Death Along the Spirit Road

by C. M. Wendelboe

  Bell fidgeted in his chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Manny opened the manila envelope and slid photos across the table to Bell. “You’ll recognize that old Colt: It killed Jumping Bull, and it has your prints all over it.”

  “Of course it does, I’m the janitor. I clean Jason’s office every night.”

  Manny ignored him, and grabbed a photocopy of the flight agreement with Business Voyages. “You took a charter out of Rapid under Jason’s name. The receptionist identified you from your booking photo,” he lied. “She remembers checking that gun with the other artifacts. And one of our Minneapolis agents found a witness watching you coming out of Jumping Bull’s apartment right after you shot him,” he lied again. “What you got to say, Richard?”

  Bell remained silent. Manny rapped loudly on the door, and Soske opened the door. “Take him back to the cell block. I’m going federal with him.”

  “Wait.” Bell’s shoulders drooped and he slumped in his chair. “I got nowhere to go, but I sure don’t want to end up in a federal slammer for the rest of my life. What kind of deal you giving me?”

  “I don’t deal,” Manny said. “That’s the prosecutor’s job, but I got a lot to say about which jurisdiction hears a case. I can recommend to the U.S. Attorney that we decline the Jumping Bull murder and remand it to state court, at which time Minnesota tries you. But I guarantee, Stillwater is whole lot softer time than Leavenworth.”

  Bell sighed and picked up the photo of the Colt pistol. He nodded slightly, resigned, and answered Manny’s questions.

  Manny emerged from the interview room and forced a smile. Clara paced the police department lobby as she clutched an empty foam cup. A dry, dark stain that matched her scowl trickled down one side of the cup.

  “Three hours.” She tossed her cup in a round file. “You really know how to show a girl a good time. I can only read so many Sports Illustrated and American Rifleman.” She nodded to the magazine rack beside the chairs in the waiting room.

  “Bell started singing. His voice just mesmerized me, I guess.”

  She laughed. A curl fell across her forehead and she brushed it out of the way. “That’s the biggest bunch of cock-and-bull I’ve ever heard.” She grabbed Manny’s arm. “But I know you have a job to do.” She led him out of the lobby to his car, where she suggested they find a quiet place to eat.

  “What did he say?” She slid into the seat beside him. Manny noted that her faith in his driving hadn’t improved as she fastened her seat belt. “Did he admit killing Jumping Bull?”

  “Finally. Jason bought Bell a ticket to Minneapolis under his name. He knew Business Voyages was just scraping by and the charter could only get down-and-outers to work there, desperate people that needed a job, people who wouldn’t know Jason Red Cloud from Chief Red Cloud if they both came through their boarding line. He didn’t figure on that receptionist having such a good memory about one passenger flying as Jason Red Cloud.” Manny pulled into the Millstone Restaurant. Clara locked her arm in his, and he felt at peace with her beside him. The hour was late, the patrons few, and they had a secluded corner table to themselves. The waitress handed them menus, explained the day’s specials, and left.

  “Jason called him into his office late one night. He paid Bell the money he owed him for stealing the artifacts from the Prairie Edge, and they started drinking.”

  “So that’s what that was. One morning a couple weeks ago, Emily found a whiskey bottle in the trash. Jason said he thought the janitor had been drinking when he was supposed to be working. I was going to call Bell in and confront him, fire him if he admitted it, but Jason told me to forget it.”

  “That makes sense. Bell said they drank heavily that night. He’d seen Jason drunk before, but nothing like that. Jason rambled on about the resort, and how he had to fool the tribe just a bit longer. He ranted on about Elizabeth and Reuben, and smashed a whiskey bottle against the wall. He yelled that Elizabeth and Reuben still loved one another. He was furious.”

  “So all this time, Elizabeth and Reuben have been having a relationship?”

  Manny shrugged. He waited until the waitress brought their salads and left. “That’s what I’ll have to ask Elizabeth about, if she’ll talk to me again. If that’s true, then everything I told Willie has been going to Elizabeth, and from there straight to Reuben.”

