I blew out a breath. “Has anybody seen or heard of the whereabouts of Artie?”
The chief and the AIC answered in unison. “No.”
“What about the maroon truck?”
Lolo shook her head. “Up at KRZZ with the little nephew Nate.”
The agent shrugged. “Well, that means the last of the Mohicans is perhaps afoot and possibly easier to capture.”
The Cheyenne Nation pursed his lips. “Or not.”
Cly glanced at Henry, and you could see that even he couldn’t underestimate the Bear. “I gotta go, but you’re all welcome to join in the great manhunt of eastern Montana.”
I looked over my shoulder, where Cliff Cly’s eyes kept wandering. “No, we’ve got a wedding to plan.”
“Is that your wife, Sheriff?”
I sighed. “No, that is the mother of the groom and of my undersheriff, wife of the Chief of Detectives North, City of Philadelphia, and I’m sure that if you make a pass at her he will attempt to turn you into the FBI equivalent of Jimmy Dean Hickory Smoked Sausage.”
He spoke as he passed us, going toward a Crown Victoria with a driver in attendance behind the wheel. “Philly’s a tough town.” He waved at Lena and Cady, and they waved back. “Never know till you ask.”
I turned to look at Lolo Long, who was now conversing with someone by way of the radio attached to her collarbone. “You don’t look happy.”
She rogered the call and looked up at me. “Someone just punched a trucker out here on the highway.” She fished her keys from her pocket, aimed the remote at the black SUV, and the vehicle chirped and blinked its lights. “Besides, what have I got to be happy about?”
“The investigative part of the case is over. Now all you have to do is capture the suspects, one of whom is apparently on foot.” I glanced back at the women next to the vintage automobile, where Cady was pointing to her wrist. “Anyway, if I’m betting on who knows the territory best—my money’s on you, Chief.”
I started backing away with Henry following and she took a step after us. “So, that’s it?”
I stopped. “Excuse me?”
She folded her arms and looked just as hard as the baking concrete on which she stood. “That’s it?”
I stepped back toward her, Henry’s hand on my arm. “There’s nothing else to do, Chief. They got ’em red-handed.”
“No pun intended.” Henry glanced back at my daughter. “Come on, we need to go, for numerous reasons.”
Long advanced another step after us. “You were there, you saw how he reacted; neither of us thought Clarence Last Bull did this.” Her head began slowly shaking in disbelief. “You know that.”
I made a beseeching gesture with my hands as the Bear continued to hold onto me. “It’s the nature of the business, Lolo. Sometimes we’re wrong.”
“Yeah, right.” Her head turned just a little, her hair moving with her, exposing the sickle-shaped scar. I stood there for a second more, and then watched as Lolo Long turned, walked back to her unit, and slammed the driver’s-side door behind her.
She threw the car in gear and laid a strip of rubber on the roadside that would’ve made Mickey Thompson proud.
9
Standing in the dirt lot of the Western 8 motel in Ashland Henry and I leaned against the rear quarter panel of Lola, close to five hundred pounds of masculinity quaking before a hundred and thirty pounds of femininity. We tried not to look at each other as Cady stared at the less than a dozen units and pronounced them wanting.
“This sucks.”
I pushed my hat back, pulled off my Ray-Bans, and glanced around at the rundown convenience store, the abandoned garages across the street, and the general dilapidation surrounding us. “We could maybe get some hanging baskets with flowers.”
“Daddy.”
I did what I always did in these types of situations and looked to my Indian if not so much Scout. “Help.”
He thought hard. “There is the Whitetail Cabin in the Custer Forest, up near the Red Shale Campground.”
She folded her arms and turned and looked at us. “What kind of services are there?”
He thought some more. “Porta-Potties.”
Cady didn’t say anything and began nosing a rock in the lot with the front of her turquoise flip-flop. “Are there any other motels?”
I glanced at the Bear, and he responded quickly, realizing what dire straits we were in. “Colstrip.”
