Ice and Stone

by Marcia Muller

  I learned from Alicia that Burbank was a famed horticulturist and botanist who created more than eight hundred varieties of plants. His home and gardens in downtown Santa Rosa had been turned into a public park that, Alicia said, drew visitors from the world over.

  “In spite of those guys,” Alicia said, referring to Schulz and Burbank, “Santa Rosa used to be kind of a nothing place. As teenagers, we were always hopping buses to San Francisco, planning our escape. Later on, everybody who could swing it got a job down there. Now everybody’s flocking up here. We’ve got world-class entertainment and restaurants; real estate prices are stratospheric. My ex-husband and I bought our first house for two hundred thousand dollars; it would probably sell for close to a million today. I’m not sure that’s progress.”

  The elevator stopped with a jerk. “Here we are,” she said. “Intensive Care is just down the hall.”

  7:05 p.m.

  The head of the woman who lay in the hospital bed before me was thickly bandaged. Cuts and bruises covered Sally Bee’s cheeks; her lips were swollen; her left arm was in a sling, her right eye covered by a bandage. Her breathing was labored. Various tubes snaked from her body, and monitors beeped regularly.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her. How had she survived what was obviously a severe beating, perhaps torture?

  There was a time, not long ago, when I’d been in a badly traumatized state. Shot in the head, unable to move or speak, but fully aware of what was going on around me. They call it “locked-in syndrome,” and that’s the perfect label. I was cut off even from those I loved most. Sometimes a visitor would touch me, speak to me as if I were a whole person, but because of my lack of response they couldn’t know how much it meant to me.

  On impulse I reached out and gently touched the young woman’s arm. She didn’t move, but I left my fingers on her ravaged flesh just the same. In rehab I’d learned about the hierarchy of human needs: first for safety; second for shelter, water, and food; third for love. The needs vary in their complexity from person to person, of course, but the basics remain the same. This woman possessed the first two requirements. I hoped that somehow my touch would communicate a compassionate presence.

  After several seconds she swallowed, coughed, and moaned. When I stroked her arm, her eyelids fluttered and then opened. Her eyes were dark brown like mine, their whites laced with red. She looked at me, unfocused at first, then with what seemed to be some clarity.

  “…Hurt me…”

  I leaned forward. “Who did?”

  She struggled to speak. I waited, still stroking her arm.

  “Hurt…kill…”

  “Take your time, Sally. You’re safe now.”

  “…So long…”

  “Yes?”

  “…Want…”

  “What? Who?”

  “…Henry, please…”

  That was all. Her eyelids fluttered shut again. Alicia moved forward, motioned me away from the bed.

  7:35 p.m.

  Alicia and I sat at a table in the hospital’s café. I was hungry, not having eaten all day, and opted for an early dinner of a grilled cheese sandwich and iced tea; she was drinking coffee. Alicia had told me that she cautioned her patients not to drink too much caffeine, but she couldn’t make it through the day without it. “This doctor doesn’t follow her own orders,” she’d added. “She needs to stay awake.”

  After a moment Alicia asked, “Are you flying back to Aspendale tonight?”

  “I could, but I’m not sure what good it would do. Maybe I’ll stay down here for the night. Sally may be more responsive tomorrow, and I want to talk to Henry Howling Wolf.”

  “Do you have a place to stay?”

  “Not yet. I’ll check into a motel near the airport.”

  “You’re welcome to stay at my place instead. It would be more comfortable.”

  “I couldn’t impose—”

  “Nonsense. I’m doing a double shift tonight, filling in for a friend who’s on his honeymoon. I’ve got a fully made-up guest room in my condo, and a little cat named Fuzz who would love your company.”

  The kindness of a relative stranger.

  8:15 p.m.

  I took a cab to Alicia’s condo. It was in a development near the hospital called the Pines. Eight pale-gray two-story buildings of two units each sat in a U shape around a pool flanked by rhododendrons. The plants weren’t flowering yet, but I imagined that when they did, the garden would be spectacular. Inside, her place was spacious and furnished in a style I think of as comfortable modern—deep upholstered chairs and a sofa, ottomans, glass-topped tables towering with stacks of books and magazines. I found the guest bedroom; I’d once lived in an apartment smaller than it.

  The little cat that Alicia had mentioned didn’t appear until I’d settled myself on the sofa with my laptop. Fuzz was black and white and approached tentatively. I made a clicking sound with my tongue that always calms cats. She cocked her head, then sat down and proceeded to clean her nether regions.

  Cats have no shame.

  Although, compared to some humans…

  There was a message on my cell from Hy: he would be arriving home tomorrow, probably late. I left my own message about where I was, then settled down. In the middle of the night Fuzz curled up and warmed me.

  FRIDAY, JANUARY 11

  9:10 a.m.

  Alicia had come in late, no doubt exhausted, and was still asleep when I got up. I wrote her a note, thanking her for her hospitality, then called for a cab to take me to Santa Rosa Memorial. Once there, I asked at the main desk if I could see Sally Bee. No, not for a while; she was undergoing tests.

