The Collector

by R. Allen Chappell

  Hard man though he was, Raul wasn’t prepared to leave his family to so uncertain a fate. He tapped the fingers of his right hand on the polished mahogany of his desktop, determined to remain focused and in control. There was the razor-thin chance he could negotiate his way out of this mess—though he knew the chances of it were highly unlikely. An agreement with a man like this, once made, was seldom negotiable.

  ~~~~~~

  Less than ten minutes had passed since Archie hung up the phone. He changed into a golf shirt and tan Khakis before moving to the window to gaze across the parking area. It was beginning to fill up. All of the more desirable close-in spaces had already been taken. His tan rental was midway back, in the shade of a poorly manicured tree…an ash he thought…its drooping branches, along with a scraggly line of shrubbery, almost hid the truck from this angle. That parking place was worth what he paid for it. It wouldn’t hurt the manager’s car to spend a day in the sun. He scanned the lot. Well, he thought, this might work out after all. There had been fear in Raul’s voice and that was always a good sign.

  He picked up the phone and redialed the number. When Raul answered, Archie apologized. “I’m sorry, I must have been cut off before; the connection seems fine now. What I was about to tell you was, yes, of course, go ahead and send your man. I’m at the Bella Vista on 528 North. I’ll be waiting in the lobby.” Archie thought a moment. “Tell your guy I’m in a blue suit and grey Stetson.”

  On the other end of the line, Raul realized he had been holding his breath and let it out in an embarrassing gasp. “Ah…yes… I thought something like that must have happened. It will take my man only a few minutes to run by the operative’s place and then he’ll be right over.” He was careful not to mention the money still owed. The person he was sending was more than capable of taking care of that little detail.

  Archie suppressed a smile, hung up the phone, and gathered his things. After checking out of the hotel and settling himself in the pickup he opened the sunshade, which had come dear at the airport gift shop. Archie was not frivolous with his money, or Percy’s either for that matter, but neither was he willing to skimp on necessities. He arranged the sunshade in the windshield leaving only a little slit to peek through. He sipped at the tepid bottle of water left in the truck and watched from half-closed eyes as arriving guests filtered in, while others left for nearby restaurants. Some of these same diners were already beginning to return by the time the black Lincoln pulled into the lot…cautiously at first…tentatively, as though the driver was aware he might be watched. Archie knew at once it was him.

  The big sedan took one of the open spaces at the far end of the hotel. Two or three minutes passed as the driver assessed his surroundings. Finally, a large man, casually dressed in Levi’s and a button-down shirt, got out and ran an eye along the upper floor windows, then again turned his attention to the parking area. Tucked away in the shade, the tan pickup with local plates caught his eye almost immediately—the manager’s truck, he guessed. People who live in Albuquerque know what the sun will do to a vehicle. Shady parking spots are like gold. A higher-up always takes these choice places for themselves. Apparently satisfied with the situation the man strode toward the covered entrance.

  Archie, canting his head to watch through the tiny opening in the sunshade, noted the measured stride and confident air…a man who knows what he’s about. He smiled at the elegantly thin brief case dangling from one ham-like fist. A cop, Archie figured…or rather an ex-cop, like himself. He watched the man’s every movement, how he carried himself, his awareness of his surroundings, all with the unblinking interest of one whose life might depend on what he learns. The man, with a final glance around, disappeared inside showing an obvious certainty in his ability to handle whatever might be waiting. Archie knew it wouldn’t take him long to figure things out.

  He swallowed the last sip from the plastic bottle and tossed it behind the seat. He had been hoping Raul would come along or send some goon that might be tailed back to him. But this was clearly not the case. Trying to follow this person would be pointless, possibly even dangerous.

  He studied the Lincoln, and then stepping down from the truck, sighed at the twinge in his back. I should have taken something for this earlier, he thought. Reaching in his pocket for the coiled steel wire, he fiddled with it for a moment, adjusted the rubber coated hand loops and then plucked the little set of picks from his waistband…it was time to earn his money.

  Time & Trouble

  Lucy Tallwoman watched from the living room window as the last of her guests followed the glare of headlights through blowing clouds of dust and up onto the highway. A stiff breeze had come up after sundown sending a fog of powdered red clay across the flats. Carla Meyor was last in line.

  The woman had hardly left Lucy’s side the entire night asking about this and that, nothing of any great importance but over a short period of time she’d learned a great deal about Lucy Tallwoman and her family. After dinner, the agent had been quick to jump in and help clean up, even took a few minutes to talk with the children.

  Once or twice Lucy caught her father looking over at her, no more than a glance each time, but knowing him as she did, she found it significant enough to make a mental note. In the morning she would ask what he was thinking…if he could remember what he’d been thinking.