I turned and repeated the word to my daughter, as if she couldn’t hear the Cheyenne Nation from only ten feet away. “Colstrip.”
“How far is that?”
Unwilling to be the bearer of bad tidings, I looked at Henry.
He shrugged. “About an hour.”
Her eyes stayed steady on us. “What kind of motel?”
“I am not sure.”
A voice rose from behind us as Lena Moretti arrived from the convenience store with a modified six-pack holder containing juices, sodas, and two bottles of Rainier beer. What a woman. She handed over the cardboard box as she read from the phone in her hand.
“The Super 8 Colstrip is conveniently located in the center of Colstrip, Montana, is AAA rated. Property features forty rooms, Super Start Breakfast, Wireless High Speed Internet, interior corridors, large vehicle parking, pets welcomed, guest laundry, fishing lake within short walking distance, and Subway restaurant is next door.”
She slipped the two bottles of beer out and handed them to us. “Drink up, boys. I think you’re going to need it.”
Henry nodded solemnly as he twisted one open for me so that I wouldn’t argue and then unscrewed the one for him, tapping the necks together. “It’s 4:20 somewhere.”
Lena’s cell phone rang, and I recognized ‘Donna è Mobile’ from Rigoletto and smiled. She looked at the phone in her hand. “Hmm… not a number I recognize.” She hit a button and held the device to her ear. “Hello?” A moment passed, and she grinned, holding the phone out. “It’s for you.”
I looked at her, rather puzzled, and held it up to my own ear. “Hello?”
“Are you still on the fucking Rez?”
“Um, yep.”
I listened as my undersheriff repositioned herself somewhere in Omaha. “Do you know how many people are trying to find you?”
I glanced at Lena and, a little ways away, Cady. “Well, two of them found me.”
“Good, then you’re their problem now.”
The phone went dead in my hand. I smiled and handed it back to Lena as Henry watched me. “Business.”
After an embarrassing pause, Lena ran a hand through her almost black hair and continued. “There is also the Fort Union Inn with twenty rooms and within walking distance of downtown Colstrip, which I’m sure will be a comfort to the young Philadelphians, and the Lakeview Bed and Breakfast with nine rooms, more than half of which face the lake, which will be good for the Brahmans.”
Cady took a fruit juice and unscrewed the top as she spoke to Lena. “You have the list?”
“In my head; we need seventy-three rooms in all.” She immediately dialed the phone in her hands.
I thought about the chances of getting all the rooms during the height of tourist season but kept the thought to myself.
“Hi, is this the Super 8, Colstrip?”
She began walking away as Cady came in closer. “Next is the venue; what’s the hang-up with that?”
“Arbutis Little Bird, the librarian over at the college.”
Henry continued. “It would appear that the college is having a language immersion workshop at Crazy Head Springs on the date of your wedding. Lonnie, your father, and I have all tried to talk to her about it, but she is a battle-ax of a woman and is not giving any inches. We explained that we have had the date reserved now for months and that you have your heart set on the place, but nothing.”
Cady’s eyes sharpened, and she began walking back and forth almost as if she were deliberating in front of a jury, her flip-flops stirring up tiny clouds of dust as she paced. “And thi
s Arbutis works at the library?”
“Yes.”
“Will she be there today?”
“It’s a Sunday, so I’m not sure. Cady…”
“I’ll take care of it, Dad.” She sipped her juice, and I took the time to study her, for the first time noticing the preperfection of her tan—not hiding the faintly visible Cheyenne turtle tattoo at her shoulder—her nails, and even the golden streaks in her otherwise auburn hair. Thank goodness she’d gained some weight back after the accident, and the rehab in the gym had transmogrified into a twice a day regimen. I was pretty sure my daughter was in the best shape she’d ever been in her life.
“You’re beautiful.”
Cady turned to flick her eyes at me. “Thanks, Dad.” She looked embarrassed and quickly changed the subject. “Where is the list?”
“What?”
“The list you mentioned in the car; there’s a list of questions that need answers?”
My voice fell. “Oh, hell.”
“What?”
