Rock with Wings

by Anne Hillerman

  As she looked for a place to pull over, she considered Miller the mystery man again. She and Cordova had built some rapport during a previous case they’d worked on together. She even thought he’d been flirting with her. Now he treated her like a spy or worse, like a schoolgirl. The man annoyed her. When she had phone service, she’d call him and mention that she’d seen Miller again and had news for him. See if Cordova would confirm the credit card story.

  She swerved to avoid a rock in the road and remembered the numbers she’d seen on Miller’s phone. The calls to Las Vegas might be connected to the credit card scam. What about the California number? Probably tied to the cacti.

  She slowed down to spare her little car the worst of the ruts, found a place to pull over, and turned off her headlights. Her shoulders felt heavy, her neck stiff. A long day. None of this was her concern anymore, of course, but she didn’t like loose ends. What about the calls to the Farmington motel? A partner in the cactus business? A girlfriend? Another con man?

  Mr. Tso’s visitor’s vehicle came closer. Maybe a pickup? Its lights bounced up and down with the ruts on the dirt road. It was that awkward time of night when headlights didn’t help much, but at least they made it easier for other drivers to notice your vehicle on the road.

  She considered happier thoughts. She’d been right to suspect something illegal in the boxes of dirt. Thanks to the Lieutenant, she’d learned about the cacti. She could tell him how he’d helped her solve the mystery. She and Chee had researched several cases for their old commander. Now the seasons had shifted, and he could assist them. In the future, perhaps the Lieutenant’s insights would provide even more help. Nice to be a team again, she thought, even though the dynamics had changed.

  Chee would be home soon. Life was good, except for Darleen, and she’d deal with her in the morning. A shower, whatever Darleen had saved for her for dinner, and then into her little nest of a bed on Mama’s couch. She’d use the old blanket Mama planned to sell at the trading post to keep off the evening chill, and maybe dream about the lamb.

  The oncoming vehicle passed her, a big black SUV with a strange depression in the front bumper. It looked like a truck with a tow ball on the back had plowed into it. She’d seen it before, but where?

  She started the engine. When she got to Mama’s, she’d set up the coffee for the morning so after she came back from her run it would be ready. Coffee. Starbucks. California. A motel in Farmington. Oster.

  Her fatigue vanished. She swung the Toyota back around toward Mr. Tso’s. She didn’t know why, exactly, but Oster held the key.

  The Porsche Cayenne had parked close to the porch. Mr. Tso was sitting where he always sat, and Oster was in the wooden chair, still in the business clothes he’d worn at the Rotary meeting.

  “Officer Manuelito, what are you doing here? It must be my lucky day to see you twice.”

  “Mr. Oster, I could ask you the same question.”

  “I’m here to talk to Mr. Tso. We have a little unfinished business.”

  “Is Miller working with you?”

  “Miller?” It was too dark to see Oster’s face at this distance. “Oh, yes. That’s what he calls himself now. You know him?”

  “I stopped him because I thought he was suspicious.”

  “Well, you were right about that. I’m afraid he’s done considerable damage to my business and threatened Mr. Tso.”

  Mr. Tso stood. “That man who works for you is evil.”

  “I was trying to give a hand up to an old acquaintance. I thought I could help him, and the next thing I know, he’s selling endangered plants. And trying to scare Mr. Tso with that skinwalker business. I apologize for the late visit and for Miller’s brutish behavior. His audacity in trying to scare this gentleman embarrasses me profoundly. I didn’t want to put off making amends for another day.” Oster rose and offered Bernie his chair. “Please join us.”

  She shook her head. “Mr. Tso has had a long day, and I need to get to my mother’s house.”

  “I understand. It will only take a moment.”

  Bernie’s innate politeness trumped her fatigue. She put her backpack on the porch next to her chair, in reach just in case some of what Miller had said was true and she needed the gun that was in it. “If Miller is so despicable, why did you hire him?”

  “What can I say? An error in judgment. I was invited to give a talk at Northern Arizona University about solar energy. He was in the audience, and I remembered him from a trade show in Las Vegas. But when I used his name, he grew flustered and offered to buy me a beer. As it turned out, he was in Flagstaff because of the Witness Security Program.”

