Two Medicine

by John Hansen

  “The person who killed her is probably not too worried either, at this point,” I said.

  Olsterman just stared at me for a few seconds, then he shook his head slowly. “You don’t know the first thing about what’s going on, son.”

  “I’m sure I don’t,” I said, getting up. “And I’m sure you’re not going to tell me. So I’m going. I got stuff to do.”

  Olsterman’s mouth fell open slightly in a slacked gape. “Where you going?”

  I turned around and said, “Officer, you’re not gonna find anything here that will help you, I promise you that. And I didn’t hear her leave; believe me or not as you like. If you want to arrest me, go ahead. But if you want to help, then look somewhere else.”

  I turned and started walking up the stairs, one creaky board at a time.

  Olsterman seemed stunned for a second, then he shook his head and stood up slowly.

  “You tell Greg that he’s pushing it – I talked to his chief,” he called to me as I walked up to the hall floor. “You tell him next time he shows up in Browning in uniform acting like a cop like that will be his last day on the job.”

  “I’ll tell him,” I said over my shoulder as I went into my room and shut the door.

  I couldn’t really define why I had just had enough at that moment; but I had reached my breaking point. As I lay in the bed and pictured Olsterman’s slack jaw gaping at me as I left, I just felt depressed more than vindicated. It was an insult, I realized, his slow, obligatory investigating the death of a girl I would never see on this earth again – the person I most wanted to see on this earth again. This cop made me feel fear, at times, or despair and sadness, and nothing else – so he was a bad business all around. It offended me and worried me and I couldn’t stand it anymore.

  I would not see him again, I resolved. I was no lawyer, but I knew I didn’t have to talk to any cop unless I wanted to. If he wanted to arrest me he would of by now, at least I hope so, I thought to myself.

  I rolled onto my back and looked over at the two little brown cotton balls that were sleeping, my pals on the ceiling, Siegfried and Roy. What did they think I was, this big animal rolling around below them? Were they frightened? Fascinated? More likely, amused.

  Once again, the concept of a criminal court case for murder in this rugged, majestic, untouched wilderness that was “the best kept secret” of the West just seemed absolutely preposterous.

  I was so sick of it all that I hadn’t even asked him who told him I was even in Browning – someone at the VFW probably – someone causing more trouble than good with their phone call to the BIA, sending Olsterman off to Two Med for what was another complete waste of time. Doesn’t anyone want someone brought to justice for a murder?

  I had heard the back screen door shut and the officer’s car starting up and leaving, so I went downstairs and grabbed the phone, dialing Greg’s home number, figuring as it was Sunday that he’d be home. Another frantic call to Greg regarding Alia’s investigation… I thought, as the phone rang. Does Greg really care about any of this?

  “Hello?” It was Dee.

  “Oh hey Dee, it’s Will at Two Med.”

  A second’s pause, then “Hi Will. What’s up?” Her voice seemed slightly reserved – not a good sign.

  “Is Greg there?”

  Another pause. “Hold on.”

  After a few moments, he picked up. “Hey buddy, what’s up?”

  “Greg, that BIA cop Olsterman just came by here, asking me again about Alia and I’s last night together. He talked to Larry and Phyllis but I don’t know what about. Larry didn’t look too happy.”

  I paused but there was a silence on the other end.

  “Then he warns me about us “stirring things up,” if you can believe it.” I said, and waited for a response.

  “Oh, I can believe it,” Greg said. “I got a call from my chief this morning Will, telling me the BIA has filed a complaint against me for exceeding my jurisdiction.”

  I was speechless for a moment. “A complaint? Are you serious?”

  “Deadly. There’s to be a hearing next week with my chief on it.” His voice sounded strained. I could image the conversation Dee must have had with him when she found out.

  “But listen,” he said, a little lower and quieter into the phone. “I’ve got something to show you.” I heard the phone muffled a bit like he was changing ears. “I’ve got the official police report – the scene and her body, the whole thing. I want you to see something.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to see photos of the scene, or her body, and I told Greg so.

  “I risked a lot getting it, buddy, so it’s important. You don’t have to go over every bit of it, but I want you to see something.”

  “How did you get it?” I asked, thinking of Olsterman’s warning.

  “Never mind that; I’ll drop by and show you.” He got off the phone quickly. We planned on meeting in an hour, before he and Dee were packing up to go on a picnic later that day. As I hung up the phone I realized there was an urgency to his voice that was ominous.

  When got to the store later and I went out sat in his truck. He had a manila-colored folder on his lap, it was pretty thin.

  “So that’s it?” I asked.

  Greg nodded. He looked out his side window as if casually taking in the view. “Olsterman told my chief that I was going around Browning, taking “statements” of potential witnesses.” He snorted, “As if there are any.”

  “Is your job in jeopardy?” I asked.

  He shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know; I have no strikes on my record so this is the first mark against me.”

  He reached down and opened the small folder, putting aside a small stack of papers and pulling out several four-by-five-inch color pictures. “But this, if they knew I had it, would put my job ‘in jeopardy’ as you say. I’d be gone for sure.”

