Archie retrieved a pint flask from his bag and had a long pull—wondering if he should call Louise Johnson, or after the note he’d sent, just wait for her to contact him? He hoped for her sake she hadn’t sold him out…she would regret it if she had.
The Discovery
Lucy Tallwoman was at her loom early but hadn’t touched the shuttle in more than twenty minutes. She was thinking. And she had a lot to think about. The piece on the loom still unfinished was no longer a priority and was now afforded little thought. If her suspicions were correct and her client records were no longer available—misplaced, missing or stolen—the Begays might soon be in a financial bind. They wouldn’t be the only ones though. Trader Johnson had an enviable collection of craftsmen under his guidance, in both silver and textiles. He controlled more of the region’s market than most realized. Without the trader’s carefully curated list of buyers they would all be left with few options and none of them fast fixes.
Clifford Johnson had been wrong when he said, “It’s not important that you know who the buyers are. We’ll take care of all that for you.”
She knew her work would still be as valuable as ever—probably more now that she knew how she had been manipulated, and her mother before her as well. It was the time involved that worried her. They had virtually no cushion, nothing in reserve. Everything had gone into the new house as it trickled in, and there were still plenty of bills left to pay. Building a new customer base would take time, and she would need help doing it. This time she intended to be part of that process. She would never again entrust her future and that of her family, to someone else. For now, the logical person to turn to might be Carla Meyor. She had the expertise and possibly even the gallery connections needed to put a marketing plan together, and that, along with a strong interest in her work put Carla first on the list, in fact she was the only person on the list. Yes, Carla is the one I should call first.
Thomas came up from the corrals with two tired and dirty children in tow. Dipping sheep is hard, grungy work but without it, life for the sheep man would be even harder, and far less profitable. Ticks, lice and flies make life miserable for the sheep and can affect the entire operation.
“I’m glad that’s over with. The kids have been dreading it for weeks now, and so have I.”
Lucy turned and nodded. “I should have been down there helping—I just can’t seem to get into my weaving right now. I didn’t realize how much I had come to depend on Cliff and Louise. I don’t even know how to start with finding someone else…I’m thinking about calling Carla Meyor. She’s the only one I can think of who might be able to help.”
Her husband shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea just yet. Charlie might have some ideas. Old Man Paul seems to have something going on in his head about that woman, too. Maybe it would be better to just concentrate on your weaving for now and then when everything settles down, we can figure out where to go from there. Everything will fall into place eventually.”
In the corner, Paul T’Sosi brought his recliner upright with a start, still foggy from his nap, and only catching the part about the sheep. “What? You were dipping sheep? Why didn’t you call me to help? I don’t mind getting a little dirty.” He snorted. “And it’s not like I can’t do that kind of work anymore.”
“I know, Paul, we just didn’t want to wake you; it sounded like you might be having a dream, you were talking in your sleep, too. It’s bad luck you know, waking someone who’s talking in their sleep. They could be speaking to the Holy Ones or lifting a curse on someone.”
“What was I saying?” Paul didn’t think he talked in his sleep; it might not have been me doing the talking at all. It might have been the dream talking to me. This was something he wasn’t about to acknowledge and he changed the direction of the conversation. “So how did the dipping go—did those Suffolk bucks give you any trouble?” They were big bucks, leased from the Extension Service’s program and not to be bred to Lucy’s ewes: the ones kept for wool. The Suffolk cross produced a larger, more delicately flavored lamb for market but it also insured the wool would barely merit carpet grade. The Suffolks were meant expressly for their expanding market lamb flock. “Well, we don’t want them mixed into our Churros. Those Churros need to be kept as they are.”
“Yes, Paul, we know that.” Thomas tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. “We kept them separate all right. It’s not time yet to put those bucks in with any ewes. The Churros won’t take a buck yet anyway. They won’t come in heat till later on when the weather cools.” Paul knows all this better than anyone; he must be having an off day, or maybe he’s still half-asleep.
