Defiled: The Sequel to Nailed Featuring John Tall Wolf (A Ron Ketchum Mystery Book 2)

by Joseph Flynn

  “You combed his hair to make him look better?” Ron asked.

  “That and so he’d be found with his hair the way I liked it. Trish and Nessa liked his part on the other side.”

  Ron called Sergeant Stanley. Asked him to bring a photo array.

  Chapter 22

  The Alta County Courthouse had not been subsumed by the Municipal Complex for two reasons. It existed in a separate stratum of government. And in 1939 the Works Progress Administration had built a masterpiece of workmanship and a near masterpiece of design in granite and marble. Harry Hopkins, the head of the WPA, had come to the dedication and declared, “This courthouse will outlive the pyramids of Egypt.”

  Years later, a wag had added, “It might even outlast Clay Steadman.”

  To say that the townsfolk were proud of the building would be an understatement.

  FBI Special Agent Abra Benjamin found her counterpart from the BIA, John Tall Wolf, sitting in a carrel at the back of the county clerk’s office. He was searching court filings on an office terminal and sending copies to his laptop. He looked over his shoulder when he heard Benjamin approach. Gave her a nod of recognition. Considered adding a smile but held off as she might take it the wrong way. You never knew with feebs.

  “No problem finding me?” Tall Wolf asked.

  “None.”

  “Pull up a chair.”

  “You want to talk here?”

  Tall Wolf turned on his seat. The office was a large space and there wasn’t a soul in sight.

  “Looks okay to me,” he said.

  “Someone might come by.”

  “We’ll remain vigilant. Speak in hushed tones.”

  She gave him a look and said, “I thought you were going to say speak in Navajo.”

  “Wind-talking? That’d be good, too, if only I knew how. Sad truth is, I have to get by in English, Spanish or French.”

  He turned back to the court records.

  Benjamin pulled a chair over. Quietly. She was tall enough to look over Tall Wolf’s shoulder at the county clerk’s terminal. A financial institution called Leveraged Credit had filed suit against a company called Tibbot’s Sierra Sunsets.

  Tall Wolf interpreted her silence correctly; Benjamin was skimming the document he was reading. He said, “I don’t think this one’s on point for me.”

  She said, “You think someone who took Tibbot to court might have killed him? Seems to me someone using a courtroom to resolve differences wouldn’t have the same mindset as a killer.”

  Tall Wolf glanced at Benjamin. “You do profiling, Special Agent?”

  “No, how about you?”

  “The BIA doesn’t have the budget for that fancy stuff. Mostly we work with animal entrails.”

  Benjamin couldn’t stop herself. The guy cracked her up. Caught her laughing, too.

  “Very funny,” she said.

  “A day without laughter means you take yourself way too seriously.”

  That one seemed to hit home for Benjamin. She nodded and said, “You’re right. I need to sharpen my wit.”

  Tall Wolf agreed. “Versatile weapon, wit, and easily concealed. You have a point, up to a point, about differences in temperament. Thing is, Hale got sued a lot, but his lawyers had a truly great winning percentage. If they didn’t outthink or outmaneuver the other side, they outspent them.”

  Benjamin knew all about that last strategy. “The side with the deepest pockets usually wins. They can string things out until the other guy is broke at best and more often than not deeply in hock to his own lawyers.”

  Tall Wolf followed up. “Someone gets put through the legal wringer, maybe more than once, he might consider a more direct means of conflict resolution. N’est-ce pas?”

  “D’accord,” Benjamin replied.

  Damn guy was not only funny, she thought, he was smart and charming.

  Had a better French accent, too.

  She was beginning to think he might buy her lunch, but he wasn’t going to let her eat his.

  “I have some information to share with you,” she said, “and I need to get your opinion.”

