Heaven's Keep

by William Kent Krueger

  “The plane I buried? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s not what Dewey says.”

  “No? What does Dewey say?”

  She spoke slowly, and Cork figured the drink in her hand was not her first.

  “You really want us to stand here and discuss this in such a public way?”

  She thought it over and finally stepped aside. Once they were in, she closed the door and locked it. Cork found himself in a small, comfortable living room decorated with much of the same kind of Arapaho art he’d seen in Nightwind’s home. Grant led them down a short hallway to the kitchen, which was at the back of the house and was illuminated by the overhead light and by the last of the daylight. A bottle of Canadian Club, more than half empty, sat on the table. A chair was already pulled out, and Grant dropped into it and laid the rifle across the tabletop. Cork drew out a chair for Quinn and shoved him into it. He sat in one of the other chairs, and Parmer took the last.

  “My wife wasn’t on the plane with the others, Ellyn,” Cork said. “What happened to her? Where is she?”

  “I don’t know anything about your wife.”

  “Quinn swears you’re involved up to your eyeballs. He says you knew everything.”

  She looked at Quinn and shrugged. “Then it’s my word against his, isn’t it?”

  “Who were you expecting, Ellyn?” Cork nodded at the rifle on the table. “Gully and Mike? They’ll be looking to clip those threads that tie anyone to them.”

  Grant didn’t respond.

  “Even if we have trouble connecting some of the dots, the big picture is crystal clear, Ellyn. There’s no way your Gateway Grand Casino will ever get off the ground.”

  “We’ll find another way to bring revenue to the reservation,” she replied, as if unconcerned.

  “Maybe the Arapaho will, but you won’t be helping them do it. You and Lame Nightwind are finished here.”

  “Lame had nothing to do with anything.”

  “We know he flew the charter plane.”

  Grant took a long drink of the whiskey.

  “I’m willing to bet he did it for you,” Cork said. “I’m willing to bet he did it all for you because he loves you. See, love is something I know about because I lost the woman I love. What did you do for Lame, Ellyn? Did you love him? Or did you just use him so that you could be the great savior of the Arapaho?”

  Grant closed her eyes against his words, and a softness came into her face that might have been the effect of the alcohol. She was quiet for a long time. Beyond the kitchen windows daylight continued to fade.

  “Love,” she finally said and smiled. “Of all the Great Creator’s great creations, it must be the most sacred and shapeless.” She opened her eyes and looked dreamily at Cork. “I love Lame Nightwind, oh yes. And I love the Arapaho. And I love this country, the Owl Creek Reservation, even though to the eyes of a nahita it probably looks like a wasteland. I love the vision I had for my people. And I’m just drunk enough, Cork O’Connor, to say that in my way I love you because you’ve shown me something important. You’re right. There won’t be any Gateway Grand Casino, no easy way out for the Owl Creek Arapaho, but I’ve come to understand that maybe it’s for the best. Maybe Edgar was right. Trading on the weakness of others makes us weak as well. The Arapaho have always been a strong people. I lost my faith in our strength. We have endured much. And we have much yet to endure. But endure we will.” She lifted her glass in a toast and drank again.

  “Ellyn, what happened to my wife?”

  She considered him and shook her head with drunken sympathy. “You love her, don’t you? Lucky man. Lucky woman.” She stared out the kitchen window at the darkening sky. “That white door your son saw? She’s behind it.”

  “What do you mean? What white door? Where?”

  Grant took a long, deep breath, but before she answered, the window glass shattered and her head flew back as if she’d been kicked in the face and her chair tipped over and she tumbled to the floor. The next shot hit Dewey Quinn, caught him in the right shoulder and spun him out of his chair and onto the kitchen floor. Parmer lurched from his seat and hugged the floor. Cork grabbed the rifle from the table. It was a Marlin carbine, and he worked the lever to be sure there was a round in the chamber. He crawled to the wall next to the shattered window.

  “Kill the light,” he told Parmer.

