by Laura Kaighn
Silently, amid the wide eyes and wary stares of afternoon pedestrians, the four traversed the streets to the double-storied police station. Seeing such apprehension, Vesarius swallowed. “When do I hear the evidence against me?” the warrior asked as he was shoved through the station’s widening front doors.
“Soon enough,” came the blunt reply. Still bound, Vesarius was escorted into an antique, barred holding cell. The lock promptly clanked shut behind him. “Now, don’t cause us any trouble, Vesar,” the arresting officer warned before striding off. “Or we’ll stun you for sure.”
Left alone, Vesarius reluctantly settled onto his bench-style bunk with a sigh. He leaned back against the cold concrete wall then winced an eye at the twinge from his left side. The security straps holding the Vesar’s arms also pinched his blood flow. After wriggling his fingers several times, Vesarius resorted to standing to restore the circulation to his upper extremities. As he paced about the two by three meter stall, the warrior contemplated what the arresting officer had said.
Danny Hawthorne was dead, murdered last night. To the Vesar, the previous evening was a haze, however. All he remembered were impressions: snatching tree limbs, tripping boulders, Father’s golden spirit eyes, someone helping him back through the woods. Vesarius recalled Dorinda had been with him, at least part of the time. But if she had witnessed the murder, would she have not said something? While Vesarius had not been fully cognizant, he did possess the warrior’s Fury. From within his crazed state, had he killed Danny before Dorinda had caught up with him? Settling back onto the hard bunk’s edge, Vesarius grunted in affirmation. Yes, he was quite capable of murder.
“Vesar?”
Raising brooding eyes to the grated door of his holding cell, Vesarius noticed a lone figure standing on the opposite side. His hands shoved into deep pockets, the man was yet another stranger. Young Hawthorne had been the only person here to offer the warrior friendship.
Vesarius did not care for gawkers, least of all this scruffy-haired human slouched in the drab brown trousers and black turtleneck. “I have no desire to speak with you.”
“I’m your counsel, Vesar. You have to talk to me. I need you to tell me exactly what your movements were from sunset to sunrise this morning.” The man paused as if reluctant to continue. His gruff voice was even more gravelly when he did. “I need to come in. Do I have your assurance of my safety?” Even from this distance, Vesarius could smell the stench of nicotine on the man’s breath and clothes.
Shrugging as best he could under his nylon bindings, Vesarius affirmed, “I will not harm anyone who is here to help me. I am Tankawankanyi, first officer of the Alliance vessel Pompeii.”
The man entered the cell with a pout. Closing the gate, he nodded reassuringly to the attendant guard beyond before confronting his larger client. “Gulliver Cohen,” he introduced, plucking a mini datapad from his trouser pocket. “Police assistant attorney out of Utica. I arrived late this morning after getting the call about the murder. They told me a young man hadn’t returned home last night. He’d been out on patrol for the wildlife warden. A search team found his truck along Route 28. Then they found his body.” Cohen readied his slim stylus over the diminutive recorder prepared to take notes. “Now, what do you know?”
“I know nothing, Mr. Cohen. Last night is mostly a blur. I was … ill.”
Sitting down gingerly on the bunk edge as far from his mahogany charge as possible, Cohen asserted, “Then you remained indoors all last night. Can this woman they told me stayed with you corroborate your story?”
Vesarius shook his head, fidgeting. “No, I was not indoors all night. And yes, Dorinda Tan ... Jade was witness to my actions. Most of them,” he added, lowering his chin. “I said I was ill, Mr. Cohen.” With a reluctant swallow, Vesarius reconnected his gaze. “More correctly, I am healing from an injury. I was outside at sunset last evening attending a small pit fire, heating a pot of healing herbs when ... Something went wrong.”
“Wrong, Mr. Tankawani?” Cohen’s chestnut-tinted eyes narrowed. He scrawled something on his pad. “Explain, please. I can’t defend you nor advise you of your own defense until I know all the facts. Start again. At sunset you were ...”
