Black Sun Descending

by Stephen Legault

  Hayduke was motioning to their waitress for another round of beers. “But if it was the husband, it seems unlikely that these murders are all connected. I mean, this dude didn’t pop Kiel Pearce just because he was pissed about his wife’s environmental activism, did he?”

  Silas shrugged. “How would I know? Maybe Jane and Kiel were having an affair.”

  Hayduke gratefully accepted his beer and said, “So maybe the old man found out that Kiel was boning the wife and followed him on a hike up the Paria and punched his ticket.”

  Silas winced. “Seems unlikely that a guy like Dallas would have the wherewithal to track down Kiel and then traipse two hours up the Paria just to kill him. And to use chloroform to knock him out first? I don’t see it. This guy was more of a beat-him-to-death-with-his-bare-hands sort.” Silas thought about Vaughn’s physical strength when the man threw him off his property. “Plus, there’s no evidence that Jane and Kiel were anything other than acquaintances.”

  “Maybe Dallas just did the wife.”

  “But why dump her in Moab?”

  “Why not? You kill your wife, you got to hide the body somewhere.”

  “If your motivation was insurance, then you’d want the body to be found. You’d make it look like an accident too.” Hayduke made a sound in his throat that indicated agreement and drank from his beer. Silas continued, “What connected all three of these people, as well as Penelope?”

  Hayduke folded his heavy brow in thought. “They were all environmentalists?”

  “They were all Colorado River crusaders.”

  “Fuck, of course!” Hayduke shouted and several other patrons looked his way.

  “Watch your language. This isn’t a cowboy bar. It’s a respectable joint,” Silas admonished.

  “Whatever. I think you’re right. The Colorado is the central theme here. Darcy was a water rights activist. Jane was advocating for wilderness preservation. Kiel was a guide for a non-motorized outfit, and Pen, well, she did it all!”

  “And who do we know had it out for Jane, and in all likelihood for Kiel, Darcy, and maybe even my wife?”

  “That son of a bitch Love, and his lackey Chas Hinkley.” Hayduke started to stand. “Let’s go find Love and nail his ass—”

  Silas put a hand on Hayduke’s arm. “Sit down. It’s late. We’re not going to nail anybody to anything tonight.”

  “Come on! I bet he’s still at his Page office. We can have a little tête-à-tête with him right now.”

  “Don’t you remember? He’s on the Colorado River.”

  “Right. Of course. Well, we can still go and talk with him.”

  “How?”

  “Find out what his itinerary is. When we know he’s going to be at Phantom Ranch we walk down the Bright Angel Trail and confront him.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “It’ll be fun. We’ll catch him off guard. He won’t have the Coconino County Sheriff’s Department to hide behind.”

  Silas thought about this for a while. “He’s likely still a few days from the halfway point on the trip, even with his motorized rafts. What do we do in the meantime?”

  A gleam came into Hayduke’s narrow eyes. “Didn’t Terry Aldershot and Slim Jim have a hate on for Jane Vaughn?”

  “They sure did.”

  “I think we should go and see if they also had a hate on for Penelope.”

  “You know, Jo—Hayduke, I think you and I are actually starting to think alike.”

  “I know! Isn’t it awesome?”

  “No.” Silas finished his beer. “No, it isn’t.”

  HAYDUKE AND SILAS RETREATED TO the desert to sleep that night. Neither wanted to spend the night between the cardboard walls of a Page motel so they left the bar—Hayduke complaining about the lack of pluck among the Page men in general—and, each taking their vehicles, followed Highway 89 west. Silas could see Hayduke’s Jeep start across the span of the bridge over Glen Canyon, just half a mile from the dam. When Hayduke’s brake lights came on, Silas found himself unsurprised.

  He stopped his Outback behind the Jeep and got out in time to watch Hayduke kneel down at the edge of the bridge. There was little other traffic. The dam loomed large before them; its perfect arch of cement plugged the Colorado River and created the second-largest manmade lake in the US, where more than a hundred thousand square miles of canyons, arches, domes, passageways, and natural temples lay submerged beneath as much as five hundred feet of stagnant water.

