by R. R. Irvine
“Infantry?”
“Special Forces. Sniper. When I fire at something I hit it. Unless of course I want to miss.”
“Like at Blood Butte?”
Ruland put an arm around Traveler’s shoulder, easing him toward the door as he spoke. “Have you read The Book of Mormon?”
“On occasion.”
“Mormon, eight: forty-one, Mr. Traveler. „Behold, the sword of vengeance hangeth over you; and the time soon cometh that he avengeth the blood of the saints upon you.’ ”
22
THE OLD snow was just starting to go slushy underfoot as Traveler and Penny walked north on Main Street. Ahead of them stood Brigham Young’s statue, his back forever to the temple, one hand stretched out toward a local bank.
“Typical of him,” Penny said.
“Don’t be too hard on the old boy. To succeed in this desert he had to be a pragmatist.”
Temple Square was to their left. Beyond, toward the Great Salt Lake, was a line of black clouds as solid as a mountain range.
“We’d better get inside somewhere,” Traveler suggested.
Penny stopped on the sidewalk and stood on tiptoe to peer into his face. “It’s bad news, isn’t it?” Her eyes glistened, foreshadowing tears. “I think I’ve known it all along, ever since the letters stopped coming.”
Traveler glanced around, looking for someplace more private. He dismissed the ZCMI, the Zion’s Cooperative Mercantile Institution, a pioneer attempt by the church to boycott gentile merchants. More recently it had become a shopping mall dedicated to profit rather than faith.
“Come on.” He took her by the arm and led her across South Temple toward the Hotel Utah. To Traveler, the hotel’s ten stories of white terra-cotta brick always seemed cheerful, much more of a beacon than the gray granite facade of the temple on the other side of the street.
The hotel, in the ornate style of the French Renaissance, had been built by the church in 1911. An elaborate cupola in the shape of the state emblem, the beehive, graced the top.
They went inside. The lobby was lavish, with marble pillars and floors, and cornices of elegantly carved wooden scrollwork. The beehive emblem was repeated in plush rugs and elaborate mosaics. Once there had been a bar in the lobby, cause of a religious ruckus back when the place first opened. Although liquor is Satan’s work to Mormons, the leader of the church at the time, Joseph Fielding Smith, said business is business. If visitors to the city couldn’t get something to drink at the Hotel Utah they’d stay somewhere else. But following World War II, pragmatism gave way to fervor and liquor was banished forever. As a result the hotel was now losing money, also a sin in the Mormon scheme of things. For that reason the ten-story building, which stands in the shadow of the temple, was soon to be converted into additional office space for the church.
“I think we both need a drink,” Traveler said, aware of more than one bootlegging bellboy.
Penny’s head twitched. “I can’t go back to work smelling like that.”
Traveler led her to a remote corner of the lobby, where they sat side by side in straight-backed chairs. The tears that had threatened were now a reality. He offered her his wadded handkerchief but she opted for tissues from her purse.
“I found her grave,” he said gently.
She gasped. Her hands began to shake, then her entire body. She panted, trying to recover her breath, but couldn’t seem to make her lungs work. Finally she doubled over until her head was nearly touching her knees.
Traveler stroked her back. The sounds coming from her changed, half retch, half gasp.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his words sounding ridiculously inadequate.
She moaned softly and raised up far enough for him to see tears streaming down her cheeks. “How?”
“I don’t know for sure. I talked to an old man who knew her, and to the sheriff. Neither was an eyewitness.”
A sigh escaped her, long and drawn out, like the ending of life. “Is it nice, her resting place?”
He thought of the bleak desert burial ground, the unmarked grave. “It overlooks the town where your ancestors were born.”
She lurched to her feet. When he started to stand she waved him back into his chair.
“Excuse me,” she said, and rushed toward the ladies’ room before he could say a word.
She returned ten minutes later, a wad of tissues clutched in one hand. Her face looked composed except for red-rimmed, swollen eyes.
