Risky Undertaking

by Mark de Castrique

  “You’re kidding?” The sheriff was clearly annoyed.

  “Melissa Bigham discovered Mack Collins’ roots go back to South Boston, and he may have been laundering money for Whitey Bulger.”

  Tommy Lee Wadkins was a man of few words. Now he was a man of no words. Without waiting, I updated him on Melissa’s phone call and her new efforts to find a connection between Collins and out-of-state companies in the running for contracts.

  When I finished, he asked, “Melissa will sit on this?”

  “Yes. I told her something was going down tonight and that I would call her. She knows the Collins information is tied in somehow, but she’s unaware it involves a kidnapped child.”

  “Where’s Mack Collins now?” Tommy Lee asked.

  “I assume he’s either meeting with the gaming commissioner or he’s headed across state to Raleigh.”

  “I wish I knew if he was still in Cherokee. If he’s staying, then that looks like he’s up to his armpits in this plot.”

  “I can call him. He gave me all his numbers when he said he wanted to be kept informed about the case.”

  “Do that. Tell him you’re in Cherokee and you thought you saw him at the casino last night. You couldn’t speak then, but you’d like to bring him up to speed on the investigation.”

  “What if he just wants to do it over the phone?”

  “Tell him you have some documents involving Darren Cransford that might or might not be significant. You need to show him in person. We know there’s a rift between the two of them so Mack will be curious.”

  “And if he’s on his way to Raleigh?”

  “Then I think he has no immediate play in tonight’s events and we’ll see what Melissa uncovers.”

  “What documents am I going to show him?”

  Tommy Lee chuckled. “It’s what I’m going to show him. I’m going to have Melissa fax those newspaper articles to the Cherokee Police Department. Then you and I will confront him together.”

  “Don’t you think he’ll warn Tyrell?”

  “No. He knows nothing about our connection to Kevin. We’re going to say the articles were supplied by Darren Cransford. He’ll believe that because if Darren can discredit him, the opposition to the Catawba casino will be weakened.”

  “What’s your goal?”

  “To see if he’s rattled. See if he gives more information than he gets and hope he realizes that we’re developing links that could be damaging, especially if something happens to Danny Swift.”

  “What time do you want me to set it up?”

  “Try for late afternoon or early evening. I’d like to keep him guessing till then. Meanwhile, go on with your investigation. Call me with whatever you can work out.”

  I stopped along the side of the road and pulled out my wallet. Tucked behind a couple of twenties was the card with the litany of Mack Collins’ phone numbers. His cell would be the most likely choice since he was either here or on the road.

  “Collins here,” he said brusquely. My number was unfamiliar.

  “Senator Collins, it’s Barry Clayton.”

  His tone immediately brightened. “Hello, Barry. What can I do for you? Is your uncle ready to testify?”

  “I think we’ll all be better off if you keep Uncle Wayne in reserve. I was wondering if you were still in Cherokee.”

  For a few seconds there was no response and he must have been calculating how I knew where he’d been. I pressed on. “I saw you at the casino last night. I’m here working the Panther murder and meeting with the Cherokee police. Sorry I wasn’t able to speak with you.”

  “No problem. I was there to see the gaming commissioner, but I’m headed back to Gainesboro and on to Raleigh tomorrow.”

  “That’s too bad. Something’s developed that I think you should see.”

  “Really? Is it related to Luther?”

  “It might be. It’s definitely related to you and Luther’s son Darren.”

  Silence again, but this time I let it go on.

  When I didn’t elaborate, he asked, “Can’t you fax it to me?”

  “No, sir. It’s potential evidence and shared jointly between us and the Cherokee police. I’m afraid I’m dealing with their chain of custody, however, as long as I’ve signed for it, I could review it with you. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I have no control over what my counterparts here might do. As we discussed the other night, we don’t want you to be blindsided.”

