“OK. I’ll give her a call.”
I hit speed-dial as we walked around the station. Susan’s voicemail picked up and I left a brief message.
When we were heading out of the village, I asked, “What’s the story with the boy? How long’s he been gone?”
“Swifty was last seen yesterday morning.”
“Swifty?”
“Daniel Swift. Everyone calls him Swifty. And the kid’s really a fast runner so the nickname fits two ways.”
“Has he run off before?”
“Not that his parents reported. He’s a good kid. Active in the Cherokee Boys Club. Never been in trouble that I know of.”
“The Cherokee Boys Club is where Jimmy Panther worked.”
Romero considered the connection. “Yeah. But most of the tribal kids are involved there in one way or another. Swifty excelled at sports so he’s on every team.”
“Who are we seeing first?”
“Eddie Wolfe. He’s working a four-to-midnight shift at the box factory. I don’t know how long you’ll need with him, but we could go as late as three thirty before he leaves for work.”
“That should be plenty of time. And I don’t want to hold up your meeting with the boy’s parents.”
“Thanks. But I’ll be surprised if Swifty hasn’t returned home by the time we get there.”
Again, we wound up deep in a mountain cove, but still on the reservation. A strip of terraced land held about ten mobile homes. Some were singles, others double-wides. A few had window boxes with late-blooming marigolds and painted latticework around the foundation while the rest looked liked they’d been hauled into place and left without any landscaping improvement.
“Are these all rentals?” I asked.
“Some. Some are occupied by owners. No one possesses land on the reservation because it’s all a federal trust, but there’s a housing shortage, what with outsiders moving here to work in the casino.”
“My wife and I walked through it earlier. I didn’t see many Cherokee there.”
“A lot of us like outside work. When you grew up in the mountains, standing behind a roulette wheel’s not particularly appealing. And then there’s the per capita.”
“That’s the casino’s profit sharing?” I asked.
“Yes. Twice a year one half of net gaming income is distributed to about fourteen thousand tribe members. Payments average over seven thousand dollars per person a year. Not a ton of money, but it provides a jolt to our economy every June and December. Banks have to bring in extra tellers and lots of cash.” Romero pulled in front of one of the trailers and parked beside a shiny red Camaro. He turned toward me. “We go on alert because it’s the perfect time to knock off one of the branches whose vaults are overflowing the day or two before payout. If you want to moonlight, you could pick up security work during per capita week.”
“Thanks, but Tommy Lee keeps me busy enough.” I unsnapped my seatbelt. “Still, seven thousand is way below the poverty level.”
Romero pointed to the Camaro. “Eddie Wolfe’s in his late twenties. I bet he bought that car out of his coming-of-age trust.”
“What’s that?”
“When I said all tribe members get per capita, I meant everybody. Even minors. Some of the kids coming out now have trust funds of over one hundred fifty thousand dollars. They qualify to collect at age eighteen if they’ve graduated from high school and have taken a money management class. Or they get the money at age twenty one with no strings attached. Not all of them make good choices with their nest egg.”
“Eddie Wolfe’s employed,” I said.
Romero opened his door. “And so am I. Let’s get to work.”
Stairs of treated lumber led up to a front door located in the middle of the single-wide trailer. It opened before we could reach the steps and Eddie Wolfe stepped out on the small landing.
During our previous encounters, I’d not paid him much attention. Panther had been the focal point on both occasions and Eddie had blurred into the background. I guessed he was younger than Jimmy, probably around Skye’s age. His hair hung to the collar of a green flannel shirt, and his black jeans rode low on his scrawny hips. A pair of black ankle boots were laced over the ends of his pant legs, and I suspected their rounded steel toes were part of a mandatory safety wardrobe for his job.
“May we come in?” Romero asked.
Eddie stared at me, clearly surprised by my arrival. “What’s he doing here?”
“Deputy Clayton’s heading the investigation.”
“I know. Skye told me, but I thought I was just talking with you.”
I stepped forward. “Detective Sergeant Romero will be present during our whole conversation, but unless you don’t want to find who killed your friend, you have no reason not to talk to me.”
Eddie Wolfe wiped his hands on his thighs. “No one wants to catch that son of a bitch more than me. Come in.”
I followed Romero into the mobile home. A waist-high counter divided the center space into a living room and a rudimentary kitchen. A MacBook Pro laptop sat on the counter and two stools were tucked beneath it. The screen saver was a series of Indian artifacts drifting across the display in random motion.
The living room had just enough space for a sofa and a recliner. On the far wall hung what must have been a fifty-inch flat screen TV. The frozen image of some video war game showed we’d interrupted Eddie in the middle of a fantasy battle.
“Take a seat. I’ll get an extra chair for me.” He retrieved one of the stools and placed it between the sofa and recliner. The taller height brought Eddie to the eye level of Romero seated on the sofa, but would have left me looking up at him.
“I’m good to stand,” I said. “I’ve been in the car for hours.”
“Suit yourself.” He perched on the stool and looked at me.
Although he tried to appear calm, I saw the glisten of sweat on his upper lip. He rocked back and forth, waiting for me to begin. I stared at him until he glanced down at his hands.