Caleb sidled over beside his Grandfather and when he thought no one was watching, leaned down and asked, “Did you ever get in touch with that old trapper’s son…the one who has the coyote gitters?” He was fascinated by the thought of the banned coyote control devices.
The old man looked up at the boy and had to think a moment before answering. When it finally came to him, he laughed quietly and patted the boy’s hand. “Harley’s taking me into town shopping tomorrow and I’ll be meeting the trapper’s son at the Co-op. Lucy found his number for me and after she went to bed last night, I talked to him on the telephone.” He gave the boy a conspiratorial wink. “I’ll see what he has left; I know he’ll let me have a few. And if he’s not too proud of them we might just as well try to buy them all. We should have got us some of those things years ago; they are just going to waste where they are now. That man don’t care nothing about coyotes. We can put ‘em to good use around here this fall.”
The boy smiled back at the old man. “That will be great Acheii—I know exactly where I’m going to set ‘em too.”
Thomas, on the other side of the room, looked up from talking to Ida Marie. “What’s that I heard about getting coyotes?”
“Oh, nothing Dad. Me and Paul, we’re just thinking we need to get after these coyotes around here, you know, sort of thin ‘em out a little.”
Thomas shrugged and turned back to his daughter and their conversation about the possibility of some New York style clothes for the coming school year.
Paul smiled at Caleb. “I wouldn’t say anything about those gitters. Your father might think you’re not old enough to be messing with them.” He snorted and tossed his head. “But I think you are…I know I was at your age. We’ll just keep it between you and me.” He watched as the boy went to wash up for lunch, hat boy’s plenty old enough to learn about coyotes; he and his sister both have sheep of their own now and it is time they learned how to protect them. Traditional though Paul was, he had long ago taken a different and more realistic attitude toward the mythic coyote and its constant drain on their flocks, Coyote is what he is…and that is all that he is. It won’t hurt to thin them out a little.
10
The Gitters
Harley Ponyboy took one hand off the steering wheel and pointed to the cardboard box in Paul T’Sosi’s lap. “What ya got there, Paul?” Harley had dropped the old man off at the Co-op to meet a friend while he ran a few errands. He had only been a few minutes, but when he returned, Paul was already sitting on the bench outside holding a small carton. “That didn’t take you long, not much to catch up on, huh?”
“No, just a few things someone’s son had been keeping for me. He had to get back to work. I doubt these things will be worth the trouble.” Paul, knowing Harley’s insatiable curiosity, thought it best to just show him. He doubted he would know what they were anyway…they were from another time. He flipped open the flap on the carton and held it so his friend could see inside.
Keeping his attention on the approaching traffic Harley cut an eye at the box. “Don’t look like much ta me.”
“Naa, just some old tools. He wanted me to have them, he said…they were his dad’s.” Paul’s voice sounded thin and far away as he closed the box and glanced out the side window. When his grandson got home from school, he would be excited to have a looksee at thes
e things. Caleb would want to know all about them—what they would do and how they did it—if they still could do anything at all. Paul’s face turned grim as he looked out across the country; there was more to it now than just coyotes. But he was the only one who knew that. The old man’s vision was not what it once had been, but it was good enough to know what he saw up there on the ridge behind the house.
Later in the day as Paul sat outside, he watched Thomas Begay returning from Shiprock where he’d been working on a man’s car—he had been gone all morning—longer than he expected. The truck pulled up in a cloud of dust which the wind grabbed, carrying it up in the air where it hovered a moment and then just disappeared.
Thomas got down from the truck, and noticing his wife’s pickup was gone, paused to wonder where she could have gone. Eventually his eye went to the sheep pens. This had been his morning to take them out and he was late. He’d fed them their supplement at daylight before he left but knew that wouldn’t satisfy the old man. Now he would be in for a chewing.
Paul came toward the truck, appearing unconcerned. “Don’t worry about those sheep,” he called. “I already took ‘em out for some greens this morning.”