  “What? You mean the US Marshals were keeping an eye on him? Why?”

  “My question exactly. The man is a notorious liar, but I believe that he was actually in the program because of his reaction to meeting me, someone who’d known him in his earlier life before his identity had been changed. He said he had agreed to testify in a money-laundering scam that involved real estate, the entertainment industry, and his Las Vegas colleagues. He was working as a building contractor and landscaper in Flagstaff with his new Michael Miller identity, but not making much money. He seemed to have some skills that would help me with the solar project, so I offered him a job.”

  “A bad man,” Mr. Tso said. She heard the weariness in the old man’s voice. Time to wrap this up so she could get to Mama’s.

  “Yes,” Oster said. “He told me he scared you into signing the papers. There’s no need to be scared now. I came to tell you that you did the right thing. You’ll be a hero out here when the electricity comes. And Aaron and Roberta won’t worry about you so much.”

  “I signed nothing.”

  “He also said that, if you didn’t sign, he would arrange an accident. Obviously, he lied about that.”

  “I want to go to bed,” Mr. Tso said.

  Bernie expected Oster to leave then. Instead, he stepped closer to Mr. Tso. “I don’t think you realize the value of solar energy and how it can make a real difference to your family, friends, the Indian people out here, even the world itself. You will be a big man around here once those panels go up. And—”

  Bernie interrupted. “Wait a minute, sir. Mr. Tso is tired. He’s already said no, and he’s asked you to leave. I know you’re passionate about this, but Mr. Tso has the right to refuse your offer.”

  “I don’t understand why you are involved in this, Manuelito, but no, he doesn’t. It’s selfish, putting his desire for a view of that ugly hunk of rock ahead of the well-being of his people. You know how important solar energy is to the Navajo Nation. To America, to the world. This is a perfect spot for the panels. It doesn’t make sense for one old man’s lack of vision to imperil the project.”

  Oster turned to Mr. Tso. “Your daughter wants you to move in with her. If you do that, you won’t have to look at the panels. You won’t have to worry about skinwalkers, or goblins, or anything else like that.” He put his hand on Mr. Tso’s shoulder. “Let’s go inside and get the job done.”

  Mr. Tso pushed Oster’s hand away. “You leave now. When I die, my daughter and my grandson, they can do what they want.”

  Bernie turned to Oster. “It sounds like you will get what you want if you have patience. You’re badgering Mr. Tso. It’s time for both of us to leave. I’ll follow you out so he can get some rest.”

  Oster ignored her and pressed a finger against Mr. Tso’s chest. “I don’t have patience. I have loans, a contract for the power, and I don’t have time to wait. The planet can’t wait, either. We are about out of time, thanks to Miller’s bungling. The other pieces are in place, but this property is central, and you’re acting like a selfish old goat.”

  Mr. Tso rose from the bench. He spoke in a hoarse angry shout. “Go away now. I have nothing else to say to you.”

  Bernie stood, too, hoping to defuse the situation.

  “We’ve all had a long day. You’ve got a big drive back to Farmington.”

  �
�OK, then, as you wish. Talking is done. I have one more thing to show you before I go.”

  In one quick move, Oster pushed Mr. Tso down on the bench and pulled a gun from beneath his jacket.

  Bernie thought of the gun in her backpack. “What are you doing?” she said, keeping her voice light. “You’re smarter than that, to threaten someone with a gun. Especially in front of a cop.”

  “Shut up.”

  When she saw Mr. Tso reach for his shotgun, Bernie leaned down for her backpack.

  With surprising quickness, Oster grabbed her, kicked her feet out from under her, and pushed her hard into Mr. Tso. The old man grunted as she fell against him. He grabbed for her, throwing her farther off balance. She heard the shotgun slide along the porch and into the dirt below with a dull thud. Mr. Tso’s lean body hit the porch hard, the kind of impact that could break fragile ribs.