“Well, you going to ask me something?” he mumbled.
“Like what?” From the corner of my eye, I saw Romero’s broad forehead wrinkle. He probably thought I had to be the all-time worst interrogator.
“Hey, man, you came to talk to me.”
“I came to listen,” I said. “What do you want to tell me?”
“I didn’t have anything to do with Jimmy’s death.”
“Because?”
“Because I was at work.”
“Not because he was your friend?”
Eddie flushed. “Of course, he was my friend. What kind of question is that?”
“A pretty simple one. How long did you know Eddie?”
“All my life.”
“So, you were friends all your life, even though he was older?”
“We got closer over the last year. Before then, I knew who he was. You know, to speak to.”
“And over the last year, is that when you started dating his sister?”
He sat up and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, so what?”
“So, nothing.” I looked around the room. “I mean nothing at all shows you have anything in common with Jimmy other than his sister.”
For a few seconds, no one said anything. The absence of any item with Cherokee cultural connections in Eddie’s home made my point loud and clear.
Eddie spun on the stool to face Romero. “You’ve seen me at the rallies. I’ve been right by Jimmy’s side. Just because I haven’t turned my place into a museum doesn’t mean I’m not committed to the cause.”
“What cause is that?” I asked.
“Returning to the core of our heritage. The energy of the sacred fire. The struggle to be in harmony with nature.”
“I see. Like your fire-engine red Camaro and the struggle to win the ba
ttle of the Xbox.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he snapped. “The truth is I have to live in both worlds. I’ve got a job and responsibilities.”
I remembered what Romero told me. “Does one of your worlds include the per capita?”
His face darkened. “I use that money to fund our activities.”
“How did Jimmy use his per capita?”
Eddie looked at the floor. “He wouldn’t take it.”
I decided to ease off a notch before I turned him into a hostile witness. “You weren’t just a yes-man then? You had your own opinions?”
Eddie squared his shoulders. “I did. Jimmy knew where I stood.”
“Like the protest at the funeral?”
“I warned Jimmy that was a mistake. We’d done enough to put you on notice with our first visit, and you were handling the remains by the book. But Jimmy wanted the publicity, especially since the dead woman was the wife of one of the owners.”
“But you went along,” I said.
“I went for Skye. I was worried about her if things got out of hand. And they did.”
“When was the last time you saw Jimmy?”
“Sunday afternoon at the Boys Club. He was preparing for the ball-play game. I ran by on my way to work. It was about three.”
“How did he seem?”
“Fine. He was focused on getting the boys organized.”
“He didn’t say anything about going to the cemetery that night?”
Eddie hopped from the stool. “Ain’t no way he went to the cemetery. Those bastards caught him, took him there, and killed him.”
“Who are those bastards?”
Eddie started pacing the small space along the kitchen counter. “Isn’t it obvious? The Cransford family. Maybe they had help from their friends.”
“The whole family? Son and daughter too?”
Eddie stopped in mid-stride. “I don’t know the family. They could all be murdering lunatics.”
“Skye and her grandmother said Jimmy walked home after Sunday supper,” I said. “Skye said his truck was still there when she left at ten. Do you find it believable that the Cransfords would have abducted Jimmy from his home? And that his grandmother wouldn’t have heard anything?”
Eddie slid back on the stool and glanced at Romero. “I don’t see how that would be possible. The old woman has ears like a deer.”
Romero smiled. “True enough. So I’m assuming Jimmy went out later. Where?”
Eddie slapped his hand on his thigh. “I tell you I don’t know. He never said anything to me. We staged the protest and that was the end of it.”
“You know his collection of Cherokee artifacts is missing,” I said.
“Yes. Skye told me.”
“And he didn’t say anything about that Sunday afternoon?”
“No. But like I said, we only talked a few minutes.”
I looked down at my notepad as if reviewing a list of questions. “Aside from the incident at the cemetery, has Jimmy led other protests?”
“Yes. We’ve demonstrated at tribal council meetings.”
“Against anything in particular?”
“Mostly casino issues. There was a strong debate over whether to build the second. As far as Jimmy was concerned, one was one too many. At least the first casino brought visitors to the museum, Oconaluftee Village, and the outdoor drama. Jimmy said the second will bring nothing but gamblers from Atlanta and undercut support for our cultural attractions. It’s on the outskirts of the reservation near Murphy and no one will bother driving into the village.”
“Do you agree with him?”
“Yes. A second casino is all about making money, pure and simple.”
“And it means more per capita.”
“I suppose so.”
I scribbled “per capita increase for everyone” on my pad. “Did Jimmy’s stance draw a lot of opposition in the tribe?”
“Tribal politics is a full-body contact sport. Everyone knows it’s the way it’s played. We lost the vote on the second casino and we’re moving on. I can’t see anyone in the tribe killing him.”
“Moving on to what?”
Eddie Wolfe shrugged. “We hadn’t decided.”
“Or Jimmy hadn’t told you his decision.”