“Paul, I thought we’d talked about this. You are supposed to wait for someone to go along and help with those sheep! I know I’m late this time, but you should have got Lucy to go with you, or just waited for me.”
Paul snorted, “Lucy was working, and I didn’t want to take her away from it…she has had a hard enough time getting back into her weaving as it is.” He gave Thomas a look. “I only took those sheep up the ridge behind the hogan. I been saving that new grass up there. I thought this would be a good time to let them in on it—we’re trying to finish out them lambs, aren’t we? They need a little fresh grass right along. That little bit of feed you been giving them from the Co-op isn’t enough.” The old man said this forcefully enough Thomas thought it best to take a step back.
The younger man made a conscious effort to remain calm. “The County Agent says it is enough, Paul.” He took a deep breath. “Where did Lucy go? She’s not supposed to go off by herself either, not until they find out who was behind the Johnson murder. We don’t know yet that she’s not in danger, too. She’s to stay close by…that’s what we decided.”
“She just went into town to meet with that female FBI. She should be safe enough with her wouldn’t you think?”
Throwing up his hands, Thomas headed into the house to wash up. “We should just stick to the plan…that’s all I’m saying, Paul… Just stick to the plan.” As he passed the old man Thomas thought he might have seen a smile but he refused to notice. They had been on good terms for a long while now, but it could just as easy go sour again.
The old man, left to himself, gazed out across the sage and greasewood flats thinking of his morning on the ridge. Someone had been up there on the point spying on them. This was the family’s camp—they were the only ones who had any business up there. Thomas would need to know when the time was right. He had a right to know. He was after all, the man of the house now. Paul and Thomas had grown closer over the years, not that he ever let on he thought so. His son-in-law would understand later why he hadn’t said anything. There were a few loose ends to tie up first. He had to get it straight in his mind first—how he was going to go about killing these people.
11
The Rogues
By midmorning Charlie Yazzie was absorbed in the latest report from the Bureau, most of which he and Fred had already discussed. He had no doubt the reports sent out to local agencies were censored to some extent. He was therefore pleased, when the receptionist buzzed through to announce the agent himself was on the line.
“Morning, Fred. I was just going over some of the information in your report. I’d hoped we’d be further along than what I’m reading here.”
“We are further along, Charlie. That’s what I’m calling about. I’d prefer not to say too much on the telephone at this point. But I’ll be out your way in an hour or so and there are a few things I’d like to go over with you…local stuff some of it, things you might be able to help us with. How about coffee at the Diné Bikeyah?”
“I think I can shake loose then, Fred; the cafe in an hour will be fine?”
“I’ll be there. Oh, and Charlie, come alone if you don’t mind; this might better be kept between just the two of us.”
Charlie thought this last part went without saying. Why would the FBI suddenly make me privy to information outside the general network? Or was this Fred’s personal decision? Interesting.
The Legal Services Investigator was in a back booth and would already have ordered his favorite cinnamon roll if not for Sue’s recent comment that he might want to buy his next pair of Levi’s a bit larger in the girth. She’d smiled and said it in a flip sort of way, but he could tell she was serious just the same. Since his promotion to department head, and no longer being in the field, he had gradually begun to take on a little extra around the middle. He’d always maintained he’d never let this happen…but there it was. He sighed taking a last look at the picture of the cinnamon roll on the menu cover. When the waitress came he ordered coffee, black.
Charlie was on his second refill when the Senior FBI Agent made his way back to the booth. There was a tone to his good morning, which along with the forced smile, put the investigator on his guard.
“So, Charlie,” the agent held up a finger to attract a waitress as he spoke, “did you get a chance to finish reading that report?”
“Yes, I did. Why? Was something left out?” His smile told the agent he was well aware there was.
“That is, in part, what I came out here to talk to you about.” The agent hesitated, as though carefully sifting through the various aspects of the new information, balancing that which could be most important, against that which would be most interesting.
