by Mark Young
Travis stared out the window. Aqua-green waters shimmered to his right. He listened to Frank and the driver exchange pleasantries as they drew closer to the harbor. He saw the masts of the Star of India thrusting upward like tall trees above the decks of the ancient sailing ship lying along the waterfront. A few years ago, he’d traveled down here on a case and spent one evening walking along the harbor. That seemed like a century ago.
Frank leaned back, closed his eyes and lapsed into silence.
Travis saw lines of worry and tension etched on his partner’s face. “There’s something I wanted to ask you, Frank. Something that’s bugging me.”
“Just one thing?” Frank opened one eye.
Travis grabbed the door handle as the driver swerved to miss a merging garbage truck to his right. “I thought you didn’t trust Baptiste?”
“I don’t.” Frank glanced at him, both eyes open. “Why are you asking?”
“The day Jessie came to my cabin, he pulled up across the river as if he knew she was there. Said you’d sent for her.”
The muscles around Frank’s eyes tightened. “Not true. I called dispatch and asked if an available unit might check Three Rivers for her. Figured she’d be somewhere in the area.”
“So Baptiste happened to be there? Way off the reservation, I’d say.”
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it.” Frank looked past Travis to the water beyond. “I’ve got a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Are you interested in Jessie?”
“Huh?” Travis said, coughing.
“Simple question. Anything going on between you two?”
Travis turned and looked at him. “What’d she tell you?”
“You’re avoiding my question.” Frank refused to back down.
“We’re just friends. She helped me survive the rapids on the Lochsa, and … well, she wanted me to look for Tommy. That’s it in a nutshell.”
“I’m not blind, son.”
“I don’t know what else to tell you, Frank. I like her. She likes me — I think. That’s all there is.” And he wanted to add And it’s none of your damn business but after Baptiste, he understood Frank’s concern.
The older man gave him a hard look, then leaned back in the seat once again, closing his eyes.
Travis gazed outside, feeling as if he’d landed in the eye of an emotional hurricane.
Jessie.
He wanted to talk to her before leaving Idaho. Before she heard about the FBI picking Baptiste up. Before she believed he’d violated her trust. His head began to pound.
The taxi weaved through traffic, finally reaching northbound Highway 5.
Right now, he wanted to move on. To plan their next move. He turned toward Frank. “How do you want to approach Axtell? Let him know we know about the hidden thumb drive?”
The cab driver punched the horn as a car veered into their path.
Frank opened his eyes and shook his head. “What do people see in big cities? Jammed full with traffic, smog, and ticked-off people. Give me the mountains anytime.”
Travis waited for Frank’s answer.
“I’m going to tell him everyone was worried when he disappeared. Give him a chance to tell us why he ran.”
“You don’t think he’ll buy the line we’re worried about him, do you? And how are you going to explain my presence?”
Frank glanced at the driver, lowering his voice so only Travis heard. “He knows why we’re here. I want to give him an opportunity to explain himself. Someone made him run. I want to find out why he’s so scared.”
“He’s afraid of cops putting him in jail for criminal behavior.”
“Not that easy, professor. Tommy chose his friends carefully. If my son liked Pete, then that tells me something about this guy. I’m betting Pete had to do something against his will. We don’t know why he lifted the casino records. And who was the guy threatening him on the video? We can speculate, but we need Pete to fill in the blanks.”
Travis watched as the driver took eastbound Mission Valley Freeway and then turned north on Highway 163. The Friars Road exit loomed ahead and he thought the driver was going to miss it. A second later, the cabbie swerved the wheel to the right and screeched his tires to reach the off ramp in time. They circled around the loop and headed west, passing Fashion Valley Shopping Center.
Travis glanced at the address he’d jotted down before the trip. The apartment where Axtell stayed should be in the next block. A series of condominiums and apartment complexes, embedded into the sheared-off hillside, clung along the roadway. Desert shrubs thrived in the shale slopes behind the building. He wondered how much water must come cascading down the hillsides when — or if — it ever rained. The backsides of the apartments seemed like they might be turned into man-made dams catching whatever moisture ran down the slopes.
