Death Etched in Stone

by C. M. Wendelboe

  But now, the town had gone back to sleep for the season. Including Deputy Sheriff Toby Head, whose face was obscured by the ball cap pulled down over his forehead as he sat parked beside the Ten Sleep Mercantile.

  Manny pulled up beside the sheriff’s truck, but Toby remained motionless. Manny got out and walked to the driver’s window. A young couple walking by paid Manny more attention than the sleeping deputy, as Manny rapped on the window. Sounds of snoring filtered through the window, and Manny rapped harder. Toby sat up straight. He rubbed his eyes as he pushed the cap to the back of his head and looked out the window, dazed. Manny badged him, and he sat up taller, rolling his window down. “Aunt Betty said you’d be along. I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”

  “Apparently I am.”

  “I wasn’t sleeping. Don’t you tell the sheriff I was sleeping.”

  “Sure,” Manny smiled. “You were just hibernating.”

  “Oh?” Toby said cautiously.

  “Sure. If you were sleeping, you wouldn’t have been able to spring into action if needed. By hibernating, you wake up refreshed. Ready to pounce on the bad guys.”

  “Sure,” Toby grinned. “That’s just what I was doing. Hibernating.” He set his cap back on his head and grinned. “Aunt Betty said you needed to talk with me?”

  Manny blew warm air into his hands and nodded to the passenger seat. “Mind?”

  “Sure. Climb in.”

  Toby snatched a potato chip bag from the seat and brushed crumbs onto an empty Twinkie wrapper on the floor. As Manny got in, he caught a glimpse of a blank report form crumpled under a soda cooler beside the console. “Now what can I help our FBI friends with?”

  Manny took out his pocket notebook and flipped to a blank page. “Last Tuesday you helped an Indian man change a flat tire.”

  “No,” Toby looked out the window. “That wasn’t me.”

  “Deputy Head, I wouldn’t want the sheriff finding out you were sleeping instead of hibernating.”

  Toby continued staring out the window.

  “Look, Deputy, I’m not here to get you into any trouble. I just want to find out about the guy. The deputy in Worland said you came onto some guy in a nice car with a flat tire.”

  Toby dropped his head. “I didn’t call in ’cause it was late. And it’s a big pain in the ass to make out an incident report on something that simple. I told the sheriff before, they’re a waste of time—”

  “The guy?” Manny pressed.

  Toby let his breath out. “He was halfway up Ten Sleep Canyon. 10-46 by the side of the road. His tire flatter than the job market.”

  “Indian?”

  Toby nodded. “He was going ape shit, kicking the tire, standing there in a tee shirt yelling at that fancy Lincoln like he expected an answer. Ripped off his hat and tossed it on the ground. Damn fool freezing his head off. When I pulled up, he slammed the trunk and kicked the tire again. Pissed ’cause there wasn’t a spare. Who the hell drives a new car without a spare?”

  “What was his name?” Manny asked, pen poised over the notebook.

  Toby shrugged. “I never got it. I saw no reason to. All I did was use my Handyman to jack that car up, and we took the tire into Ten Sleep to the gas station. It took longer than I wanted, ’cause Charlie and his new missus was . . . you know. Anyways, it took Charlie a while to put his britches on and come down to fix the tire.”

  Manny’s jaw tightened. “And you never called it into dispatch?”

  “We’re a little laid back out thisaway, Agent.”

  Manny took a breath to calm himself. “Didn’t it seem odd that a new car didn’t have a jack?”

  Toby grinned wide. “I asked the guy that very question. He said Lincolns don’t come with a spare or a jack.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “Hey,” Toby said, “the guy had an honest face.” He reached for the bag of chips from the floorboard. “Look, Agent Tanno, I did a good thing for the guy. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  Manny handed Toby the photo of Tony Charging Bear. “Is this the guy?”

  Toby put the dome light on and studied the picture. “It could be. This looks like a lot of guys from the rez.” He handed it back. “What you need this feller for?”

