by Mark Reps
The grapevine had wasted no time in getting to Jake. News travels like contained lightning in a small town. But it could only have been Helen who told him about the trip up to the Flats. Zeb found himself wishing he had instructed her to keep it quiet to all outside parties, including ex-sheriffs.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re wrong. Helen didn’t say a word,” said Jake. “Apache Jim gave me a call.”
It was like the good old days when Jake was two steps ahead of the game. But even so, he suspected Jake was b.s.’ing. There was an almost one hundred percent chance that the old sheriff had Helen singing louder than the Mormon Tabernacle Choir at Christmas season. If he had also talked with Apache Jim, Jake had likely learned the history and timing of the kidnapping, the shape the body was in and exactly where it was found.
“I take it you know all about what’s happened up in the Flats?”
“I know a little, but not all I’d like to,” said Jake. “I was calling to find out what you’ve got. I sort of figured a sharp guy like you would have the jump on this thing already, maybe even have a few suspects in mind. Would you mind sharing what you know with a trusted ex-boss?”
His direct and firm manner sounded like Jake, the old lawman, not Jake the depressed, mentally unstable drunk. However, given the potential intertwined history of his granddaughter’s case with this one, Zeb hesitated.
“Zeb? What do you say? You’re not going to stonewall me, are you?”
Zeb was uncertain of Jake’s motive. His desire could be pure in heart by trying to help his old friend, Jimmy Song Bird or, as Jake called him, Apache Jim. Or it could be selfish. His intent could be to reopen the door to the investigation into the seven-year-old murder case of his granddaughter. Zeb’s concern was that Jake’s long-standing need to solve his granddaughter’s case might make a grand mess of this one. There was also the remote possibility that redemption had sneaked out from whatever rock it had been hiding under for the last three quarters of a decade, and Jake could be of real help.
“You don’t owe it to me, Zeb, and I would respect any decision you made.”
“You’re going to sniff around regardless of what I give you, aren’t you, Jake?”
“Any help I can lend won’t cost you a dime. I know how tight a sheriff’s budget can be,” said Jake.
“Let me ask you one question, Jake.”
“Go ahead. I got my listening ears on.”
“How are you? I mean, how are you really?”
Jake snorted a laugh through his nose that sounded like a muffled seal bark.
“By God, now there’s a good question, and one I don’t mind answering. I feel sort of like Rip Van Winkle. It’s as though I’ve been asleep for years. I’ve got to tell you, for the first time since I can remember my heart is filled with hope and not the dread of despair. Zeb, I’ve been drowning my sorrow and pain in the bottom of a whiskey barrel for so long that I didn’t know if I was sinking or swimming. But now something has happened. I got a glimpse at what is really eatin’ at my craw, and it wasn’t pretty. Lord knows, if I don’t change right now, I might never get better. Believe me, I know it for a fact.”
“I don’t mean to be a skeptic, Jake. But are you sure you’re up to the task?”
“Zeb, listen to me. Did you ever dream you was dead?”
“No,” said Zeb. “Haven’t had that one…yet”
“Well, I have, and believe you me, it’s a nightmare you had better wake up from. It sort of breathes a little fresh air into your perspective on life. My existence has been a nightmare for two thousand five hundred days. That’s right. Two thousand five hundred. You can count it up yourself. I put a pencil to it. Now I’m awake. Seven years in hell was enough. I’ve paid my dues. Zeb, I can help you, and I know you can use my help.”
It wasn’t Jake’s words as much as how he said it that washed away Zeb’s doubt and helped him make an instant decision.
“You’re right. I can use your help, Jake. But if you get involved, you’re going to have to keep me informed of every move you make. You make one move without my okay and your assistance will no longer be needed.”
“Yours is the voice of authority, Sheriff. I’ll let you know everything I do. Cross my heart.”
“Then you’re on the team. Here’s what I have so far. Yesterday I went up to Antelope Flats with Eskadi Black Robes,” began Zeb.