  “Don’t blame Willie. I get good vibes from him. He’s a good officer. He trusted Elizabeth implicitly, being family and all.”

  Manny swallowed both his pride and a sip of the iced tea. “I know it wasn’t his fault.”

  Clara peeled a plastic wrapper from a cracker. “When did Jason hire Bell to kill Jumping Bull?”

  “That night. They’d drunk their first bottle and were well into their second bottle of Johnny Walker when Jason threw out the offer of big money. More money than Bell had ever seen. Five thousand dollars. ‘Who do I have to kill for that kind of green?’ he asked—joking, according to Bell. ‘Alex Jumping Bull,’ Jason shot back, and they struck the deal then and there.”

  Clara held up her hand and waited until she had swallowed before speaking. “With Jason’s finances as bad as they were, he didn’t have that kind of cash. I know. Where did he get it?”

  “He didn’t. Jason agreed to pay Bell when he returned from Minneapolis, after Jason was certain that Jumping Bull was dead, but Jason never paid up. He claimed that he couldn’t get confirmation that Jumping Bull was dead.”

  “And Jason’s gun?”

  Manny stared into Clara’s eyes. He took in the essence of her perfume while he admired her beauty from across the table. Had he been stalling this last week? Was he certain he wanted to leave Pine Ridge as soon as this investigation was over?

  “The gun?” she repeated.

  “When he told Jason he didn’t own a gun, Jason unlocked the display case and grabbed the Colt. Bell said the thing looked like a museum piece too old to shoot. But Jason assured him it could, said he’d used it before, so he knew it would work. Jason explained how to get it through check-in at Business Voyages, and told him to pack some cheap imitation artifacts with the gun.”

  “But what did he do when Jason didn’t pay him?”

  “He thought Jason was stalling and confronted him.”

  “Overlooking Wounded Knee perhaps?”

  Manny shrugged. “Bell had every reason to kill Jason. He owed Bell for a murder that could put the kid away if he pushed too hard for the money. Bell stole the artifacts, and he could have been the one that returned them to the Prairie Edge after he killed Jason. Remember, Bell’s prints were all over the war club. With his temper, he could have killed Jason with no more than a thought.”

  “But if he used that old Colt to kill Jumping Bull, why would he go to the trouble, and danger, of killing Jason with that war club? He could have shot Jason with the same gun as he used on Jumping Bull.”

  “That’s just what I thought, and I asked him about it. He said he knew nothing about Jason’s murder. He claims he was in Sturgis at the time scoring an eight-ball of crystal meth from some chick. When I suggested that he met Jason that night, and the war club made it a murder of opportunity, he stuck by his story. And he stuck by his claim that he put the Colt back in the display case after he came back from Minneapolis and hasn’t touched it since.”

  “But he could have gotten it back out again.”

  “If he planned on meeting Jason with the specific intent of killing him.”

  “Then he must be telling the truth,” Clara said. “If he admitted to killing Alex Jumping Bull, admitting to killing Jason wouldn’t make much difference.”

  “But it would. He can work a deal with Minnesota prosecutors for Jumping Bull’s homicide, hold out for second-degree murder, manslaughter if he’s lucky, catch an eight- to ten-year sentence, out in four. If he cops to Jason’s murder, he faces federal murder charges on a reservation and lethal injection is likely.”

  “Then we’re right back w
here we began.”

  Manny thought that sounded good: He and Clara on this case together, at least in her mind.

  “No, we’re way ahead. We know Jumping Bull had something on Jason big enough that Jason hired Bell to kill him.”

  “Sure.” Clara laughed, nearly choking on her coffee. “Now all we have to do is ask Alex Jumping Bull.”

  Manny grinned. “Too late for him, but I can talk with a man who might know of these things, a genuine sacred man who can hot-wire me to the spirits.”

  “Your brother?”