  On the off-chance Deputy Eagle Eye remembered something, Manny explained about Johnny Apple.

  Toby laughed and tipped the last of the chips into his mouth. “Let me get this straight: You think your croaker was dead in the trunk of that car,” he brushed crumbs from the front of his uniform shirt, “the killer had a flat, and just waved Officer Friendly here over? Then went calmly along to get his flat fixed?”

  “That’s it, in a nutshell,” Manny answered.

  “What do you think I am, dumb?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  “What’s that?” Toby asked.

  Manny waved it away and opened the door. “Is there anything you remember about the guy or his ride that might help?”

  Toby snapped his fingers. “I think it was a rent-a-car.” He closed his eyes, and his finger traced something in his mind. “I saw a Hertz sticker on the trunk.”

  “That’s it?”

  Toby beamed. “That’s it.”

  “Okay,” Manny said. “You can go back to hibernating.”

  Chapter 30

  Manny pulled out of Ten Sleep and started the long, high climb through Ten Sleep Canyon. He’d been through here once, driving the switchbacks and steep roads that wound through the most beautiful ride in the Big Horns. Moonlight shone through aspen trees and lodge pole pines towering over the occasional power pole. A thousand feet down, a lush valley was covered by a light blanket of snow.

  Fifteen minutes out of Ten Sleep, Manny flipped his phone open. He had no bars and pocketed the phone as he slowed to twenty miles per hour. He continued on the switchbacks that slowly brought him up to the top of the mountain overlooking Ten Sleep Canyon below. At a scenic overlook, Manny pulled to the side of the road and doused his lights. Even though no other car was in sight, he didn’t want to be illuminated as he got rid of the afternoon’s coffee.

  Finished, he climbed back in and warmed his hands on the vent before checking for bars. This time his phone came to life and he punched in McDonald’s number. “I’m convinced this is the way Johnny’s killer drove after he left the bath house.” He explained about Deputy Head’s contact with an Indian and his broke-down Lincoln.

  “Only logical route he could have taken, then,” McDonald said. “For the record, I’ve checked half the places between here and the Nebraska border, and no one’s seen anything that sticks out. You all right?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “Just checking. You don’t sound all right. Give me an update if things change. I’m driving back to Lander.”

  “Just where I’d like you to be.”

  “How’s that?” McDonald asked.

  “Lander. And Riverton. Deputy Head thought the guy’s car might have been a Hertz rental. Check with the rental companies when you get home, and see if we get lucky.”

  Manny disconnected and called Willie. “You sound out of breath,” Manny said.

  Willie’s voice became muffled as he cupped his phone. “I’m at the bridal boutique with Doreen. She thinks she has to order one of everything for our wedding. We’re looking at embroidered napkins. She got positively giddy when we decided on personalized nut cups for the guests to take home.”

  “Wish I were there,” Manny lied.

  “If you’d have hopped in the plane, you’d be home by now. And be happily shopping with us.”

  “If I’d have hopped in your plane, I’d have puked all over the inside. And I wouldn’t have gotten attacked myself. And I wouldn’t have learned where Johnny’s killer drove after he killed him.”

  “Attac
ked? I can’t leave you alone for one day.”

  Manny explained about someone trying to drown him at the State Bath House. “I think Tony might be good for it. Did you have any luck getting a hold of Neville?”

  “I called all day and only got the answering machine saying he was in court. If I don’t hear back from him by tomorrow morning, I’ll tell Lieutenant Looks Twice I need to go into Rapid for a haircut. I’ll camp out at that barber shop beside Neville’s office until he comes back. We’ll find out where Tony is.”

  Manny rubbed the hair on his neck just now growing back. “Well, don’t get suckered into a trim.”

  “Your haircut is the only advice I need,” Willie said.

  “And while you’re shopping in Rapid . . . ”

  “I feel it coming,” Willie said. “Go ahead. Give me the shaft.”