Frank grasped his arm. “Look.”
Travis peered over the cab driver’s shoulder. Fire engines and San Diego’s black and whites sealed off the number two lane of the four-lane roadway, emergency lights flashing. Yellow crime scene tape decorated the entire front of an apartment complex on their right. As they slowly rolled past, he glanced at the street numbers above the apartment’s main entrance.
Pete Axtell’s address.
He saw fire hoses strung from the hydrants through a ground-floor apartment near the main entryway.
Frank banged on the plastic Plexiglas separating driver from passengers. “Pull over here.” He slipped the driver more than enough to cover the trip. Both men grabbed their bags and headed toward a squad car.
An SDPD officer in short sleeves sat in the patrol vehicle working on a report. Frank flashed his badge to draw the officer’s attention. “We’re here to contact a witness. Can you tell us what happened?”
The officer lowered his sunglasses and peered up at them for a second. Without answering, he opened the car door and climbed out, folding his arms across his chest. “There’s been a fire. The arson squad’s working it. First responders found a body.”
“Can you tell me which apartment?”
The officer paused, studying Frank again before leaning through the window to peer at his CAD screen. “Apartment three-oh-one, top floor in the back.”
Travis glanced at Frank, nodding. Axtell’s apartment. Frank turned toward the officer again. “What caused the fire?”
The officer shrugged. “Let’s say it doesn’t appear accidental. Like I said, our arson squad’s going over the place now. At least what’s left. What apartment are you interested in?”
“The one that burned. Can I speak to a supervisor?”
The officer raised the sunglasses to the bridge of his nose, hiding his eyes. “Sure, give me a second.” He grabbed a portable and keyed his mike.
As the officer tried to raise a supervisor, Travis walked to the end of the patrol car to wait. A warm breeze carried an acrid scent of charred wood, burned rubber and plastic. Abnormal heat rained down on them from the sky, scorching the roadway like rocks in a sweltering sauna. The city’s normal cooling breeze seemed to have faltered at sea, leaving the land drenched in unrelenting heat hurled by an unforgiving sun.
A police sergeant strode up the sidewalk, eyeing Frank and then Travis. He circled around the car and walked up to Frank. Travis moved into earshot.
“My officer tells me you guys want to contact a witness in the apartment where this fire originated?”
Frank nodded. “That’s right, Sergeant. A man by the name of Pete Axtell.”
“Mind showing me some ID? I wanna know who I’m talking to.” Frank pulled out his badge and ID, letting the sergeant examine it. Apparently satisfied, the sergeant pulled back. “Chief, huh. Tribal police? Haven’t seen one of those badges in a while. And you?” He turned toward Travis.
Frank peered at the sergeant’s name plate. “Huh, Sergeant O’Rourke, this is Travis Mays, a consultant we asked to help in a homicide investigation in Idaho. Murder of one of the men from our tribe.�
�
“A consultant? What do you consult, Mr. Mays?”
“I’m a professor in criminology for one of the universities. ”
“Professor, you say. You think this guy Axtell could tell you something about your murder?”
“We don’t know,” Travis said, shifting his feet. “We’re hoping Axtell could clear up some things for us.”
“Well, if he is the body we found in the fire, the only person he’ll be talking to is St. Peter — if he’s headed in that direction. The body’s burned to a crisp.”
“Died from the fire?” Travis asked, glancing over at Frank and then back at the sergeant.
“I’m no homicide expert, Mr. Mays, but I’d say the guy died from a gunshot wound to the head before someone torched that apartment.”
Frank broke into the conversation. “Any witnesses?”
“Nope. A neighbor might have heard a door kicked in. Loud voices. Nothing else until a fire broke out. Whoever did this got in and out without raising any attention.”
