by MJ Rodgers
Mab’s lips lifted into a risible smirk. “And this black market selling of the Scrooge doll is something you are not suggesting we do?”
“That’s right, Mab. I would never suggest you do it. It would be a clear violation of this restraining order that Merlin legally obtained from some judge he probably golfs with on the weekends.”
“What would happen if I were involved in this black market operation and got caught?”
“You would have to explain that you were doing the only thing you could think of to save the community center from a greedy landowner. I can see it now. There you would stand with tears in your eyes, a sweet little seventy-six-year-old lady with her hair in a bun, walking with a cane and wearing an old-fashioned pink-and-white lace dress, with a faded sweater draped around your slumped shoulders. I have a very strong feeling the judge would dismiss any charges.”
Mab ran a hand through her head of bold, bouncy curls. “I never wear a bun, my shoulders are straight, I don’t walk with a cane, and I do not have an old-fashioned pink-and-white lace dress or a faded sweater.”
“Still, a few bobby pins, a trip to the neighborhood thrift shop and a little practice hunching over would probably rectify those minor details.”
Mab’s smile circled to her ears. “Yes, I see.”
“Now, as an officer of the court, Mab, I must insist you not even entertain the idea of running this black market operation, much less getting it started right away so as not to lose any valuable time.”
Mab gave her granddaughter a quick hug. “Thank you, dear. I’m so glad to see all this lawyering you’ve been doing hasn’t corrupted your heart.”
Mab turned and walked over to Constance, who was sitting behind the refreshment table. “Come, Constance. We must find John and Douglas. We have some new...ah...organizing to do.”
Octavia smiled as she watched them hurry away.
So much for Brett Merlin and his restraining order. He probably expected her to dissipate all her energy on fighting it through the mess of a legal maze such a suit would create. He was in for a surprise.
Octavia knew better than to enter a fight begun on her adversary’s soil and according to her adversary’s terms. Particularly this adversary.
Besides, she had better things to do with her time—like continuing the fight she had begun on her own turf under her own terms.
And speaking of time... She checked her watch. Yes, he should have reached his hotel by now. She looked forward to talking with him again. It had been a long time.
Brett Merlin wasn’t the only attorney with a friend or two in the right places.
Chapter Four
“Your Honor,” Brett began, “I appreciate your hearing this matter on such short notice.”
Judge Les Gatton’s drawn face and droopy eyes nodded at Brett. Brett knew that Les was one of those morning people who faded fast—both mentally and physically—by afternoon. Which was why, when they went mountain climbing together, Brett always insisted they begin at dawn and call it a day by noon. He wanted Les at his best when he was on the other end of what could literally be his lifeline.
But Brett was intent on getting this matter settled before the weekend; and, since he was appearing before Les unopposed, he saw no problem. However, in deference to Les’s diminished capacity, Brett intended to take it slow and make it simple.
Gatton took several long moments to read Brett’s quickly prepared brief. Brett waited patiently.
“This is a motion for summary judgment to remove what might be an early Indian artifact from a construction site, is that correct?” Judge Gatton finally asked.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Brett said. “While preparing the future site for a condominium complex, the construction crew of my client, Mr. Dole Scroogen, uncovered a stone with carving on it. The carving could be of early native American origins. Mr. Ned Nordix of the State’s Archaeology and Historical Preservation Department in Olympia immediately and graciously responded to provide technical support in this matter. I would like to call Mr. Nordix to the stand so that he can tell you himself what was done and why this motion is being made.”
“Fine,” Gatton said, trying to stifle a yawn. “Bring Mr. Nordix to the stand.”
Ned Nordix, a tall, slim, vigorous-looking man with neat pepper curls hugging his scalp, rose from his position beside Dole Scroogen and approached the witness box. He took an oath to tell the truth and explained the duties of his position in the Archaeology and Historical Preservation Department.
“This court recognizes Mr. Nordix as an expert in his field,” Judge Gatton said.
“Mr. Nordix, what action have you taken regarding the stone carving found at Mr. Scroogen’s construction site?” Brett asked.
“I arranged for cultural anthropologists from two Indian tribes, whose ancestors were known to have inhabited the area around Puget Sound, to meet me at the site early this morning to study the stone carving.”
“And what were the results of their study, Mr. Nordix?”
“Indeterminate. Neither of the tribes’ cultural anthropologists recognized the carvings as belonging to a known native American culture.”
“And what, in your expert opinion, would be the proper way to go about studying the carvings on this stone in order to arrive at the proper determination?”
“My suggestion is that the stone be made available to a team of experts who can devote the time and effort necessary to properly evaluate its authenticity, origin and age.”
“Who would comprise this team of experts?”
“I believe a multidisciplinary team should be assembled comprised of experts in native American cultures of Washington State, general archaeologists, and scientists involved in radiocarbon and thermoremanent magnetism.”
“Do you believe it is necessary to bring this team of experts to the stone where it currently rests at Mr. Scroogen’s construction site?”
