by Marc Daniel
“What was her given name?” asked Michael.
“I don’t recall. Something weird like, Granola… or Grenola or something like that.”
“Enola?” offered Michael.
“Yes, that’s it. Enola Johnson. I don’t know what her maiden name was. Something Indian, I assume. She used to live on a reservation in Wisconsin. Then she got married and moved out here with her husband, I guess because she was pregnant. But her husband wasn’t Indian. As white as I am, he was.”
The name Enola was familiar to Michael, especially placed in the context of Wisconsin. He’d spent some time in the Forest County community back in the ’90s and he’d known a Potawatomi woman by the name of Enola. He’d known her well.
“You said you’ve been neighbors on and off?” asked Sheila.
“Yes. They moved back to the reservation for a while when Kewanee was about five. I never understood why. They came back ten years later, though. The house they used to live in across the street wasn’t for sale, but this one was so they moved next door to me. Emily always liked it here. She always told everybody that her family had been living around here for countless generations before the government forced them into reservations.”
“Any idea why they went back to the reservation?” asked Sheila.
“Not sure. Something about the girl acting up. Emily said the girl needed to be among her people… or something of the sort. If you ask me, it was an excuse.”
“An excuse for what?” asked Sheila.
“Don’t know,” answered the woman, shrugging her shoulders. “What’s your story about anyway?”
“The hardship of the Native American community,” said Sheila convincingly. The woman seemed to buy it.
“You said the mother passed away recently?”
“It’s been about six weeks now, I’d need to check my calendar. I went to the funeral, you know. It was a bit weird for a service though. I reckon she didn’t believe in Jesus.”
“May I ask what happened to her?” said Michael.
“Cancer. Very sudden too. One day she looked as healthy as you and I and the next she goes to see the doctor and is diagnosed with stage-4 cancer. It wasn’t two weeks before she was dead. She hardly left the house through the whole time. Her kids had to care for her too—the husband passed away a while back. It’s the saddest for the kids. They didn’t have time to prepare for their loss. She might as well have died hit by a car.”
“Do you know the name of her doctor?” asked Michael casually.
But apparently he hadn’t spoken casually enough for the woman, who gave him a weird look before answering, “Dr Stevens. Why’d you ask?”
“Is he any good? I’m a bit under the weather and I need to see someone. We’re not from around here so I don’t know where to go.”
“He’s very good. An old-school fellow, if you know what I mean. He actually spends time with his patients. Not like those young doctors going through patients as if they worked on an assembly line.”
“Do you know what time the son usually gets home?”
“No. Not really. He works weird hours, so it changes a lot. Sometimes he’ll be home by 6 P.M., but sometimes he doesn’t show before morning.”
They thanked the woman for her help and took their leave.
“What do you think?” asked Sheila as they were driving away.
“I think we need to talk to that doctor.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because something doesn’t sound right in this whole story.”
“That may be, but patient-doctor confidentiality will be a problem. He’s not going to want to speak to us about anything.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Let me handle it. I think I know how to get what we need.”
*****
They found the doctor’s office easily and parked in front of it five minutes ahead of Michael’s appointment. An instant later, Michael was sitting in a mostly empty room waiting for the good doctor to see him.
For obvious reasons, Michael didn’t spend much time in doctors’ offices, but he still knew how they operated and recognized immediately that this one was different. It was old-fashioned, smaller, with a single receptionist shared between the three doctors whose names were on the building door.
Doctor Stevens walked into the waiting room and ushered Michael into his office that also served as an examination room. It made Michael smile. This was the way doctors’ offices used to operate before madness took over the US medical system and turned it into a cynical money-making machine.
“What seems to be the concern?” asked the doctor. With his sparse white hair and bent posture, he looked to be towards the end of his sixties.
“My legs were burnt a few weeks ago and they constantly itch now. I was hoping you could prescribe something to relieve the itchiness.”
“Let’s see those legs,” he said, indicating the examination table. Michael navigated through the cramped space that, in addition to office and examination room, also appeared to serve as a museum of obsolete medical objects and remedies. Weird contraptions hung from the walls. Large green bottles filled with pills were scattered on the window sill and any other available surface.
Michael turned around to sit on the examination table, but accidentally bumped into a brown bottle sitting on an end table. The bottle shattered on the tiled floor, spreading its liquid content all over.
“I’m sorry,” said Michael.
“Don’t worry about it,” said the doctor, already picking up the pieces. Michael helped him and in a minute the mess was gone. The liquid was oily and had a pungent odor familiar to Michael. “What was it?” he asked.
“An old bottle of DMSO.”
Seeing the look on Michael’s face the doctor continued, “Dimethyl sulfoxide. In the old days we used it to get medicine into patients’ bloodstream. DMSO goes through the skin barrier and any drug dissolved in the liquid will get into your blood by simply rubbing it on your skin.”