  Oster grabbed Bernie’s arms and twisted them behind her back. She automatically moved to free herself, but he acted quickly. From the level of pain, it felt as if he’d dislocated her shoulder.

  His voice stayed calm. “I’m not much for violence, Mr. Tso, but we need to get things moving. Enough talk.”

  He grabbed Bernie again, yanked her to standing, and pressed the gun to her back. She forced herself to stay calm.

  “Stand him up, and we’ll go inside and get the papers.”

  She heard Mr. Tso’s ragged breathing as she reached to support him. He moaned. She spoke to him in Navajo. “Grandfather. Think strong thoughts. You are a brave man.”

  Oster’s gun prodded her kidney. “What are you saying?”

  Bernie switched to English. “Do what the man says.”

  “That’s right. Listen to this smart woman.”

  Because of the pain in her shoulder, Bernie used her left arm to help Mr. Tso to his feet. He was shaking, and he did not put any weight on his right leg as they moved to the door.

  “We’re going in so you can sign the papers. That’s the only way you both stay alive. Clear?”

  Tso grunted.

  “Lean on me,” Bernie said. Tso was several inches taller than she was, but about the same weight. He quivered as he gripped her arm. Bernie willed herself to come up with a plan to save his life.

  It was darker in the house than on the porch, but she could see the outline of the sofa. She walked toward it, Mr. Tso clinging to her and Oster urging them forward with the pressure of the gun.

  “Let go of her now.”

  She felt Mr. Tso loosen his grip. Oster slapped her, hard enough to snap her head against her neck and force her backward. Her skull hit the wall as she sank into the couch, and she tasted blood from where her teeth had torn her check.

  Oster pointed the gun at her. “Old man, take off that rope of a belt. Do it now.”

  Mr. Tso did as told, his stiff hands struggling to move it out of the pant loops. Oster grabbed it.

  “Now sit next to her.”

  Mr. Tso slumped down on the sofa.

  Bernie said, “My fellow officers know where I am. They are probably on their way here already.” She hoped the darkness made it hard for Oster to read her face. “There’s no way you can escape without being caught unless you take the back route. It’s impossible for a stranger to find it in the dark, but I can explain it to you. But only after you toss your gun into that bucket of water by Mr. Tso’s stove and agree to drive away. He and I will say nothing about this as long as you promise to leave us alone.”

  Oster looked at her as though she’d never spoken and handed her the rope, keeping the gun leveled at Mr. Tso’s chest. “Wrap this around your ankles.” He watched as she complied. “Tighter. OK, now make it tighter.”

  “Now wrap it around the leg of the couch.” She leaned over to comply, looping the rope around the couch leg, fastening her ankles to it.

  Mr. Tso coughed, and she heard fluid, a bad sign in a person with a possible broken rib. Oster spoke to him.

  “Now, Mr. Tso, slip that twine off those newspapers over there and bring it here. Quick now.”

  She felt the gun in her side.

  The old man did as told, leaving the newspapers scattered where they fell.

  Oster pushed Bernie’s ribs with the gun again. “Get up and put your hands behind you.”

  Oster stepped back, and Bernie stood awkwardly, off balance because of the narrowness of her stance. She swung her good left arm toward his face, aiming for his nose with the heel of her hand and all the power she could summon. She made contact just as she felt the weight of the gun come down hard on her injured shoulder. She crashed to the floor chin first. Before she could reach his feet to trip him, Oster grabbed both her arms. He twisted hard as she struggled, sending another shot of hot, raw pain through her right side. He kicked her and stepped on her back, putting his weight into it, as he bound her wrists so tightly it felt like wire cutting into her bones.

  Bernie lay still, telling herself to ignore the pain and think.

  “Let’s finish here. Where are the papers?”

  Mr. Tso remained silent.

  The longer Tso delayed, the longer she had to think of an escape plan. Bernie felt Oster remove his weight, and in the next split second he kicked her again, harder this time, connecting with her hip. She moaned automatically. She knew the old one would not want to contribute to her suffering.

  Mr. Tso said, “Look on the counter.”

  “I can’t see them. What do you do for light?”

  “The lantern on the shelf.”