  Sue Yazzie seemed preoccupied with the FBI Agent as well and studied the woman when she thought no one was looking…following her every nuance with a calculating gaze.

  That was understandable in Lucy Tallwoman’s view. She was pretty sure she knew what was going on in her friend’s mind and regretted telling her what Harley Ponyboy said in Fred Smith’s office—about Carla seeming to know Charlie from their college days. Sue was the last person in the world that should have any worry in that regard…she shouldn’t have mentioned it…but it was too late to fix now. She had only jokingly referred to it but was sorry now she’d said anything at all.

  Beyond the barest social niceties, Charlie Yazzie paid Carla Meyor little attention, directing his interest, instead, toward the men’s conversation, which leaned heavily toward the murder of Clifford Johnson. He also had to listen to Harley Ponyboy lament his missed chance at a good horse. Harley’s friend had sold the gelding that very morning before Harley could even make an offer.

  Charlie did glance across the table at the FBI Agent now and again—the act caught each time by his wife, which caused him to color and quickly look away. His view of Carla Meyor was becoming complicated. He truly could not recall the woman at UNM—this though she clearly seemed to remember him. She was not a woman any man would be likely to forget. He wondered what could be so different with her now, that he couldn’t remember anything at all about her. When Professor Custer gets back in town next week, I’ll ask him if he recalls anything about the woman. There was little chance of that, probably. He knew his former professor had no reason to remember a law student not interested in the science of archaeology. Charlie had been one of the few that fell into that category. It was a big school with a lot of students, he doubted anyone would remember very many of them.

  In the pickup going home, Sue seemed preoccupied, unusually quiet, only occasionally glancing at the children asleep in the back seat. The two youngsters were worn out from playing with Caleb and Ida Marie. Joseph Wiley had decided Thomas’s daughter had become a little bossy these last few months. He did, however, pay particular attention to her brother Caleb and all that he said or did. Joseph Wiley’s sister Sasha, of course, idolized the older girl and tried to emulate her every move.

  Nearly halfway home, Sue finally broke the silence. “So…that Carla seems very nice; Lucy certainly seems to have taken a shine to her. It’s high time she mixed a bit more with someone like that…it will be good for her I think, and good for her business, too.” Then she waited…

  “Hmmm.” Charlie figured there was more to come and guessed what direction it would take. When he finally answered, it was with more than
a little trepidation. “I guess so. She’s personable enough, that’s for sure, and she seems to have a real interest in Lucy’s work, too.” He looked down at the speedometer and backed off the accelerator just a touch. “Carla may just be putting her together…she’s very good at it from what I hear…it’s what she does.”

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say…”

  Charlie shrugged and peered through a veil of wind-blown dust. “I didn’t really mean it that way. She’s an Investigator. Investigators are always investigating...that’s all I meant.”

  “Does that go for you, too, Investigator?”

  “Sometimes…”

  “You still don’t remember her from the university?”

  “Not really.”

  “You’ve always had a good memory for people… faces. Your Aunt Annie says you never forgot a face, or even a voice…even when you were a kid.”

  “Well, I don’t remember her. Those were some pretty large groups they had us tutoring back then…and it was a long time ago. I can’t remember everyone. What I do remember is how hard it would have been without that extra money the tutoring brought in.”

  “She’s very pretty, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose…” He smiled over at her. “But she might not have been pretty back then.”

  “So, you’re saying that’s why you don’t remember her? She might not have been pretty enough?”

  “No, that’s not what I said.” This could get ugly, he thought. “I’m just saying I don’t remember her back then… That’s all I’m saying.” Yes, I know exactly where this is headed. She doesn’t usually focus on something like this; something has set her off—Lucy’s been talking all right.

  There was something about Carla Meyor that made her different, not just for Sue…but for everyone. Charlie shot a glance at the rearview mirror to see if the woman was still behind them and knew instantly that was a mistake.

  “Still back there?”

  He sighed, “Yes, she’s still back there…I’ll bet her ears are burning too.” He attempted a smile but couldn’t pull it off. His wife was frowning now. She isn’t going to let this go.

  “You’ve never told me if you had any white girlfriends at college. Why is that?”

  “Well, that’s probably because I never had any.”

  “How about Indian girlfriends…or Mexican?”

  “I went out with a few girls…no one special…I told you that a long time ago.”

  “I don’t remember you saying…” Sue’s voice trailed off, now remembering more than she wanted to.

  “Well, it’s a little late to be asking about it now isn’t it?” Charlie looked back at the kids. “Why don’t we finish this little conversation tomorrow morning…after we get some sleep…and maybe a better perspective?”

  Sue crossed her arms and looked out the side window where there was really nothing to see beyond the darkness with its windblown ghosts of things that may never have happened.

