“I won’t go to prison!”
“All the evidence is stacked against you, Buddy,” Big Ben said. “All I have to do is blow the proverbial whistle.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Really?” Big Ben asked. “You’ll get a jury of your peers, and there’s a good chance some Minnesota Native Americans will be on the jury. Can’t imagine what they’d think of a Navajo stealing from a Sioux.”
“Not politically correct,” Harold joked.
Quin thought about his options. The evidence was mounting, and Big Ben, the prep boy from the Ivy Leagues, would be convincing in a trial. He saw no way out. And if he was arrested now, he couldn’t protect Rebecca.
He had to be like a good Indian and compromise with the white man. “What do you want me to do?”
Big Ben sat up, more businesslike. “Sign these papers transferring the policy to me.”
Quin read the documents carefully. He had no experience in these matters and no idea if this was a legitimate deal. He’d borrowed Hawk’s money and wanted to make sure he returned it as soon as possible. “So I’ll be selling you the policy, and you’ll be reimbursing me for the money I paid Rebecca?”
“Yeah, sort of,” Big Ben said.
“What do you mean ‘sort of’?”
“You’re actually transferring the policy to me as a gift from your tribe,” Big Ben said.
“It cost me $8.5 million,” Quin said. “And you’re taking it for nothing?”
“It cost you $8.5 million or an investor? Aren’t you playing with somebody else’s money?”
“Yes,” Quin admitted. “I have to repay him.”
“For the $8.5 million, I’ll make sure nobody finds those bodies. Besides, it’s better than prison. I could call the police right now,” he said with a dark stare that seemed to pierce Quin.
Harold barked back at him, “Take the deal, Quin.”
“If you want to stay out of prison, you’ll agree to our offer,” Big Ben said, lifting the handset off the phone. “What will it be?”
They had forced the decision upon him. The only way he could stay a free man long enough to protect Rebecca was to sign over the policy. That would ensure that Hawk would never see his money again.
How could he ever repay his old friend? He could never earn that amount of money as a bounty hunter. What would Hawk want him to do about this wolf pack gone mad?
Big Ben started punching keys on his phone. “Nine, one, one.”
“Where do I sign?” Quin asked.
Big Ben hung up the phone and handed him a Montblanc fountain pen, holding the document out for him. Quin reluctantly signed and initialed each page with his $8.5 million signature.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Big Ben said. “I do this for a living, Quin. I’m good at gambling with other people’s money, remember?”
He thought about Hawk again. The old man had told him he would have to trick the wolf to beat him. Quin had thought beating Big Ben for the policy was the trick, but the wolf had stolen it back.
Quin hustled out of the mansion and back to his truck, where Zoe waited for him, the engine still idling. He climbed in and slammed to the door hard.
“Well?” she asked.
Quin felt sweat under his collar. He was pissed. “I lost it.”
“You lost what?”
“Everything,” Quin said. “Ben’s now the beneficiary of Rebecca’s policy.”
“What? How is that possible?”
“They blackmailed me. He said all the evidence pointed in my direction,” Quin said. “He said I killed Cassy and Martin to get them off the assignment.”
“Oh my God, Quin,” Zoe said, disappointed and angry.
“I can’t believe it either,” he said, pounding the steering wheel.
“We never should’ve come here.”
“I know, I know,” he said, rubbing his eyes to relieve tension. All he could hear was the engine idling. “I have to reach Christopher before he leaves the country. And then I need to warn Rebecca her life is in danger.”
“Why don’t we go to the police or the FBI right now?” Zoe asked.
“I was fooled by Lunde, and there’s something suspicious about the deputy’s suicide. How many strings is Ben pulling?” Quin asked. “I’m not sure whom to trust anymore.”
The sleeting winter rains had most of the flights out of Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport delayed as ground crews maneuvered slowly across the runways. Quin had his ticket and ran down the concourse through the crowds, searching for Stray Dog. Even if the omega had tucked his tail and agreed to return the database, Quin wanted to speak with him one more time.
He didn’t see Stray Dog at the gate. This flight was delayed as well and wouldn’t board for another twenty minutes. Quin turned and saw his friend seated by himself in the bar.
“Still leaving for vacation, huh?” Quin asked.
Stray Dog nearly jumped off his stool. “Hey, no trouble now.”
Quin elbowed his way up to the bar. “What did they tell you about me?”
“Who cares? We’re not friends, you and I,” Stray Dog said.
“I didn’t kill anybody, Christopher.”
“It sure looks that way.”
“They’re framing me,” Quin said. “The police are probably closing in on them. They’re using me as their scapegoat.”
Stray Dog swallowed his beer and wiped his face with his coat sleeve. “Are you Indian or not?”
Quin realized they’d told him everything, all the sordid, uncomfortable details of his life. “I’m Navajo. What does it matter?”
“Ben says you’re a crazy drifter,” Stray Dog said. “In a few months, after Rebecca dies and you collect the insurance policy, you can play the rich eccentric and wander the country.”