  He regarded the folder in his hand a moment. “The chief said I could be charged with obstructing an investigation, and that I’d better lay low. But I had to see this report, Will, once I found out from a friend of mine with the BIA. It was the one thing that could at least give us something to go by – there’s no other information to work with.”

  I watched Greg’s face – he looked calm enough, but was he losing it? Helping me track down people who knew Alia was one thing, but taking files? “I read over this thing 50 times,” he said, holding up the pages of the report. “Nothing helpful. But this is what I wanted you to see.” He held out a photo to me.

  I hesitated to look at the picture, but then I let my eyes fall on it. I expected to see some gory image of blood and skin, something terrible that would forever be burned in my brain, but what I saw was only a dark photo of the ground, a muddy, weedy patch of ground that was shot at night, lit up with a camera flash in stark and garish detail.

  I stared at the photo a moment. “What am I looking at?” I asked Greg.

  He pointed a finger into the center of the photo, over some dark patches. “These,” he said, “are footprints. Her footprints, to be exact.” He indicated the patches again. “They match the tread of the shoes she was wearing.”

  “Where is this area?” I asked him, scanning the photo again and trying to make out her small footprints, which was difficult with the shadows that the weeds and sticks case on the muddy ground.

  “It’s in the report – the actual location. I know the coordinates.” he said. “I’ll tell you where it is.” He pulled out another photo and pointed at it. “But this is another shot around the scene.” The image was of more ground, shot from higher up, as if someone had stood up and back away and shot the ground again. The difference was, however, that the ground ended beside a dark, asphalt surface in this picture.

  “It’s by a road?”

  “Yes,” Greg said. “Her prints are by the road, just a few fees off in the mud.”

  “You didn’t say before that she was found by a road.”

  “Because she wasn’t, Will.” he said
. “She was found more than a hundred feet from the road in the woods. But the important thing to see is that there are no other footprints near where she was found.” He flipped through both pictures again. “There’s her prints by the road, then nothing for a hundred feet all the way to her body – as if she just floated out to that spot – nobody else was around. Around the body, at the road, between her body and the road, nothing.”

  “So what does that all mean?” I asked.

  He set the folder in his lap and carefully placed the photos in the stack – careful, I noticed, to not let the other photos show. “You need to find out,” he said.

  “‘You,’” I said. “Not ‘we.’”

  Greg set the folder in between us and reached out and laid a hand on the steering wheel, looking through the windshield to the forest beyond. “I’m done, Will. I got involved in this case and now that I've done this stuff it's really hard for me to go back to do in the Ranger work, I’ll be honest. But I’ve got my family to think about – I have a living to make. I have to give an evening program presentation to a bunch of kids tomorrow night; and then I’m leading a hike for them in the morning.”

  I pictured him leading a troop of little kids – like some kind of scout leader. It seemed a tragic waste.

  “But man, I want to know,” he said, looking over at me with intensity, shaking his head. “Nobody has touched this file, my friend told me, not in a week. Everyone’s acting like the case is closed at the BIA. She doesn’t know if anyone is working on it anymore.”

  “We got to go to that spot, Greg. I want to see it.”

  Greg just nodded, still staring out the windshield. “I can’t lose my job.”

  “We should at least go to that diner in Browning Alia used to work at – see if anyone there has heard anything or knows anything. You can go to a restaurant in Browning, I assume. Then, if you want, we could drop by this foster family she had – they’re bound to be home on a Sunday….” I tried to sound reasonable, and I watched him looking ahead of us into the forest through the windshield.

  “Will,” Greg said with a sigh, “I already called up there to those foster parents – her last ones – and they didn’t have a clue about her life after she left their place.”

  “You did?” I asked in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He paused while I just stared at him. He looked down at the folder and smiled, “If my chief knew I had borrowed that from the BIA – I’d be fired. I think I just went crazy for a moment and decided I needed to see it, and I knew Olsterman wouldn’t ever let me get a look at the report. But I’m starting to think… I can’t jeopardize my job, my family, on this, Will. I may have already done too much.” He didn’t sound like himself anymore as he said this – he sounded beaten down, conflicted.

  “They can’t stop you from doing what you want to do on your time off though,” I said.

  “Dee can,” he said, smiling sadly. “You don’t know married life, Will; Dee is like a part of me, and for her not to be along with me on this hurts. I don’t think I can keep it up. I haven’t told her very much because I don’t want her to get into trouble with me. But I wanted to show you this, because you gotta keep going. Somebody put her in that spot, Will, and somehow covered their tracks I think. We gotta know who. Who would know how to do that?”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Thinking I was going to go it solo now, and how I had lost the one feature of this investigation that had any legitimacy – that a member of law enforcement riding along with me – made me feel a bit beaten down, too.

  “I gotta go Will,” Greg said, starting up the truck. “We’re taking Ophie to the lake.”

  I got out of the car and looked back at him through the side window. “So that’s it?” I asked. “You’re just done?”

  He nodded. “For now,” he said as he put the car in gear. “Never tell anyone I stole the report.”

