I wouldn’t let you overdo it. Now sit in this chair and be quiet.”

  Hosteen went inside the bait shop and returned a
few minutes later with a plastic container of red wrigglers.

  “What are you going to do with those?” Emily said.

  “Set them free. I told you I want to appear authentic, so I asked a few questions about the best spot to catch the big ones, and so on. You know, just shooting the bull.”

  Emily and Will chuckled.

  “Let’s meet the team,” Hosteen said. “They’re expecting us for the briefing.”

  Six men and two women sat at two picnic tables pulled together. All heads turned at the sound of Will wheeling Emily down the gravel path. At the far end of the table, Sheriff Turnbull stood and welcomed them.

  “Glad to see you made it,” said Turnbull. Addressing the group, he added, “This is the rest of our team: Navajo Police officers Joe Hosteen and Emily Etcitty. Emily, as I told you earlier, was kidnapped and held hostage along with the girls. She broke her leg when she escaped from the cult compound in Colorado. Her brother, Will, is a Navajo shaman. He’s here to accompany Emily and to provide spiritual guidance and comfort to the girls after we rescue them. He’s a good man—not law enforcement, but he was part of my posse, and he, along with another feller, found Emily. He can be trusted. Feel free to discuss anything in front of him.”

  The FBI agents, dressed in cargo pants and long-sleeve black T-shirts, mumbled greetings.

  Emily rolled the wheelchair up to the table and studied their faces. “Henry,” she said, nodding her head in recognition of New Mexico agent Henry Forbes. The lead Colorado agent sat at the far end, near a cluster of Styrofoam cups, soda cans, and used paper plates. The smell of burned coffee rose from an old-fashioned percolator sitting on the grill.

  Hosteen slid into a folding lounge chair beside Emily. Will remained standing and leaned against a tree, his arms folded across his chest. He gazed impassively at the group of lawmen.

  “How is this going down?” asked Emily.

  “We’ve got a federal arrest warrant for Rupert Langley, alias Jason Blakely,” said Agent Forbes. “Based on the information gained by Officer Hosteen and investigations by South Dakota State Police into the affairs at the cult ranch, we believe we have probable cause. Also, we have the warrant to search the premises for the missing Navajo girls and any evidence indicating illegal activities at the ranch—including the financial records and personal property of all cult members. We’ll conduct a full-scale raid at five a.m. tomorrow, to catch Langley when he’s least expecting it.”

  Emily smiled. “Sweet. What about backup?”

  Sheriff Turnbull turned his attention to Emily. “Faith can spare a couple of men, and local law enforcement from neighboring towns will provide some help. Pierre is sending in a helicopter and SWAT team. Langley won’t get away this time, guaranteed.”

  “Do you have any reason to expect armed resistance?” Emily asked.

  “You never know,” said Turnbull. “I understand one of the kidnappers was carrying a weapon when Hosteen arrested him in Albuquerque. It’s best to be prepared.”

  Hosteen flashed a quick look at Will, whose face remained unreadable. “Right, Sheriff. I believe he would have used it if I hadn’t caught him off guard.”

  The South Dakota lead FBI agent, Bill McCallister, cleared his throat. “I guess I don’t need to familiarize the new arrivals with the nuts and bolts of this case, and I assume the rest of you have read the summaries handed out. Our local FBI will bring their evidence team, so the primary role of the sheriff and other law-enforcement officers will be to conduct a search for Langley and the Navajo girls—which will involve more than thirty officers. Based on the information supplied by Sheriff Turnbull, all women and children will be bused to a community shelter for age determination and DNA testing. We’ll hold the men at another facility until we complete the investigation, and they can be tested to determine paternity. I don’t want word of this to get around town, so be discreet. Again, we strike in the morning, at five a.m., and speed is of the essence. Any questions?”

  “Sir?” Emily said. “How far away is this ranch, and what information do you have concerning the number of residents?”

  “Our sources tell us there are approximately one hundred men, women, and children. An accurate number is hard to ascertain because the group is extremely reclusive. The location is near the Cheyenne River Reservation, ten miles out on Highway 73, and about five miles from the discovery site of Sue. Paleontologists found the T. rex on Indian land, so there’s still some hard feelings about Faith’s claim to being the home of her discovery and the tribe being robbed. They aren’t too friendly with anyone trespassing on their land.” He stood, looking at the assembled group. “Unless you have questions or plan on fishing, get out of here, get some rest, and meet back here at four thirty tomorrow morning. There are two motels in town, and campsites here on the lake—take your pick.”

  Back in the jeep, Will spoke up. “I want to take a ride out of town before we check in to the motel. Maybe we can scope out the ranch—this so-called Heaven’s Gate.”

