Silas drew in a sharp breath and exhaled. “Jacob, if you ever come in my store again and put that finger of yours in my face, I swear to God I’ll break it off.”
Isaiah laughed, a speck of spittle landing on Silas’s desk. “Son, there’s nothing about you that scares me. I’ll do whatever I goddamned well please. This is my town, my town, not yours. I’ll be back and I’ll put my finger where ever I damn well want to. Now, you mind what I just told you. It might keep you from getting that homely face of yours looking any worse.”
Isaiah turned and walked out of the store, leaving Silas as hot as if he’d been sitting in the heat at noon.
HE CALLED THE Salt Lake City FBI office when he arrived back at his Castle Valley home. It was late afternoon and he sat under the pergola, watching the thunderheads build along the tops of the cliffs above the Adobe Mesa. Heat lightning flashed across the mesa as the clouds boiled with electrical currents. After a few minutes Katie Rain came on the phone.
“Hi Silas.”
“Hi Katie.”
“You’re getting quite the reputation around here you know. We’re calling you The Dreamer.”
“Really?”
“No, that’s just me. What do you think?”
“Perfect,” Silas said. “What have you guys learned about Kelly Williams?”
“I’m a forensic anthropologist. I’m not an investigator, at least not for a long time now. Talking with you could get me in trouble. I mean, not trouble with a capital T . . .”
“It could. But not talking with me is going to get us nowhere. I think your guy Taylor is a good man, but he doesn’t see the big picture.”
“And you do?”
Silas was quiet a moment, then he said, “It’s starting to come together.” He told her his theory about Wisechild and Williams working together on the Hatch Wash ruins and somebody, maybe Peter Anton, maybe Jacob Isaiah, killing them to keep them quiet about the site.
“Tell me something,” he said, remembering his exchange with Jacob Isaiah. “Did the FBI release to the press or the public the cause of death of either Williams or Wisechild?”
“No way. We hold that pretty close.”
“Jacob Isaiah knew how both died. He told me so today. He was threatening me at the time, mind you, but he knew that Kayah had been strangled and Kelly bludgeoned. There are only two ways he would know that.”
“Somebody told him.”
“That’s right, someone on the inside of the case. It sure as hell wasn’t me.”
“Nor me,” said Rain.
“You have a leak. And of course, the other way he could have known was . . .”
“. . . if he killed them both.”
“That’s right,” said Silas.
BY EIGHT THE NEXT MORNING Silas was parked outside of Peter Anton’s home in Cortez, Colorado. He had found the address through a contact in the administration department at NAU, and had left his home a little after six to make it across the border. He wanted to catch Anton off guard. He sat across the road from the two-story false-fronted adobe house just off Main Street. The rest of the neighborhood was 1950s-style bungalows, so Anton’s modern home stood out. Just after Silas arrived, the front door opened and Anton came down the rust-colored steps and walked to his Chevy SUV. Silas stepped from his car and walked across the street. He left the cane behind, knowing that it reduced the effect of physical intimidation he wanted to convey. He called Anton’s name.
The man looked up, startled. “Oh, it’s you Dr. Pearson.”
“A little jumpy this morning, Dr. Anton?”
“Just a wee too much coffee is all. I’ve been up for hours working on a new project for Mesa Verde.”
“Are you off to the park now?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. What are you doing here in front of my house, Pearson?”
“This will only take a moment,” said Silas. He leaned against Anton’s Chevy. “You know that Kelly Williams—”
“Is dead? Yes I know. I read the newspapers. Even here in Cortez, we get the news.”
“I found him.”
“Yes, I read that too.”
“You don’t seem too upset or shocked by this.”
“Well, I suppose I’m not . . . not really surprised.”
“And why is that? Are you going to try and tell me he had it coming?”
“Kelly played pretty fast and loose. He took what he wanted and I suppose someone got tired of it.”
“You hired him to work on the Hatch Wash ruin.”