The young Indian glared at me. “Then he didn’t tell anyone else. Face it, Deputy Clayton, your only suspect is the crazy man who attacked Jimmy at the cemetery. Don’t try to throw this killing back on the Cherokee.”
I smiled and softly said, “I’m just asking questions, Eddie. One final one. What did Jimmy think about the Catawba tribe’s efforts to build a casino across the state line in North Carolina?”
The question seemed to take Eddie by surprise. “What’s that have to do with anything?”
“You tell me. Was he for it or against it?”
“Jimmy was for it. He thought the competition would make our expansion a risky undertaking, and the banks might reconsider the construction loans to the tribe.”
“And if a Cherokee and a vocal band of his followers demonstrated in Raleigh for the Catawba to be allowed the same gaming rights in our state?”
Eddie Wolfe and Detective Romero both looked at me with raised eyebrows.
“It would certainly muddy the legislative waters,” Romero said.
“I don’t know about legislative waters,” Eddie said, “but it would piss off a lot of people.” Then he added, “Just the kind of thing Jimmy loved to do.”
Chapter Twelve
I asked Eddie Wolfe for his cell number in case I had follow-up questions. As we left, Romero said, “I’m going to see the Swifts. Did you know Swifty is missing?”
Eddie leaned against the metal door jamb. “Yes. Dot came by earlier asking if I’d seen him. I hope the boy just wandered too far and got caught out after dark. He’s a smart kid. He knows how to live in the wild.”
“When did you see him last?” Romero asked.
“At Sunday’s ball-play. Not to speak to. He was warming up for the game.”
“Any place in particular he might hike?” Romero asked.
“You’ll have to ask his friends.”
“Were Swifty and Jimmy close?” I asked.
“I reckon,” Eddie said. “Jimmy was his coach and his bus driver.”
“What are you thinking?” Romero asked me.
“Danny Swift disappeared yesterday, the day everyone learned of Panther’s death.”
Romero nodded. “The kid’s run off to grieve.”
“I bet you’re right,” Eddie agreed. “If you need a search party, call me. I’ll clock out and help.” He stepped back inside and closed the door.
I turned to Romero. “I’ll wait in the car while you talk with the parents.”
“What are you going to do? Just sit and twiddle your thumbs? There’s no cell coverage.” He jerked his head toward Eddie’s trailer. “And that was a good question about Swifty’s relationship with Jimmy.”
“All right. If you want an extra set of ears.”
I followed Romero up the gravel road past three mobile homes to the last one in the row. It was also the one with the neatest landscaping. A flagstone walk outlined with white pebbles arced from the driveway through beds of blue pansies. Gray latticework around the base of the mobile home provided the backdrop for a row of wild azalea bushes. The steps and landing to the front door had been stained a dark oak color in contrast to Eddie Wolfe’s unpainted lumber.
“They own their place?” I asked Romero.
“Yes. And the home next door that they rent out. David works as a surveyor’s assistant. In the summer, Dot works at Oconaluftee Village. She demonstrates how Cherokees make pottery. During the school year, she teaches elementary reading. Swifty’s their only child.”
“I guess you’d be wor
ried sick regardless of how many children you had.”
“True.” Romero sighed. “But Swifty was a difficult delivery. Dot can’t have any more children.”
At some point in the near future, Susan and I would like to have kids. The prospect that we couldn’t would be a shock and a disappointment. “That’s too bad. Let’s hope Swifty’s already home.”
“Yeah.” Romero pointed to the yellow Toyota Corolla in the driveway. “That’s Dot’s car. David has an old van. Maybe he’s gone to pick the boy up.”
I stayed in the yard while Romero climbed the steps and rapped on the glass storm door. Within a few minutes, Romero stepped aside to reveal a slender woman in wheat jeans and a purple tunic. Her jet black hair was pulled back in a single braid that fell over the front of her right shoulder to below her breasts. I estimated her age to be close to my own. Thirty-five at the most.
“Any word?” Romero asked.
She didn’t speak. Just shook her head spilling fresh tears down her cheeks.
Romero gestured to me. “This is Deputy Barry Clayton. He and I are investigating Jimmy Panther’s death. We talked to Eddie Wolfe. Is it OK if he comes in with me?”
She shrugged and pushed open the storm door. I crossed the threshold and gave her my warmest smile.
“Would you like some coffee?” She spoke so softly I had trouble hearing her.
“None for me,” Romero said.
“No, thank you,” I said.
The layout of the room was similar to Eddie Wolfe’s trailer, but where he had stark walls and a wide-screen TV, the Swifts’ home seemed to contain only things made by craftsmen. The furniture was constructed of wood and cane, and the upholstery looked like the cushions were covered in handwoven tapestry. Shelves along the walls held pottery of all shapes and sizes. Plates, vases, cups, urns. I remembered Romero said Dot worked summers at Oconaluftee Village demonstrating Cherokee crafts.
“Your home is lovely, Mrs. Swift,” I said. “Did you make all these pieces?”
“Most of them. David and Danny worked on the furniture.” She swept her right hand in an arc. “Please. Have a seat.”
Romero sat on the sofa and the wood creaked under his weight. He smiled. “Sturdy stuff.”
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