  Hayduke closed his eyes, pressing his hands together in prayer, and started to mumble. Silas walked up beside him, sighing in exasperation. He was about to intervene, but the sight of the seven-hundred-foot-high dam stopped him. It was a marvel of human engineering, holding back twenty million acre-feet of water. He stepped up to the railing on the Glen Canyon Bridge and looked down seven hundred feet to the river below. In the stillness Silas could hear the turbines of the dam humming and thought he could detect the faint sound of the Colorado River slipping out of the spillways and continuing on through the last few miles of the vanquished Canyon.

  Is this what it’s really all about? thought Silas. Five million cubic yards of concrete, the end of Glen Canyon, and the focal point for nearly fifty years of conflict in the American Southwest. Edward Abbey hated the dam. He wrote The Monkey Wrench Gang and created the foursome’s exploits as a way of railing against what the dam had done to one of his favorite places. Silas looked over at Hayduke, quietly asking God for an earthquake, an asteroid, and an intercontinental ballistic missile to hit the hated edifice all at once.

  “You know, it was Seldom Seen Smith who prayed for an earthquake in The Monkey Wrench Gang.”

  “Don’t give a shit,” said Hayduke, concluding his incantations. He stood up, his knees popping.

  “Done?”

  “For now. Never did believe in that religious shit anyway.”

  They drove out into the desert beyond the dam and slept rough under a veil of stars packed together so tightly that they appeared to bleed into a single celestial body that stretched across the cupola of heaven.

  THE NEXT MORNING, they stashed Hayduke’s Jeep in the desert outside of town and drove in Silas’s vehicle to the offices of Aldershot Transportation. Silas reasoned that while Terry Aldershot would be hard to find, her husband, Balin, would likely be at work.

  “How do you want to play this?” Hayduke asked, flexing his hands with nervous energy.

  “Easy. We’re just going to ask if the Aldershots knew Penny, Jane, or Darcy. That’s all.”

  “And what if this Balin dude lies?”

  Silas looked at him. “Look, Hayduke, we’re not going to roll anybody today. We’re just trying to figure out if these guys knew any of the deceased. If they did and we learn anything, we pass it on to the FBI.”

  They pulled up outside the yard of Aldershot Transportation. There were a dozen Mack and Peterbuilt trucks in the yard, as well as graders and other highway maintenance equipment. Silas piloted the Outback through the gate and found what looked like the office of the operation. It was a double-wide ATCO trailer that was sand-blasted and dented.

  “Remember, we’re not accusing anybody of murder.”

  “I’ll let you do the talking.” Hayduke grinned.

  They walked into the office. There was no receptionist, just a large open room with laminate desks and metal filing cabinets. Two men in checkered shirts sat at a table with a set of plans rolled out in front of them. One of the men looked up and asked, “Help you?”

  “I’m looking for Balin Aldershot.”

  “Found him.” The man was in his mid-fifties, with dark hair and a flushed expression. Silas walked over and extended his hand. The second man didn’t rise.

  “I’m Silas Pearson. This is Josh Charleston.”

  “You boys looking for work?” The second man at the table turned and regarded Silas. He was older than Balin, with gray hair and a darkly tanned face crossed with lines that looked like the deep canyons o
f the landscape all around them. His face reminded Silas of an ax blade.

  Silas smiled. “No, but we have a few questions.”

  Balin looked at Hayduke, who was standing by the door, his massive arms folded across his chest, his eyes still obscured by his sunglasses. “We’re in the middle of something. If you don’t mind—”

  “We mind,” said Hayduke, and Silas winced.

  “Who are you two?”

  “He told you—”

  Silas cut Hayduke off. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I’m just in town for the day. I’m trying to find my wife. Her name is Penelope de Silva. She went missing four and a half years ago.”

  “I know who you are,” said the second man. “You’re that fella who found them bodies out by Moab.” The man’s voice sounded like an out-of-tune fiddle.

  “That’s right.”

  “You found that Vaughn bitch, the one with the Sierra Club.”

  Silas felt like he’d been slapped. In his peripheral vision he saw Hayduke step forward.