Charlie’s patience ran out... “Has there been any word about Louise Johnson?”
Fred raised his hands defensively then nodded. “In a sense, yes. Not her whereabouts, as yet—but our forensic accountant out at the trading post did discover some rather thought-provoking information. The Johnson’s have apparently been ‘cooking’ their books for years now. He’s pretty certain they had two sets of ledgers. The real set, of course, was conveniently missing. Whether they were taken at the time of the murder, or are still hidden away by the Johnsons is unknown. It’s doubtful their clients were ever getting a fair shake; at least they hadn’t been for a long time, I’m afraid.” The FBI man didn’t try to hide his frustration, but brightened as he noted, “Our man found them to be more than a little careless when it came to the actual bookkeeping. He found a scratchpad, and though it had a number of pages torn out he suspected forensics might be able to pull some impressions from the underlying pages, and they did. He’s still waiting for some bank records to come in as well, but even at this point there’s plenty that just doesn’t add up.
“The Johnsons…?” Charlie shook his head. “I hate to hear that, but I have to admit I’m not too surprised. I suspected after our meeting with Lucy that those folks were being allowed a pretty free rein in her business affairs.”
“Yes, I think that crossed everyone’s mind at the time. I truly believe that meeting was Lucy’s first inclination something might be amiss, but I’m sure she could see it after a while. I suspect it goes clear back to Lucy’s mother’s dealings with the Johnsons. That’s probably where it all started. It’s just grown over time like greed generally does, and now it’s beyond what anyone could have imagined.” Fred paused for effect. “It appears, right now—with the limited information our guy has available to him—Lucy might be short as much as fifty-large, and that’s with all the numbers not in yet.”
Charlie did his best to suppress a gasp. “That much huh? The Begays are not going to be happy to hear that. But it might make Louise’s disappearance a little easier to take. What are the odds any of that money might someday be recovered?”
> “No way of telling at this point but given the Johnson’s austere lifestyle our agent seems to think a good portion of that money might still be hidden away somewhere—it will obviously take a good bit more work to ferret out anything like that. In the meantime, I wouldn’t let the Begays get their hopes up. Keep in mind they weren’t the only victims…but our guy does think they may prove to have suffered the largest losses of the entire bunch.”
Charlie still hadn’t really heard anything he’d not already known or surmised, and he sat gazing at the FBI man…obviously waiting for him to go on.
“Before you ask, Charlie, even the ledgers we did recover had only codes in place of buyers’ names. Without the key to those codes we may be at a dead end. But that’s just another thing that remains in limbo.”
The waitress finally brought the agent’s coffee and he pulled it to him to stir, though he hadn’t added anything to it. He lifted the mug to his lips and blew on it, then set it down without drinking.
Charlie studied the agent and wondered when he would cut to the chase. “You mentioned there might be something I could help you with. What was that all about, Fred?”
The FBI man again raised the cup, tested the temperature with the tip of his tongue, and taking a careful swallow, grimaced at the still hot brew before arching an eyebrow at the investigator. “Charlie, I know you think we have been…let us say…overly cautious in the information we’ve provided the local agencies; and you would be right in thinking that.” Fred swirled his coffee around in the cup. “The fact of the matter is the Bureau is currently experiencing some security problems. We’ve had to put a couple of cases off limits until we get it figured out. What I need to know, Charlie: are you still adamant in your original assessment of Billy Red Clay as Liaison Officer? You were one of his original supporters in his bid for the job, and your confidence weighed heavily in his selection.” He held up a hand before Charlie could reply… “We know we’ve not always been as up-front with Billy as we might have been. And that he may be feeling slighted. It’s just that we’ve had to curtail certain information to the most generic info in recent reports—mostly due to this security thing the Bureau’s experiencing—no reflection on Billy or the job he’s doing.” The agent sat back in his chair mentally bracing himself.
The Collector Page 9
