Nate Rosen Investigates

by Ron Levitsky

  “The remains of a Lakota has been discovered on the ridge.”

  “White Bear.”

  “I understand that yesterday you reburied these remains and put up a marker, which you yourself carved.”

  “Yes, but I’ve talked to his wanagi. It’s still restless.”

  “Is White Bear’s ghost restless because the road might be built through the ridge?”

  Her father shook his head. “There’s something else troubling him. I don’t know what, but it’s something else.”

  Jack sat back and studied his notes. He seemed confused, then asked quickly, “What will happen if the road is built through the ridge?”

  “The spirits will go away.”

  “No further questions.”

  Judge O’Hara signaled to Huggins, who for a long time shook his head sadly.

  “So, this religion of yours helps you do all sorts of mumbo jumbo. Why can’t you just keep doing it, once the road’s built? It’s not like the whole area’d be torn up.”

  “The spirits will be disturbed. They’ll leave.”

  “Let’s suppose the spirits do leave. Does that mean the end of your religion? In other words, won’t you still be this elk holy man?”

  Sitting beside Grace, Rosen shook his head and whispered, “The Lyng case.” Taking out a notepad, he scribbled something and, leaning forward, handed it to Jack.

  Meanwhile, Grace’s father said, “Where would you have me go? All our sacred land is vanishing. Bear Butte, our most sacred place, is filled with new roads and parking lots. The tourists come and take pictures while we do our ceremonies.”

  Huggins thumped his hand on the table. “But you still do your ceremonies. That’s the point. Progress goes on, and so does your religion. Thank you, Mr. True Sky.”

  “Any closing comments, Mr. Huggins?” Judge O’Hara asked.

  “We’ve shown the public need for such a road and that the town’s monetary offer to Mr. True Sky is more than fair. As for Mr. True Sky’s religious objections, I need only cite the U.S. Supreme Court decision of Lyng v. Northwest Indian Cemetery Protective Association, which ruled that the U.S. Forest Service could build a road through an area claimed to be of religious importance to an Indian tribe. The inconvenience the Indians faced trying to practice their religion was not allowed to stop progress. We’ve got exactly the same case here, Your Honor, and all we ask for is the same ruling. Thank you.”

  “Mr. Keeshin?”

  “I think this case hinges on how one might interpret the Lyng case. I’d like to defer to a colleague who is an expert on constitutional law. Mr. Nate Rosen.”

  Rosen’s eyes narrowed. He hesitated, then walked down the aisle to join Jack.

  Huggins shook his head like a bear. “What’s this, a hearing or a relay race?”

  Judge O’Hara said, “I don’t see the harm in it. Mr. Rosen?”

  Rosen was conferring with Jack, who pointed to the judge, then sat down.

  “Counselor?”

  “Excuse me, Your Honor,” Rosen said. He paused a moment, rubbing his eyes. “Lyng dealt with land already owned by the government. This deals with private property.”

  “Same principle,” Huggins said. “And we’ve got the Supreme Court’s decision.”

  “Citing the majority opinion in Lyng is but one interpretation.”

  “What other interpretation than the Supreme Court’s is there?”

  “Both the original court and appellate court found in favor of the Indians. Even the Park Service’s own anthropologist . . .”

  “But the Supreme Court—”

  “‘Indeed, you are the voice of the people, and wisdom will die with you!’” Rosen’s eyes flashed at the other man. Then he looked away, and Grace could barely hear him finish. “‘But I, like you, have a mind, and am not less than you.’”

  “Huh?”

  For the first time that morning, Judge O’Hara grinned. “The Bible, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “The Book of Job, Your Honor,” Rosen said.

  Huggins clicked his tongue. “Kind of strange for an Indian’s lawyer to quote a Christian Bible to prove his case. I’m sure this Court could use a bit more substantial evidence.”

  Rosen stared at Huggins, then said, “What about two hundred years of precedent cases that support a person’s right to the free exercise of his religion? As Justice Brennan pointed out in his dissent of Lyng, by not interesting itself in the effect a public road will have on the Indians’ religion, the Court virtually destroyed their form of worship.”