“I left it with Lolo Long’s mother at Health Services.”
She sighed. “Where’s that?”
“Where we just left, Lame Deer.”
“Then we have to go back.”
Lena returned, sorted through the drinks, and took a Diet Coke for herself. “Thirty-seven rooms at the Super 8, all twenty at the Fort Union, and eight rooms available, including the suites, at the Lakeview B&B.” Turning, she looked at the ten units of the Western 8 Motel and spread her arms like Moses discovering the promised land. “And rooms to spare.” She chugged her pop and redeposited the bottle in the holder.
Cady looked at Lena. “I think we’re going to want to go take a look at the rooms in Colstrip, and I want to talk to that librarian.” She turned to Henry. “We need a car.”
He spread his own arms. “Yours to command.”
“Do you still have that shitty truck?”
He reacted as if he’d been smacked. “I do.”
“Good, run us over to Lame Deer, drop us off, and then go get Rezdawg.” She ran her hands along the glossy flanks of the Thunderbird’s fins and grinned. “We’re taking Lola.”
We dropped the ladies off in downtown Lame Deer, where they were first going to attempt to take on Arbutis Little Bird. Then they would meet us at Health Services where they would abscond with Henry’s pride and joy for a jaunt up to Colstrip to check out the lodgings.
I wished them luck in all of this, especially with the conversation with Lonnie’s sister, and accompanied Henry so that I could drive the Thunderbird back to Lame Deer. I’d turned on the radio in Lola and was trying to drive the wedding complications from my mind by listening to Nate Small Song firing up the afternoon drive with, of all things, Gene Autry’s Sioux City Sue. “Is this what they usually play on KRZZ?”
“The old people are the ones at home in the afternoons, so they play the classics; drumming and traditional in the mornings with a little rock thrown in, Cheyenne language programs around noon, then old cowboy and big band music for the shut-ins.”
He waited a while before he spoke again, lazily drifting the big, square bird down BIA 4. “You do not think Clarence did it?”
“Well, evidently he hired Artie.”
The Cheyenne Nation made a face.
“What?”
He considered his words and pushed his sunglasses up on his nose. “It takes a special kind of person to do this type of thing—to take money to kill a woman and child.”
“You don’t think Artie’s capable?”
He adjusted the sun visor. “Capable, yes—willing, no.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“I have.” He settled in his seat. He smiled, and I figured I was going to get the story. “I met him when I was fifteen. It was during Crow Fair, and I was doing a little teenage teepee creeping. There was a girl I was infatuated with and she had some brothers. We stayed out a little late and when we got back the brothers were waiting for us; I fought all three, one at a time—Crow tradition. The Crow are good that way—the Lakota would wait with a half-dozen guys and they would all jump on you.”
“What happened?”
He shrugged. “They went and got a friend, and it was Artie. I was pretty beat up, and I remember when I saw him that I thought this was probably going to be a good fight.” He stretched his jaw muscles at the thought of it. “You remember when we used to play ball?”
We seemed to have changed conversations, but I answered. “Yep.”
“You were a lineman so you know better than me, but do you remember lining up across from those guys who didn’t have any imagination, nothing to distract them from the job at hand?”
I laughed and thought about Lolo Long’s prejudice against imagination. “My father used to call it constructive stupidity; I got accused of it a lot in my teenage years.”
He nodded. “Artie was like that, no imagination, utterly focused. I think he might never have outgrown that behavior.”
“Who won?”
His face hardened as he thought. “It was kind of a draw.”
We drove past the dirt road cutoff and the rumpled hills leading to the Painted Warrior’s multicolored face, and my mind began playing the scenarios over in my head. If Clarence had been there, why did he hire Artie to do the deed? Why wouldn’t he have been as far away from the actual killing as possible? Maybe they were both there—Clarence to get them to the cliff and Artie to push them over.
“So, you don’t think either one of them did it?”
He smiled. “No, I do not think Artie did, and you do not think Clarence did.”
“So, who did?”