  Tall Wolf turned to look at Benjamin. That was what he’d meant about feebs being unpredictable. He’d never had one of them solicit his opinion on anything before. He looked over her shoulder to make sure they were still alone. They were.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “It turns out the bureau, my bureau, has a file on Sonny Sideris.” She told him about the homicides Sideris was suspected of committing, including the two executives of the hazardous waste disposal company, and the suspicion he’d been hired by illegal dumpers to commit those murders. “With that working theory,” she said, “I had to ask myself if there was any limit to radioactive materials or other toxins our lake bomber might have available to him.”

  “Assuming there’s a connection between Tibbot’s murder and the bomb, you mean.”

  “Yeah.”

  Tall Wolf said, “Then the only limit I see is the killer’s buying power.”

  “That’s my thought, too. I was asked by someone high in my chain of command whether I think you and I might need additional help. I said I thought we had things covered. Now, I’m not so sure. That’s why I wanted to see you. Do you think we need help?”

  Tall Wolf was flattered that she would consider his opinion at all.

  He said, “The situation we’ve got here, I think it calls for brainpower more than manpower. But if things start slipping away from us … might be a good idea to have some federal assets nearby. Maybe some boys who know about hostage rescue and some good long-range shooters. Maybe even people who can aid with the emergency evacuation of a civilian population.”

  Benjamin’s head had bobbed along with each point Tall Wolf had laid out.

  “You probably think we should share this with the locals, huh?”

  “I think of Chief Ketchum as an asset not a liability,” Tall Wolf said.

  “Him, yeah. His friend from L.A., I’m not so sure.”

  “So tell him, not her.”

  Tall Wolf was not about to get in between two female cops with issues.

  Benjamin said, “Yeah, okay, I think you’re right. You want to come with me?”

  “I’ve got some more work to do here,” he said, “but if you need a tie-breaking vote, give me a call.”

  Sergeant Casimir Stanley had the only desk in the Goldstrike PD that was bigger than the chief’s. Every inch of it was necessary. The areas not covered by precisely stacked rows and columns of paper were filled by instruments of communications: landline phone, three mobile phones and a CB radio that could reach Star Fleet Command, according to a department joke. Taken as a whole, it was an analog rebuke to a digital world.

  A former Marine drill instructor had passed through the office one day, done a double-take upon spotting the sergeant’s desktop and said, “That is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen that doesn’t either create life or take it.”

  Being favorably compared to women and weaponry was a high compliment indeed.

  Still made the sarge feel warm whenever he thought of it.

  He felt considerably cooler when he picked up the landline receiver only to find John Tall Wolf on the line.

  “How may I help you, Special Agent?”

  The “you dick” remained unspoken but clearly implied.

  Tall Wolf said, “I found something important regarding the Tibbot case, Sergeant. I tried calling the chief’s cell phone but it went to voicemail.”

  “The chief’s a busy man.”

  “Sure, I know that. I also know I can count on you to evaluate what I’m about to tell you. If you agree with my assessment, you’ll find the chief and let him know. If you don’t, I’m sure you’ll tell him at the appropriate time.”

  One of the stacks of paper on the sergeant’s desk was phone messages for the chief.

  Arranged in descending order of importance, by the sergeant’s lights.

  “Of cours
e, I will,” Sergeant Stanley said. “What’s your message?”

  “I’ve come up with a new suspect in the Tibbot case. Someone very interesting.”

  When Tall Wolf gave him a name, he thought the fed couldn’t be more off base.

  Until he heard the reasons for the special agent’s suspicions.

  Then he said, “I’ll get this to the chief right away … I appreciate your trusting me with this information.”

  Maybe Tall Wolf was sucking up a little bit. But he was subtle about it. Allowing both of them an opening to resume a courteous relationship.

  Sergeant Stanley asked, “Where can the chief reach you, Special Agent?”

  “I’ll have my cell on.”

  “You’ll be in town?”

  “I’m not sure of that,” Tall Wolf said. “I have to go talk to an Indian.”

  Walt Ketchum felt great, better than any time since his Nora had died, and only a little bit guilty. He felt, maybe, that he’d taken advantage of Clay Steadman’s hospitality. Slipping between the sheets with the mayor’s lady friend and all.