“Thanks for your help, sergeant,” Frank said. “We’ll let you get back to work.”
“Before you go, give this officer your names and contact numbers. I want your information passed on to our investigators assigned to this case just in case there might be a connection. You mind?”
“Not at all,” Frank said. “And I’d appreciate it if we could get reports on this incident forwarded to my office. I’d be particularly interested if you get positive ID on the victim.” He handed O’Rourke a business card.
The sergeant glanced at the card and slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll make sure this gets into the right hands.”
Travis followed Frank across the roadway to a gas station at the next corner. “That might be Pete in that apartment, Frank.”
He saw the older man clench his jaw. “Maybe. And that means someone beat us to him. Someone knew we were coming. I guess it’s time to contact Lafata and let him know what we’ve got.”
“You trust him? Lafata?” Travis thought about the look Lafata threw his way while standing at Baptiste’s desk. “He’s already burned me once.”
Frank withdrew a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Professor, you can’t always choose who you work with. You take what you get, and move on.”
Travis studied the other man’s expression. Was he talking about Lafata or me? “Speaking of partners, why’d you want to work with me, Frank?”
The chief carefully folded up the damp handkerchief and placed it in his pocket. “I’ve got my reasons, professor. I’ve got my reasons. As for trusting Lafata, we don’t have a choice.”
Travis watched Frank walk up to the front counter at the gas station and request a phone book. After scanning the pages, he flipped open his cell phone and dialed. A moment later, he returned. “Cab will be here in twenty minutes or less. It’s time to get back to Idaho and find out who’s shadowing this case.”
“You think Tommy’s death and Pete’s death are connected?”
“As certain as I know Judas betrayed Christ.”
Travis eyed Frank, remembering the Bible sitting in the chief’s office. They were going after Tommy’s killer. Someone betrayed Frank and let the killer know they were coming to talk to Axtell. He thought Frank’s mention of Judas seemed to fit in this context.
Betrayal and murder.
He also knew the Good Book preached about forgiveness and turning the other cheek. He wondered what would happen when he and Frank stood nose-to-nose with the killer. The one who murdered Frank’s son, Tommy. What would Frank do? Would he be able to turn the other cheek?
Travis watched Frank walk outside to wait for the cab. What would he do in Frank’s shoes? He did not even have to think twice about it. Kill him. Put him out of his misery.
Travis followed him outside, feeling a stifling breeze sweep over him. Somehow, Frank did not seem the kind of man who’d turn the other cheek.
Only time would tell.
Chapter 18
Spokane, Washington
An overcast sky cast a gray pall over Spokane International Airport as Frank and Travis crossed the skywalk from the main terminal to the parking garage. Travis saw Frank’s fist clench as he closed up the cell phone.
“What did Francis tell you?”
“Baptiste was standing right there when she got the call. He acted interested, so she spilled the beans. Told him everything.”
“We know he didn’t fly down and whack the witness. He was in FBI custody, right?”
Frank shook his head. “They let him go an hour after we saw him with Lafata. He could’ve beat us to the airport.” He approached his parked car, opened the trunk and flung his bag inside.
Travis shrugged. “I just don’t see it. Seems a stretch to think he’s somehow involved in Axtell’s death. Maybe he fed the information to somebody else.”
“Who knows until we take a closer look.” Frank opened the driver’s door. “Oh, there’s a message on my cell phone. Jessie wants to speak to you as soon as you get back. She doesn’t sound happy.”
“You know why?”
The older man smiled. “Not exactly. But if I was to take a stab at it, I’d say she’s angry because you snitched her off about Baptiste.”
“But you already knew.”
“Yeah. But she doesn’t know that and you promised to keep it a secret. Right?” He chuckled as he slid into the driver’s side.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying this.”
Frank, his smile turning into a broad grin, started up the engine and drove toward the exit.