  “All right,” said Hosteen. “As long as we don’t look conspicuous. Emily, you up for this?”

  “You bet, but I could use a bite to eat and some good coffee first. We can get directions to the site afterward.” It had been a long time since the bean burrito she’d grabbed before boarding the plane in Albuquerque.

  When they were on the outskirts of Faith, Will pointed to a fast-food place called Lulu’s Drive-In.

  Hosteen pulled into a slot in the half-full parking lot and went inside to find a menu.

  “They’ve got burgers, fries, corn dogs, chicken dinner, cheese balls. What the hell are cheese balls?” he asked when he returned to the jeep.

  “Don’t know,” said Emily. “But I’ll pass. I could handle some chicken.”

  Will nodded in agreement.

  “Chicken dinners all around,” said Hosteen. “Sit tight. I’ll order.”

  “I’ll help you,” said Will as he followed Hosteen into the café.

  Emily rolled down the window and gazed across the prairie at the Black Hills lining the western horizon. Faith sat in the middle of nowhere, but she felt at home in the vast remoteness of the landscape. It reminded her of Navajo country.

  A battered Ford truck with three occupants—two women and a man—pulled to a stop beside the jeep. Country music blasted from the pickup’s speakers. The man, barrel-chested, brown-skinned, with high cheekbones and straight black hair tied in a ponytail, went inside the café while the women waited in the truck.

  Lakota, Emily thought. She decided to strike up a conversation to see if she could learn anything useful.

  “Hi,” she said through the open window. “I wonder if you could help me. I think we’re lost.”

  The two women twisted their heads around to peer at Emily.

  “Where’re you from?” a round-faced woman said. “You’re sure not from around here.”

  “Nope,” said Emily. “Navajo, from New Mexico.”

  The Lakota women chuckled and turned down the volume on the radio. “You’re a long ways from home—no wonder you’re lost,” the younger of the two said.

  “I’m here with my brother and a friend. We’re just traveling through, doing a little sightseeing, and heard about the T. rex skeleton discovered somewhere around here. Sue, they call it. You know where the site is?”

  “Humph,” said the older woman, her mouth turning down. “Private land. Big ‘No Trespassing’ sign. Besides, they took it all away; nothing left. They shouldn’t have dug up those bones. Messed with the spirits.”

  “Yeah,” Emily said. “My brother, Will, is a geologist and wanted to analyze the soil. What’s your tribe?”

  “Cheyenne River Lakota,” the younger woman said. “We live on the rez. The exact spot where they found the bones is on the reservation, too, but a private rancher owns it. The Lakota got ripped off.”

  Not the first time, Emily thought.

  “Damn, that’s not right. But isn’t that the way it works in the white ma
n’s world? Hey, I heard a white man bought a big chunk of land near here, and he’s set up some kind of weird religious community.”

  The younger woman sneered. “You must be talking about the crazy ranch out on Dunston Road near the rez. They built a big wooden fence all the way around so no one can see inside, but they make plenty of noise.”

  “Trucks going in there day and night,” said the other woman. “One time I saw some of the people in town—the women dressed in funny clothes, long dresses, real old-fashioned. But most of the time they stay behind the tall fence. What do you want to know about them for?”

  Emily thought about telling them she was a Navajo Police officer and was here to investigate the cult, but remembered the need for discretion. Will and Hosteen came out of the restaurant carrying three Styrofoam boxes and a paper sack. She smiled at the two Lakota women. “Thanks for your help. We better get going. Have a great day.”

  “Yeah. You, too. Try not to get lost, Navajo,” said the one Emily figured must be the mother. The woman laughed as if she had just told a joke.

  Will tipped his scruffy hat to the ladies, and Hosteen nodded. When the Lakota man returned with his order, the women rolled their windows up.

  “What was that about?” said Will, handing one of the Styrofoam boxes to Emily.

  “I found out where the ranch is,” Emily said. She opened the lid of her box and peeked at a plate piled with fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, and a biscuit. “Keep the lids on the coffee. Sue’s site is on private land, but Langley’s ranch is not far. Let’s find Dunston Road and have a little picnic out there.”

  A short cruise down Highway 73 West brought them to the sign drilled with bullet holes that once read “Dunston.” They traveled five more miles past scattered clapboard farmhouses that had seen better days before the pavement turned to gravel. Fenced fields of hay and prairie grass with grazing beef cattle became more dominant as the houses thinned out. When the jeep reached the top of a bluff, Hosteen swerved to the shoulder and turned off the ignition. An eight-foot plank fence broken only by a tall steel gate announced their proximity to “Heaven’s Gate.”