“Someone who is highly motivated.” He shifted in the seat and looked at me. “For the sake of your familial life, I am advising you to drop this.”
We drove on, but my mind raced ahead. “We saw her die.”
“Yes.”
I nodded my head and turned my face back to the window. “It’s not my case.”
“No.”
“We’ve got a wedding to help organize.”
“Yes.”
I turned the radio back up, and we drove in silence, until the words tumbled from my mouth. “But I’d like to hear those tapes. Would you like to hear those tapes?”
“Yes.”
“I think we can arrange that, don’t you?” I nodded my head some more. “I mean, it can’t hurt to just listen to them. Right?”
“Yes.”
I paused and then glanced at him. “Yes it can’t hurt, or yes it can?”
He seemed to be considering the possibilities for a long time, and it was only when I was ready to ask again that he turned to look at me. “Yes.”
I refused to drive Rezdawg but was happy enough to mosey along behind the patched-together vehicle in Lola. We parked in the lot at Health Services, and I noticed Henry nudged the three-quarter-ton’s tire against one of the concrete curbs so that we wouldn’t have a repeat demolition derby.
When we got inside, Hazel Long was once again at her station. The chief was nowhere to be seen, but her younger brother, Barrett, was, and considering how much his sister did not like the Cheyenne Nation, I was surprised by the smile with which he greeted Henry. “The Bear!”
His mother shushed him, but he stepped up to Henry and pumped his arm like a derrick. “My man.” He smiled at me. “This your cowboy sidekick?”
I took off my sunglasses, seeing no reason to stay incognito. “That’s me.”
He placed a hand on the Cheyenne Nation’s shoulder. “You ever hear about the U.S. Army Recruitment Expeditionary Basketball Tournament in Billings? It was a three-man and we were a man short, so the Bear here steps up in street shoes and scores nine three-pointers to win the tourney.” He shook his right hand as if it were on fire. “Buuuuurn.”
“Is your sister around?”
“Nope, she’s out shakin’ the bushes for Artie Small Song.” He glanced back to Henry. “Hey, did you really punch a truck driver?”
I noticed the Bear had left his Wayfarers on—obviously he was still attempting anonymity.
I leaned against the counter. “Mrs. Long.”
“Hazel.”
I nodded. “About the list of drugs from the bracelet?”
“That’s going to take a while; that patient file would be in the physical archives, and I haven’t had a chance to get down there.”
“Well, when you come up with that information you can give it to your daughter.” I leaned in closer. “Hazel, did you by any chance save that list I had you copy down concerning my daughter’s wedding?”
She looked surprised. “I gave it to her.”
“Cady was already here?”
“They’re still here. She said she wanted to see your dog, and I let them into Adrian’s room.”
I glanced at Henry. “I’ll be right back.”
I gently pushed open the door and could see Lena Moretti standing on one side of the crib and my daughter sitting in a chair with Dog’s head in her lap, the baby clutching her forefinger as he slept.
Once again, she had tears in her eyes, and I watched as the trunk of her body shuddered with her breath. She looked up at me. “He’s so small.”
I joined them at the foot of the crib. “They start out that way.”
Her eyes were drawn back to the sleeping child. “He’s all right?”
“That’s what the doctors say. A few bumps and scrapes, but evidently she was able to protect him from the bulk of the impact.” I leaned over and looked down at the lone survivor.
“She died.”
“Yep.”
“But there’s a father?”
“Yes, but he’s been implicated. The FBI says they have tapes of him negotiating with another man about killing both mother and child.”
Lena Moretti’s voice sighed from the other side of the crib. “My God.”
“It’s all pretty sordid.” I dropped my voice when I saw Adrian roll his head to one side. “We should probably get out of here.”
Cady stood and then whispered. “What about Dog?”
“He doesn’t really want to leave; he’s the one that found him.” The two women joined me at the foot of the crib. “We saw them fall and got to the woman, Audrey, as quickly as we could, but Adrian here had rolled down the hill bundled up in a blanket and Dog found him.”
As the Crow Flies Page 16