Quin could stand here in this drunken crowd all afternoon explaining that he was innocent, but he knew Stray Dog wouldn’t listen.
“I came by to tell you Ben took the policy back,” Quin said.
Stray Dog shook his head. “What? How?”
“He forced me to make him the beneficiary,” Quin said.
“He bought you out?” Stray Dog asked, holding the beer just below his chin, waiting for an explanation.
“No, he paid nothing for the policy. He told me to make him the beneficiary or he’d call the police,” Quin said. “He blackmailed me. If I had really killed those people, don’t you think Ben would’ve gone to the police right away?”
Stray Dog swallowed more beer, thinking this over.
“Where is the database?” Quin asked.
“I’m not giving them to you.”
“Keep it,” he said. “I want you to read those files before you hand them back or before you return to your job with Ben’s company.”
“Why? They’re just lists of investors and clients,” Stray Dog said.
“If you have even the slightest hint of doubt about the accusations Ben is making about me, you’ll read those files,” Quin said. “There must be some evidence that proves he’s killed other clients.”
Stray Dog gave a tired sigh, as if maybe Quin’s theory mades sense.
“If you don’t do it for me, do it for Rebecca,” Quin said. “Ben will kill her soon.”
Quin knew that point washed across Stray Dog like a splash of ice water. Rebecca was his big sale and most likely his friend too.
“If they touch her—”
“You believe me?” Quin asked.
“I don’t know what I believe…I’ve got my laptop with me. I’ll read the files on the plane.”
Because of the winter storm, Rebecca assumed Quin wouldn’t make it to her house. He had agreed to escort her around town so she could meet with the local chapters of her favorite charities to give away her settlement money.
Now that she knew Quin had stolen the money, what was she to do? She felt somewhat relieved he hadn’t arrived because she wasn’t sure how to confront him. Would he react violently?
What should she say? And how best to phrase it? He knocked on the door, and when he saw her, he let himself in.
“Hi! How are you?” he asked.
“You’re sure in a hurry,” she said, looking back at his truck, abandoned in the snow, the motor still idling.
“Sorry I’m late. I ran into a snag,” he said. “Are you ready to go meet with those charities?”
He seemed different today, more nervous and agitated. He kept looking outside, as if he were watching for somebody.
“Not today.”
“Why not? The weather isn’t as bad as it looks,” he said. “I’ll drive slowly.”
“It’s not the weather,” she said. “It’s you.”
He closed the door gently. “Me? What about me?”
“Where did you get the money for my life insurance policy?”
“From a private investor.”
“Who is this private investor?” She watched him more closely. “I heard he’s a senior citizen.”
Quin’s eyes shifted left, right, and left again. “Where did you hear that?”
“From a woman named Kirsten Hayden. I believe she’s your doctor.”
He took a deep breath and sighed.
“An Indian friend of mine named Helene Woman of the Storm is serving time in prison.” Quin explained the details of their arrangement. “Anyway, her father is the one who loaned me the money.”
“You didn’t steal it?” she asked, pushing him for the truth. She wanted desperately to believe him.
“No, he loaned it to me.”
“He gave you $8.5 million?” she asked.
“Yeah, Hawk trusts me,” he said. “But more importantly, I want you to know that you don’t have much time—”
“Yes, of course, I’m dying.”
“No, I mean Ben Moretti plans to kill you,” Quin said, his voice edged with tension.
She felt sorry for Quin. He was acting paranoid. Was this the kind of behavior that Dr. Hayden was concerned about?
“Now why would Ben Moretti kill me?”
Another long pause, and the only sound she heard was wind rattling the windows.
“I made him the beneficiary of your life insurance policy,” Quin said. He removed a legal transfer document from his coat that contained Ben and Quin’s signatures.
“Why?” she asked. “You just purchased the policy from me yesterday.”
“Ben forced me to do it. He blackmailed me.”
“Blackmailed you with what?”
“I’d rather not get into it,” Quin said. “He’s made up a bunch of lies.”
“Why would Ben want to kill me?”
“To collect the death benefits on your policy!”
She read the document transferring ownership of the policy. It looked legitimate, but she still couldn’t believe her life was in danger. Quin’s hallucinations must be getting the best of him. She was more concerned about the money he’d given her yesterday.
“Would it be all right if I met the investor, so I could ask him about the money?”
Quin looked surprised. “Sure, if you want to meet Hawk, I can take you to the reservation.”
She stood up. “Let’s go.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. You said yourself the roads weren’t bad. We can drive slowly.”
He walked to the door with her. “You don’t believe what I said about Ben, do you?”
She wanted to be honest with him, to let him down as gently as possible. “Ben is in the business of purchasing life insurance policies,” she said. “It would be stretching the imagination to believe that makes him a killer.”
For once, Jimmy kept the music in his Bronco to a low hum while he sat parked a block away from Hawk’s house, watching the front door. What was taking so long? Quin and a woman he assumed was Rebecca had been in there at least a half hour talking to his granddad.He hoped they weren’t after more money. How much more could Hawk give away? Why wasn’t Granddad lending money to his grandkids?
