Jeremiah’s Revenge: A Liv Bergen Mystery

by Sandra Brannan

  She dragged her stare back to him. “Big. Smart. Strong. Unafraid. Skilled. Scary.” Tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes and down the sides of her plump cheeks.

  He reached across the table and held her hand. “I’m sorry. I know you’re scared.”

  “Terrified.”

  “Give me some descriptions of his physical appearance. Please.”

  She closed her eyes. “Lakotan … grey braids … six foot … two hundred twenty pounds … all muscle … arms the size of that WWE wrestler—The Prototype.”

  “John Cena?” Landers asked.

  She nodded.

  Streeter had no clue who they were talking about but got the idea. “Was he familiar to you?”

  She nodded and then shook her head. “No idea. It was dark. He turned the lights off. All I had was the moonlight, and it was casting light behind him, not on him. But something was familiar about him.”

  Streeter knew she was holding back. “What was familiar? Can you describe how he might have seemed familiar to you?”

  She sighed and opened her eyes. “I can’t say. It’s more like I should know him. He’s not someone I would have missed or forgotten. He has a … a presence.” Then she shuddered and mumbled, “Poor Julie. It was my fault.”

  “It was not your fault. You’re alive to help us. Both of you would be dead if you hadn’t told him.” He patted her hand and let go. “Anything else?”

  She shook her head. The two men rose when the female agent came back into the room. They thanked Norma and headed for the door.

  She called to them, “He cited something. A quote. Poetic.”

  Streeter paused, turned slowly, and saw her staring at him.

  “I don’t know, but that was also familiar somehow. He said something about plans for me. But the way he said it was like quoting from Shakespeare or Mary Oliver—or someone.”

  Streeter found that odd. A killer quoting Shakespeare?

  Landers asked, “Can you recall exactly what he said?”

  She shook her head. “I was terrified. Let me think.” She closed her eyes. “He said something like, ‘For I know my plan is not to harm you, but to give you hope.’ Something weird like that. It was the cadence, the order of the words he used that made it sound stiff, like a quote.”

  Streeter handed her his business card. “If you think of anything else, call me on my cell. Please.”

  AS THEY LEFT the Sacred Heart Catholic Church, Streeter pulled Alice Two Bears closer to him.

  Her tears were flowing freely as she buried her face against his chest. Ray Two Bears was stoic and stunned. They had made it through the ceremony, the three-day wake, and now the Mass—without a tear.

  Brushing the strands of her straight, shoulder-length hair away from her face, Alice had never appeared more fragile to Streeter than she did at this moment. He asked tenderly, “Are you going to be okay?”

  She drew in a deep breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “That was a beautiful Mass. It’s just that my son was such a wonderful man and so young.”

  Streeter patted her shoulder as they walked slowly to their cars.

  “Streeter, Fred and Pearl are struggling,” Alice said.

  They had looked terrible—but not nearly as haggard as Ray and Alice.

  “They look like they haven’t slept in days.”

  Jeff Two Bears was Fred and Pearl’s nephew, Ray and Alice’s son. Streeter found it touching that Alice appeared more concerned for others than for herself. That was just her way. And Ray’s.

  Streeter answered, “They probably haven’t.”

  They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they arrived at the car, Streeter embraced Ray. Neither let go. Ray sobbed silently into his shoulder. Friends from decades ago; sharing battles that could never be forgotten.

  The only way Streeter knew how to repay the Two Bears family was to find whoever had killed their son, Jeff.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to wait around until after the internment and the meal to give you a ride home?”

  “No, thank you,” Ray answered quietly.

  He glanced over at Alice who was preparing the colorful squares for the giveaway at the meal after the burial. Women embraced her repeatedly as she busied herself with the traditional work.

  Ray added, “I appreciate you being there for us today at church. But later, Alice doesn’t want you to stop her from …”

  His words trailed off.

  Streeter had no idea what Ray was going to say about what Alice would do later, but he knew Ray well enough not to press the issue. And he was far from being an expert on the Lakotan traditions. His instincts told him it had something to do with the razor-sharp cigar cutter Alice kept in her smock pocket and fiddled with all through the service.