“Outside the cottage,” Vesarius began, and explained to Gulliver Cohen the mechanics of his healing meditation. “My mistake was in not remembering a sample of another, experimental herb given to me by the Pompeii’s botanist, Dr. Matsumoto. When the wolf tore open my herb packs, everything was scattered. I mixed the herbs together again into a single bag, forgetting the Kinnip was there as well. This herb had not yet been tested on a Vesar.” In recollection Vesarius’ spine shuddered. “It is a dangerous depressant-stimulant.”
“Wait a minute,” Cohen urged, his stylus stalled and thrust toward the warrior. “How can a drug act both as a depressant and a stimulant? I’m no doctor, Mr. Tankwani, but even an untested herb could do one or the other, not both.”
Vesarius negated with a sideways jerk of his chin. “This herb – and it will require further testing – depresses the body’s functioning while heightening the senses. I was wobbly, uncoordinated. Weak. Yet I was able to talk with my father last night, Mr. Cohen. He has been dead nearly a decade. His spirit visited me. Together we resolved an old conflict.”
“How could you know what this herb did to you? You couldn’t have been in full control of your faculties if you claim to have seen a ghost. You were high, Mr. Tankawani. Hallucinating.”
Frustrated at his forced confession, Vesarius hopped from the bunk. “Huaj´im!” Gulliver Cohen visibly recoiled into the wall. “Forgive me,” the Vesar apologized regarding the paler man. “The harness is constrictive. My arms were starting to buzz.”
“Oh, I ... I see,” Gulliver mumbled wiping his flushed cheek and sweaty forehead with one palm.
Vesarius faced his counsel. “No, you do not, Mr. Cohen. I was not hallucinating. A Vesar holds a close bond to his kin. Even after death there is a spiritual tie. I did speak with my father last night. I believe it was the herb that allowed me to see him clearly.”
Leaning toward the Vesar, Cohen suggested, “Describe him, then. What did your father look like?” The man’s voice was pitched higher, mocking.
Vesarius considered his advocate with distrust. Even if he was honest with Cohen, would he be believed? “A spirit’s eyes are golden starlight,” he submitted. “Its shape, dark like night. My father was this. His voice was deep and gravelly as I remember it from childhood.” Vesarius’ boots tromped across the cell as he paced. “This much I do remember. What I did and what I said, however, are a haze to me.”
“OK.” Cohen shook his head at his notepad’s collected data. “Well, I’m not sure I can defend you on such slim facts, Vesar. The police will soon have irrefutable evidence against you.” The man scowled and slid his stylus into its datapad slot. “The sheriff and his CSI team are scouring the woods and your rental cottage as we speak. I’m curious to know what more they’ll find.”
Sighing Vesarius halted his exercise to regard his counsel through a stern glare. “They will find a disheveled bed, a torn sweater, damp towels, fish scales but not much else.” He pursed his lips at a given fact. “Mr. Cohen, Danny Hawthorne was a bright and enthusiastic young human. I liked him. I would have never harmed him, or anyone for that matter. Not willingly. We Vesar are not savages. Our honor prevents us from killing for sport or without reason.”
“I’m just supposed to believe you?” the Utica assistant attorney balked. Cohen pointed at Vesarius’ face. “How did you get that cut to your cheek? Young Hawthorne died in a struggle. Did Danny fight back and injure you?”
“No,” Vesarius assured, then grimaced at the entire truth. “I … do not remember.”
“Vesar kill for a reason, you say. What about for revenge, or because of honor? Are these reasons to kill?” Cohen probed.
Straightening Vesarius forced his voice not to show his annoyance. “A Vesar has a certain right to revenge, as
when family honor has been taken unlawfully. Dishonor is a most serious offense to my people.”
“Did Danny Hawthorne dishonor you, Mr. Tankwanyi?”
Vesarius blinked. He should have anticipated that question. “No. Young Hawthorne in fact honored me with an offering of warm clothes.”
“Wasn’t there a good reason for Danny to be a threat, to be your enemy? What about the deer you poached?”
Narrowing his stare, Vesarius wondered how Cohen had learned of the deer. He considered whether this human was truly looking for honesty or deception. A bluff? Vesarius gave his attorney the only honorable answer he could voice. “No, Mr. Cohen. There was no reason. I mourn young Hawthorne’s senseless death as I would a fellow Pompeii crewmember.”