  “All right. I suppose I can be back in an hour.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not clear till around six. You might not know but Jimmy Panther’s colleague Eddie Wolfe was murdered early this morning.”

  A rush of air sounded in my ear as if someone had punched Collins in the stomach.

  “Who?”

  “I guess you could say he was Panther’s lieutenant. Everyone expected him to pick up the mantle of leadership in the fight against the new casino.”

  Collins’ voice rose to an angry bark. “Is that what Darren’s claiming? That I’m tied into these killings?”

  I sidestepped the question. “Is six good, sir? Then I can bring you up to date on the whole day.”

  He sighed. “Yes. Where?”

  “I’ve still got a room at the casino hotel where we can talk privately.” I gave him the number and he promised to be there.

  After a quick call to Tommy Lee to confirm the meeting with Collins and insure he would have Melissa Bigham fax the articles in time, I walked down the hill to the Cherokee museum. The redwood carving of Sequoyah towered over the front of the building and appeared much larger than when I first saw it from Tommy Lee’s car. I circled the base where blocks of stone had been etched with the names of the seven Cherokee clans. Some were animals I’d expect. Wolf, Bird, and Deer. But others were significant in their unlikeliness. Long Hair Clan, Paint Clan, Blue Clan, and my favorite, the Wild Potato Clan.

  My cell phone rang and I recognized Romero’s number.

  “Sorry to be so vague. I couldn’t trust that we wouldn’t be monitored by a scanner.”

  “I gathered that,” he said. “What’s happened?”

  “I have evidence Danny Swift’s been kidnapped. It’s absolutely critical we keep it quiet.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “You, me, Tommy Lee, and Kevin Malone, the friend of Tommy Lee who gave us the lead on Tyrell. I’m at the museum. Can you pick me up?”

  “Yes. But then where?”

  “What was your next move?” I asked.

  “I was going back to Jimmy’s. I called Cherokee Boxes and learned Eddie Wolfe didn’t stay at work till midnight last Sunday. They finished at ten.”

  “So he lied to Skye.”

  “Or they were in it together,” Romero said. “I wanted to go through both Jimmy’s summer lodge and his winter asi for any sign Swifty hid there. But a kidnapping changes everything.”

  “Not necessarily,” I argued. “We can’t have too much information. Just get me as soon as you can. I’ll be the little guy standing beside Sequoyah.”

  ***

  I briefed Romero on the way to Jimmy Panther’s. The picture of Danny Swift unnerved him and he had serious doubts about the exchange I’d set in motion. I emphasized that we knew Danny had seen Jimmy and Eddie with the artifacts. If Eddie had taken Danny, then maybe Tyrell found the boy to be convenient leverage to get his money back.

  Two points posed delicate handling with Romero. The way Kevin got Tyrell’s money could undercut the Cherokee’s acceptance of Kevin as the agent for the exchange. I told Romero that Kevin had somehow intercepted a payment drop and I left it at that.

  The second sensitive issue concerned our suspicions regarding Mack Collins. He was well liked by the tribe and an advocate for their causes. Bringing him in as the possible mastermind of two murders would put Romero in an awkward
position should our suspicions be unfounded and Mack Collins carry a grudge.

  When we arrived at Emma Byrd’s house, I saw an extra car in the front yard.

  “Skye’s here,” Romero said.

  “Does she know about Eddie?”

  “I didn’t talk to her.” He opened his door. “We’ll learn soon enough.”

  “Nothing about the kidnapping,” I said.

  “I understand. We can say we’re here to notify Skye, and you’d like to look one more time for traces of Swifty.”

  This time Romero headed for the front porch, not the rear door. I kept pace a few yards behind him. As he reached the first step, Emma emerged from the door. She wore another shapeless dress, this one blue rather than brown, and it hung to the tips of her moccasins.

  She nodded to me, and then spoke to Romero. “Are you here for Skye?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were good to come, but she learned about an hour ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” Romero said. “I’ve been tied up trying to figure out what happened.”