  Then again she’d been the one who had come to his bedroom.

  Stood in front of him as he’d been reading that morning’s L.A. Times on the fancy little tablet computer Clay had lent him. As had become his habit of late, he’d started by skimming the obits before he even bothered with the sports section. He paid special attention to looking for any former coppers he might have known who’d kicked off.

  That day there’d been two men who’d gone end of watch for the last time.

  But he hadn’t known either of them, and they’d both been older than him. Couldn’t ask for better than that. Not getting killed on the job. Collecting your pension for a good, long time. Being seen out by pipers and a swarm of colleagues in their old uniforms. Your widow receiving the consolation of department brass.

  That was the only thing that had bothered Walt.

  He should have gone before Nora did.

  He raised a hand to salute his departed comrades. When he lowered it, she was there. Marlene … He couldn’t remember her last name. Something Indian. He thought there was a moon in there somewhere. Walt thought maybe she’d just stepped into his room by mistake. He was about to tell her Clay’s bedroom was in the other wing of the house, but she put a finger to her lips.

  Telling him to be quiet.

  Getting a sense of what might coming, what he hoped was coming, he played along. Sitting there with the tablet on his lap and an old familiar stirring starting under the news of the day, he watched her undress. It was like magic. She just seemed to touch a piece of clothing and it fell off her like an autumn leaf. In no time at all, she was standing there naked before him.

  She extended a hand to him and then next thing he knew his clothes were gone, too.

  For a second, he felt embarrassed. He knew he had an old man’s body. He’d been unable to do much physical activity during the recovery from his stroke. He’d gotten back to doing some walking only in the past six months. Best he could say, only one part of him had any real vigor.

  That part felt like it still belonged to a teenager.

  She eased him under the covers and climbed in on top of him. He’d never felt such heat from a woman’s body. Another degree or two, she’d give him first degree burns. All the while they were together, though, she never said a word to him. As she left, she gave him a kiss on the cheek and he drifted off to the most peaceful sleep he could remember.

  His only thought being he’d do anything he could to keep this woman happy.

  And, strangely enough, he knew the way to do that was to be himself.

  He thought upon wakening that maybe it had all been a dream, but after showering he got up and saw Marlene talking to that tall Indian with the sunglasses, the one who’d helped him out the other day. He’d shaken the guy’s hand and told him thanks. Then he’d left the two of them alone. He felt sure that was what Marlene wanted.

  With the day being so sunny and bright, he decided to go out for a walk. There was a bounce in his step. He couldn’t say he felt young. It was more like middle-aged and still strong. Good enough for him. He’d take it for as long as it would last.

  Truth was, he couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten. Testifying for Ronnie in that civil suit had been the start of turning his life around. It led directly to his meeting Clay Steadman. Now, he had more money than any old L.A. copper other than Joe Wambaugh. The biggest star to hit Hollywood in Walt’s lifetime was going to make a movie based on his life, and he’d be getting more money from that.

  It wasn’t just his good fortune that pleased him though. Ronnie was doing right well, too. Chief of Police. What more could a cop want for his son? Well, how about becoming a mayor? The boy might do that, too. And he’d said it wouldn’t bother him to have his old man around to watch him run for office. On top of all that, Ronnie had Keely Powell back in his life. That was something to smile about.

  A man knew his son had made a good match when he’d have liked to see a younger version of himself wind up with that girl. Of course, he had wound up with someone like Keely. If all that women’s lib stuff had started a bit earlier, he could have seen his beautiful Nora having been a copper just like Keely.

  Walt waved to everyone he saw on his walk into town.

  Didn’t matter if he knew them or not. Most folks waved back.

  Small town friendly. Who could have guessed he’d ever enjoy that?

  Walt found an open café table at Patisserie Leroux and settled in. Didn’t want to overdo the exercise stuff. What with the horizontal bop he’d enjoyed that morning, it was time to replenish himself. He ordered a black coffee and a tarte au citron. Made him smile when he thought that he used to settle for donuts.