  “You don’t expect Judge O’Hara to challenge the Supreme Court?”

  “Why not? No court is infallible. The point is to do what’s right. If there were a Catholic church on the ridge, and Mr. True Sky’s name was Ryan or Gleason, would the town be so quick to condemn the land? Yet, the land is even more sacred for the Indian, who finds holiness in the earth itself.”

  “Come on,” Huggins said. “Spirits in a rock—isn’t that a little ridiculous?”

  Rosen looked at Judge O’Hara. “Is it any more ridiculous than believing the body of Christ is in a communion wafer? Why should an Indian’s religion be held to a higher scrutiny than anyone else’s? What’s fair for one citizen should be fair for all.”

  The judge slowly folded his hands together. “Anything else?” When Rosen shook his head, O’Hara started to say something, then hesitated. For several minutes he paged through a stack of papers, drumming his fingers on the table. The drumming was the only sound in the room, and Grace felt it like her own heartbeat.

  Finally he said, “The history of this state is the struggle for land. My great-grandfather came here and, I guess, fought some of Mr. True Sky’s ancestors for the right to raise cattle. All he asked was to be left alone. That’s what most folks around here want—to be left alone.” He shook his head. “Taking away a man’s land is sometimes necessary, but it’s got to be for a damn good reason. The cases cited by Mr. Huggins only emphasize how important the public good must be. Taking into account Mr. True Sky’s religious beliefs and how they’re tied up in his land, I believe Mr. Rosen has a point. What’s fair for one citizen’s got to be fair for another. I see no cause to order the condemnation of this land and, therefore, find for Mr. True Sky. Court is adjourned.”

  For a long time, nobody moved. People mulled the words over as if they hadn’t quite heard right. Then came, not sound, but a smell—the strong odor of a cheap cigar. Arms folded, Ike was puffing contentedly.

  “I had to wait sixty years to see some real justice, but then, my father never saw any. I guess that’s progress.”

  Jack walked over, and Grace suddenly grabbed him, kissing him hard. Pulling back for a moment, she looked into his eyes, felt his strong hands on her waist, and smiled. She didn’t care who saw. Nor did she mind what the people said, across the aisle, as they left the theater. She kept staring into Jack’s eyes.

  Finally a camera flashed, and she blinked. Andi was taking pictures. Cigar jutting from the corner of his mouth, Ike stood beside her father, whose face remained smooth as a stone. Will had left. She wondered if her brother was happy with the decision; he never seemed to care one way or the other.

  Jack shook Rosen’s hand. “Well done, Counselor. The coup de grace, so to speak.”

  “I didn’t intend to interfere. The note was just a suggestion on how to handle Lyng.”

  “Nonsense. I’m grateful for your help.” He hugged Grace. “We both are.”

  “You know, Huggins will appeal.”

  Grace asked, “You mean, Father may still lose his land?”

  “It’s quite possible. Next time you may not get a judge as enlightened as O’Hara.”

  Jack laughed. “Comparing Indian spirits to a communion wafer,” he broke into a brogue, “for a God-fearing Irishman like Judge O’Hara himself. Damn clever.”

  Grace said, “But next time?”

  “It’s a game,” Jack insisted. “The law’s a game. That’s what makes it so ex
citing. Don’t you agree, Nate?”

  Rosen shook his head. “It’s finding the truth, and right now, I’m far more concerned with finding Albert Gates’s murderer than how this land is disposed of.”

  “Of course. Still, it was rather like scoring an ace, wasn’t it?”

  Grace followed the two attorneys from the theater and blinked in the bright sunlight. Tom was leaning against his squad car, as if waiting for somebody. She turned back to see Andi, then Ike and her father, step through the doorway.

  Suddenly she heard a loud crack, and the brick beside her father splintered. Andi pushed the two old men back inside, while Grace was dragged to the pavement. Tom held her waist tightly against the squad car while he opened the passenger door and pulled out a rifle.

  “What is it?” she half-whispered.

  “Sniper up in the feedstore across the street. You stay down.” He patched himself through to Elroy, who was on patrol.