“Very well.” With a grunt of finality, Gulliver Cohen stood and circumvented his way to the cell door. As he tucked the datapad back into his trousers, the man’s wary eyes never left the warrior. “That’ll be all for now, Mr. Vesar. Please try to remember more of your exploits. I’ll talk with you again.” With the help of the prison guard, Vesarius’ counsel left him, defenseless.
Chapter 17: Heart’s Defender
“It’s all so improbable, Sergeant Greer,” Dorinda argued leaning over the policeman’s desk. The dark-skinned officer was tilted back in his chair fingering his writing stylus, datapad in lap. “Yes, he was out of his head last night, but he wasn’t violent. He didn’t kill anyone.”
“Well, he’s the only Vesar in this park.” Greer twirled the stylus in one hand. “Now, how long was he out of your sight, Miss Jade?”
Shrugging Dorinda measured the time in her mind. “No more than twenty minutes.”
“And how far do you estimate he got from the cottage in that time?” Greer was scrutinizing her while she paced back and forth in his office.
“Once I found him, it took over an hour to get us back to the house. But that’s because Sarius couldn’t walk very well. He was uncoordinated, stumbling.” Despite the morning’s more intimate exercise, Dorinda’s lower spine was still stiff from the effort. “I’m not sure, Sergeant. I didn’t keep track of the time or the distance. I was too concerned about getting out of the woods.”
“And away from that wolf you said you saw?”
“Yes. It was so strange to see him talk to it,” Dori admitted feeling her hackles rise at the memory. “The wolf seemed to understand him. You could almost believe it was his father’s spirit.”
The officer leaned forward in his chair placing the stylus and pad down on his immaculate desktop. “You don’t really believe that nonsense, do you, Miss Jade?”
Dorinda returned the officer’s skeptical glower. “Sgt. Greer, I was married to a Cherokee man once. He believed in animal spirit guides. Perhaps we’re simply closing our minds to a greater truth, a higher awareness that the American Indians and Vesar never lost.”
Greer folded his hands. “Say this wolf did understand what Cmdr. Tankawankanyi was saying. If he could communicate with it, could he have also commanded it?”
“You mean like I do with Noah. With Kin Companions? I don’t know.” Then Dorinda’s eyes widened in distrust. “You think Vesarius told the wolf to kill Danny? That’s crazy!”
Rising from his chair and leaning forward over his desk, Greer jammed his fists among the stacks of data disks there. “You did say he was out of his head last night.” When Dorinda fumed, he advised sternly, “Do not defend him, Miss Jade. Otherwise, you may be seen as his accomplice.” Greer punched his desk. “The Vesar did have time to kill young Hawthorne.”
“Sergeant, the wolf was caught in a leg-hold trap until Vesarius freed it. Neither the wolf nor Vesarius could’ve killed Danny.”
“Perhaps not then. But afterward, the Vesar directed the creature to find and kill the one who had set that trap. Danny’d been trying to catch that loner for days. It was starving. People around here were concerned it would decide to look for slower-moving prey – a child or even a hunter.”
Shaking her head, Dorinda waved the officer off. “This is all supposition. You’re not talking science. The wolf was sick,” she argued. “Why not bait it into a tender trap? Whose decision was it to kill the wolf, anyway?”
Greer flinched. He must not have expected Dorinda’s insight. “Dr. John Cooper, in Warden Tom Hawthorne’s absence. He suggested young Danny set out traps to catch the animal.”
“Spring traps are a cruel solution, Sergeant. Who is this Dr. Cooper? Certainly not a veterinarian.”
“No, he’s a local land developer.”
Eyes narrowing Dorinda blurted, “Land development? He’s building in a state forest?”
“Of course. He has the proper permits from Albany,” the officer defended. “Some date back to his ancestor’s plans to reorganize the blue line for increased commercial taxation in this region.” Greer waved her continued dissention away. “Dr. Cooper’s brought prosperity to the Adirondacks. Times have changed. Surviving here’s a challenge. Right now, Cooper’s building two new casinos up near Blue Mountain and Indian Lake.”
“Wait!” Dori interrupted. Her mind ground gears to her own past. “Cooper. His great-great-grandfather was the sheriff for Herkimer County. Harlan was interested in land development too.” The implications of Greer’s words had only begun to skim her shocked consciousness.