  “I need you to start checking the records of Hertz rental agencies.”

  “Which one?”

  “All of them,” Manny answered. “McDonald is calling in Riverton and Lander. Start with the northern hills Hertz branches and work your way south.”

  “Just what I need to do with my bride-to-be: police work.”

  Before Willie hung up, he made sure Manny was feeling all right. “I’m good,” Manny lied. But he didn’t feel right. He hadn’t since leaving Legend Rock, and certainly not since someone had tried killing him. He put his phone into the car charger and glanced at his back trail where he’d just come from. Moonlight reflected for the briefest of moments on someone driving the switchbacks darked out.

  Manny squinted and rolled down his window for a better look. A pickup drove slowly, headlights off, the driver inching along the snow-packed winding road. Brakes lights tapped occasionally and for the briefest time before going dark again.

  The driver—if he had been following Manny since Ten Sleep—would know just about where he was. And he would see Manny’s brake lights when he put the car into gear. But he had no other choice. Confronting the driver here, out in the open with no cover, could prove fatal. He turned on his lights and slammed the car into gear.

  He drove as fast as he could, fishtailing on the black ice road, hoping the truck following him had to go slower without its lights. He grabbed his phone and dialed 9-1-1, asking the dispatcher to connect him with the Johnson County Sheriff’s Office. If he could make it to Buffalo where he’d have help, he’d feel safer. After explaining who he was and that he thought someone with bad intentions was following him in a pickup, the dispatcher said a deputy would set up by the Veterans’ Home coming into Buffalo and stop the driver.

  Manny closed the phone and continued watching the back trail in his mirrors. The truck driver turned his headlights on, the charade ended. High beams reflected in Manny’s rear view mirror, blinding him, and he turned the mirror up.

  Manny sped up, the car’s tires skidding off the road. Manny wrestled with the wheel, and the car vaulted back onto the road. But the truck driver had closed the distance. Whoever the driver was he’d done this a time or two.

  Bright lights flicked in Manny’s outside mirror a heartbeat before he felt the impact. His car fishtailed on the slippery pavement. Manny fought the wheel for control. The truck, now down to one light, hit him again. And again.

  The wheel jerked, snapping Manny’s hand. The car veered toward the ditch. The truck drove alongside Manny. It slammed into his door, his bumper, forcing him off the road. A thousand feet below, snow-tipped trees shone in the moonlight, and Manny imagined the rental upside down, smashed—along with his broken body—beyond recognition.

  He felt the blood warming his neck, felt his anger rise, and he jerked the wheel hard into the truck. The front of his car slammed into the pickup box. Manny drove his car where the truck had been a moment before, and it spun out of control. It whipped around two full revolutions like a dog chasing its tail, and headed for the ditch opposite the drop off. The truck’s tires caught gravel at the side of the road, and flipped onto its side. It slid down the shallow ditch until it hit a snow fence erected to keep out blizzards from the roadway.

  The rental’s ABS brakes pumped at an alarming rate as Manny steered the car towards the ditch, bleeding off speed. His car dove nose first into the ditch. The air bags inflated, and Manny closed his eyes tight, riding it out. The truck had struck the snow fence and stopped. Manny quickly extricated himself from the air bag and threw the door open. He scrambled up the bank toward the pickup, gun in hand, grateful for the light of the moon.

  Red and blue rotating lights neared even as Manny ran for the truck. He rounded the corner of the cab, and cautiously peeked inside. A man sat slumped over, windshield broken. Shards of glass stuck into his face. One wrist lay in his lap at a grotesque angle. But the driver was breathing and moaning.

  Manny lowered his gun, his arm shaking. Suddenly, his aches from the bath house seemed mundane compared to what just happened. He holstered his gun and yanked on the door, but it had jammed shut.

  Police lights approached at a rate faster than Manny would have driven, and the Johnson County Sheriff’s truck slid to an expert stop beside the overturned truck. A large deputy clambered from his patrol unit, gun hand leading as he half-slid on his butt down into the ditch. He shined his light into the cab and holstered his gun when he saw the driver’s condition. “You know this fella?”