“No. It will take time to select and assemble this team of experts and even more time for them to study the stone and make their determination. That delay would seriously jeopardize Mr. Scroogen’s building plans. I believe it would be best for all concerned to remove the stone and store it until this team of experts can be identified and brought together.”
“Can the carved stone be safely removed, Mr. Nordix?”
“From the examination that I and the native American cultural anthropologists made of the carved stone this morning, none of us felt it would be damaged if moved.”
“How would such a move be accomplished?”
“Mr. Scroogen is generously making his crew available tomorrow morning to lift the stone and wrap it under my direction and supervision. He is also providing a truck to transport it to Olympia where I will take custody of the stone until such time as the proper scientific team can be assembled to study it and make the determination as to its origin and antiquity.”
“Have all concerned parties agreed to this procedure?”
“Yes, Mr. Merlin. The cultural anthropologists from the tribes I consulted and Mr. Scroogen agreed to this disposition. We believe it will best serve all interests.”
“Thank you, Mr. Nordix.”
Brett addressed the bench. “Your Honor, I move that this summary judgment be granted.”
Gatton cleared his throat. “Since all parties seem to be in agreement I see no—”
“Your Honor!” a voice called from the back of the courtroom.
Brett swung around, his neck and shoulder muscles tensing instantly as he recognized the owner of that voice. Octavia was advancing on the bench with a gliding stride and a challenging gleam in her eyes.
“Your Honor, I’m Octavia Osborne. I ask permission to be heard on this matter before the court.”
“How do you qualify as an interested party?”
“In my capacity as a citizen of Washington State, concerned with preserving its history and in support of the legislature’s declaration in the Revised Code of Washington, Title 27, paragraph 27.44.03
0, that all native Indian artifacts are finite, irreplaceable and nonrenewable cultural resources.”
“All right. You will be heard as a concerned citizen.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. I am against Mr. Merlin’s motion to have this carved stone removed from the site at which it was found for the purpose of further study. I believe to do so could result in irreparable harm to the find.”
“Ms. Osborne,” Judge Gatton said, “Mr. Nordix is an expert in this matter, and he has testified that the stone will not be harmed if moved.”
“I respect Mr. Nordix’s credentials and position. I would like permission to ask him a few more questions.”
“Go ahead, Ms. Osborne.”
Brett didn’t know what Octavia was trying to pull, but he did know that she better not try any high-handed methods with Ned Nordix. The man was a skilled negotiator and testifier, and he would not allow himself to be bullied.
Her voice retained its thick, liquid quality as she approached the witness. Then, to Brett’s surprise, she smiled graciously. Her tone was warm, not confrontational at all.
“Mr. Nordix, is it true that your job is to try to find an accommodation between all interested parties in cases of archaeological finds?”
“Yes.”
“So you favor neither the owner of the property on which an artifact is found, nor the native Americans who may subsequently lay claim to such a find?”
“That’s right.”
“You told this court a moment before that you had met with the cultural representatives of two tribes to examine the carving on the stone, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Which tribal representatives did you meet with to examine this stone carving?”
“The Suquamish and the Skokomish.”
“Are those the only two recognized Indian tribes in Washington State?”
“No. There are twenty-seven different recognized tribes.”
“Why then did you meet with only those two?”
“Because the Suquamish and Skokomish tribes were the primary inhabitants of the area where the stone carving was found.”
“And yet these tribal experts were unable to determine whether the stone carving was genuine, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Why couldn’t they say one way or the other?”
“The exact symbols carved in the stone are similar to early Indian carvings, but they are also significantly different in several details.”
“If these carvings had been made by ancient members of their tribe, you feel certain they would have recognized them?”
“Yes. They are experts in their own history.”
“So if these are genuine Indian carvings on this stone in Mr. Scroogen’s building site, they were made by another tribe?”
“That would appear to be a logical assumption, yes.”
“If these carvings do belong to another tribe, Mr. Nordix, is it fair to say you have not consulted all possible concerned parties in this matter?”
“Ms. Osborne, the team of experts I plan to assemble will discover if these stone carvings belong to one of the other twenty-five recognized tribes. As soon as we know, the proper authorities within that tribe will be contacted, if they are not already present and part of the scientific team.”
“But by then it could be too late.”
“What do you mean, too late?”
Octavia turned to the judge. “Your Honor, I would like to answer Mr. Nordix’s question by calling my own expert to the stand. If after hearing his testimony Mr. Nordix still wishes to go ahead with his transport of the carved stone, I will withdraw my objection.”
“Sounds fair,” the judge said. “Mr. Nordix, you are excused for the moment. Call your witness, Ms. Osborne.”
Ned Nordix returned to the table to sit beside Brett.
“I call Dr. Watson Pacer to take the stand,” Octavia said.
Brett sensed Nordix stiffening at his side in surprise. Nordix obviously recognized the name of Octavia’s witness. As eager as Brett was to pump Nordix for the particulars, he was more eager not to be distracted from seeing and hearing this witness for himself. He turned to the back of the courtroom.
