After climbing in, he rubbed the thick fur of Ak’is’ head, gave him a quick scratch behind the ears, and started the engine. Cranking the steering wheel hard to the right, he made a U-turn on the dirt street that brought him back down the dusty entry road. He slowed as he got to the end of it, put the Bronco in park, and got out with the engine running. Ak’is watched intently from the passenger seat as Arthur picked up the tracks quickly enough. They had made the turn north onto 191 as the now-dried mud had touched the pavement and then quickly vanished against the blacktop. Eight or nine hours. He remembered what he had told Agent Thorne about the hardball.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Leonard Kanesewah sat in the driver’s seat, working the dial on the Delco radio, looking for a station that might stand out from the weaker ones he had already passed. The clock on the dash had just rolled to 5:36 a.m. when he finally landed on KUWX.
The University of Wyoming station was just winding up its weather report. “Watch out for lows tonight in the high teens with snow totals ranging from around ten inches in the valley to three feet in the mountains. This early winter storm is really going to pack a wallop tonight, friends, but the snow should trail off by morning, with tomorrow’s highs only getting to the midthirties, but the wind chill will make it feel like the midtwenties. Look for temps tomorrow night in the low twenties …”
He flicked off the radio. “Damn it!” He looked at the woman. “You sure you packed all the shit I told you to?”
She returned fire. “You packed it all in the trunk last night! You know it’s all there!”
Sharon Nakai sat silent in the middle of the back seat, watching them spar. She was grateful that his woman had not rebound her ankles with the nylon rope when they got back to the car. She would have liked to get the duct tape off her mouth, too—over time, the nauseating taste had gotten worse. With her hands tied behind her, she found it difficult to lean back against the seat without further restricting her already-compromised circulation. Her fingers had been in an almost perpetual state of pins and needles ever since this nightmare began. All she could do now was keep flexing them to keep the numbness at bay.
“How much longer do you plan on keeping her?” the woman said, cutting a glance Sharon’s way. “It doesn’t even seem like we need her anymore, baby. There’s no one even following us.”
Kanesewah kept his eyes on the mountains rising high in the middle distance. “If things go like I planned,” he said, “we’ll be getting rid of her around Glacier. She’ll be no use to us once we get that far.” He stared out the windshield. “It’ll be spring thaw before anyone finds her.”
The cold lump in the pit of Sharon’s stomach grew heavier. She tried to swallow as her eyes darted from Kanesewah to his woman, then back to him. She tried to control her breathing, but the quick, shallow snuffling through her nostrils only made him grin. Stay calm, she told herself. They’ve already freed your legs. Just keep your head and wait for your chance.
“What kind of food did you pack?” His tone was curt.
“Some peanut-butter granola bars, trail mix, a few cans of beans, and some bags of chips,” she rattled off confidently. “And a couple gallons of water.”
“Great,” he said. “Faggot food, fart food, and fucking chips. I ate better on the rez, and that isn’t saying much.”
“Well, I didn’t have a lot of time to buy shit,” the woman argued. “I had to move fast and take what I could grab from my place.”
“Whatever,” he said, his empty gaze still on the distant mountains. “Get me a peanut-butter bar.”
The woman pulled the keys from the ignition, got out of the car, and walked back to the trunk. Sharon heard the keys rattle against the primered metal and the trunk lid rock hard against its springs. After rummaging a bit, the woman slammed the trunk lid, removed the keys, and got back in the car. She shoved the keys back in the ignition, opened the box, and handed Kanesewah a bottle of water and a pack of granola bars, and set two other bottles of water on the front seat. Kanesewah grimaced but took the bars. Sitting angled in the passenger seat, she pulled another package out and set the open box between them on the front seat.
“You that thirsty?” Kanesewah said.
“I got a bottle for her, asshole. If you want to keep her alive, she’s gotta at least drink some fucking water.”
Kanesewah turned his attention back to his granola bars.
Sharon looked on, her growling stomach reminding her that she had not eaten since breakfast the day before. But more than anything, she wanted some water from that unopened bottle in the front seat. She thought of Arthur. Where was he? Would he come after her? Of course he’ll come after you, she told herself, and shook off the thought. He was already looking. She could feel it. Or maybe it was just hope. The question now was, could he find her before they reached Glacier National Park and her time ran out?
Her thoughts were broken by the woman’s voice, asking if she wanted a granola bar. She nodded apprehensively and looked down at the duct tape. The woman reached over the seat, got a fingernail under one corner of the tape, and began to peel it away. The intermittent tugging felt as though a layer of skin were coming off with the tape. Sharon tried to push it with her tongue, but it didn’t help. Once her mouth was partially uncovered, she sucked in her first full breath in eighteen hours. It felt good, and it reinforced the reality that she was still alive. When the woman had worked the tape to the opposite side of her face, she gave it a swift jerk and ripped it free.
After the sting subsided, Sharon worked her lips and jaw as if trying them out for the first time. Then she said, “My hands, too?”
Kanesewah shook his head and laughed. “What do you think we are, fucking stupid?” He motioned with a jerk of his chin. “Give her some water first and then feed her.