“Yes, that was before Kelly got sticky fingers.”
“I was there. I went to Hatch Wash.”
“I assumed you’d go. It’s really quite amazing, isn’t it? It makes the ruins in Grand Gulch look like a something a child would build.”
“It’s been cleared out.” Silas watched Anton very carefully.
“What do you mean?” He put a hand against his SUV. His face seemed to register the shock.
“There’s nothing left. The structures are there, but they are completely empty. Who do you think would have done this?”
Anton looked confused. “It could be anyone. There are hundreds of pot hunters in the Southwest. They steal what they can and sell it online or to unscrupulous collectors. There are literally tens of thousands of artifacts in circulation today that have been robbed from ruins like Hatch. I’m just sorry now that we didn’t do something to prevent this.”
“You or Strom didn’t report the find to the BLM?”
“We felt that by keeping it quiet we would stand a better chance of protecting the site.”
“That theory didn’t really hold up, did it?” asked Silas. Before Anton could answer, he cut him off. “There might be hundreds of pot hunters, but who knew about Hatch?”
“I don’t know. Just because we found it and cataloged it doesn’t mean that some redneck on an ATV didn’t drive up Kane Creek and happen to stumble into that box canyon. It was only a matter of time.”
“People have been stumbling around that canyon for more than a hundred years and haven’t found it, at least not that we know of. It seems improbable that someone would find it now. Who knew about the ruins?”
“Me, of course. Kelly and Kayah. Jared Strom, and a few others at Dead Horse Consulting.”
“Do you think Kelly might have returned after you finished your work to clear the place? Sell it off?”
“It’s possible. Even probable, given what he’s alleged to have done.”
“Might that have—”
“Gotten him killed? Dr. Pearson, that is pure conjecture. Really, I have no idea why Kelly Williams, or Ms. Wisechild, got killed. No idea.”
Silas changed tacks. “Someone tried to leave me for dead in the Hatch Wash ruin. Did you know that?”
“My God, you’re kidding. No, I had no idea. What happened?”
“I climbed into the kiva. I wanted to see if there was anything left. There wasn’t, of course. When I tried to climb back out, I couldn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“There was no ladder. I used my rope to rappel in. But when I tried to climb out the rope had been tampered with.”
“How did you get back out?”
“Through the ventilation shaft.”
“Jesus Christ, man. You’re kidding. I never would have imagined that it would be big enough. It can’t be more than a foot and a half . . .”
“Almost exactly eighteen inches square. The elbow was the tough part.” Silas pointed to his face and showed Anton the marks on his arms.
“What happened to your rope?”
“When I was down in the kiva someone unlooped it from the belay point. Dr. Anton, you’re the only one who knew I was there.”
“Are you suggesting that I did this? Are you accusing me?”
Silas shrugged. “I’m not accusing you—”
“You are. You’re suggesting that I followed you out there and . . . and what? Untied your rope? Left you to die there? And for what? You
think I killed the Wisechild girl? What motive did I have? Because you think I had an affair?” He was hissing now, leaning into Silas. He wasn’t a big man, and Silas towered over him by at least five inches.
Silas shrugged again. “Nobody else knew I was there. I told nobody. Did you?”
Anton looked at Silas a while. “I didn’t tell anybody. I didn’t follow you. You can ask my wife. She’s in the kitchen right now. You can ask her. I was home all day that day.”
Silas regarded the man. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I can read you, Pearson. You didn’t believe me about Kayah, and you don’t believe me about this.”
“Let me ask you this,” Silas interrupted. “If anybody else was trying to develop a project in the Flat Iron Mesa or Hatch Point region, or even at Behind the Rocks, would Dead Horse likely get the nod to do the EA work? And the archaeological assessment? Would another developer know that you’ve already done a baseline survey and rather than turning to some other firm, would they just say, Dead Horse has the data, let’s use them?”