Even as Eskadi’s name came rolling off his tongue, Zeb wished he had left the tribal leader out of the picture, at least for the time being.
“Is that rascal still on the war path against the evil White power structure?” asked Jake.
“You know the routine. White man bad. U.S. government dishonest. Apache good. Indian noble and honest. And Eskadi, him shit don’t stink,” replied Zeb.
Jake’s resonating howl was the first belly laugh Zeb had heard from his mentor in longer than he cared to remember.
“A snake don’t change its skin, a leopard don’t change its spots,” said Jake. “It don’t make it wrong and it don’t make it right. It’s just the way the world works. No need to fret about it. And no need to let it get in the way of you doin’ your business. The law is, was and always will be the law. Now, go on.”
“Eskadi called me at the office and asked me to meet him up at the Silver Spur.”
“Does the old cowpoke that runs the place still stick his dirty fingers into the coffee cup when he brings it over?”
“I don’t think the old fart has ever washed his hands,” replied Zeb.
“Like I said, some things never change.”
“And I’ll bet Eskadi didn’t reach for the check either.”
“You got that right.”
“Bein’ that it was Apache Jim’s granddaughter, did Eskadi at least back off a little with his bullshit?”
“Not so much.”
“The little prick,” said Jake.
“From there the both of us went out to the Flats. We drove out to the spot where Amanda’s body was found, and I gave it the once over. Afterward we went over to Jimmy Song Bird’s place in Wildhorse Canyon,” explained Zeb.
Their conversation flowed so easily that in many ways it seemed almost like old times back when it was Sheriff Jake Dablo, the decision-maker, and Deputy Zeb Hanks, the detail man, protecting the county.
“Her body was found off Apache Route Double B. It’s one of those winding, up-hill, dead-end back roads that crimps off into a small box canyon. There’s one way in, one way out and nothing for miles around. I’d say it’s the perfect spot for a murder.”
“What did you find at the scene?”
Zeb paused, unsure of how many of the details about Amanda Song Bird’s mutilated body Song Bird had passed on to Jake. The potential implications to Jake’s mental health when he heard the grisly details could be devastating. They might even unloose the same demons that had pulled the rug out from beneath his feet years earlier when he ended up doing his stint at the mental hospital.
Jake’s intuition was tuned in with the reasoning behind Zeb’s hesitation.
“I know about the mutilation,” he said. “Apache Jim gave me all the details. And I know you’re concerned that since it was a child that was killed and mutilated, it may make me think of Angel. I respect your level of concern, but you can come clean with me. I can take it.”
“It wasn’t that I, uh...”
“Don’t yank my chain, Zeb. It took seven long, crazy years, but I’ve come to grips with Angel’s death.”
“I believe you, Jake.”
“And in my years as sheriff I’ve seen as much death in those canyons as blooming flowers. Hell, I’ve even seen a flower blooming right up through a dead carcass. Now that I’m okay, nothing is going to shock me. I’ve come to grips with all that. Now let’s talk about the information you’ve got.”
“All right. There were five candles placed around the body, one at each of the four directions and one above the head.”
“Damn unlikely that was a
ccidental.”
“That’s my thinking too. My original suspicion was that there may be some sort of Apache symbolism involved. I don’t know exactly what signal somebody might have been trying to send. If the killer did have something symbolic in mind, like some sort of religious ritual, you couldn’t help but wonder if our killer isn’t from the reservation,” said Zeb.
“When the time is right, we should go over that possibility with Apache Jim. I’d be damn interested in hearing what he’s got to say about the set up with the candles at the crime scene. The time and the place could be significant too. It might even be that some freak is practicing a little bit of black magic.”
“It looks that way on the surface.”
“What do you think the odds are that the powers that be out on the reservation might be covering for one of their own?” asked Jake.
“That’s a distinct possibility. In fact, when I met with Eskadi before we went to the scene, he tried to tape record everything I said.”