  Parmer scrambled across the floor, hit the wall switch, and the kitchen went dark. Cork and his companion cautiously peered through the window. Two figures were racing away across the field behind Grant’s home. Cork leaped to the back door, fumbled with the lock, finally flung the door open, and tore outside. He caught sight of the two men again just as they ran into a line of trees that followed a stream on the far side of the field. Headlights came on, and a black Jeep Cherokee sped away. Cork knelt, lifted the rifle to his shoulder, and pulled off four rounds. Near the bridge at the other end of the field, the Cherokee swung onto the paved road and rocketed away.

  Cork ran back to the house and found Parmer on his knees next to Ellyn Grant. There was a hole the size of a nickel above her left eye and beneath her head a rapidly spreading pool of blood.

  Quinn lay on his back, groaning, the clothing over his right shoulder a wet mess of red.

  A furious pounding came from the front door. “Open up!”

  Cork went quickly to the living room, unlocked the door, and swung it wide.

  Andrew No Voice stood there, weapon drawn. At his back were a number of Arapaho, and among them stood the tall, white-haired priest. “Put your gun down! Do it now!” No Voice ordered.

  Cork laid his firearm on the floor.

  FORTY

  Sheriff Kosmo arrived by helicopter, courtesy of Jon Rude. Through the window of No Voice’s office, Cork watched the chopper land in the gravel parking area. The headquarters of the tribal police was a long, narrow one-story cinder-block construction at the southern edge of Red Hawk. It was separated from the school grounds by a field of irrigated alfalfa. As soon as the helicopter touched down, Kosmo leaped out and headed for the headquarters’s door. No Voice didn’t get up when Kosmo walked in. He just nodded toward Cork and Parmer and said, “All yours, Jim.”

  Kosmo stood with his beefy arms crossed, staring down at the two seated men. “You talk to ’em?”

  “Yeah,” No Voice said.

  “Don’t suppose you wrung a lock-solid confession out of ’em.”

  “They were cooperative. And they didn’t do it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Earl Vixen, next house up the street from Ellyn’s, he was out in the yard with Kong, that Chihuahua of his, waiting for his dog to take a crap. Corroborated O’Connor’s account of the men firing from the field out back. It took a while for Earl to stroll over here. Told me he didn’t say anything to anybody cuz he was concerned someone might come looking for him, too. He’s still here. I got him in a back room working on an official statement. Bottom line is that at the moment a lot of folks in Red Hawk are under the impression these two killed Ellyn. I’ve had some pretty irate calls already. I didn’t want to turn them loose until I was sure they had safe passage to Hot Springs.”

  “I’ll have Rude fly them back,” Kosmo said, then he addressed Cork. “You able to ID the guys?”

  “I didn’t see them, but I have a good idea who they were. One calls himself Gully. The other is Mike.”

  “Last names?”

  Cork shook his head. “They were the two who tried to take us out at the plane.”

  “Them and Dewey, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where’s my deputy, Andy?”

  “In a holding cell in back. He’s got himself a pretty good flesh wound. I had Grace Lincoln from the clinic come over and clean him up and sew him closed. He’ll probably have a nasty-looking scar, but he’s in no danger. Want to talk to him?”

  “In a bit.”

  Rude strolled in and stood just inside the d
oor. “Good to see you two alive,” he said. “Want me to stick around, Sheriff?”

  “Yeah, I want you to give these two a lift back to Hot Springs. For a while we’ll need to keep them out of harm’s way.” Kosmo turned back to Cork and Parmer. “We found the plane. DCI’s on their way up from Cheyenne. They’ll process the scene.” He looked at No Voice. “I asked ’em to send someone over here to go over Ellyn’s house, too.” He eyed Cork. “Five bodies onboard, all male. So. Where’s your wife, O’Connor?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to Ellyn Grant about.”

  “Did she tell you anything?”

  “Yeah. She said Jo’s behind a white door.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “She didn’t have a chance to explain.”

  “Got an idea?”

  “None.”

  “You came straight to Red Hawk from the plane site?”

  “No. We stopped at Nightwind’s ranch on the way. He wasn’t there.”