A big, lanky man with a dark, leathered face rose from the bench seat at the back and scuffed his way slowly to the front of the courtroom to enter the witness box.
He was somewhere in his sixties. His hair was long, straight and lead-gray. His shoulders were hunched, his head bent. When the court clerk swore him in, he didn’t even make the effort to look at her. Brett never trusted a man who would not meet another person’s eye.
“Dr. Pacer,” Octavia began when her witness had seated himself. “Would you please tell this court what it is you do?”
“I am in charge of the Smithsonian’s special project on ancient artifacts from Indian tribes of the Pacific Northwest.”
Brett was not pleased to hear he was from the Smithsonian. He hoped this guy would just be some local archaeological talent.
“What credentials caused you to be selected for your position, Dr. Pacer?” Octavia went on.
“I have a Ph.D. in anthropology and in archaeology. Prior to joining the Smithsonian staff, I was chairman of the Department of Anthropology at the University of Washington. I have headed more than a dozen archaeological digs at early Indian sites throughout Washington State. I am the author of twenty-six books on artifacts belonging to tribes of the region, ten of those devoted entirely to petroglyphs and pictographs, which are stone carvings and pictures, respectively. I am also a native American of the Yakima tribe.”
“Your Honor,” Octavia said. “In view of Dr. Pacer’s credentials, I ask that he be judged an expert in ancient Indian artifacts by this court.”
“At the very least,” Judge Gatton said, obviously impressed by what he had heard. “So ordered.”
Octavia turned back to her witness. “Dr. Pacer, did you have occasion to visit Mr. Dole Scroogen’s site to view the stone carving that has been discussed in this court this morning?”
“Yes. At your request I went there late this morning.”
“And what, if anything, did you conclude from studying that stone carving?”
“It is not just a carving. It is also a painting. So the correct term for it would be pictograph.”
“Thank you for the correction. What else can you tell us about this pictograph?”
“It is similar to others that I have seen.”
“Where are those others?”
“On a basalt cliff in the Naches River Valley west of Yakima.”
“Why is it that Mr. Nordix and the two cultural representatives of the local tribes did not recognize the similarity to these other pictographs of which you are familiar?”
“Possibly because they have not seen the pictographs in the Naches River Valley. They are on my tribe’s land.”
“Are the pictographs in the Naches River Valley the work of the Yakima people?”
“No. The legends of my tribe say that the pictographs were on the basalt cliff before the Yakimas came to live on the land.”
“Dr. Pacer, forgive me for dwelling on this point, but I want to be sure I understand what you’re saying. The pictographs on the basalt cliff west of Yakima that resemble the pictograph on the stone sitting on Mr. Scroogen’s land are from a people so ancient they predate the Yakimas?”
“Yes.”
“What do you know of these ancient people?”
“Very little. We only have their pictographs to study. Whatever else we could find would be immensely important.”
“Are you certain that the pictograph on Mr. Scroogen’s land was carved and painted by the same ancient people who carved and painted pictographs on the basalt cliff in the Naches valley?”
“Their markings are quite similar, but I cannot say for certain without extensive further study.”
“You heard Mr. Nordix say that he plans to move the pictograph off Mr. Scroogen’s site in order that it may be studi
ed. What is your opinion about that plan?”
“I am against it.”
“Why, Dr. Pacer?”
“Because the pictograph located on Mr. Scroogen’s building site contains a sun. Suns often have a connection with death. We know many of them mark graves. If this pictograph marks an ancient grave, that grave may be in the earth below the pictograph. In the process of removing the stone, the grave could be totally demolished and we could lose irreplaceable archaeological evidence.”
“How would you recommend this pictograph be studied?”
“By preserving the site where the pictograph was found and bringing the experts to it. If it does prove to be ancient, the ground around and beneath it would then have to be carefully excavated to discover whatever else might have been left by these ancient people.”
“How long will it take to study this pictograph?”
“If it is not of ancient Indian origin, this can perhaps be determined in a few days or weeks. If it is of ancient Indian origin, the site around such a pictograph might take many years, even decades, to properly excavate.”
“Dr. Pacer, if the pictograph is left in place and experts are brought in to study it as you suggest, are you aware that Mr. Scroogen’s plans for a new condominium complex could be jeopardized?”
“Ms. Osborne, the world is full of condominium complexes. It can wait to add another. But we cannot wait, or worse yet, pass up, what may be the only opportunity to find out about these mysterious ancient people and what truths they have to tell us.”
“Thank you, Dr. Pacer. That’s all I have. I would now like to call Mr. Nordix back to the stand.”
Brett quickly rose to his feet. “First, I would like to ask Dr. Pacer a few questions.”
“Go ahead, Mr. Merlin,” Judge Gatton said, motioning Octavia to the empty table adjacent to where Brett, Scroogen and Ned Nordix sat. As Octavia took her seat, Brett stepped forward.