  “Who else,” Manny answered, and started on his prime rib.

  They talked long after their meal was finished, oblivious to anyone else who might have remained in the restaurant. Manny lost himself in Clara’s soothing voice that took away the stress of completing the investigation, the stress of planning on seeing Reuben once again, the stress of worrying about losing his academy instructor’s slot.

  “Elizabeth doesn’t much like you.”

  “That’s an understatement.” Clara sipped her afterdinner wine. “She loathes me.”

  “You and she have words or something?”

  “‘Or something’ is close. I accompanied Jason down to Pine Ridge the first few times he drove there to set up his contacts for the project. Between us, we knew most people and convinced a lot of folks to at least hear Jason out.”

  “And that angered Elizabeth?”

  Clara scooted her chair closer. Her perfume intermingled with the aroma of the wine. Manny was getting giddy and he hadn’t even drunk anything. “She was the finance officer. Powerful position on the reservation. She felt people would think less of her when they realized a couple outsiders like Jason and me had success with getting land lined up for the project. Jason picked up on that, too, and he stopped having me come with him. He needed to get in tight with Elizabeth.”

  Manny became aware that two waitresses and the maître d’ stood beside their table, checking their watches repeatedly. “It looks like we have to leave.”

  “Do we?” Clara asked. “It’s not often I get the chance to have an intelligent conversation with a charming man.”

  Manny’s face warmed and he nodded in the direction of the waitresses. “I think it’s past their closing time.”

  Clara glanced over her shoulder and sighed. “I suppose they’re right. It is late.”

  “And I have a long drive back to Pine Ridge.”

  Now it was Clara’s turn to check her watch. “Drive this time of night? There’s all sorts of things you could hit at night out there. The road isn’t safe for you in daylight. You have to stay over.”

  Manny shrugged. “You’re right. In the daylight on good roads it’s iffy whether I could get back without wrecking my car. I’ll grab a room here in Rapid for the night.”

  “You will not. You can stay with me.”

  Manny’s eyebrows arched of their own volition.

  “I mean, I have a guest room,” she sputtered. “You’re welcome to it for the night.”

  “I have per diem.” Manny was unsure what else to say, though he was finding it difficult to argue with her.

  “We can save the good taxpayers of the United States money if you accept my offer.”

  He struggled hard for a logical reason not to go with her. It was late at night in the middle of tourist season, and it would be hard to find a room at a decent motel. If he stayed anywhere, he would like the Alex Johnson, but that was always packed this time of year. He had an overnight bag in the backseat that experience taught him to always carry in case he got stranded, which happened often in his line of work. And it was true that he would save the government money for a motel room. “I guess it would make more sense to accept your offer.”

  They left the Millstone, and Manny’s mind drifted between a vague fantasy of what would happen once they arrived at her home and the directions she was giving him. Clara lived on Skyline Drive in a ranch-style three-bedroom with a view overlooking Rapid City. He parked in the driveway long enough for her to grab her keys from her purse and go inside. The whir of the garage door opening echoed off the hills.

  “Pull it in here.”

  Manny looked at the garage doubtfully, then reasoned that even he could park in an empty three-car garage, and eased in until Clara held up her hand. He grabbed his overnight bag and followed her into the house.

  She adjusted kitchen and living room lights with a remote as she nodded to the couch. “Make yourself at home.” Cupboard doors banged from the kitchen, and he peeked around the corner. She put water in a measuring cup and heated it in the microwave. “One Sweet’N Low?” she called from the kitchen.

  “You remembered.”

  “How could I forget.”

  She came out with two cups of tea and sat on the couch beside him. “Do you think you’ll have Jason’s homicide solved soon?”

  Manny read concern in her eyes. Or disappointment. He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that he wasn’t certain he wanted go back to Quantico after all.

  “I’m close,” he said abruptly.

  “Then you have new leads?”

  “No.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  Manny knew from a hundred other investigations that he had all the information he needed to find the killer, he just had to put it all together. “Just a feeling.”