“When did Mother pass over?”
“A year ago, I think.” About the time Brother Jacob went through a metamorphosis to become Dr. Jake, he added to himself. “I can get you the exact date if you want it.”
Traveler watched her face. “She may have been murdered,” he added.
Breath left her again. She began shaking worse than before. Maybe her job with Jake Ruland was a coincidence after all.
For a moment he thought she might have to retreat to the ladies’ room again, but she managed to calm herself. Even so, he waited a full minute more before asking, “Why are you working for Jake Ruland?”
“I heard my father talking about him, how he’d once been the leader of the Church of Zion Reborn.” Her voice was scratchy with strain. “I thought if I got to know Dr. Jake, I might come to understand my mother’s motives. The Mormon Church was no longer acceptable to me. I went looking for something better. What I found was Dr. Jake’s First Conclave.”
Traveler thought he’d heard just about everything LDS, but this was something new. His mystified look prompted Penny to add, “The First Conclave coincides with territory around Dr. Jake’s downtown office. Each of his offices has its own conclave.”
“Are they sanctioned by the church?”
“Of course not,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to sound indignant. “I wouldn’t have joined otherwise.”
“How many offices are there?”
“Twenty-five at the moment. Eventually Jake hopes to establish one conclave to coincide with each LDS ward.”
“Does your father know about this?”
“I hope not. I want it to be a surprise when Jake finally makes his move.”
“What move is that?”
Penny tried to smile. The expression looked absurd on her anguished face. “As far as I’m concerned, my father is an accomplice to murder. He drove my mother away. If he hadn’t she’d still be alive. He and his religious intolerance exiled her into the wilderness. From that moment on I ceased being LDS in my heart.” Her voice caught and she had to swallow several times before continuing. “The church should be pulled down stone by stone.”
“And you see Dr. Jake as the one to do it?”
“Why not?”
“He may have tried to cover up your mother’s death.” Traveler went on to recount Jess Dunphy’s story of collusion between Earl Jordan and Jake Ruland, who was then Brother Jacob. “That’s only hearsay, of course.”
“Dear God.” Her eyes closed, removing the only touch of color from her dead-white face. “Do you think it’s true?”
“I think it’s convenient that the man being accused of the actual crime is dead and can’t defend himself.”
“If Jordan didn’t do it, who did?”
He was about to suggest the person who shot at him, but she spoke first, a hoarse whisper. “You think it was Dr. Jake, don’t you?” Her eyes opened wide.
“I’d be very careful of him if I were you.”
“That can’t be. I . . . he’s not that kind of man. If you knew more about him, you’d understand.”
“Tell me about him, then?”
She shook her head. “It’s better that you find out for yourself. All you have to do is go to one of his conclaves around closing time and give the password. Just say „I’m from Nauvoo,’ and you’ll be enlightened.”
Traveler thought that over for a moment. “There’s something else. I’ve heard speculation that your mother killed herself.”
“I don’t believe it.”
; “I climbed partway up that damned mesa. It’s not the kind of place I’d choose to jump from.”
“Nor would my mother. She was terrified of heights.”
“Your dentist friend says otherwise.”
“He would say something like that rather than speak ill of the dead, even about a man like Earl Jordan.”
“I think you’re being naive.”
“You don’t know him like I do.”
“Enlighten me.”
“He’s asked me to marry him in the temple.” She tried to laugh but couldn’t manage it. “The church thinks he’s only a black bishop.”
“He’s using you, Penny.”
“You’ve missed the point. I’m using him to get back at my father.”
“And if he helped Earl Jordan?”
“Then I’ll find out about it. You see, Mr. Traveler, there are few secrets in a dental office. And none at all in bed. Only last night I learned that Dr. Jake is planning something special for the church, and with a relative of mine at that.”
“What are you saying?”
“He and Reuben Dixon are this close.” She held up crossed fingers.