  “Yeah, I heard the shot,” Elroy’s voice crackled through the receiver. “I’m a half-block away. What’s that?”

  “Elroy!” Tom shouted into the receiver, then looked over the hood. When Grace tried to join him, he shoved her down roughly.

  The line came alive. “I’m coming up to the side entrance of the feedstore. There’s a pickup—looks familiar. Why, it’s—”

  Again silence. Then, through the speaker, “Bam!” followed by another gunshot, only softer. A few seconds passed, and Grace heard a third shot just as soft.

  “Tom?” she began, but he was already on his feet, running toward the feedstore.

  He flattened himself against the building, then edged around the corner. Grace hugged the car door, eyes closed, expecting more shots.

  “Tom,” she whispered.

  There weren’t any more shots, and, opening her eyes, she watched Rosen run across the street. Then she was running too, ignoring the voices calling her to stop. She turned the corner just as Jack caught up with her.

  The two policemen stood with Rosen near the side entrance of the feedstore. Tom’s foot rested on the rear bumper of an old pickup. Elroy’s squad car was parked across the street, the driver’s door wide open. Gripping Jack’s hand, Grace walked toward them.

  “Tom?”

  He looked over his shoulder and frowned. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  He moved toward her, revealing Gil McCracken slumped against the building’s door, a rifle lying a few feet away. McCracken’s shirt was matted with blood, and blood had also collected into a pool alongside the body. She felt her knees buckle, but Jack held one arm while Tom grabbed the other.

  “I’m . . . all right.”

  Tom looked hard at Jack. “Why’d you let her see this?”

  “I can assure you that I had—”

  “Don’t either of you baby me.” She shook loose of both men. “McCracken tried to kill my father. Isn’t that what happened?”

  Tom said, “Looks that way, though I never got a chance to ask. Elroy took care of that.”

  Elroy nodded. “He shot at me as soon as he came running down the stairs.”

  “So McCracken shot first?” Tom stared at Grace. What was he trying to tell her?

  “Hell yes, he shot first, then I got in my two. Lucky his aim wasn’t as good as mine.”

  A siren sounded down Main Street, growing steadily louder.

  “Paramedics,” Tom said. “Another wasted trip.”

  Walking over to Elroy, Jack asked him several questions, jotting the answers into a notepad, probably for the newspaper. Meanwhile, Grace followed Rosen and Tom back to the corner.

  Rosen said, “You’re not satisfied with this, are you, Chief?”

  “Doesn’t look like there’s anything irregular.”

  “Sure. Elroy’s quite the hero.”

  “What’s this to you?”

  “Grace is right—McCracken was trying to kill Saul True Sky. The question is, why?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Maybe he thought Saul had murdered his boss, or maybe it was something else.”

  Grace said, “Maybe McCracken was the one who killed Albert Gates.”

  Tom shook his head. “Why would McCracken murder Gates?”

  “You’re the police. You find out.”

  “The state has its murderer.”

  “My father didn’t do it!”

  “Look, I’m not . . .” Then, striking fist into palm, he added, “Why doesn’t your lawyer here find out who did?”

  Rosen smiled. “I could use a little help. I’ll be leaving town in a few days. Of course I’ll continue to stay in touch with Grace and her father until the trial. I could use anything you find out.”

  “About Gates’s murder?”

  “That and what happened here today. I know something’s bothering you about the shooting. See you both later.”

  They watched Rosen walk across the street.

  “I still don’t like him,” Tom said. Glancing at Jack, the policeman added, “But he could be worse.”

  December 8

  Dear Nate,

  I was going to drive into Rapid City to get a Hanukkah card for you, but there was a bitchin’ snowstorm yesterday that put the highway out of commission. We got lots of snow already, so be sure to bring plenty of winter gear when you come out next month for the trial. Dakota wind’s gonna freeze the cherry blossoms off you!

  Haven’t heard from you in over a month. Are you too busy to answer my last letter, or does it just hurt too much to think of us so far apart? You know, I called your office. They said you were on the road with some case. Who is she?