  Was she planning on cutting her hair at Jeff’s gravesite? He hoped not.

  Ray added, “I know funerals aren’t your favorite.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Being here for you is important to me.”

  “I really needed you to be there with us through the Mass. Let us say our goodbyes, and we’ll meet you at home for supper.”

  Dumbfounded at being dismissed, Streeter stopped arguing with Ray. He glanced around, realizing he was the only white person remaining. The others had left after the Mass.

  They both turned as they heard the drums begin to beat and the wailing cries of song rise into the air. The masses flocked back inside the hallway to help prepare the meal for after the burial.

  Streeter shook Ray’s hand and headed for the car. He removed his dark jacket and threw it in the back seat. He called over to Ray and Alice, “It’s at least a hundred degrees today. Don’t forget to drink some water.”

  Alice offered a sad smile and a nod. Worry encircled her wide, deep-set eyes. Her hand tightened around the cigar cutter in her pocket.

  Streeter couldn’t imagine how Ray and Alice must feel losing a child. It must be unbearable—even worse than when he’d lost Paula.

  And they’d been there for him.

  So many of the Lakota people had been there for him. He owed them so much.

  Pulling away from the curb, Streeter avoided the memorial procession headed toward their cars from the church for the burial. He had arranged to meet Landers in ten minutes in front of Logan Walking Crow’s house.

  Streeter parked in front of the house next to Walking Crow’s. In no time, Landers arrived on foot, spotting Streeter behind the wheel of his cruiser.

  Streeter stepped out as he approached. Out of breath, Landers huffed, “The Walking Crows may not be here. The car’s gone.”

  “They’re probably at the meal. Seemed like the entire community was planning to attend after the burial.”

  They walked to the door, and Landers knocked.

  A young teen opened the screen and scowled when he saw them.

  “Are you Logan?”

  He nodded.

  Landers flipped open his credentials. “Agent Roger Landers. We’re here to talk to you about your sister Edith.”

  “She’s not here. She’s with my parents. At a meal.”

  Streeter offered the teen a smile. “Jeff Two Bears—I was there. Can we come in?”

  The young man hesitated and then opened the door wide for them.

  He sat down in a recliner, wound up the cords to a gamer control handset, and turned off the television. “I didn’t feel like going.”

  They hadn’t asked, but he must have felt a need to explain.

  “Been tough lately?” Streeter asked. The boy looked away. “We heard about what Long Soldiers did to your sister last Saturday night. Brave of Larry, standing up to him like that.”

  He glanced up at the two men and half smiled. “He’s a good friend.”

  “We heard he was just doing the same thing you did a few weeks ago. Said you were the first. Started a revolution. Encouraged others to do the same.”

  “I don’t know about that. I was stupid. Didn’t do it right. Larry did. A
nd it was Mr. Two Bears who started the revolution. I just did what I thought he’d do.”

  No way could this young man be responsible for the beating of Long Soldiers or Floyd Tice. Someone a lot angrier and less timid than this young man had done that damage—unless he had a split personality or something.

  “I heard Mr. Two Bears was an amazing teacher,” Streeter said.

  The boy leaned forward and sat on the edge of his recliner. He folded his hands with his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor. Streeter couldn’t see his face but noticed the drops of tears hit the hardwood beneath him.

  “I knew Mr. Two Bears when he was a boy—younger than you. You remind me of him.”

  The boy looked up, anger on his face. “I am nothing like him. Mr. Two Bears was brave. And wise. He was a hero.”

  Streeter nodded. “Yes, just like him. Humble. And brave enough to stand up to Long Soldiers.”

  He shook his head. “I wasn’t even brave enough to go to Mr. Two Bears’s meal.”

  “I understand. One of the most difficult things a man has to do in life is say goodbye.”

  The teen swiped at his tears with the back of his hand and then balled up his fist and rubbed his eyes. He drew in a breath and asked, “Why are you here?”