“He’s a sneaky little imp. Keep a close eye on him. I don’t think he can be trusted,” said Jake. “By the way, you didn’t let him record you, did you?”
“Hell no. He’s lucky he didn’t end up eating the tape with one of his donuts.”
Jake’s laugh was more a snarl than a giggle.
“His men mucked up the area,” continued Zeb. “They treated the area more like a picnic ground than a crime scene.”
“Could be a ruse,” suggested Jake. “One of the tribal police might be involved somehow. That would make the possibility of getting any real evidence from the tribe damn near impossible. You’ll never get one cop to snitch on another, no matter what the situation.”
“The thought crossed my mind. There’s one other thing, too. The dispatcher who took the call from the killer said the caller sounded like a young white male.”
“What did you expect? You think the Apaches are going to point the finger back at themselves?”
“Not hardly.”
“I guess the real question is, who do you trust?” asked Jake.
“Myself,” replied the sheriff. “I trust myself.”
“Good. Never let go of that. When you start doubting your own actions, there is hell to pay,” said Jake. “Say, by any chance the killer wasn’t generous enough to leave behind any key piece of evidence, was he? Tire tracks? A piece of clothing? Blood samples?”
“Not a single decent footprint. Like I said, too many ill-trained reservation police tarnished the area. We got some decent tire casts, but I’ll be damn surprised if that isn’t a dead end. There was a lot of blood at the scene.”
“You think the blood samples are going to give you anything?”
The memory of musty blood mixed with fine desert dirt forced its way into Zeb’s mind.
“We’ve got plenty of fluid to work with. The greatest quantity was taken from a single large pool the body was lying in. It’s a long shot, but I’m hoping we can find the killer’s blood from some single drops away from where the body was lying. We sent samples to the regional lab in Phoenix.”
“Any blood under the fingernails? Broken fingernails? Signs of a struggle?”
“I haven’t seen the body yet. Goddamn Eskadi and his men hauled it off long before they called me. He did say both hands were covered in blood. It appears from what they said that the blood on the hands was entirely the girl’s. The truth is Eskadi and the tribal policemen have no more idea than the man in the moon how to evaluate a crime scene. I’ll never know exactly how much good evidence was destroyed.”
“Were the hands stuffed into the open body cavity?” asked Jake.
Zeb hesitated. It was a point he had planned on avoiding.
“And was there an attempt to sew the body cavity shut?”
“Yes, on both accounts,” replied Zeb.
Seven years in the bottom of a whiskey barrel, Jake was still as blunt and direct as ever, even when it came to the intricate and horrible details that made this crime so similar to the one that had ended his career.
“What aren’t you telling me, Zeb?” asked Jake. “I get the feeling there’s something else you want to say.”
“Well, there is something else, but it’s nothing that I can really explain. When I was at the scene, standing back a distance, I was suddenly overcome with …this is going to sound crazy.”
“Murder is crazy, Zeb. You sensed something, didn’t you?”
“I’m not much of one to believe in ghosts and that sort of thing, but I was certain the spirit of the dead girl was trying to reach out to me, speak to me. I tried to shake it off, but my emotions seemed to get the better of me. That makes me sound like some sort of a nut, doesn’t it?”
“That sort of thing isn’t crazy, Zeb. Dead people leave all sorts of traces behind. Things you and I will never fully comprehend,” said Jake. “Pay attention when that happens. You never know what will be revealed. You’ve got to always trust your instinct in circumstances like that.”
“I rely on facts, Jake. My intuition can point me in a direction, but only facts can make a case. That’s something I learned in Tucson a long time ago.”
“Zeb, remember that out there in the wild it’s a different world than in the big city. You kill someone in the desert and what lingers behind doesn’t fade away quite as quickly as it does when the murder scene is surrounded by people and traffic and noise and bright lights.”
“Yes, sir,” said Zeb. “I’ll keep that in the back of my mind.”
“Did you order a search of the surrounding area?” asked Jake.