  “Then you’ll leave and go back to Virginia in time for the next academy class?”

  Manny nodded. “Have you ever been there?”

  Clara shook her head. “I’m just a Western hick.”

  “Then maybe you could go back with me. I have extra rooms, too. There’s so much to see. So much you could experience . . .”

  “I’d be like a female Crocodile Dundee.” She forced a smile. “If I’d ever get to the city, I’m afraid I’d wither and fall to pieces. I’m not sure if I could take all that commotion. Besides”—she frowned—“I’d worry about you even more, with crime the way it is back there. I don’t have any right to be, but I’m uncomfortable with you having the job of solving these types of crimes. The danger . . .”

  “I’ve been attacked more in this one trip on Pine Ridge than I ever was in the D.C. area.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  After they finished their tea, Clara stood and took his hand. She led him down a short hallway. “Your room,” she said. A double bed was fitted with sheets depicting a prairie scene. A mission oak dresser matched the headboard. Manny estimated the set to be at least a hundred years old.

  Above the dresser an oval mirror hovered, secured between two uprights that allowed it to tilt. As Manny hoisted his overnight bag on the dresser, he noticed his reflection. Heavy bags had formed under his eyes, and he appeared to have aged ten years in the ten days since returning to Pine Ridge. “I need to splash some water in my face or something,” he said.

  “In back of you. Your bath.”

  He saw it in the mirror and turned to face her. “Thank you for the room. And for the evening. I needed to wind down a little.”

  She laughed. “I should be thanking you. It’s been a long time since I thought of a man other than in a business sense.”

  Manny felt his face flush again, but Clara didn’t give him time to recover. She took his face in her hands, and drew him close. Her lips brushed his, then she kissed him. He kissed her back, reveling in the softness of her skin, in her perfume that seemed to draw them together. Then they both eased back a step.

  “Whew,” Clara looked wide-eyed like a schoolgirl just caught with the town Romeo in back of the barn. “I could get carried away.”

  “Me, too.”

  She smiled. “Yes, some day. Now we both have to get some shut-eye.”

  “Good night.” Manny watched the sway of her hips as she walked away from him. He turned to his overnight bag and grabbed his toothpaste. As he started for his bathroom, he thought that, in the morning, he would shave especially close. Just for Clara.

  Manny fell asleep
the moment his head hit the pillow. His mind wandered and drifted, his body detached from his mind. He was reliving the vision from his sweat with Reuben, when a distant familiar voice called faintly to him. Manny tried to open his eyes when the hollow voice talked to him, and he probed the recesses of his mind for the origin.

  The mist faded, and a figure appeared blanketed by fog. The wanagi. The ghost of someone recently dead beckoned him. In the recesses of his memory, Unc told him that should he ever encounter a wanagi, he had to run. Run—not walk—away, because the ghost, the soul of the dead, wants company and will do whatever it takes to trick the living into joining him. Manny couldn’t fight the pull, couldn’t fight his mind following the wanagi south toward the Spirit Road.

  A face appeared for a brief moment in this indeterminate time, a face he would never forget. A face etched in his memory. In a crime scene photo. Jason Red Cloud’s face was contorted. Gruesome. A war club dripping blood and brain matter protruded from his skull. Manny followed him, now running to catch up, but Jason’s wanagi remained just out of reach. Manny called, stretching out his hands, almost touching the vision. Crying. Crying. Crying for that vision that eluded him as a boy. Breaths came in great heaves in his chest. Manny’s heart raced at the wanagi’s presence, yet he cried out a final time. “Wait!”

  Manny felt himself being pulled back to the here and now. The wanagi grew fainter in the distance, and Manny gasped as someone shook him roughly by the shoulders. “Manny!” Clara shouted. “Manny, wake up.”

  He reached a final time for the wanagi as it melted into the mist. His eyes fluttered open. Clara sat on the bed, bent over him, shaking him. “Manny!”