  “To ask you what you know.” Streeter didn’t sugarcoat anything. “Long Soldiers was in charge of CCG. Who’s in charge now that he’s in ICU?”

  He shrugged. “Jimmy, I suppose. But the whole world is upside down, now that Mr. Two Bears is gone. How could he do that? Why?”

  His face screwed into a knot of confusion and anger.

  “He didn’t,” Streeter said. “At least, I for one believe he didn’t do drugs. Someone killed him. But that’s between you and me, Logan.”

  His features softened. His mind was clearly working overtime. Slowly, he nodded.

  “And you’re going to help us find out who did this.”

  He sat up straight. “How?”

  “Jimmy Blue Owl. Do you think he had a reason to do all this? To take over?”

  He shook his head. “He likes being a big shot. But he’s too weak.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “He wouldn’t want to be boss. He doesn’t like accountability. He just likes the benefits—screwing around with all the girls.”

  The kid made sense. Streeter had to agree.

  “So what’s your guess?”

  “No guesses.”

  “For your sister Edith’s sake, do you know who beat Long Soldiers?”

  “Not me.”

  “I didn’t say you did.”

  “I’m not sad about it, if that’s what you’re asking. And I don’t know who did it.” The teen wrung his hands. Streeter waited, knowing he was contemplating whether to share what he knew. “Rumor is that the CCG man from Denver sent someone up to clean house—to shut things down and start over. I heard Jimmy’s laying low. Scared to death. No one’s seen or heard from him since Sunday.”

  Streeter exchanged a glance with Landers, who nodded.

  Landers asked, “Did you hear a name? Of the guy they sent from Denver?”

  Logan flicked a glance toward Landers and then at the clock and the door. It wasn’t locked.

  Streeter added, “It’s okay, Logan. No one will know what you’ve told us.”

  “I heard it’s a preacher man, a guy quoting out of the Bible. But he’s a freak. A big, scary-looking guy.”

  Streeter thought how similar his explanation was to Norma Chasing Dog’s.

  “That’s why I didn’t want to go to Mr. Two Bears’s Mass.” Tears streamed down the teen’s face. “My sister called me a coward, and my parents told me I was being disrespectful.”

  Streeter rose and approached the young man. He held out his arms. The boy rose and gave him a hug. “You are so much like your teacher, son. In life, we’re faced with difficult choices every day. And sometimes we don’t choose what others think we should. Mr. Two Bears had to make difficult choices that his parents didn’t agree with, too. Like teaching you at the high school.”

  The boy sobbed. “He was such a good teacher. He was a rock for all of us.”

  “And he would be honored for you to take his place. You need to be strong. Be that rock for the other kids through these difficult and dangerous times. Can you do that?”

  The boy held tight to Streeter and nodded, his cheek against Streeter’s chest.

  Streeter rubbed his back. “Good. Mr. Two Bears would be proud of you—for what you did a few weeks ago. And of Larry Standing Bull, for Saturday night. And for what you’re going to do from now on: Be strong.”

  Logan let go, drew in a big breath, and wiped his face with the sleeve of his T-shirt. Streeter handed him a card. “Call me if you hear anything else.”

  Once back in the car, Landers said, “A preacher? From Denver? What’s that about?”

  Streeter remembered what Norma Chasing Dog had said about quoting poetry. “Landers, can you get someone in the office to search biblical passages for what Norma said her attacker told her? About plans and her future, rather than being harmed or hurt … whatever she’d said?”

  “Good idea.” Landers placed the call.

  Within a few minutes, they were knocking on Jimmy Blue Owl’s door. An old woman approached, a fried chicken leg in her hand. She said nothing.

  Landers asked, “Is Jimmy home?”

  “Nope. He hasn’t been home since Sunday.”

  “Are you his grandmother?”

  “Great-grandmother.”

  “Do you know where we can find him?”

  “Try Long Soldiers’s place.”

  No way was he staying at Long Soldiers’s home. That place was crawling with BIA and FBI.