“And?” he probed.
“I don’t know, yet.”
Traveler took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he stared at Penny. When she’d first entered his office he’d mistaken her for a twenty-year-old. Now he knew better. She’d squandered her youth a long time ago.
His eyes burned with lack of sleep. “You hired me to find your mother,” he said, standing up. “I’ve done that. I’ll mail you an itemized list of expenses as soon as I can.”
“Send it to my father. He’ll pay just to keep you quiet.”
23
SNOW WAS falling by the time Traveler reached the Chester Building. Yukon Junior was living up to its billing, hiding the city’s tainted slush beneath a fresh white shroud.
Traveler eased through the revolving door. The lobby’s marble floor was slick and treacherous. He picked his way over to the cigar stand, where Barney Chester was reading the latest copy of the Ensign, the official church magazine.
“Someone claims to have actually discovered the remains of the Garden of Eden in Missouri,” he said.
“I’ve been there,” Traveler said. “There aren’t any apple trees.”
“A good point.” Barney tossed the magazine under the counter with the pornography. They both knew that Joseph Smith had once revealed Independence, Missouri, as the site of the Garden of Eden. “Your sublet tenants have been stinking up the building.”
“Bill and Charlie don’t smell that bad.”
“Who’s talking sweat? One whiff of whatever they’ve been smoking and Brigham Young would turn over in his grave.”
“I’ll talk to them about it.”
“I already did. Charlie says it’s part of his religion.”
“And Bill?”
Barney fired up a cigar and drew on it like a longtime addict. “He tells me he talks to God every time he inhales.”
“It’s snowing again. We can’t send them out in the cold.”
“I already did. Knowing them, they’ll be back.”
“Can you open up for me? I gave them my keys.”
Barney sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.” After another sigh he handed over a master key.
Nephi Bates, the building’s only elevator operator, was on duty for the first time in days. As always, his face was pinched with disapproval at the smell of the tobacco smoke lingering on Traveler. He claimed to be named for Nephi in The Book of Mormon. He came from the town of the same name in southern Utah.
He sprayed deodorizer in the elevator just before the doors closed. Once the car started moving he said, “Willis Tanner told me to have you call him.”
“You really are a spy, aren’t you?”
“Mr. Tanner was here just a few minutes ago.”
“Barney didn’t say anything about it.”
Bates pursed his lips. “Mr. Chester was in the basement checking the furnace.” His tone implied that Barney’s momentary absence had been ordained.
“Thank you.” Traveler stepped out on the top floor. Bates followed him into the corridor, staying there on watch until Traveler entered his office.
Traveler had intended to call Tanner anyway and was put right through, avoiding the usual holding pattern with its Mormon Tabernacle Choir Muzak.
“What have you got to report?” Tanner asked immediately.
“Mission accomplished.”
“You found the girl’s mother?”
“Her grave.”
“I see.” Tanner didn’t sound particularly surprised. “What now?”
“I’m without a client. Two, I guess. I certainly can’t keep an eye on Penny if I’m no longer working for her.”
“There’s more than just the girl involved here.”
“You admit that, do you?”
“I arranged police cooperation, didn’t I? Now tell me what else you’ve got.”
“Not what you want to hear. I found a witness who says the Varney woman was killed by Earl Jordan, most likely the result of a domestic quarrel. Could be that Brother Jacob, alias Dr. Jake Ruland, helped cover up the crime. But there’s no proof.”
“And the Church of Zion Reborn?”
“Long gone from Arizona, as if you didn’t know with that intelligence system of yours. I hope you give Nephi Bates a break on his tithe.”
“Doctrine and Covenants, Mo. „He that is tithed shall not be burned at his coming.’ ”
“I haven’t started spending your money yet, Willis. Do you want it back? Or should I keep poking around?”
“Do you have anything in mind?”
“I think the Varney girl could be in trouble.”
“What kind?”