  ~~~~~~

  Charlie left early for work the next morning, anxious to see if there was anything new in the Clifford Johnson murder…at least that’s what he told himself.

  Billy Red Clay was sitting in the parking lot at Legal Services, busy writing something in a notebook. He looked up as Charlie backed into the spot next to him and rolled down his window.

  “What’s up, Billy? You been waiting here all night? We missed you at the cookout by the way. Your Uncle Thomas called your place but didn’t get ahold of anyone.”

  “No.” Billy said, “I haven’t been here all night. I called Sue a few minutes ago and she said you were on the way into work. I figured to catch you before you got tied up.” The policeman shook his head. “And I couldn’t make it last night for the cookout. My mom fell and hurt her head. I had to take her to the clinic. She’s all right this morning. She’s going to be fine, they said.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear she’s going to be all right.” Charlie looked up at the clock. “So, what’s on your mind Officer?” He watched as Billy finished whatever he was writing in the little notebook and remembered the first time he’d referred to the new recruit as “Officer.” It was on the young man’s first day on the job. It was his birthday, and Billy had stopped by on his lunch hour to let Charlie know he’d made the cut. The investigator had never seen him happier, or prouder, even when he was a kid trailing around after his Uncle Thomas during summer vacations.

  Billy looked up from his pad, and Charlie could see there was something serious troubling him.

  “Charlie, I thought you’d want to know: Louise Johnson turned up missing last night. She was supposed to call Fred Smith back about some information he wanted, but by nine o’clock he still hadn’t heard from her. Fred called several more times, still no answer. He finally went to her house to make sure she was all right. The house was unlocked. No Louise. Her car wasn’t in the garage and still hasn’t been located.”

  Charlie felt weak in the stomach. “What? The woman just disappeared… No one saw anything?”

  “They questioned everyone in the neighborhood that they could lay their hands on. Nothing.”

  Charlie had a lump in his throat, barely able to get the words out. “Sue and I just saw Louise at the grocery store yesterday. We talked for a minute about Cliff and when the service would be…that sort of thing. She followed us out of the parking lot and on out of town towards Farmington. We turned off at our place and she went on toward her place in Kirtland. At least we supposed that was where she was headed. That’s the last we saw of her. There wasn’t much traffic; she beeped her horn and waved as she went around us.” Charlie put a hand to his forehead and rubbed that little spot just between his eyes, where the headaches usually started. “That’s the last we saw of her.”