  Walt stretched his legs, clasped his hands over his middle and sighed.

  All was right with the world. His world anyway. He was finally at peace.

  When the waitress returned, he squinted at her, felt a flutter in his heart and said, “Nora?”

  Chapter 23

  After Veronika Novak picked Sonny Sideris’ photo — a frame taken from a security video shot at the Renaissance Hotel — out of a six-pack array, Ron told her he’d arrange for her to stay at a good hotel in Reno under an assumed name. A female officer would be her roommate. Sarita Levy, the owner of Locks & Bangs and Veronika’s boss, would be coached to say Veronika had gone to visit an imaginary relative in North Carolina.

  “It’ll work,” Ron told the stylist. “You’ll be safe until we can arrest Sideris. We’ll keep you safe through the trial and then work out something long term after he’s convicted.”

  “Like witness protection?” Veronika asked.

  Ron sensed she was getting cold feet.

  “More like relocation. From what we’ve been able to learn, Sideris isn’t mobbed up. He’s an independent contractor.”

  “But he is a killer, right? If he doesn’t know other killers personally, he’d have a pretty good idea of how to find one. Send somebody looking for me.”

  No one would find her before Sideris was convicted, Ron thought. But that would hardly be any comfort. Looking at Veronika, he knew there’d be no chance of BS-ing her.

  “There will be some risk involved,” he said.

  “Then there should be some reward, too.”

  “That would seem fair, but there’s no bounty on Sideris.”

  Veronika said, “I was thinking Hale would want to see his killer be punished … and his estate has plenty of money.”

  And wouldn’t that be peachy, the chief thought. The murder victim’s estate paying for the testimony that convicted the man accused of killing him. Anyone ever found out about that, Sideris’ conviction would be set aside and everyone involved in the scheme would be looking at their own criminal charges.

  None of that had occurred to Veronika or bothered her if it had.

  “I have relatives in Europe,” she said, “but it’s expensive to live over there. I’d n
eed more than a stipend. I’d need enough for a condo, a nice one. And a car. And, starting out, I want to be set up in San Francisco not Reno.”

  Ron could see now why Hale Tibbot had been reluctant to get married.

  He also thought maybe there was someone else who could pick up Veronika’s tab.

  “I’ll see what we can do,” Ron said.

  John Tall Wolf made the drive to Truckee and caught up with Herbert Wilkins when the Washoe council leader took his lunch break at the home improvement store where he worked. He caught Wilkins’ eye as the man stepped out into the parking lot with a brown bag in hand. For just a second, it looked like Wilkins might turn and run.

  Then Wilkins must have thought: Where could he go that Coyote couldn’t catch him? Tall Wolf had been working on that his entire adult life. So far, his best answer had been to work where he could track Marlene Flower Moon’s movements at least some of the time. Yielding to the inevitable, Wilkins made his way over to Tall Wolf.

  “How much time do you get for lunch?” the special agent asked.

  “Forty-five minutes.”

  Tall Wolf nodded to his car. “Get in. I’ll have you back in time.”

  Wilkins fitted himself into the passenger seat. John got behind the wheel.

  “Where are we going?” Wilkins asked.

  “You talked with Marlene right? Promised full cooperation?”

  Wearing a sullen expression, Wilkins said, “Yeah.”

  “Then it doesn’t matter where we’re going. Being such a nice day, though, I thought we could talk outside. Which park would you prefer, Meadow or Shoreline?”

  “Shoreline. Less likely to see anyone from work there.”

  “Shoreline it is. You want me to stop so you can get a soft drink?”

  Wilkins shook head, dropped his lunch bag between his feet.

  “I’ll eat later. I’ve lost my appetite.”

  Tall Wolf made his way to Shoreline Park, one of the sites he’d scouted earlier. The two men sat opposite each other at an isolated picnic bench. The special agent gave Wilkins the side with the view of Donner Lake. He figured it was unlikely anyone might sneak up on him in a canoe. But he didn’t put it past Wilkins to have some people watching out for him.