His aunt Helene would be relieved to hear that he’d finally tracked down this woman. Jimmy’s idea was to lay back and wait for them to come out of Hawk’s house again. He’d follow them to find out where Rebecca lived and confront her at home when Quin wasn’t around to defend her. Then, hopefully, he’d get their money back, or she’d pay another way.
When Christopher’s plane had reached cruising altitude, he loaded the database into his laptop.
He had an aisle seat, and people who’d been waiting patiently while the airplane was grounded were streaming past him regularly to use the restroom, bumping his elbow as he typed.
He checked the list of investors first. The usual names of wealthy people in Minneapolis appeared. Many of them had earned their millions in high-tech industries such as medical devices or software design. Nothing new there. In fact, his old employer, Benson & White, had pursued these same investors. When he reached the bottom of the list, however, the names and occupations of the investors changed.
There were seven people, five men and two women, who worked for the United States Congress. Next to their names he saw the policies they’d invested in. One of the congressmen was the newly elected freshman senator from Minnesota, Paul Almquist.
Christopher clicked on the policies for more detail. None of the insured that the congressmen and women had invested in were still alive. In fact, all of the policies had matured ahead of schedule, which was unheard of in the industry.
He quickly opened the list of insured clients and scanned the records for suspicious activity. And he found plenty: a column in each record detailed the projected date of death and the actual date. He began counting down the list. Nearly one out of every five policies had matured before its projected date, and a politician had invested in every one of those policies.
He went up the investor list again to Senator Almquist’s file and opened it. Almquist had invested in only a single viatical settlement policy, which belonged to Munroe Pilson. A note in Pilson’s file read: “Investor has voted to expedite policy and wants to receive death benefits no later than January 15.”
Ben was killing his clients to make his investors happy. And he had members of Congress supporting him in his efforts. The men and women who were supposed to represent the people were killing them to line their own pockets.
Christopher scrolled to Rebecca’s record. The doctors gave her anywhere from three to six months to live. The expected maturity date of the policy was set at June 1, and so far no investors were attached to her file. Then Christopher remembered what Quin had told him—Ben had taken the policy away. The only person investing in Rebecca Baron was Ben Moretti, and he was a killer.
With his credit card in hand, Christopher reached for the telephone attached to the seat in front of him. He had to call Quin and tell him he was right, but Quin had never given him his cell phone number. On his laptop he kept a list of prospects. Rebecca Baron’s number was on that list. He could call Rebecca and warn her.
Christopher had to change his vacation plans. Instead of boarding the flight to Virgin Gorda, once he landed in Chicago, he’d catch the next flight back to Minneapolis.
He dialed.
Come on! Pick up the phone!
“Rebecca, this is Christopher Gartner. I need to speak with you as soon as possible. Your life is in danger,” he said, pausing because the woman in the seat next to him began staring at him. “Listen to Quin and do whatever he says. I’ll explain everything as soon as I can get to your house.”
Wolves will follow ravens to find food.
Hawk was standing in the doorway, wrapped in his wool blanket, when Rebecca reached out and gave him a hug. Quin felt relieved that their meeting had gone so well. He hadn’t been sure how the old man w
ould react to having a white woman in his home, asking him so many questions. But the two of them were instant friends, and they’d spent much of their time talking about Indian arts and crafts.
“Again, it was a pleasure meeting you,” she said. “I plan to make good use of the money. Quin and I will visit charities on the way home.”
He handed her a sack containing his homemade tea. “When you feel sick, drink this.”
“Papa, no,” Quin said. ”Your tea is too strong.”
“Goodbye,” Hawk said to Rebecca before she stepped out onto the porch.
Quin gave his old friend a hug. “Thanks for meeting with us on such short notice.”
“She hasn’t much life in her,” Hawk said.
“I know, Papa,” Quin said.
“Has the money helped you save her from the wolf?”
Quin felt an immense wave of guilt and anguish. When would he tell Hawk? “Yes, the money has helped keep the wolf away. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Resist any temptation to fight the wolf,” Hawk said. “You’re not strong enough yet.”
“I won’t fight the wolf. I’ll try to do as you instructed and trick him.”
“It’s hard to hide food from the wolf,” Hawk said, with his glazed eyes staring out at Rebecca on the porch. “The wolf looks for ravens to find food.”
Quin knew this to be true. He’d seen wolf packs follow ravens through the forest, searching for fresh kill.
“What are you saying, Papa?”
“She’s a wounded fawn with little time left. You are the raven hovering over her.”
“And?”
“The wolf sees the raven, follows the raven. If you stay with her, the wolf will find her.”
“I can’t leave her now,” Quin said. “I’m protecting her.”
Hawk raised his hand. “How can the raven protect the fawn? She’s now in danger because of you, Quin.”
Having met Hawk, Rebecca seemed more at ease, but now Quin felt more uncomfortable. Was the old man right? Had Quin brought all of this down on her? Would she be safer if he just picked up and left?
In the Company of Wolves: Thinning The Herd Page 23