The Collector

by R. Allen Chappell

  The food came and the Feds looked askance at the steaming white beans and ham hock special the waitress put in front of Charlie. The Investigator noticed and grinned back at them.

  Fred tied into his huevos rancheros. As a local boy he was aware the dish wasn’t just for breakfast in this country. It was on all three meal-menus at the Diné Bikeyah.

  Carla only picked at her chicken salad, and Charlie thought her preoccupied during the whole of the meal. She caught him looking her way once or twice and figured he might still be trying to place her from their time at NMU; his attention caused her to put her head down and concentrate on her food.

  ~~~~~~

  Back at the office Charlie barely had time to reorganize his workload before the intercom alerted him. Looking to the outer office he saw Arlene’s mother, still in her school cafeteria uniform—standing at her daughter’s desk. He frowned down at the in-box and then shaking his head looked up and signaled Arlene to send Francis on back. He thought he remembered the woman’s last name being Benally—one of the ten most common names on the reservation—along with Yazzie, Begay, Nez and a few others. He smiled at the observation, thinking now how ordinary his name really was.

  The door swung open and he attempted a smile as Frances came in. He indicated the chair across from his desk and greeted her in Navajo.

  The woman sat herself on the edge of the chair, keeping her hands clasped nervously in her lap. She replied in kind, then immediately got down to business in English. “My daughter says you’re busy, Mr. Yazzie, so I’ll try not to take up too much of your time this afternoon.” She straightened in the chair slightly and lifted her chin in a forced show of confidence. “It’s about that morning they found trader Johnson over there at the trading post. As I may have told you last time, I have to be at work by five in the morning and that Saturday I was a little earlier even than that. Anyhow, just as I turned at the four-way…the one just before the trading post…that’s where I turn to go to the school. I happened to look over and see a car parked back there behind the building. It’s not that far… When my lights hit it I could see who it was plain as day.” The woman paused to catch her breath.

  “A big black car, Frances, with a large man at the wheel?” Charlie thought this was interesting and would tie in with what he’d just heard at lunch. He picked up his pen and began taking notes on a yellow legal pad.

  Arlene’s mother looked confused for just a second. “No… Why would you think that?” She raised her hands and declared. “It wasn’t that way at all. It was Louise Johnson in her blue Chevy. She looked up when she saw my lights. She looked surprised—I could see her plain as the nose on your face. I pass by there every day on my way from work and there her Chevy was, right there beside her husband’s pickup truck. I had just never seen her there so early before—just her, sitting with the overhead light on, like the door might be open a crack like she was waiting for someone.” Frances assumed a blank expression. “I just thought it was strange, that’s all.”

  Charlie looked at his notes and clicked his pen in and out a few times. “And this was a little before five o’clock Saturday morning? I didn’t know anyone worked in the school kitchen on a weekend?”

  “I wasn’t working in the kitchen that Saturday. I clean classrooms on weekends…just to make ends meet. They hold remedial classes up there on Saturday mornings so I have to get in and out early. Maybe Arlene told you…I’m by myself now…it takes everything I can do just to get along. When I first moved here Arlene had to help me out a time or two. I hate that. The reason I didn’t move in with her and her husband to start with is I didn’t want to be a burden on them. You know how it is with mothers-in-law in the same house as their daughter’s husbands.”

  Charlie was silent for a moment. He knew all right, his case files were filled with such arrangements gone bad, not as often as it once had been, but still happening nonetheless.

  “Frances this is important. Are you absolutely sure it was Louise Johnson you saw in that car last Saturday morning? Your lights were only on her for a second; could it have been someone else? There are a lot of blue Chevrolets in this part of the country.”

  Frances pulled herself together, sucked in her breath, and narrowed her eyes at the Investigator. They could hear her in the outer office when she declared. “It was HER ALL RIGHT!”

  Charlie held up a calming hand. “I’m sure you know what you saw, Frances, I believe you…I do.” He nodded as a validation, of his confidence in the woman. When the Investigator went on, it was in a more conciliatory tone. “Frances, was there anyone else with Louise that you could see?”

  “Not that I could see, but my lights were only on her for a second or two.” And her interior light went off pretty quick, too.”

  “Frances, I have to ask you to keep this to yourself, for now.” His expression turned deadly serious when he said. “This could be very important down the road. Tell absolutely no one, do you understand what I’m saying, Francis? What about Arlene, does she know?”

  “No, Arlene don’t know and I won’t tell her neither.” Frances Benally appeared suddenly frightened by the investigator’s tone. She bobbed her head and again swore she wouldn’t say anything.

  Charlie got the impression she would do as she promised and reached over to pat her hand. “In time, Frances, I will let you know what comes of all this. I want you to know you did the right thing in coming to me.”

  Twenty minutes after the woman left his office Charlie was still trying to muddle his way through what he’d heard—it still didn’t make sense. If Frances is right and Louise Johnson was at the trading post that morning, it must have been before the killer was there…or at the same time? For just a moment Charlie thought he should call Fred Smith to run this by him. It would be interesting to see what he could make of it. He was already reaching for the phone when he changed his mind. By rights, I should go through the Liaison Officer. By going around Billy Red Clay I could be alienating a damn good friend and officer.