The phone rang at this moment and the doctor apologized to Michael before answering it.
“A lawsuit?” he said. “You have her number? Give it to me.”
The doctor wrote down a number Michael knew to be Sheila’s on a piece of paper and returned to his patient.
“Sorry about that,” he said, but his cheerful composition had disappeared. His face only showed concern and frustration now.
The examination completed, Michael ran back to the car as Sheila was answering her phone.
“Yes, this is Gladys Pierce,” he heard her say as he quietly sat down beside her.
“This is Doctor Stevens. Who are you and what’s that story about a lawsuit?” Michael heard the doctor say. He didn’t sound pleased.
“I’m a journalist with the St Joseph Chronicle. I’m working on an article naming you as the defendant in a malpractice lawsuit and—”
“What are you talking about? Nobody’s suing me.”
“This is regarding the death of a patient of yours, Emily Johnson.”
“Emily Johnson’s dead?” He sounded genuinely surprised.
“Two weeks after you diagnosed her with cancer.”
“I never diagnosed her with cancer. You mean the Native American woman, right?”
“Yes, that’s correct. The mother of a young lady by the name of Kewanee.”
“You got the wrong doctor, lady. I’ve never diagnosed Emily Johnson with cancer. I haven’t seen the woman in years.”
Chapter 75
“This is confusing…” said Sheila, replacing her phone in her jacket’s pocket.
“On the contrary. I think this explains a lot of things,” replied Michael, starting the car.
“I’m not following, Michael. Either the doctor’s lying because he’s freaking out about the lawsuit or the neighbor was wrong, and Kewanee’s mother saw a different doctor.”
“Can’t you think of a third possibility?”
“You drive me nuts when you say things
like that. Stop teasing and tell me what you’re thinking about.”
“Let’s get lunch. I’ll tell you while we eat,” he replied over the sound of his rumbling stomach.
“What was your impression of him?”
“He seemed legit to me. Old-school guy. For a moment there, I thought he was going to call you back with me still in the room, but that was wishful thinking.”
They drove to the first diner they found and had just ordered when Michael’s cell phone rang in his pocket.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” asked Sheila at the third ring.
“We’re just about to eat.”
“It could be important, Michael. People don’t only use phones for casual chatting. They’re used in case of emergency as well.”
Thinking about Olivia alone in Yellowstone, Michael pulled the phone out of his shirt pocket and looked at the screen. Recognizing the name on the display, he answered the call while Sheila grinned widely from the other side of the table.
“Good afternoon, Detective. Were you able to check those records for me?”
“Yes, I was,” answered Samantha Lewis. “Katia Olveda has only received two visits in the past year. On September 21st she received a visit from James Peterson, her lawyer on record. A month later, on October 27th, she received a visit from Elizabeth Sykes, her new lawyer apparently. She must have fired Peterson somewhere in the middle because only the lawyer on record is allowed to meet with an inmate one on one.”
“And they did meet one on one, I assume?” asked Michael.
“Both times.”
“Does that mean there is no recording of their meeting?”
“No video and no audio, if that’s what you’re asking. Lawyer-client conversations are protected by the law. No eavesdropping allowed.”
“Alright. I guess there’s no way to know what was said in those meetings then.”
“Not unless you ask Katia herself,” replied Samantha, her tone hinting at the chance of success of such an enterprise.
“Alright then. Anything else?”
“No. That’s all I have, Michael. If you need anything else, let me know. If the bitch is up to something, I want in,” she said, ending the call.
Samantha’s closing remark made Michael smile. He’d forgotten how much she disliked Katia.
“Did you learn anything useful?” asked Sheila, attacking the short stack of pancakes she’d ordered as her lunch—her excuse being that she didn’t need any.
Michael related the information given to him by the detective.
“What do you think it means?” asked Sheila.
“I’m not sure yet. I’d like to talk to these lawyers. Maybe even Katia herself.”
“You may be able to talk to Katia, although given your history I think she’s more likely to pull your eyes out than answer your questions. The lawyers, on the other hand, won’t say a word to you.”
“Maybe you can trick them into talking to us?” he said with emphasis.
“Maybe… Does that mean that we’re flying straight to Houston?”
“No. I need to get back to Yellowstone first. I need to check if I still have a job… and a couple of other things as well,” he said in a tone he hoped sounded enigmatic. “But first I need to ask Leka a favor.”
“Leka! Why Leka?”
“Because Olivia or Daka won’t do for this particular favor.”
Michael dialed the elf’s number before Sheila could ask another question.
“Leka, this is Michael Biörn.”
“I know, Michael. My phone has Caller ID, just like yours,” answered the elf.
Michael ignored the comment. “I need a favor, Leka. Are you in Montana?”
“I am. What do you need?”
“I need you to go to my cabin. There’s a photo album on the bookshelf above my bed. I need you to take it and…”
Chapter 76
Kewanee and the other interns had just received their assignments for the day and were about to exit the briefing room when Jason Parrish entered.