  “What shelf? Oh, here. That’s right. Miller told me you used kerosene.”

  Bernie quietly turned her head so she could see and breathe better. She watched as Oster took the lantern to the table and removed the glass dome. A match scraped as he lit the wick, and she saw the yellow light. “I don’t see the forms. Oh, there they are. They weren’t on the counter, they were right here on the table.”

  There was a scratching sound, as if something outside were trying to get in.

  Mr. Tso said, “Skinwalker out there.”

  “Don’t try to scare me with that mumbo-jumbo. I’m going to make this as easy as I can for you. I’m bringing the papers to you, and a pen.”

  Bernie twisted her wrists against the twine. It hurt, but the sweat on her skin helped her gain some momentum. She pushed at the rope with her legs, keeping the movement subtle to avoid Oster’s attention. The darkness on the floor worked in her favor.

  She saw Oster’s feet moving toward the couch. Bernie held still. “It’s easy.” His voice reminded her of a college professor. “All you have to do—”

  Bernie heard Mr. Tso laugh, a wild, unearthly sound of derision and disgust. She turned her head, ignoring the pain in her neck, but could see nothing. She heard the sound of skin on skin, a hard slap, and heard a dull thunk, possibly the back of Mr. Tso’s head hitting the wall.

  “I’m sure you realize that you’ll both be dead in the immediate future, but you can control what happens before that, old man. The sooner you sign, the less you’ll have to listen to your friend here screaming.”

  Mr. Tso said a few words in Navajo, something about regretting her suffering, before she heard Oster hit him again. Then he coughed, a harsh sound that made Bernie wince. “No Navajo. Don’t forget again.”

  “He said he needs to think about it,” Bernie said.

  “There’s nothing to think about,” Oster said. “He’s lucky. He has a final opportunity to sign the papers, a hero in his daughter’s eyes and to his grandson, on the side of good. Doing his part to save the planet. It’s a fine way for a deceased father to be remembered.”

  She heard the scratching again, this time from the front door. She didn’t know what was out there, but it couldn’t be more evil than what was in the house. “I know you are a smart man. I can’t believe you think you’ll get away with this. The captain knows where I am. He’s already dispatched a unit here. This is all a mistake. If you leave now, we could say that you had a mental breakdown or somethin
g.”

  The new tone in Oster’s voice chilled the too-warm room. “I am the sanest person in the world.”

  “Then why go to such extremes?”

  “Don’t you understand the importance of returning to the sun for our energy, to save the planet? I told Miller that if the old man didn’t cooperate, he should arrange a simple accident. It would have been a necessary evil for the greater good. A fall resulting in a blow to the head that would have spared Mr. Tso the further debilitations of old age, saved his daughter from additional concern about him, and helped our Mother Earth. Everyone wins. But Miller failed me and disappeared like a coward.”

  Bernie felt the floor shift as he moved closer to Mr. Tso.

  “Inspired by your interference, I suppose, I’ve come up with a better plan. It will leave a bit of a mystery—the sad and untimely death of a rising star in the Navajo police force, who came to visit an arson suspect and died with him in a fire. Was it an accident, or did the deranged elderly gentleman start another blaze on purpose?”

  “Mr. Tso is an arson suspect?”

  “Who else would have burned that car?”

  Mr. Tso coughed again and groaned. The broken rib from Oster’s kick and the fall on the porch must have punctured a lung.

  “Maybe Miller did it himself,” Bernie said. “He denied it, but he’s a proven liar.”

  The darkness was almost total now, except for the amber light of the kerosene lantern.

  Oster walked to Mr. Tso with the contract. “Last chance?”

  Mr. Tso said nothing.

  Bernie’s struggle against the twine had relaxed it a bit, but not enough. The subtle movements of her feet had done a better job. She had loosened the rope around her legs almost enough to pull free. She knew she had to keep him talking.

  “What are you going to do with us?”

  “So you want the details? Here are the bullet points. Fire, one of humanity’s oldest discoveries in technology. Kerosene, propane, a closed house far away from any source of water. And I can put this unsigned contract to its next best use.”