  She beckoned us on the porch with a single wave of her thin hand. “She’s in the kitchen. I fixed her some potato soup. Would you join us?”

  I looked to Romero for the proper response because I didn’t know if it would be an insult to refuse her hospitality.

  “Thank you, Miss Emma, but it will be better if Skye finishes and then we can talk. Meanwhile, we’d like to take one more look at Jimmy’s. The Swift boy’s still missing and I want to make doubly sure he didn’t come here. We should be back in about twenty minutes, if that’s all right.”

  Emma studied the big man a moment, as if sensing there was more going on. Then she shrugged. “Take your time. I’ll keep Skye here till you return.” She turned around and disappeared into the house.

  As we walked up the path, I asked Romero, “When you were here yesterday, did you notice anything different from when we searched the day before?”

  “No. But if Swifty had heard us coming and didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t be found. He’d melt into the forest like his ancestors. He had a gift.”

  “Like with the blowgun?”

  “Yes. If I believed in reincarnation, I’d say he was an old soul who had walked these hills many times.”

  Old soul wasn’t the way I’d describe the frightened boy in the photograph, but I kept that thought to myself.

  When we reached the summer lodge and neighboring asi, Romero retrieved the key from beneath the rock and opened the padlock. The interior didn’t appear any different from my previous visit. The one wall of empty shelves reminded me of the trove of boxes we found stashed underneath Eddie Wolfe’s trailer. The chairs seemed to be in the same position. Closer examination showed a thin layer of dust had been undisturbed.

  The asi had an unlocked door and no windows. The cone-shaped structure looked like an upside-down basket. Mud appeared to coat the sides, and in a few chipped places I could see vines and wood strips underneath. The round roof had been constructed of bark shingles. Stepping into the dark interior, I saw a small fire pit illumined by a beam of light shining through a vent in the center of the roof.

  “What’s the main construction material?” I asked Romero.

  “Wattle and daub. It’s woven sticks, the wattle, and mud mixed with straw and grass, the daub. Holds the heat in the winter, although it’s smoky as hell.”

  He pulled a flashlight from his duty belt and searched the earthen floor. Nothing.

  “We know Eddie was here,” Romero said, “but it looks like he didn’t disturb a thing.”

  “Maybe someone else got Danny, or Eddie saw him coming up the road to his home.”

  “Maybe. Don’t know where else he’d know to find him.”

  It dawned on me one thing was missing from both structures. “How about the bathroom. The outhouse should be separated from the house a decent distance. Did you check that?”

  Romero’s lips tightened. “No. I didn’t think of it. Should be in the back somewhere.”

  We walked around the asi and saw a trail curving along the side of the ridge. About fifty feet after the bend hid both lodges from sight, we found a simple plank shell set on a flat inset in the hill. A once interior door hung askew on rusty hinges.

  “Not exactly Bed, Bath and Beyond,” Romero said, “but it gets the job done.” He opened the door.

  An unpainted wooden toilet seat sat in the middle of a frame about the size of a loading palette. The smell emanating from the dark hole in the center left no doubt as to the outhouse’s active status. Again, Romero flipped on his flashlight, leaned in, and directed the beam into the hole.

  “What you’d expect to see,” he reported. He moved his light to the space between the seat and the back wall. “What’s this?” He leaned over and retrieved something.

  A half-used roll of duct tape.

  He pushed me aside as he quickly backed out. He cast the light across the dirt just inside and out of the doorway. Gouges could be seen in the soil. “Somebody jumped him here. Swifty had no chance to run.”

  “The tape was probably already cut into strips,” I said. “In the struggle, the whole roll got knocked free. Eddie probably thought it fell into the latrine.”

  “Eddie?”

  The voice came from behind us. Both Romero and I jumped.

  Skye Panther grabbed Romero’s arm and physically wheeled the big man around. “For God’s sake, tell me what’s going on!” She was not crying. Her eyes locked on Romero’s and burned with anger. “Eddie got my brother killed, didn’t he?”