“Has anyone seen Michael Biörn today?” he asked. He appeared a bit more flustered than usual.
“I haven’t seen him all week,” answered Helen, gathering her notes behind the lectern at the front of the room.
“He’s taken a few days off, but he’s coming back today,” said Olivia.
“I was under the impression Michael would be at work today,” answered Jason, clearly irritated.
“It must be a misunderstanding,” said Olivia.
“Olivia defending Ranger Biörn… How original,” said Kewanee seemingly under her breath but loud enough for everyone to hear.
The whole room stared at her. The expressions on the faces of her audience ranged from surprise to mild amusement. Olivia was the exception; her features reflected good old-fashioned anger.
Kewanee raised her eyes to the sky, shaking her head before suddenly exiting the room.
She was joined in the parking lot by Alexei, the Russian intern. He had a smirk on his face. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing.”
“That didn’t look like nothing. I think the others would agree.” His chanting accent was pleasant to her ears.
“It’s just that I find the relationship between Olivia and Biörn disgusting.”
“You think he’s doing her?”
“If he’s not doing her, something else’s going on. I’m sure of it. I don’t know how to explain it, but I find the whole thing unwholesome.”
The other interns were starting to come out of the building. When she saw Olivia coming out and giving her a dirty look, Kewanee was glad she wasn’t paired up with her for the day. That would have ended poorly.
“Do you want to grab coffee before we head out?” asked Alexei.
Kewanee nodded, and they walked to the small store located a few buildings down the road.
“I don’t blame you. Biörn gets on my nerves too sometimes. He’s got that superior look on his face when he talks to you. If he talks to you. He thinks he’s something special, that one,” said Alexei.
“He really does,” agreed Kewanee.
“Someone needs to kick his ass. That would teach him good manners.”
Kewanee looked at her coworker for a long moment before a bitter smile appeared on her lips. Alexei was right. It was time for Biörn to get his ass chewed.
Chapter 77
Michael and Sheila had landed in Montana early that afternoon and headed straight for Yellowstone. As if he possessed a sixth sense, Jason Parrish had dropped by their cabin ten minutes after they’d made it home. The head ranger wasn’t pleased with his subordinate and hadn’t been shy about expressing his displeasure. Michael had tried looking sorry—a challenge, since he really wasn’t—and had announced to Jason that he’d be leaving again the next day. Jason had protested vigorously, but Michael had over ten weeks of saved vacation and had found someone to cover his shifts. In the end, Jason had capitulated.
“What are you doing?” asked Sheila. She’d just gotten out of the shower and walked into Michael’s small kitchen to find him on all fours under the table.
“I dropped a small screw,” replied Michael, getting back up. He showed Sheila a tiny screw in the palm of his hand and gave her a conniving wink.
She looked at him inquisitively, but he ignored the silent question. Instead he checked the time on the cuckoo clock on the wall. He’d been staring at it for the past hour wondering what to do. The answer had come unexpectedly while repairing the long-range radio transmitter that had sat in a corner of his bedroom for the better part of the past decade.
“It would seem that everything happens for a reason,” he said finally.
“Would you care to explain? I’m not good with riddles.”
“That’s not a riddle, Sheila. It’s a statement.”
“If you don’t start making sense fast, Michael Biörn, you’re not getting any tonight. Which would be unfortunate because I’m wearing those re
d panties you’ve showed a lot of appreciation for in the past. And this isn’t a statement, by the way, it’s a promise.”
Sheila’s words didn’t get the expected effect, however. Michael had something else on his mind. “I need to talk to Kewanee first thing in the morning. It’s time for that girl to come clean. I don’t know who she is or whether she has anything to do with this all mess, but I’ll get answers. Mark my words.”
A loud growl resonated outside the cabin and Sheila’s eyes met Michael’s.
“Did you hear that?” asked Michael. “There’s a bear out there.”
Sheila had of course heard the sound, but she didn’t understand what Michael was doing.
An even louder grunt came through the kitchen’s brand new but paper-thin window.
“Do you think it’s one of the Fida’I?” asked Sheila, finally.
“I suspect it may be. Don’t go out of the house. They can’t get to you as long as you’re inside those walls.”
“Believe me, I won’t.”
Michael looked through the window but saw nothing out of the usual.
He stepped out of the cabin and, carefully surveying his surroundings, made his way to the back of the house.
The sound of a car coming to a stop came clearly through the silence of the night. It was nearing 11 P.M. and Canyon Village was closed at this time of the night. This meant the car whose engine had just been shut off was unlikely to belong to a tourist. With the surrounding mountains and thick woods, it was difficult to estimate precisely where the sound had come from, but Michael would have wagered his substantial savings that the vehicle was close. Probably at a short walking distance through the woods west of the cabin.