“I consider that privileged information.”
“What are you saying, that you’d like to keep watching her?”
“And a few other things.”
“I’ll get back to you.” Tanner hung up.
Traveler was still waiting for a return call when Mad Bill and Charlie arrived. The Indian produced an antique opium pipe from beneath his shirt and began packing it with a tobaccolike mixture.
“We liberated the pipe from the Era Antique Shop,” Bill said. “But I actually paid for this.” He rattled a brown grocery bag before reaching inside and extracting a handful of battered postcards. He thumbed through them until he came to one that looked like an old daguerreotype. He handed it to Traveler. “Look at those pioneer faces. People in those days had faith. You can see it in their eyes.”
The next postcard, yellowed with age, its stamp torn away, showed a dour-looking Brigham Young surrounded by all twenty-seven of his wives.
“There was a man who had it made,” Bill said. “All those willing women. They practically fell into his lap when Joe Smith was murdered. But me, I can’t even find one.”
“Maybe if you had a regular job,” Traveler suggested.
“I do God’s work.”
Charlie snapped his fingers. “That’s why.”
“Why what?” Bill said, looking startled.
“Why he killed Joe Smith. To get the women.”
Bill slapped the Indian on the back. “Not bad, Charlie. I can use it in one of my sermons.”
Traveler shook his head. “You’re not still on that old wives’ tale, are you, Bill?”
“The end justifies the means. Anything to bring down the church.”
For years Bill had been harping on apocryphal stories surrounding the murder of Joseph Smith, in particular one that said Brigham Young was behind the whole thing, not Freemasons as history reported.
“At the time of the killing,” Bill picked up, “Brigham was already four years older than Smith, with little chance of ever coming to power on his own. Add to that the fact that Joe Smith, by his own admission, was a ladies’ man, and Brigham had to be chafing at the bit. I mean, the women he had to choose from must have been leftovers
.”
Charlie struck a match and held it to the opium pipe, puffing quickly to get it going. The smoke reminded Traveler of burning hair.
Charlie filled his lungs before passing the pipe to Bill, who immediately inhaled deeply, holding the smoke inside for a long time. When he finally exhaled, his facial muscles lost all tension. The result was the serene look of an idiot. “Wouldn’t it be something for a detective like you to solve a hundred-and-fifty-year-old murder.”
“Whatever you’re smoking,” Traveler said, “is making me dizzy.” He stepped to the window and jerked it open. A north wind blew in his face.
“You’re destroying our fug,” Bill moaned.
Traveler glanced over his shoulder to see Charlie and Bill huddling together, their foreheads touching like soldiers hoarding a match. Pipe smoke was drifting toward the door. The stench would soon reach the hallway.
Traveler slammed the window shut. His dizziness returned immediately.
One after the other, Bill and Charlie blew smoke at him.
“Breathe deeply,” the Indian said. “You’ll see God.”
What Traveler saw, in his mind’s eye at least, was Reuben Dixon, documents dealer. He, like Bill, had been talking about a pioneer murder at their last meeting. Had he come up with a document that would turn the old wives’ tales into reality?
Traveler shook his head at such an idea. It didn’t make sense. Dixon himself said John Varney had taken a pass on the buy. Surely nobody in the church would gamble like that, even with a counterfeit.
24
WILLIS TANNER arrived unannounced. He took one whiff, pointed a finger at Mad Bill, and said, “I’m calling the police in sixty seconds.”
Bill’s head swiveled toward Traveler, who said, “I’m surprised that one of the saints would have enough experience to recognize an illegal substance.”
Tanner turned his finger on Charlie Redwine.
“The police don’t bother me,” the Indian said. “I come under federal jurisdiction.”
“Thirty seconds.” Tanner slowly brought his arm up to face level so that he could keep an eye on his wristwatch.
Bill squared his shoulders. “We’ll be in the lobby if you need us, Moroni.”