  She released Romero and snatched the duct tape from his hand. “And he took that boy.”

  Skye looked at me for confirmation, but I said nothing.

  “We don’t know that,” Romero said.

  “Come on,” she screamed. “I’m not a fool. You either tell me the truth or I’ll find someone who will.”

  Romero glanced at me.

  I nodded to Skye. “Let’s go to your grandmother’s. It’s time we started working together.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  We sat in the front room of Emma Byrd’s house. The furnishings were modest. Emma sat in a rocker nearest the stone fireplace in which seasoned, split logs had been stacked, prepared to ward off the fall chill of evening. A small table by her side held needlepoint work and a cup and saucer.

  Romero occupied two-thirds of her floral print sofa. Skye sat at the other end, tight against the armrest, putting as much distance between herself and the detective as possible. Each balanced a cup and saucer in their laps, Romero’s lap making the china look like it came from a dollhouse.

  I sat in a straight-back, cane-bottom chair that was probably made by a local craftsman. My cup and saucer were on the floor beside me because I held my pencil and notepad ready to jot down anything either woman might say.

  Emma had offered hot sassafras tea. This time Romero accepted and he added I would like some as well. I didn’t argue. The herbal concoction was known for its calming powers and the Cherokee used the root and leaves for medicinal purposes. The taste was akin to warm, flat root beer, and I hoped it would settle Skye down for our conversation.

  Romero drained his cup and smacked his lips. Then he turned to Skye. “When was the last time you saw Eddie?”

  “Late yesterday afternoon. I was here. Since Monday I’ve spent the nights with Emmama.”

  “He came by to see you?”

  “Not entirely. He said he wanted to check Jimmy’s for the boy. Swifty.”

  “Did you go with him?”

  “No. Eddie thought two of us would double the chance of being heard. He didn’t want Swifty running away.”

  “How long was Eddie gone?” Romero asked.

  “About forty-five minutes. I thought he might have found the kid and was talking to him.” />
  “What did Eddie say when he returned?”

  “That there was no sign of Swifty. Eddie said he was late for work, but he would call me this morning.”

  “And he didn’t call.”

  She nodded, but she didn’t cry. Instead she reached into a handbag at her feet and pulled out a cracked leather wallet. “This is Eddie’s. Emmama found it this morning when she went for a walk.”

  “Found it where?”

  “On the gravel road,” Emma said. “Where Jimmy parked when he didn’t want to disturb me. Where the stream noise muffles the car engine.”

  “Was that where Eddie parked yesterday afternoon?” Romero asked.

  “No,” Skye said. “He pulled up into the yard.”

  “How do you think the wallet got there?”

  “He came back after his shift. The Camaro’s seatbelt was bad to snag his hip pocket. I think it slid free when he got out of the car.”

  Romero looked at Emma. “Did you hear anything?”

  “No. And I was restless.”

  Romero shifted on the sofa, angling to face Skye.

  “I spoke to Cherokee Boxes. Eddie never showed for work yesterday. They also confirmed that the cleanup detail on Sunday finished at ten, not midnight.”

  Skye’s cheeks flushed. “He told me midnight.”

  “How did you learn Eddie had been killed?”

  “When Emmama found the wallet, I tried to call but got his voicemail. I assumed he was at home and out of coverage. So, I called one of his neighbors who has a landline. She told me the police were there and that Eddie was dead.”

  Romero glanced at me to make sure I was getting things down. When he said nothing further, I realized he was encouraging me to pick up the questioning.

  I laid the pencil and pad in my lap. “Skye, what do you think happened?”

  “The same person who killed Jimmy killed Eddie.”

  “And before that. Why did Eddie come back last night?”

  “Maybe he thought Swifty would bed down for the night in one of Jimmy’s lodges.”

  “You were angry when you saw the roll of duct tape. Why?”

  She stiffened, hesitating to tell me.