The woman twisted off the plastic cap and put the bottle to Sharon’s lips. She glugged down half of it before the woman jerked it away, put the cap back on, and set it on the seat, saying, “Jesus!” Then the woman tore open another pack of granola bars and stuck one in Sharon’s mouth. The dry bar may as well have been chicken Parmesan, it tasted so good.
When both bars were gone, the woman tossed the wrapper on the front floorboard with the others, held the bottle to Sharon’s mouth again, and watched her guzzle the rest. Then she tossed the empty bottle on the floorboard and pulled the roll of duct tape out of the glove compartment.
“Please don’t,” Sharon said. “I promise I won’t … I—I just can’t have that on me again.”
The woman looked at Kanesewah. He seemed to consider the request, then nodded, and she put the tape back in the glove compartment. She closed the box of peanut butter bars and stashed them with the duct tape and the atlas.
“We need to look for a new car,” Kanesewah said. “A guy I knew told me once that if you’re ever on the run not to keep a car or stay in any one place for more than two days.”
“But this is my car,” the woman said. “No one knows shit about this car. Hell, no one even knows about me, let alone that I’m with you!”
“This isn’t a discussion,” he said. “We’re not taking a vote here. We’re gonna dump this pile of shit and pick up another car tomorrow, and that’s the end of it. Jackson’s gonna be our best shot for that. Then we keep moving north.”
“But this car cost me three grand!”
Kanesewah’s stare was mean and true. He didn’t have to say a word.
The woman’s eyes moved away from his. Sharon could see in her face that she was in way over her head. She had better learn to get with the program and not give him any reason to mistrust her. Maybe that would keep her alive. “Sure, baby, sure. Whatever you say.”
He opened the car door and got out, then leaned back in. “You’d better get some sleep. You’re driving tonight.” He looked at Sharon. “I wanna get to know our friend here a little better.”
/> The woman said nothing as he closed the car door—just folded her arms, hunkered down in the front seat, and turned toward the window.
Kanesewah opened the rear driver’s-side door. “Get out,” he said, grabbing Sharon’s left arm and hauling her from the car, then kicking the door shut. While he held Sharon in a bruising grip, she struggled with her high heels on the uneven earth. He jerked her close and murmured in a calm, clear voice, “Don’t pull any shit or I swear I’ll kill you right here.” He let go of her arm and grabbed the black rope that dangled from her tied wrists, shoved her forward. “Now, walk.”
Sharon felt the cold, hard muzzle of the .38 revolver in the small of her back as they moved deeper in among the cottonwoods. Beyond the trees, she heard the creek, swollen from the recent rains running off the mountains. The twilit forest was coming into focus. Another half hour, and it would be full daylight. The heels of her shoes punched into the ground, her ankles wobbling precariously as she walked through the short grass and over the sprays of twigs that had fallen from the cottonwoods. When they reached a place to his liking, Kanesewah stopped and told her to sit. She sat.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, dropping the length of rope and holding up the gun. “Remember, you run, you die.”
Sharon watched him move toward the creek, tuck the .38 into the back of his waistband, and take up the typical male stance to relieve himself. In the gray predawn, she could begin to make out the boisterous creek waters tumbling over rocks that would soon be glazed in a growing sheath of ice. She savored each breath of fresh mountain air as if it might be her last. The thought made her swallow hard. Any other time, this would be a welcoming place of serenity. Not now.
Kanesewah returned from the creek and sat down facing her with his back resting against another tree. Reaching into a jacket pocket, he took a cigarette from the pack and lit up. With a flick of his wrist, the lighter snapped shut, and he stuffed the hard pack back into his jacket. He sat for a long moment looking at her. Then, pointing at her with the cigarette, he said, “You believe me when I say I will kill you, don’t you?”
“Why shouldn’t I, Leonard?” she replied. Get him talking. Get him talking and keep him talking. Even Ted Bundy couldn’t shut up once he started. Her knowing his name had startled him. She could see it. “You’re the one holding the gun. And I have no reason to think you’re a liar.”
Kanesewah stared intently, then gave a little barking laugh and bobbed his head in agreement. “How did you know my name?”
“The car speakers,” she replied. “I heard everything about you.”
He took a drag off his cigarette and let smoke trail from his mouth. “I don’t really care anymore. I’ve got nothing left to lose.”
Sharon motioned with her head toward the car. “Does she know that?”
He paused. “Gloria? She knows what I tell her.”
“I ask only because I want to get your story correctly.” She had cast the line and was hoping for a nibble. And she got one.
“You want to interview me?” His gaze was skeptical.
“Only if you want me to,” Sharon said. “I’m sure people would be interested in knowing why you killed that girl and all those others, including my cameraman, and kidnapped me.”
Now she had his attention. “What girl?”
Sharon took a breath. “Renée Braun. Told you, I heard it all through the speakers.”
Kanesewah’s eyes narrowed in such a way that they filled the serene morning air with the palpable feeling of something sinister working through his dark mind. After a long moment, he finally said, “You think doing this will keep you alive?”
“I’m a reporter,” Sharon said. “This is what I do. Whether it keeps me alive is entirely up to you.” She paused for effect, then asked, “Why did you kill Renée Braun?”