  I wondered if Henry Howling Wolf had arrived, and I asked the receptionist if Sally Bee had had any other visitors. The answer was yes, but the receptionist didn’t know if Henry was still on the premises. I looked for him, didn’t find him, then repaired to the cafeteria and treated myself to a chili dog for breakfast.

  My eating habits have always been questionable, according to other people. Vegans and some vegetarians consider them disgusting, while “half-assed vegetarians,” as one of my friends describes herself, reassure me that everybody slips up sometimes. But even people who sometimes slip up tend to look askance at a chili dog this early in the morning. Hey, though, you gotta eat, and you ought to be able to eat what you want when you want it.

  Besides, why would a hospital cafeteria offer chili dogs in the morning if it weren’t okay?

  I looked at two nurses at the next table who were giving me disapproving glances and winked.

  10:10 a.m.

  When I came out of the cafeteria and passed through the lobby, I spotted Henry Howling Wolf slumped in one of the chairs. He must have had a long, hard drive down from Meruk County; he was red eyed and disheveled, his hair sticking up in unruly points. He remembered me right away and was surprised to see me.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I came because I’m concerned about Sally.”

  “Why? How did you know where to find her?”

  “From the ER doctor, Alicia Jordan.” He looked so distraught that, after swearing him to secrecy, I told him about my true occupation and the job I’d been hired to do.

  “My God,” he said, “do you think Sally’s attacker had something to do with those awful murders?”

  “Possibly. But the crimes are different. Dierdra Two Shoes and Sam Runs Close weren’t drugged, and Sally is still alive. Have you seen her yet?”

  “For a few minutes a while ago.”

  “How is she today?”

  “She’s conscious, and her thought processes are good, but God, what those bastards did to her…” There was relief and sadness in his voice, but anger overrode the other emotions.

  “Was she able to tell you what happened to her?”

  “Not in any detail yet. Just that she was kidnapped, then taken somewhere, drugged, abused, and held prisoner.”

  “Kidnapped where, did she say?”

  �
�In the woods near the old monastery.”

  “Where I found her feather medallion.”

  “Yes. Do you still have it?”

  “No. It was forcibly taken from me three nights ago.”

  “By who?”

  “I don’t know, just that it was a man. Fairly strong.”

  “Why would he want the pendant?”

  “No idea—yet.”

  Henry’s hands curled into fists. “If I knew who did all those terrible things to Sally…”

  “What would you do?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not a violent man, but they can’t get away with it. I don’t trust the sheriff, Noah Arneson, to find out. He’s a horse’s ass. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s involved in what happened to Sally and the two murdered women.”

  “Do you have any reason to believe he is?”

  “No. It’s not only that I don’t trust him. He’s a racist.”

  “Can you think of anyone else who might be involved?”

  “I wish I did. But no.” He added bitterly, “Meruk County is full of Native haters.”

  11:45 a.m.

  Henry went for coffee, and I read tattered old magazines until he and I were allowed to visit Sally Bee. She was sitting up in bed when we entered the ICU. Today there was a light in her unbandaged eye that brightened when she saw Henry. He kissed her cheek, then sat down beside her and held her hand.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked her.

  “I’m not sure. You were here yesterday with the doctor, but I don’t know you…”

  I explained, giving her my real name and occupation as I had to Henry, then asked, “Do you feel up to talking to me?”

  She glanced at Henry, who nodded. “All right.”

  “I’d like to tape our conversation, if that’s okay with you.”

  “No problem.”

  I got the recorder rolling, and Sally began to speak haltingly. Her voice was hoarse, and she had to stop for breath every so often, but her memory seemed clear. “I went to Saint Germaine to finish a series of pictures I’m hoping to sell to a little historical journal. The light…I couldn’t get it right. It was one of those gray days, and the place felt kind of…creepy.”

  “Were you aware that anyone else was there?”

  “Well, I kept thinking I heard noises…noises in the brush, but I couldn’t see anybody. Not even an animal. But I remember…I felt threatened. I took my pictures and got out of there and ran down the trail real quick. Then I tripped and fell. After that, I don’t remember anything until I woke up in a…an awful place.”

  “What kind of place, Sally?”

  “It was…dark and smelled like mildew. I was lying on a rickety cot, tied up with a cloth over my eyes so I couldn’t see. Spiderwebs kept touching my face. Really creepy, like in an old-time horror movie. But it wasn’t in a movie, it was real.” She started coughing, leaned back against the raised bed. I handed her a cup of water.

  I waited a bit, then asked, “What happened next?”

  She shuddered. “This big guy, he laid me down on the floor. It was filthy. Mouse droppings, and God knows what other things. He forced me to drink some terrible-tasting dark liquor, poured it down my throat and made me swallow. I blacked out again. When I came to, I was alone. I knew he’d raped me. I was bleeding—he’d been that vicious. He’d covered me with some blankets and left.”

  “I’m so sorry. Please go on.”

  Long silence. Then, “I passed out again. Then he and another guy arrived and raped me over and over. I lost track of time. It might’ve been two days or two years. Everything was muddled. Except for the pain. The pain…!” She began to cry, rasping, heartrending sobs.