  Manny stood on tiptoes and followed the deputy’s flashlight. The man in the picture still in Manny’s pocket lay upside down, blood clotting in the cold from a hundred tiny glass cuts and a bleeding, broken nose. The driver squinted at the light and used his one good hand to shield his eyes from the flashlight. “Tony Charging Bear. From Pine Ridge.”

  The deputy stepped back. “Well, I don’t think our man Tony will be any trouble until the fire department’s Jaws of Life cuts him out.”

  The deputy called for fire rescue and an ambulance on his portable radio and motioned to Manny’s face and neck. “Looks like you got cut up yourself. You can sit in my truck and wait for paramedics.”

  Manny shook his head and leaned back against Tony’s truck to steady his legs. “All the same to you, it took me long enough to find this man, I’d just as soon not take any chance on losing him now.”

  Chapter 31

  “I’ll be right outside the door,” the Johnson County deputy said. “But I doubt Charging Bear’s going to be going anywhere soon.”

  Manny waited until a nurse walked by the room before asking, “Did Tony tell you where he got the truck?”

  “Sure, he was a wealth of information. He said he stole it. Said ‘kiss my ass’ if I thought he would say from whom.”

  “No hit on the plates?”

  “There were no plates,” the deputy said. “And the serial number didn’t show stolen.”

  Manny thanked him, and entered Tony’s room. He lay in his hospital bed with his head raised, monitors above his head beeping. A green flashing light counted out his heart beats with a nauseous “blip.” One wrist remained handcuffed to the hospital railing, the other one broken and in an air splint on the bed beside him. “You want to sign my cast?” he raised his splinted arm as high as he could before easing it back down.

  “Not today.” Manny scooted a chair close to the bed, and pulled out his rights card. He read Tony his Miranda rights, and jotted the time and date in his pocket notebook.

  “What do I need my rights read for? The wreck was an accident. Damned icy roads. You’ll never prove squat.”

  “I don’t care much about the wreck, although an assault on a federal officer is the hardest time you could do.” Manny knew McDonald would be hot to charge Tony for the assault in state court. But he didn’t tell Tony that.

  “Why worry about federal time,” Tony forced a laugh, “when Deputy Do-Right there said he’s also charging me with driving without a license.” He rattled the handcuffs against the bed frame. “Way I figured
it, the deputy swiped it, ’cause I had it last week when I bought beer in Rapid.”

  “I couldn’t care less,” Manny said. “I want to know where you were today at about five o-clock?”

  “Make you a deal,” Tony ran his tongue over his split upper lip, and itched from a dozen bandages stuck to his face from windshield glass. “I’ll tell you where I was, if you tell me why you went to see Aunt Della today.”

  “Did she call you and tell you I was on Wind River today?” Manny asked.

  “I haven’t talked with her today.”

  Manny filled a glass from the ice water pitcher beside Tony’s bed, and sipped it, slowly, drawing his question out. “But you did talk with Johnny the day before he died. You even took a trip to Wind River to see him.”

  “Bullshit. I haven’t visited Uncle Johnny for months.”

  “He left a message on your answering machine.”

  “He didn’t—”

  “Wanted to meet you at Fort Washakie.” Manny sipped his water. “I’m thinking, you came to Wind River—you did that often—with the specific intent of killing Johnny.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You even had lunch with Henry last week. I’m thinking you would have killed Johnny at Legend Rock if that Japanese tourist bus hadn’t come along.”

  “Just what the hell are you rambling on about?”

  “I’ll bet it pissed you off that you had to drive him all the way to the State Bath House and drown him,” Manny baited.

  Tony laughed, and his hand shot to his bandaged head. “I’ve never been to the State Bath House in my life.”

  “The State Bath House clerk IDed you from a photo,” Manny lied. “Driving over the mountains right now just to identify you in person.”