Anton was still clearly flustered. He shook his head. “I don’t know. There are a dozen firms in Utah doing this sort of work, maybe two dozen. If the developer had local connections and knew that Dead Horse had a bead on what was going on in that area, they might try to save some money.”
“Have you ever heard of a company called Canusa Petroleum Resources?”
“No, I haven’t. I’m tired of getting the third degree, Dr. Pearson. Step aside. I’m late for a meeting.”
“They plan on drilling for oil in the Hatch Point area, Flat Iron Mesa, and Behind the Rocks.”
“I said I haven’t heard of them. Now get the hell out of my way before I call the police.”
“You know what I’d be worried about, Dr. Anton?”
“What? What should I be worried about?” He had pulled his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open.
“Well, if you didn’t kill Kelly Williams and Kayah Wisechild, then you’re likely next on the list.” Anton stared blank-faced at him. “I think you know a lot more about this than you’re telling me, Anton. If I find out you’re behind any of this, you’re going to regret not having sealed yourself in that kiva. Do you understand me?”
Anton started pressing numbers into his phone. “I’m calling the cops.”
“Be my guest. I expect you’ll be getting another call from the FBI soon anyway.”
THE OFFICE OF C. THORN Smith was on South Main Street in the town of Blanding. When Silas arrived, there were already more than fifty people there from the local constituency, along with a bank of television cameras and a gaggle of reporters. The senator’s office was in a historic red brick building that also housed other government offices. A crisp new American flag sagged on its pole in the noonday sun. Silas stood across the street and scanned the swelling crowd for Hayduke, but he could not see him.
As he watched, a chartered bus arrived and several dozen people disembarked. Silas regarded this new group of supporters: typical middle-aged, middle-class Americans; most were overweight and had trouble walking along the flat sidewalk. He was absorbed with his observations when a voice startled him.
“Bussed these fuckers in.”
Silas turned and Hayduke was next to him, a ball cap on his shaggy head, a wide, toothy grin on his face.
“Brought them all the way down from Price, near Smith’s hometown of Huntington. Miners and their families, mostly. Out of work now, because the greedy bastards who run those mines have been bringing in cheap labor to replace the local workers. Guess they think they might get jobs in the new oil patch if they wave that flag for our senator.”
Silas looked back at the growing group of supporters. Indeed, someone was circulating through the audience handing out flags. “Is that Charles Nephi?” asked Pearson, pointing to a man standing near the stage in crisp tan slacks and a white button-down shirt.
“It is,” grumbled Hayduke.
“How much do you know about him?”
“Only what Pen told me. She did all the political work. Nephi’s been around on and off for a while, works with the senator as a special constituency assistant or something. His whole gig is resource development in Utah. He stage-manages the senator’s interests in forestry, mining, oil and gas, water. He’s the brains behind Smith’s relationship with the resource industry. A lot of people say that he’s a dirty fucker, on the payroll of industry lobbyists, working the inside of the system for the petrochemical industry. There’s no proof. He’s never been registered as a lobbyist in Utah or in Washington. Doesn’t mean he’s not in their fucking pockets.”
“What is this all about?” Silas looked around the small crowd. “I don’t see how this relates to my wife.”
“Patience, man, patience. Let’s hear what the senator has to say.”
Silas looked at his watch. A few moments later C. Thorn Smith walked out of his office with several men in casual business attire behind him. The senator was a tall man with a narrow, handsome face and well-groomed salt-and-pepper hair that gave him a presidential air. Casually dressed, he walked to the podium with a poised confidence and quickly got down to business.
“Good afternoon, friends,” Smith said calmly. “It’s one hell of a hot day, and I’m glad you all have come out to hear what we have to say. I’ll get right to it and then let you find some shade. This afternoon I’m here with leaders of several of Utah’s leading resource companies to tell you about an economic stimulus plan that will put the people of Utah back to work. It’s called the Utah Land Stewardship Fund, and these companies have agreed to invest one hundred million dollars into our great state over the next ten years to ensure that what made Utah the best state in the Union continues to sustain and support our communities and families for the next generation.”