  “If not there, any other ideas where he might be?”

  She shrugged.

  They left a card in case he returned, bid her farewell, and headed back to Rapid City.

  Landers made a call to post a BOLO for Jimmy Blue Owl as a person of interest. Then he asked Streeter to drop him off at the office so Streeter could use his cruiser for the evening. He insisted he’d get a ride from his wife and that he’d call him if anyone found Blue Owl or if they discovered anything about the preacher.

  Streeter made his way to the Two Bears’s small home in North Rapid City.

  Staring out the window, he thought through everything he’d learned since arriving for the funeral. Jeff was left for dead in the parking lot of the new high school on Sunday with a band on his arm and a needle sticking from his vein.

  Jeff didn’t do drugs. Streeter would never believe that he had—no matter what the BIA and FBI found. He told them there was no way Jeff was a user. Although they argued that Streeter had been away from reservation work for decades and never knew Jeff Two Bears as an adult, Streeter argued back that he knew Jeff’s family.

  That was enough for Streeter. But he knew it wouldn’t be enough for the investigators. Paula had spent many hours caring for little Jeff when he was just a toddler. Jeff was the reason she wanted children. He was bright, curious, loving, and full of joy.

  Streeter prided himself on never sharing the details of his work with his wife at home. He wanted his home to be his own, not dominated by thoughts of work. What he did share with Paula was basic information that could have been learned from a local newspaper or from normal street gossip.

  He had always refrained from sharing the intimate details or the theory behind any of the cases he was working—not only to avoid thinking about work every waking hour, but also because he wanted to protect his wife from any harm that might come to her for ever knowing too much.

  But the Two Bears was an exceptional family, and that’s where he crossed the line. Ray Two Bears had become his best friend; Ray and Alice, his most trusted resources on cases he’d worked to keep the reservations safe. After Paula was murdered, Ray moved his family from Pine Ridge to Rapid City to be able to raise Jeff with their culture, but safely. He’d had enough
of being ate, or father, to so many. It was time for him to be the father to one.

  Streeter had no problem finding their house. The small, three-bedroom home on the north side of Rapid City had been easy to find.

  It was the white house with green trim two doors down from the infamous purple house on Maple Street.

  Many of the residents in North Rapid City used the purple house as a reference point to guide new visitors in the area. Ray had told him that the elderly woman in the purple house had once read somewhere that burglars avoided gaudily painted houses. She guessed burglars assumed the owners had bad taste, no money, or both.

  The house was still there, and he hoped the neighbor woman was, too, after all these years. That purple had truly been her best protection.

  Streeter retrieved the key from beneath the broken step, where it’d always been, and let himself into the quaint living room. It was decorated in warm, earthy colors with a long tan couch beneath the big bay window with white, lace-trimmed doilies on both armrests. The two rocking armchairs in brown floral print had the same covers on the armrests and were separated by an oak table with a lamp resting on yet another white lace doily.

  It hadn’t changed a bit since the last time he had been here—which was for Jeff’s graduation. Each end table, the mantle above the fireplace, the top of the television set, and even the windowsills were covered with religious relics and American Indian artwork, statuettes, and trinkets. On one wall hung a beautifully framed, crocheted United Sioux Tribes star. They’d likely receive a star blanket during the meal in memory of Jeff, and surely Alice and Ray would find a prominent place to display that.

  On another wall were photos taken at various powwows throughout the country: the entire Two Bears family dressed in traditional outfits from their Lakota heritage; Fred and Ray together in traditional breast plates; Alice and Pearl captured during a traditional dance, the hems of their deer skin dresses swinging to the beat; and Little Jeff Two Bears holding a ribbon after a fancy-dance competition in one photo and grinning during a grass dance in another.

  A third wall held several family photos in a collage arrangement: Ray and Alice Two Bears with their three adult children, a boy and two girls, and three grandchildren. On a third wall hung a simple, yet beautiful Catholic crucifix. Above the mantle was a large painting of the Madonna and child.