  Nothing much new to report. Romance is kind of in the air. Jack and Grace are a thing. He’s been taking her and Stevie to Sioux Falls to see some psychiatrist. Grace says the doctor seems to be helping Stevie. Belle’s been spending a lot of time with that engineer Chick Cantrell. Will and Wendy broke up, then got back together, then broke up again. He’s been going through the women around here faster than a box of Kleenex (don’t worry, as Paula Abdul says, I’m forever your girl).

  I saw Ike in town last week. He says hello and wants you to bring him a Washington Redskins jersey. He says he wants to wear it this summer, when he goes up on Mount Rushmore and pees down George Washington’s nose as a protest against white injustice. That’s what he says anyway—no, he wasn’t drunk. I haven’t seen much of Saul. He keeps to himself up on the ridge. Grace says he’s okay.

  Better go now—got film in the developer. Can’t wait to see you. You know, I sent my resume everywhere, including the Washington Post—I used you as a reference. Wouldn’t it be seriously cool if we wound up in the same town? You’d be like that fat guy Perry Mason on TV and I’d be your assistant, what’s her name—Della Reese. You let me know when you’re due to arrive in Rapid City, and I’ll come get you like last summer. Can’t wait!

  XXXXXXX.

  Andi

  P.S. Rumor is that Elroy the Dork Baker is going to run against Tom Cross Dog in next year’s election for police chief.

  January

  Chapter Thirteen – SUNDAY AFTERNOON

  “We’re beginning our descent into Rapid City,” the pilot said over the intercom. “Hope you brought your thermal underwear. The temperature at 3:37 is minus five degrees, with a wind chill of twenty-three below. We should be on the ground in about ten minutes, right on time.”

  Fastening his seat belt, Rosen looked out the window and shivered, despite his wool sweater. Far below stretched the broad, snow-covered plains of South Dakota, as desolate as Siberia. As the plane descended, he saw a few ranch houses and the outline of fences, but no signs of life. Only the bare branches of the trees swayed mournfully, battered by the wind. He hoped his lined topcoat would be enough.

  No one seemed eager to leave the warm cabin. Returning the True Sky file to his briefcase, he put on his coat and followed the last passenger into the terminal. He shielded his eyes, waiting for the camera flash that would certainly come.

  It didn’t.
Looking around for Andi, Rosen checked his watch; it was nearly four. He walked through a long corridor to get his suitcases. They puttered down the conveyor a few minutes later, and he wondered what to do next. Get a room, rent a car, and drive tomorrow into Deadwood for the trial? He really should see Saul True Sky to review the case, although there was nothing new to discuss. He sat on a bench near the exit, hunching his shoulders every time the wind whipped through the sliding doors.

  Ten minutes later, he walked to the hotel directory and picked up a phone. He had punched two numbers when a hand pulled the receiver from him, hanging it up. Andi’s lips were cold against his but warmed quickly. She had pushed back the hood of her coat, and its fur lining, icy along the edges, prickled his cheek. It was good having someone meet him and he liked kissing her, so he kept holding onto her, until finally she pulled away, gasping for breath.

  “Whew!” She unzipped her parka and fanned herself. “You brought some of that warm weather from D.C.”

  He felt his cheeks burning. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Now that you’re here, maybe I won’t have to worry so much about keeping warm—you’re even cuter when your face turns red. Sorry I’m late. I had to drop something off in Rapid City, then get some gas.”

  “You’re not still driving that old Mercury?”

  “Unlike several men I’ve known, it’s never let me down.”

  Seeing her grin, Rosen wanted to kiss her again. Instead he asked, “No camera? You look naked . . . I’m not used to seeing you without it.”

  “No time. I’ve been in the darkroom all night.” She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “This is a big story, Nate. The biggest.”

  “Did some woman in Bear Coat win the Pillsbury Bake-Off?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  “Well?”

  “Sorry, I promised Jack I wouldn’t tell anybody. Come over here and see what I brought you.”

  She had draped a hooded parka over his two suitcases.

  “Belonged to my dad. It may be a little short, but it’s a lot warmer than what you’ve got on. Wind could sneeze that off you. Here.”

  The coat was down-insulated, and inside its deep pockets were a pair of heavy leather gloves. She tied his hood.