  “Find out where he is?”

  “The Arapaho there—”

  “Ben Iron.”

  “Right, and his wife, they claimed they didn’t know.”

  “You thought Nightwind might have an idea where your wife is?”

  “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask him.”

  “These two guys, Mike and Gully, would they know?”

  “I doubt it. They seemed genuinely surprised that she wasn’t there with the others.”

  “Maybe she dug her way out?”

  “Maybe. But we didn’t see any sign of that,” Cork said.

  “She was definitely onboard?”

  “I found her briefcase under the only seat not occupied.”

  “So how do you explain her absence?”

  “I have no explanation.”

  “All right. I’m going to head down and have a word or two with my deputy.”

  “Mind if I come along?” No Voice said.

  “Be my guest, Andy. You two gentlemen just relax. I might want to talk some more after I hear what Dewey has to say.”

  When the two law officers had gone, Cork said to Rude, “So, you’re the sheriff’s personal escort these days?”

  Rude grinned. “I’m the fastest transport to a remote location. Around here we all lend a hand when we can. Truth is, when Kosmo called and told me what was going on, I wanted to see for myself. Any idea what’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you, Jon, I’ve been looking at it from every angle, and it’s got me stumped.”

  “You think she’s alive?”

  Cork rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, overcome with weariness. It was the long day, the hard labor of the dig, the fact that he had no answer to Rude’s question.

  “I’m not going there yet, Jon,” he said.

  “Sure.” Rude nodded. “I understand.”

  Kosmo came back. “You two are free to go. I’d like you both in my office early tomorrow. I’ll need formal statements.”

  “Did Quinn tell you anything?” Parmer asked.

  “He’s reluctant at the moment, but I’ll be talking to Dewey all night. By the time I see you in the morning, there won’t be anything he knows that I don’t.” To Rude he said, “I’ll have one of No Voice’s men transport me and Dewey. Thanks for your help.” He didn’t leave immediately. Instead he turned to Cork. “O’Connor, I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time. I apologize. But this, hell, this is such a bizarre situation. Look, from here on in, I’ll do everything I possibly can to help you find your wife. That’s a promise.”

  “Thanks,” Cork said.

  Kosmo gave a parting nod and left.

  “All right,” Rude said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  The moon was up. All the way back, Cork stared at the ground below, a vast emptiness punctuated at great distances with solitary yard lights. It made him think of the cold universe where an eternity separated the stars. Jo was somewhere in all that hollow space. God alone knew where. Alive? No, that was too much, too painful a hope to lose again. If she was alive, wouldn’t she have let him know? And how could it possibly be? She’d been in the plane with the others. Mike shot her in the heart. There was no sign that she’d dug herself out. Hell, she couldn’t even have opened the door, the dirt had been packed against it so firmly. Yet she was not there. It was Houdini. It was magic. Or, it was a miracle.

  They landed at Rude’s ranch. He gave them a ride from there to where they’d parked their Jeep on the Horseshoe Creek Trail that morning. By the time they were ready to separate, it was well after midnight. They stood among the cottonwoods beside the trickle of the creek. The moonlight was so bright it was like silver fire burning shadows into the ground.

  “What do you have planned for tomorrow?” Rude asked.

  Cork shook his head. “I’m fresh out of ideas. I’ve followed every lead I can. I expect Lame Nightwind knows we’re on his trail, and I’m guessing he’ll stay vanished. From what you told me, Jon, he knows those mountains well enough he could disappear there and never be found.”

  “True. But he’d be leaving everything behind.”

  “With Ellyn Grant dead, maybe there’s nothing for him to come back to,” Parmer said.

  Rude crossed his arms and looked up at the moon. “You want my take on it, Lame won’t be satisfied until he’s dealt with whoever killed her. At the moment, he probably thinks that’s you.”

  “We won’t have to worry about Nightwind. Gully and Mike’ll be gunning for him. Another thread they need to cut,” Cork said.

  “I’d love to be there when those guys face off,” Parmer said. “Little Bighorn meets the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre.”