  “Well it doesn’t look good Charlie. Fred’s pretty upset. The FBI has another shitload of people on their way up here now.” Billy glanced around the lot a time or two as though afraid someone might recognize his unit. “Captain Beyale is jumping up and down, saying Tribal needs to get moving on this; we need to get involved, he says… FBI or no FBI. He wanted to know all the particulars, and when I told him the FBI hadn’t released everything as yet, he blew a gasket, wanted to know why we weren’t in the loop. He said as Liaison Officer I should be made aware of what’s going on at all times.” Billy, frustrated, shook his head. “The Captain thinks Tribal should be made privy to everything the Bureau has in a case like this.” Billy glanced around again. “I told him, the Feds never send everything down to the local agencies. They always keep an ace in the hole.” Billy sighed. “Then he really went ballistic. He wanted to know why I hadn’t called him last night. I told him about my mom…her falling and all—but by then he wasn’t even listening.” Billy looked down at his notebook. “Charlie, I’m beginning to think this is partly my fault for not speaking up to Fred.”

  Charlie rolled his eyes. “Billy, the FBI has their guidelines on this sort of thing. It’s no reflection on you.” Charlie hated to see the young policeman beating himself up over something he had no control over.

  Billy nodded half-heartedly. “Every agency in the state has been notified. Fred is heading up a meeting this morning for local law enforcement. Nine o’clock sharp at the FBI office. He said everyone should be there. He specifically asked that your office be notified.” Billy sat there a moment. “I was just working on my report when you drove up. Hell of it is, I’m not sure what all I should include, I’m not sure Fred wants what little I do know to get out until he okays it.”

  Charlie gave the policeman a conspiratorial wink and looked away still trying to absorb the news of Louise Johnson’s disappearance. The reservation was no stranger to crime, but this added twist to an already complicated case was something no one saw coming.

  “Charlie, can I use your machine to get a copy of this report? I want to keep a personal record of everything as it goes down.”

  “That might be a smart move. Come on up to the office Billy. I h
ave to call Sue anyway, and probably should talk to your Uncle Thomas as well. I doubt they’ve heard about Louise. That should leave us just enough time to make that meeting with the Bureau.”

  ~~~~~~

  It was almost noon before Billy Red Clay followed Investigator Yazzie out of the Federal Building, both men disappointed in the little they had learned beyond what they already knew.

  “Well, that was pretty much three hours shot all to hell,” Billy Red Clay was looking at his little black notebook as he said this, and sure enough, there really wasn’t much there.

  Charlie shook his head. Billy was right, there wasn’t much to say about a meeting like that, he thought. It seemed to him the FBI was holding back—anxious to hear what everyone else might know but reluctant to make a full discloser. That was just like the Bureau, but it wasn’t like Fred Smith. Charlie thought he could see a guiding hand from a higher-up in Albuquerque.

  Charlie was halfway down the stairs to the parking lot before he looked up to see Thomas Begay and Harley Ponyboy sitting on the tailgate of Thomas’s truck. Thomas had somehow squeezed the big diesel pickup in between Billy’s unit and Sheriff Dudd Schott’s cruiser. The pervasive animosity between the town Indians and Schott went back a long way. Early on, as a deputy, Dudd had earned the distrust and disgust of the entire Indian population of San Juan County both on and off the reservation. The Indians still referred to him as Deputy Dawg and considered him nothing more than a joke. Charlie knew Dudd was none too well thought of by whites either. No one could figure out how he became Sheriff in the first place…but there he was.

  Billy smiled, “How the hell did they get those truck doors open far enough to even get out?” He broke into a chuckle. “Thomas might be skinny enough to squeeze out the driver side, but Harley would play hell getting out the passenger side.”