  Behind me the ICU nurse’s voice said, “I think that’s enough for now. Miss Bee needs to rest.”

  But Sally held up her free hand. “No, I want to finish telling this.” She took several deep breaths, regaining control.

  “What can you tell me about the men?” I asked.

  “Only that one was heavy, one was thinner. They never took the blindfold off, so I couldn’t see their faces.”

  “Was there anything distinctive about their voices?”

  “They didn’t talk much. When they did, they sounded white.”

  “Do you have any idea where this place was?”

  She shook her head, wiping tears from her eyes.

  “Were you conscious when they took you away?”

  “Yes. More or less.”

  “Try to remember. What did you hear? Smell?”

  Another long silence, then: “It was cold, very cold. The air…like in the mountains.”

  “Cars? Anyone else around?”

  “No. Just the wind in the trees. Pines. And eucalyptus. I could smell them before they put me in the back of a car.”

  “How long before they let you out?”

  “I don’t remember. I think I passed out while they were driving. And they didn’t let me out, they dumped me by the side of the road. Like I was a piece of garbage.” A fierce anger blazed in her eyes, and she squeezed Henry’s hand so tightly her knuckles were white. “I hope I’ve helped. I want those bastards caught! I want them to suffer for what they did to me and those other women!”

  3:27 p.m.

  Henry went out into the hall with me for a brief consultation before I left. “‘Those other women,’” he said. “Does that mean she knows the men who assaulted her committed the other crimes as well?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Me too.” Then, almost plaintively, “You’re going to keep on investigating, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I want to now more than ever.”

  “Because of Sally? Because you’re Native?”

  “Both. And because I don’t like to give up on anything once I start.”

  “When are you going back to Meruk County?”

  “Right away.”

  “I’ll be here until Sally’s well enough to go home. You’ll let me know if you find out anything?”

  “Yes. I certainly will.”

  7:55 p.m.

  My flight to Meruk was uneventful, although thick, dark clouds warned that there might be more snow on the way. A black January night closed in as I landed.

  I went straight to Jake Blue’s house. The streets were icy, mostly empty, with only a few lights showing. It was like walking through a ghost town.

  “I’m glad to see you,” Jake said, ushering me in and indicating a chair across from the sofa. “Where have you been?”

  “San Francisco. I had business there.”

  “Something happened while you were gone. Sasha Whitehorse has disappeared.”

  “Sasha—the woman who works at Good Price? When?”

  “Last night, I guess. She left the store at the end of her shift with some plastic flowers she’d bought to decorate her parents’ graves. The flowers were there this morning, and there was evidence something—or someone—had been dragged down the slope to the gate. Nobody’s seen her since.”

  “What do the authorities say?”

  “The authorities? You mean Arneson? He won’t do any more to try to locate her than he did with the others.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Sasha’s Native, isn’t she?” After a pause, he said, “Dammit, she’s such a nice girl. Had aspirations, wanted to get out of here, maybe go to college.”

  Although I already knew his history, I asked, “Did you go to college, Jake?”

  “Cal Poly at San Luis. But I only stayed two semesters. I didn’t fit in down there, I wasn’t smart enough. And then Josie died, so I came back here.”

  “You were badly hurt by her death. Badly enough to see a doctor?”

  “Doctor? You mean a shrink? Hell no. There isn’t one that I know of in Meruk County, and even if there was, I wouldn’t have. I don’t believe in that stuff. Just a waste of time and money.”

  “What about medication?”

  “You mean drugs?”

  “Antidepressant
s, that kind of thing.”

  Jake wasn’t buying my offhand attitude. He stared at me. Then he went to the kitchen, and I heard the freezer door open. When he came back, his hands were balled into fists.

  He said, “You prowled around when you were alone here, didn’t you? The vial of that liquid is missing—you found it and took it. Why?” His face darkened with anger.

  There was no point in denying it. I’d been leading up to confronting him about it anyway. I said, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

  “And what is that?”

  I told him my occupation, explained briefly about my investigation.

  “So that’s it,” he said when I finished. “I figured you for somebody other than you said. But I didn’t imagine you were a private investigator. What did you do with the vial?”

  “I had it analyzed in San Francisco.”

  “And?”

  “It’s called Arbritazone. A powerful antipsychotic, sometimes used recreationally.”

  “Well, I don’t take the stuff. Not any kind of drug. It’s not mine.”

  “No? Then why did you have it?”

  He shook his head. “You must’ve noticed there’s no doctor’s or patient’s name on the label.”

  “I did. I thought maybe for privacy’s sake—”

  “Exactly what I thought. But that doesn’t matter. It’s evidence.”

  “Of what?”

  He was silent.

  “Jake, where did you get it?”

  “…I found it beside Sam Runs Close’s body.”

  “Next to her? Not in her hand or in a pocket?”

  “No,” he said. “It was lying there in the snow.”

  “So it may not have belonged to her.”

  “No. More likely to whoever blew her away.”

  “And you took it instead of leaving it for the authorities.”