  He started to pull away. “Greg, real quick,” I said hurriedly grasping the door frame before he got too far. He put on the brakes. “I’m going to go see Clayton Red Claw.”

  Greg rolled his eyes, looking exasperated. I held up my hand to stop him. “I know about his reputation and everything, but it’s where I need to go; he’s a part of this. But look, if shit goes down I may need to call you – just let you know what’s up, that ok with you?”

  “Of course, Will” he said. “But I’m just a ranger, remember, and that’s in Browning – so you’d need to call the BIA cops too, if you’re in trouble. Just don’t get yourself in a place you can’t get out, is the best plan for you.”

  I thanked him. “Something I meant to say to you before but didn’t get the chance, Greg. I was lucky you came along like you did; and I’m thankful for your help. You helped me get going on this; and now I believe I can find out who did it, because of your help. If I eventually find out something important, I’ll let you know – if you want.”

  “You better,” he said, a sly smile stealing across his face at me. Then he drove off and left me standing in the parking lot, feeling like the last man on earth.

  Twenty-Seven

  I needed a car to get to Browning, so I walked up to Ronnie’s door and knocked loudly as he had his stereo up loud blasting some Rolling Stones. It was Sympathy for the Devil.

  Ronnie came to the door shirtless with cigarette dangling from his mouth. He looked like shit. His short hair was sticking up all messy, and his room was trashed. He didn’t look especially pleased to see me. “Hey Chiefy,” he muttered. “What can I do you for?”

  I could barely hear him over the Rolling Stones’ blaring “Won’t you guess my name!” A big box fan he recently had stuck in the window sill to keep smoke pouring out the window rumbled behind him.

  “How about a late breakfast?” I asked. “I’m buying!”

  He regarded me for a moment with dismay, then turned and walked back to his dresser. I followed into his room, careful to walk around the clothes strewn about.

  “Love what you’ve done with the place,” I said.

  He bent over the dresser and made a loud snorting noise. I saw a thin, white line of powder disappear up his big, hooked nose. He then snorted a second line of cocaine and then reared up and brushed his moustache with his hand, snorting some more.

  “Jesus…” I muttered. “You gotta get rid of this stuff, Ronnie.”

  He pulled a t-shirt out of one of the dresser drawers and pulled it on.

  “Thanks for the advice, doctor,” he said. “But you should worry about your own hide.”

  “What is that supposed to mean” I asked.

  “Forget it,” he said, waving a hand dismissively and grabbing his keys off the dresser. “I’ll drive.”

  We drove out of the parking minutes later. Ronnie gripped the steering wheel with one hand, his other was propping his head up as he leaned against his door. He had on dark shades; it was still viciously sunny outside.

  He was initially playing some tunes on the car stereo but then he reached down and switched it off. This was the first time I had never seen him drive without his music.

  “I’m hungover as fuck,” he said, in the way of an explanation, I assumed.

  “You must be,” I said. “What’d you do?”

  “Uhhhhh,” he rubbed his hand over his hair back and forth roughly a few times and spit out the window. “Me and Jamie downed an entire bottle of Mad Dog 20/20 each – and some other stuff. It was kind of a competition; I think she won...?” He reached over and pulled out another cigarette, lighting it and tossing the lighter back into the dash console.

  He glanced at me. “So you wanna tell my why you’re hanging around with rangers and police officers, these days? Despite my sage advice?”

  “I certainly haven’t been ‘hanging around’ with them.”

  “You brought one here today – the bastard wanted to speak to me, but I told him to fuck off. What the hell did he want here?”

  “Looking into Alia’s murder,” I said.
“But he’s just going through the motions – he doesn’t give a shit.”

  “Why do you give a shit?” Ronnie said, shaking his head. “You just fucked her once.”

  I set my jaw firmly in place, feeling anger rising in me. “Ronnie, we’re friends and all but I’m not going to let you disrespect her like that – that can’t happen again. You didn’t know anything about her.”

  We rode in awkward silence for a moment. Then Ronnie shrugged, “I didn’t mean to come off like an asshole about it, Chiefy.” He stared back out the windshield. “I just don’t get why you care so much. Cops coming around now… it’s where I live too, you know.”

  “Just don’t say shit about her like that, man,” I said.

  We rode on. Ronnie turned the music back on, but kept it low. “Will,” he said after some time, now with a calmer voice, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I just want to say, regardless of why you care so much, that you need to be careful about dealing with the BIA cops, and even in dealing with the rangers.”

  He flicked his cigarette out the window. “I’m only saying that because I’ve seen it before – back in Detroit. You get involved with the cops, even trying to help them, whatever it may be, and then they fuck you – they turn it back on you some way. Seen it a million times…”

  He raised one hand in the air with that “I’m just saying” gesture. “I know you cared about Alia, Will, and I know you want to know what happened. But stirring things up with the cops is just going to make it worse. Do you see that?”

  I thought about Olsterman’s unsettling suggestions about me being the only suspect. “That’s the second time someone’s told me I’ve been “stirring things up” today,” I said. “But as far as making things worse – what exactly do you think could happen?” Besides Olsterman getting sick of my bullshit and deciding to arrest me for murder.