They cleared Spokane fifteen minutes later and traveled Highway 195 south toward the Palouse. An hour later, they connected with Highway 95 and began the steep decline to the city of Lewiston, a city wedged between forks of the Snake and Clearwater rivers. As they descended, Travis looked out over the expanse. He’d read about the Lewis and Clark Expedition traveling through this part of the country with the aid of Nez Perce guides over two-hundred years ago.
“Ever wish your people had told Lewis and Clark to take a hike?”
Frank smiled as he looked down on the rivers below. “Many times. But it was like trying to stop the ocean’s tide. We just tried to survive.”
“And have you?”
Frank shrugged. “We’re still kicking.”
Travis looked out over the expanse, the Snake River to the south acting as the boundary between the states of Idaho and Washington. The sky seemed to stretch beyond comprehension.
He settled back in the seat and mulled over what he’d just learned. Baptiste. Could he have set up Axtell’s murder? The man might have had a score to settle with Tommy White Eagle, but it was not clear how this all fit together. Some pieces were missing. One thing he did know. Baptiste just became a person of interest.
They needed to track him down.
Chapter 19
Kamiah, Idaho
Jessie White Eagle stood under the shade of a Douglas fir, one of two that graced the stone path to her grandmother’s two-bedroom home. A sloping flat roof ahead — shaded by a grove of firs and cedars — crowned the modest dwelling. The house sat on a hill with a view of the valley below. She looked down the slope and saw a ribbon of highway leading past Kamiah toward higher mountains to the east. She listened to the hum of traffic on the road miles away. The sound seemed to sweep up the valley to the mountain tops.
She breathed in the fragrance of early roses, bright petals ringing the front yard like a colorful parade of costumes.
Be calm.
She breathed out slowly, still feeling tension clutching her chest, anger still seething inside after learning the FBI pulled Baptiste in for questioning.
Travis.
She couldn’t wait to get in the man’s face.
A screen door creaked. Jessie glanced toward the house and saw her grandmother emerge. The woman carried a smile brighter than the flowers along the path. In her seventies, Clara White Eagle moved with graceful strength.
�
�Jessie. So good to see you.” Grandma Clara came closer. “Come here, child, I’m so glad you came.”
Jessie looked away as she hugged the older woman, her eyes stinging as she tried to keep grief and anger balled up inside.
Clara put her arm around Jessie’s shoulder, guiding the younger woman up the path. “Come, let’s go inside and talk.”
By the time Clara returned from the kitchen with iced tea, Jessie felt the comfort and safety of this place begin to calm her. Photos of the family hung prominently on the wall above her. She rested on a couch, her grandmother settling down beside her.
“Remember what your grandfather named you as a child, Jessie? When you were only as high as his knee?”
Jessie nodded. She could not trust herself to speak, even in this place of protection.
Clara smiled. “Little Deer … Little Deer Running with the Wind.”
Jessie tried to smile. “That’s a mouthful.”
“He gave you that name because of how fast you ran. Faster than even the boys your age.” Clara leaned over and patted her arm. “Are you running away now, honey?”
Jessie felt her eyes burn as she tried to hold back tears. “I’m embarrassed, Grandma. And angry.”
“I can’t imagine —”
“— I was seeing a man I knew Dad would not like. I did it … I don’t know why I did it.” She covered her face as she started to cry. “I knew this … relationship would disappoint my father.”
“Are you still—?”
“— No. This guy hit me and I left. I tried to hide it from my father, but now he’s going to find out.”
“Oh, child.” Clara embraced Jessie. “He’ll understand.”
“No,” Jessie said, pulling back. “He won’t. He never understands. And now, I confided in someone and they told the FBI because they thought it might have something to do with Tommy’s death. Because of my big mouth, Dad will find out.”
“Why’d they tell the FBI?”
“Because Tommy tried to protect me. And now he’s dead. They think maybe this guy — Joseph Baptiste — might be a suspect.”