  “I found Jane Vaughn,” said Silas, putting a hand up to stop Hayduke. “And we haven’t been properly introduced.”

  “That’s Jim Zahn,” growled Hayduke.

  Silas turned to regard the two men, who were now fixing their gaze on Hayduke. He walked back to him and spoke quietly. “Wait outside.”

  “No fucking way.”

  “I’m not going to learn anything about Penelope if you’re in here. Please.”

  Hayduke seemed to relax. He smiled a wolfish grin. “Sure. Yeah, alright. If you need me—”

  “I’ll yell.”

  Hayduke smiled at Zahn and Aldershot and stepped outside. He closed the door to the trailer behind him.

  “You not leavin’ too?” asked Zahn.

  Aldershot stood up, smiling congenially. “Never mind Jim.” He looked at Silas. “I really don’t think there’s anything I can do to help you, Mr. Pearson.”

  Addressing Aldershot, Silas walked back toward the table where the two men were working. “You never met my wife?”

  “Not formally. She came around Page once or twice, some time ago. I recall her asking questions at a town council meeting once. My wife is on the council so I go to most of the meetings, though I don’t really follow things too close. I’m just a trucker trying to make a decent living. Anyway, I remember your wife asking some questions about Page’s businesses, such as the generating station and the like. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, though folks round here don’t like outsiders meddling with their business, so she got a bit of a rough ride.”

  Silas listened as Aldershot rambled. “Did she ever bring up the issue of Wilderness designation on the Colorado River?”

  Jim Zahn snorted, shook his head, and mumbled under his breath.

  “What was that, Mr. Zahn?”

  “I don’t think your wife was ever around for that discussion, but that other one sure was.”

  “You mean Jane Vaughn?”

  Aldershot interrupted before Zahn could answer. “Jane was certainly a proponent of Wilderness designation. No question about it. But that argument was settled a long time ago and neither of us had anything to do with it.”

  “I’ve read a letter your wife sent to Jane, Mr. Aldershot. In this correspondence she tells Mrs. Vaughn that her ‘type’ aren’t welcome in Page, Arizona, and to mind her own business. She suggests, not all that subtly, that bad things happen when people come between someone and their business aspirations. What business aspirations do you think she was referring to?”

  Zahn shook his head. “Balin, you want me to throw this pecker­head out?”

  “It’s alright, Jim.” Aldershot turned back to Silas. “Mr. Pearson, what my wife does on city council time isn’t any of my business. I’m sure you of all people can appreciate that. Did you know every letter your wife wrote?” Silas said nothing. “I didn’t think so. Terry is a passionate defender of this city’s interests. I’m sure you can understand that sometimes people’s language gets heated when they are protecting what they love.”

  “Why would the town of Page care if the Colorado was designated Wilderness?” asked Silas.

  “There are many businesses in Page that rely on motorized access to the Colorado River. You designate it Wilderness and that comes to an end.”

  “It’s elitist,” added Zahn, not looking at Silas. “Means that only rich folks who can afford a two-week raft trip can enjoy the park. Motorized means fast, and that way regular folk can see the Grand Canyon, not just a bunch of cry-baby environmentalists.”

  Silas was inching closer to the table. Zahn, without looking at him, rolled up the maps he and Aldershot were considering.

  Aldershot said, “There’s a principle at stake, Mr. Pearson. People like Jane Vaughn, and yes, even your wife, want to lock up the parks and keep people out. They want to sterilize the national parks. Other folks feel different. My wife, for example, thinks parks are for people.”

  “I’m not going to get into a philosophical debate with you gentlemen. I don’t really care about what parks are for. I’m trying to find my wife. You’re telling me she was here, as was Jane Vaughn. That’s interesting. Do either of you know the names Kiel Pearce or Darcy McFarland?”

  “Never heard of ’em,” said Zahn, finishing up with his maps and standing up. Hayduke was right. He stood at least six and a half feet tall and was as thin as a rake. His blade face seemed to hover in the air above the room. “Now, Pearson, if you don’t mind getting out of here, we got actual work to do.”