Greer’s eyes tapered in suspicion. “Now, how would you know that, Miss Jade?”
“I, uh ... I know this area, Mr. Greer, its history,” she admitted. “The residents of Old Forge have always tried to keep the lake region free from overdevelopment. Michael Tanner for one. He fought for the survival of songbirds here. The last things he wanted to see were more hotels and tourist traps.”
“Wait a minute, Miss Jade,” Greer barked with a threatening forefinger. “You one of those tree huggers? I know my local history too. Old criminal case files.” When Dorinda held her defiant chin, Greer continued, “Tanner was a nosey environmentalist murdered by a group of Herkimer landowners who wanted their properties protected. No one was ever prosecuted, and the file’s been closed for a century.” Greer shook his head. “Dr. Cooper’s a legitimate businessman. His record’s clean. He doesn’t need outsiders coming in and stirring up trouble. Nobody does. Now, can we stick to the subject of the Vesar, please? Miss Jade?”
“Murdered? Michael?” Dorinda raised stricken eyes to the dark officer opposite the desk. “Sergeant, may I see those police records? Michael Tanner was ... family. ... Related to my Cherokee husband.”
Greer was negating again, his neck veins popping. “I told you, Miss Jade. We don’t want trouble. This town’s peaceful. The police mean to keep it that way – murderous Vesar or not.” Sidling around the desk, Greer tugged at the holster encircling his slim beltline. “Now, I need you to record a complete statement about last night. Just what you told me, but I want specifics on the Vesar and the wolf.” Taking Dorinda’s arm, Greer steered her to the door. “The sheriff’s got people out there now looking for the animal. I’m sure we’ll find traces of both the Vesar’s and young Hawthorne’s blood on its coat. Once we’ve all the evidence, from the woods and that cottage, a hearing can proceed.” They now stood outside his office. “Down the hall, Miss Jade. Two doors on your right,” the sergeant informed gesturing. “Just past the main desk. Mrs. Joyce Tupper will take your statement.”
“Yes, Officer,” Dorinda mumbled and continued on from his gentle push. When she reached the reception counter, however, Dorinda stopped. She checked for Greer’s absence before asking the woman there, “Excuse me, young lady. Can you direct me to the holding cells? I’m curious about the Vesar.” Dorinda shrugged with a mischievous grin. “Don’t even know for sure what one looks like. Is he really red?”
The young woman on the other side of the reinforced booth grinned. “Oh, he’s been getting a lot of attention. Yeah, he’s red. Redder than an Indian. But if you want a peek, you better hurry. The sheriff’s ordered him moved to a high security cell in the basement. Says he�
��s way too dangerous.”
“Around the corner and down the hall?” Dorinda asked pointing to her right.
“Yeah, but this corner, along the south wing,” the woman answered gesturing to Dorinda’s left.
Chuckling Dorinda fibbed, “I’m bad with directions. Need a compass to find the sunrise in my own backyard. Thanks.” Shuffling past the front desk, Dorinda ducked back beyond Greer’s office then made a left at the end of the hall just as the woman had gestured. As she tiptoed past a row of empty stalls, Dorinda whispered knowing the Vesar’s sharp ears would hear her. “Sarius? Where are you? We’ve got to get you out of here.”
“Here, Green Eyes,” came the Vesar’s hushed voice from the next cell. “My guard just stepped away.” Vesarius was at the barred door, still bound by the security harness. “What is wrong?”
“Long story,” Dorinda replied with a frown. “The police believe you’re guilty.” She noticed her friend’s constrictive bindings. “Let’s get these straps off first.”
“My blade.” The warrior raised his boot up to the half grated door.
Just able to glide her slim hand in through the narrow bars, Dorinda fingered the jeweled hilt hidden in the Vesar’s boot sheath. “Good thing they didn’t scan you coming in,” she whispered extracting the weapon. “No fancy metal detector at the front door.” Vesarius turned around, and Dori carefully sliced through the snug binding along one arm. “We need to contact Michael. Somehow. I can have Noah start the hover. What else?”
Vesarius pivoted to take the knife from her. He wasted no time in extricating himself from the rest of his restraints. “Get outside. Tundra is bringing my pack. This could get messy,” he warned, replacing his blade.