  Rude extended his hand in parting. “You need anything from me, Cork, just holler.”

  “Thanks, Jon.”

  Rude took off, heading home, and Parmer got in the Jeep. Cork stood by himself, staring at his shadow, black against the ground. It seemed to him he was looking into a bottomless hole, and he felt empty. He’d been so close to finding Jo, and then he’d lost her. Again. And he had no idea anymore where to look.

  “Cork?” Parmer called.

  After a long moment, Cork said, “I’m coming.”

  FORTY-ONE

  The next morning, the ring of the phone in his hotel room startled Cork awake. He fumbled with the receiver.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mr. O’Connor? This is Father Frank Grisham.”

  “Yeah, Father. Just a second.” Cork sat up and tried to blink the sleep from his eyes. The room was bright with sunlight. He looked at the clock on the nightstand. Eight thirty. “Okay, Father. What can I do for you?”

  “I need to speak with you. It’s urgent.”

  “Can we talk over the phone?”

  “No, this needs to be done here at St. Alban, face-to-face.”

  “All right, Father. I can be in Red Hawk in an hour.”

  The call had awakened Parmer. Cork told him what was up, and Parmer threw back his covers and got out of bed.

  Cork was dressed and had just finished brushing his teeth when Sheriff Kosmo called.

  “O’Connor, I thought you’d like to know this. The DCI team from Cheyenne started working the scene at the plane first thing this morning. They figured out why those passengers just sat there and allowed themselves to be shot. The masks that dropped and they put over their faces? The oxygen tanks that fed them had been switched for nitrogen. The DCI people tell me that would have knocked out anyone wearing a mask. Except for the pilot. His mask was fed from an oxygen tank. These people, O’Connor, they thought of everything.”

  “Has the DCI team found anything else?”

  “Nothing we don’t already know about, but it’s early. I still want to see you and Parmer here at the department for a formal statement.”

  “We’ll be there before lunch.”

  Parmer had already gone downstairs for the hotel’s complimentary continental breakfast. Cork joined him and grabbed coffee and a roll to go.
As they headed out to the mission in Red Hawk, he filled Parmer in on his conversation with Kosmo.

  “So, Jo was probably unconscious like the others,” Parmer said. “And if what Gully and Mike said is correct, she was also in the plane when they buried it. Did she wake up and get herself out somehow?”

  “If she did, why didn’t we see any evidence of her digging?” Cork replied. “And why didn’t I hear from her?”

  “Maybe she got out and got lost in the area. Out there, there’s nothing for a million miles.”

  “And the pixies filled in the hole she dug?”

  “I know. Nothing makes sense.”

  The morning sun was behind them. Cork was at the wheel. He looked west across the empty country toward the Absarokas, where a dark bank of clouds was pushing up from the back side of the range.

  “You happen to hear a weather report?” he asked Parmer.

  “Yeah, a front’s moving in. Rain down here, maybe a lot. Snow at the higher elevations.” He yawned and settled back against the head-rest. “Wonder what the priest wants to talk to you about.”

  “I’m thinking it has to do with Ellyn Grant. Maybe he knows something about her and Nightwind that might be useful. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  As they pulled into Red Hawk, they spotted Andy No Voice coming toward them in his Blazer. Both vehicles stopped as they came abreast, and No Voice leaned out his open window.

  “What are you doing here, O’Connor?”

  “Business with the priest at the mission. Any word on Lame Nightwind?”

  “Nothing. Kosmo and me made a visit to his place at daybreak. He wasn’t there, hadn’t slept in his bed. Possible, I suppose, that those two men who took out Ellyn Grant did the same to him and left his body for the coyotes somewhere, but I’d be surprised if anybody could get the drop on Lame Nightwind. More likely he’s lying low, trying to figure his next move.

  “I’ve got most of my force out patrolling the back roads, what of ’em we can. We might get lucky. I’m headed to the hospital in Hot Springs. They got Deputy Quinn there for observation. The DCI folks are going to interview him this morning. I want to be there for that.”