  “I don’t mind. But tell me this: Jane Vaughn was found in the Atlas Mill tailings. That’s uranium. I understand your business interests recently had a setback when the Department of the Interior banned uranium mining along the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. Must be cause for concern for you. I wonder if you didn’t take that a little personally, Mr. Zahn?”

  Zahn’s dour face broke into a broad smile. “You got me, Mr. Pearson. I did it. I killed Jane Vaughn and throwed her in the back of my pickup and drove her seven hours to Moab and broke into the Atlas site and dumped her on the ground.” He held up his hands in mock surrender, his face returning to its dour countenance.

  “Mr. Pearson, I assure you, Mr. Zahn’s business interests weren’t hurt by Interior’s decision to ban future uranium mining on the Arizona Strip. Even someone as anti-business as our current president wouldn’t shut down existing mining claims and kick legitimate business owners out on their derrières. Mr. Zahn’s claims remain grandfathered into the agreement. So you see, there is simply no reason why anybody here would hold a grudge against Mrs. Vaughn. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we do have business to attend to.” Aldershot held his arm out to suggest Silas should head to the door. Silas regarded the men a moment and then turned and left.

  He stopped when he got to the door. “It’s a good speech,” he said. “And I suppose you might pull the wool over someone’s eyes with it if it wasn’t so obvious that you were hiding something. But you are, and it’s only a matter of time before I find out what.” He smiled and stepped out into the yard.

  HAYDUKE WAS LEANING AGAINST SILAS’S Outback when he stepped out of the trailer. Hayduke straightened up, belched, crushed a beer can in his heavy hand, and tossed it onto the ground. “You alright?” he asked.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Silas got into the car and watched as Balin Aldershot stepped out of the doorway and stood with his arms crossed, watching him. Hayduke got into the car and rolled down the window. “Nice rigs you got,” he said, his smile wide through his hairy face. He flipped Balin the finger and rolled up the window.

  Out on the highway Silas checked the rearview mirror and saw nobody following them. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. Well, I talked with a few fellas who were working in the yard, but I didn’t touch nothing. I just wanted to fuck with that son of a bitch’s head, that’s all.”

  Silas glanced at him as they sped toward P
age. “You didn’t monkey-wrench anything?”

  “Naw, there were too many people around. What happened in there?”

  “Let’s get some lunch. I’ll tell you.”

  THEY GRABBED BURGERS at a takeout place and drove to where they had left Hayduke’s Jeep. When they got there they sat on folding lawn chairs that Silas kept in the back of his vehicle and Hayduke offered Silas a beer. To the young man’s surprise, Silas accepted.

  Silas told Hayduke about the confrontation.

  “You think they’re lying?”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure about what. Do you know much about the Department of the Interior’s decision to ban uranium mining on the Arizona Strip?”

  “A little,” said Hayduke, his mouth full of food. He sloshed it down with a gulp of beer and Silas had to look away. “This business about grandfathering in existing claims could be the problem. It’s true, but there’s more to it. The deal was that grandfathered claims would be bought out over the next ten years. Any claim that was producing or had a plan to produce ore over that period would be subject to an assessment of value and then a purchase offer.”

  “So it sounds like there would be fair compensation if someone had a mine that was up and running, or maybe about to get off the ground.”

  “That’s right.” Hayduke took another bite.

  “What was Slim Jim saying about not being affected?”

  “Maybe he was just bluffing to get you off his back. You think those dudes did Jane Vaughn?”

  “I don’t know. It’s possible. Maybe Jim. But I don’t know what his angle is.”

  “I talked with a couple of his drivers. Told them I was just hired and asked them what kinds of routes they drive. One of them told me that they mostly haul freight but that Aldershot does have a small fleet of industrial trucks that sometimes get hired out for road projects, and sometimes even things like mining operations.”

  “That is interesting.”

  “They wouldn’t tell me much more, said I’d get the whole rundown from the boss, but I asked them if they ever do any work in Utah, and one of the guys said sure, he’s been to Utah a number of times in the last year. Then he clammed up. I don’t know if it’s maybe a licensing thing and he didn’t want to fuck things up for the company.”