“Yes, but we didn’t find a thing.”
“How’d you leave the crime scene?”
“We cordoned off the area. If you’re going to go up there, you should be aware that I had Eskadi order the tribal police to keep an eye on anyone traveling up and down the road. I advised them not to interact with anyone they saw, but to tail them, get license plate numbers and call me ASAP. I have no idea if they’re disciplined enough to follow my orders, and I wouldn’t want you getting shot at.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I didn’t get a strong feeling the killer would return to the crime scene.”
“I’d guess you’re right on that account. It’s far too easy to be spotted in a remote area like that. I’m certain the killer, if he’s as clever as he appears to be, would recognize that.”
“I’m sure you’re right about that. I still think it’s good procedure to keep a close eye on the location for at least a month, just in case.”
“If it’s one of their own and the tribal police know who it is, that won’t do us a damn bit of good. And, if they know who it is and want a little taste of revenge, we may end up with nothing. Or, worse, one Apache corpse rotting somewhere in a very large and very remote section of the reservation.”
“That’s hardly the kind of justice I’m hoping for.”
“Others might disagree with you,” said Jake. “Frontier justice, both on and off the reservation, has a long history in Graham County.”
Funny words, thought Zeb, coming from a man who made a career out of following the letter of the law.
“After that we drove out to Apache Jim’s place,” continued Zeb.
“His daughter lives in that small adobe just down the hill, right?”
“That’s correct. At the scene, one of the deputies let it slip that Song Bird is fairly certain his granddaughter was abducted on a trail that joins the two houses. I walked along the path and did a brief search of the area.”
“Find anything?”
“Nothing to speak of except a broken piece of a tail light on the road. I suppose that could have come from his truck or Maya’s car. I’ll look into it. But as far as anything that would indicate a struggle or a forced abduction—nothing. I’m planning on heading back out there and have another go round once we’ve talked with the family.”
“Make certain you respect Apache Jim and Maya’s wishes. I know you want to get all the
information as soon as possible, but I also know from personal experience the pain Song Bird is going through. Don’t press him. Cut him a little slack. The emotions surrounding the death and autopsy of a child are a living nightmare. When he’s ready, he’ll give you everything he knows.”
Zeb couldn’t help but notice this was the first time Jake had called his friend Song Bird instead of Apache Jim.
“Yes, sir. Song Bird’s up in Globe with his daughter and the little girl’s body as we speak. I’m headed to Bylas right now to meet up with Eskadi. Then we’re headed to Globe. I’m planning to talk with the coroner. I was also planning on chatting with Song Bird and Maya. I’ll see how things go once I get there.”
“Zeb,” said Jake, “I would really appreciate a phone call from you when you get back.”
“Of course, Jake. You will be the first to know.”
11
Eskadi was standing next to his truck, facing the warm rays of the morning sunshine and sipping coffee. He seemed lost in thought and totally ignored Sheriff Hanks’ truck as it drove into the parking lot of the Silver Spur. Pulling past the tribal leader, the sheriff got out of his car and walked into the Silver Spur. A few moments later he walked out with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
“You’re late,” said Eskadi.
“I’m running on Apache time,” snapped Zeb. “Let’s go.”
Passing over the dry bed of Ranch Creek, just outside of Cutter, Eskadi started to explain to the sheriff what approach he was going to take with Song Bird and Maya.
“The Athabascan, my people, have nothing in our tradition that relates to an autopsy. My opinion is that the entire process is a desecration of the spirit. An autopsy goes against our fundamental belief system and can only be considered an impure act. Slicing up a dead body is the White man’s way of doing things, not the Apache’s.”
“What if it helps us find the killer?”
“And what if it doesn’t?” asked Eskadi.
“If your men hadn’t traipsed all over the crime scene, we might have been able to get along without this. But being that I can’t bring back evidence that has been destroyed, and I don’t want to bury evidence along with the body, I don’t have any choice in the matter.”