The senator looked to the men at his side and continued. “Now, I’d like to introduce you to just a few of the leaders who will be investing in this program. Come on, step forward, gentlemen. This is Frank Palmer, of the Rainbow Bridge Coal Corporation. He’s born and bred here in Utah, and his company now operates across the United States, in South America, and all over Asia. He’s one of Utah’s favorite sons.”
There was a spatter of applause.
“This is T. Dermit Calhoon, vice-president of Forestry Operations for Tillicum Forestry. And last but not least, this is Tim Martin, president and CEO of Canusa Petroleum Resources. Tim was born and raised in the Great White North, in Canada, but he’s since relocated to our great state and is residing in Salt Lake City to be closer to Canusa’s main oil and gas play here in the Four Corners region. I want you to meet these forward-looking business leaders who will help ensure this state’s future.”
The senator stopped talking and nodded to his assistant, Charles Nephi. “The senator will take a few questions from the press now,” said Nephi.
“Senator, tell us what you mean by the harmonization of development permits?” asked a reporter.
“I’m glad you asked about that. Did you know that right now, for a company like Canusa to help this country develop energy security by drilling for oil deep beneath our feet, they have to jump through no fewer than a dozen regulatory and licensing hurdles? BLM, EPA, Park Service, Agriculture, state regulators, county commissioners, water boards, you name it! It’s easier for these companies to go to Saudi Arabia or Iraq and drill for oil than it is for them to supply our domestic demand with oil and gas right here, under our feet!” The senator jabbed his finger on the podium to emphasis his point. “That’s going to come to an end with the Utah Land Stewardship Act, which I will introduce into the Senate when we sit again next week. I have co-sponsors for this bill and we’re going to make it easier for companies to do business here at home than it is for them to do business overseas. We can protect the environment while we do it.”
“How will this protect the environment, Senator?” asked another reporter.
“We’ll simply ensure that the highest standa
rds of environmental protection are considered, while not burdening these companies with excessive red tape. We’ll cut through that red tape,” he made a cutting motion with his hands, “and let American businesses do what they do best. Support this great state and this great country.”
One reporter addressed Tim Martin: “Where will you be concentrating your oil and gas development?”
Martin looked at the senator, who stepped back and gestured to the microphone. “Thank you for that question. We have a number of options we’re exploring. The Kaiparowits Plateau, the region north of the Grand Canyon along the Kaibab Plateau, and nearby in the Canyon Rims region. We believe these are three areas where we can support local employment and community while supplying long-term energy security to the nation.”
The reporter put up his hand. “A quick follow. Energy development on the scale you’re considering will require a lot of water. How will you address your water needs without compromising the water supply for wildlife or communities?”
Martin looked at the senator and then stepped to the mike again. “That’s a good question. Part of the harmonized process the senator has been discussing here today is the streamlining of water storage and withdrawal permits for these projects. We’ll be working with the BLM and the Bureau of Reclamation to address our water needs, as well as those of other stakeholders.”
“You hear that fucking shit,” spat Hayduke. “Now they’ve got the fucking dam builders involved. That’s just what I was fucking concerned about. Those fuckers are talking about building dams to supply water to these projects. I fucking knew it!”
Silas noticed several bystanders were casting concerned looks at the rough-talking Hayduke. “Listen, let’s get out of here so we can discuss this.”
“I’ve heard enough from these fucking bastards,” agreed Hayduke.
AFTER SOME DEBATE Silas followed Hayduke north on the 191 toward Moab. When Hayduke turned off the road to take the dirt track where Silas had ventured just a few days ago toward Hatch Point, he began to wonder what the renegade young man was up to. Hayduke soon pulled his jeep off the road where the main stem of Hatch Wash was just a hundred feet deep. They were still in sight of the road. He got out of his machine and walked to Silas’s car. Silas opened the window.
Slickrock Paradox Page 17