He grinned. “Because nobody else was around when I found her by the lake. She was just standing there, like a gift … staring at the water.” The grin broadened. “She was mine for the taking.”
Sharon nodded. “I see. And did you enjoy killing her?”
“Enjoy it?” he said. “It was …” He paused as if letting his mind search for just the right word. “… intoxicating.” His eyes suddenly locked with Sharon’s. “You ever killed anything?
“Of course, not,” Sharon replied.
“I didn’t think so.” He adjusted his position on the leaf-covered ground and leaned forward slightly, as if to tell her a secret. “You wanna know how I killed her, don’t you? How I took my time with her … made her beg. Just like I will with you.”
Sharon tried to swallow away the dryness that lined her throat. She felt as though she was facing Death without so much as a chessboard between them. “Start from wherever you like.”
Kanesewah shrugged and leaned back against the tree. “She was so scared, it was beautiful,” he said. “Lying there under me, whimpering and begging me to stop, as if that was ever going to happen.” He took a drag off the cigarette. “When I put my knife against her throat, she shut up. After a while, it just became nauseating, all that pleading. The edge of my blade was so sharp that it left little red lines of blood across her throat after I removed it. Then, just when she thought I wasn’t going to kill her, I drove the blade into her belly.” Cigarette smoke belched from his mouth as he talked. “She gasped, and her eyes got really wide. Stupid fucking kids—they think everything bad is going to happen to everyone else but them.” He glanced toward the car again. “Then I kept pulling it out and jamming it back in until she started choking on her own blood. It didn’t take long before it filled her lungs.” He sighed heavily. “It’s extraordinary, watching someone’s life just drain away.”
“And then you buried her?” Sharon prodded.
He took a deeper drag off his cigarette and smiled. “Oh, no, no, no,” he said. The smoke slithered like a snake’s tongue from his mouth and drifted toward the morning sky. “I wasn’t finished yet.”
Sharon’s brow creased.
“After cleaning her blood off my knife, I ripped open her sweater and blouse and laid her open to me. Then I sliced her bra so I could see those sweet tits … and then I tasted them.” His eyes closed, basking in the memory. “Um-m-m. I had forgotten how sweet a sixteen-year-old could be. All full of hormones and promise.” His grin revolted Sharon. “Then I got rid of those tiny shorts and …” He paused to take the pair of panties with a little white bow from his pants pocket. “These.” He sniffed them again and watched the shudder run through Sharon’s body. “She told me she was from Michigan. Man, there isn’t anything sweeter than a Michigan cherry. And she tasted so exquisite on my tongue.” Sharon watched his eyes cloud with desire as he laid out the rest of his story. “Her body was still warm when I entered her. And she took me willingly. Willingly and deep. While I was on top of her, she seemed to move with every motion of my body. As if we were one being, you know?”
Sharon nodded, trying to turn off the sickening image now playing on the screen of her mind. He took another puff and ground the rest of the cigarette into the damp leaf litter. “When we were finished, I dressed and then buried her. Laid her out in a way so that she could travel to the next life.” He dug out his hard pack again, popped the lid, and shook one out. “I thought I heard some people, so I took off.”
As Sharon watched him light up, she wished that Arthur had already found them. Dear God, where was he? Why wasn’t he already here?
“When I was a kid on the rez,” he continued, “we didn’t have much. Us poor Indians, you know? My father was an alcoholic. He abandoned me and my mother when I was five years old. My mother said it was because he couldn’t take the warrior’s responsibility of providing for his family. I just thought he was weak.” As he spoke, the ashes fell from the end of his cigarette onto his jacket. Ashes that he absently brushed it away. “My mother, she was a good woman in the beginning, but the lonel
iness and the responsibility got to her, too. She became something different. She started to sleep around and lost herself in the curse of alcohol. And when she drank, she would beat me. Hit me in the head, kick me. One time, she even pulled a kitchen knife on me. All sorts of anger would come out.” He hung his head briefly and took a slower drag off his cigarette. “One day, while she was beating the shit out of me in another drunken rage, she told me she should have kept the afterbirth instead of the me.” The smoke curled around his head as he spoke. “The next day, when she looked at me and saw what she’d done, she apologized and promised it would never happen again.” He gave a heavy sigh. “But when she drank, it always happened again.” He half snickered at a new memory. “You know, I never asked to be born, but I sure as hell heard every day why I shouldn’t have been.”
Sharon listened attentively to this devil in human form, carefully transferring away every dictated word onto the thumb drive of her reporter’s mind. “I’m sure she loved you,” Sharon said. “You were still her son.”
“She couldn’t have cared less,” he replied flatly. “Most of the time, she just blamed me for my father leaving and how the rest of her life had turned out.”
“But she was still your mother.”
“She was a whore,” he snapped. “Nothing but a drunken whore. Each week was a different man. Sometimes white, sometimes Mexican, sometimes Indian. She thought the only way to get ahead was to give it. But no man worth anything wants a drunk Indian with a kid to fuck up his life.”
Path of the Dead Page 8