  Charlie batted this around for some minutes before coming to the conclusion there were few options, none of them perfect. This was going to require a light touch, and in the end, someone might still get their feelings hurt. By late-afternoon his mind was still so filled with the events of the day he had hardly made a dent in the stack of reports. What he’d first thought might be a simple robbery attempt had now evolved into something much more complicated. At a little after four o’clock, a shadow fell across his desk. Looking up he was surprised to see Carla Meyor standing in the open door; glancing toward the reception desk, he wondered why Arlene let her pass without letting him know.

  The FBI Agent caught the look and hooking a thumb toward the front desk apologized, “Sorry about that; I waited up front for a bit but there was no one at the desk. I could see you back here and decided to just come on back.”

  “Not a problem at all…” Charlie smiled. “I was looking for an excuse to take a break, and here you are. Please, Carla, have a chair—Arlene must have stepped out for a minute.” He glanced again at the front office and saw the receptionist already settling herself back in at her station. Seeing her look his way with a tilt of her head and a questioning expression, Charlie waved a hand to let her know it was all right, while stating for the record, “Arlene is probably the best office manager we’ve ever had.” He was quick to add, “At least since my wife left the job.”

  “I’ll make my apologies on the way out.” Carla, too, gave Arlene a quick wave.” Turning back, the smile disappeared, replaced by a more contemplative gaze. “The fact is, Charlie, I thought it time I should explain a few things…about our time at the University…I mean.”

  “Oh…?” Charlie sat back in his chair and gave the woman his full attention.

  She opened her handbag and pulled out a photocopy, obviously taken from an old yearbook. She looked at it and then almost reluctantly it seemed, pushed it across to him.

  He took the photo, a heavy-set young woman with st
ringy brown hair and sallow complexion, eyes overshadowed by large heavy framed glasses. A grimace probably meant as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she slumped toward the camera. Charlie studied the picture for several moments and shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, I have no idea who this is.”

  “That’s probably because you don’t associate it with my current name.” The precursor of a grin was breaking over Carla’s face.

  Charlie came upright in his chair and took a long look at the woman then made a second inspection of the photo. Yes, there it was—the eyes were unmistakably the same—the one thing that changes very little in most people. “Well…if you’re serious…and it appears from the look on your face that you are, I would never have guessed this to be you.”

  “It’s not me anymore, Charlie, but it was once. Even my name was different then. It was Foldiere, Carla Benét Foldiere. I went by Benét through my first year at UNM. When my mother remarried it was to my birth father’s cousin; she met him through a rare Vermeer family function. Unlike my father he was a kind and gentle man who was well thought of by Percy Vermeer. Though I was already in high school Carl was generous enough to adopt me and I took his name. By doing so, I became eligible for a considerable educational grant available even to distant family members and, in my case, further sanctioned by Percy himself. Unfortunately, my stepfather was not part of our lives very long—killed in an automobile accident not long after my mother’s death.” She couldn’t help frowning at the look on Charlie’s face as he toggled back and forth from the picture to the attractive woman now before him. Carla looked down for a moment and then pursing her lips, said, “There are a lot of people who don’t remember me from those days. I’ve only been to one class reunion and that was enough to convince me that I made no great impression back then.”

  “But you did attend my remedial tutoring sessions your first year?”

  “I did indeed, but only for a few sessions. I was usually way in the back and seldom had questions. There was no reason you should have remembered me.”

  Charlie smiled thoughtfully at the Federal Agent. “Nonetheless, I’m sorry I didn’t remember…and even more sorry I pretended I did. That was inexcusable…”

  “It’s human nature not to be caught out, Charlie, you’d be surprised how often…it’s a natural reaction.”

  Charlie nodded his agreement. “That aside, I’m glad you stopped by. I’ve spent a lot of time worrying over this and I’m relieved…sort of.” He smiled as he looked across the desk at her. “By the way, Carla, I meant to ask at lunch and totally spaced it—has the Bureau heard any more on the whereabouts of Louise Johnson? Tribal has scoured the reservation for word of her and…nothing. I know the Bureau has a long reach and thought there might be something else, somewhere.”

  Carla thought for a moment as though choosing her words. “Not really. There’s the usual unconfirmed sightings, of course, but nothing you could hang your hat on as yet.” The agent, obviously good at channeling people’s thoughts, eyed him as though she thought he might have some hidden purpose in inquiring.

  Charlie quickly picked up on this. “I just thought I’d ask, no real reason beyond curiosity. It just seems unusual, a prominent businesswoman like Louise Johnson disappearing without a trace?”

  “I agree. We have several people working on it, but so far, no luck.

  “I’m sure that end of the investigation is in good hands with you folks. I’ll be anxious to hear what you come up with.”

  The Agent nodded her assurance indicating she would let him know.

  On his way home that evening, with a folder of reports yet to finish, Charlie still was not sure why he didn’t tell the agent about Frances Benally’s visit. He rationalized this to himself as wanting the information to come from Billy Red Clay—with a view to shoring up the Liaison Officer’s admittedly tenuous position. They would have to let the FBI know eventually, of course, but he thought it could wait until Billy got the message he had left him earlier.

  Glancing down at the yearbook photo of Carla Meyor beside him he nodded to himself. She’d purposely left that lying on the desk. Good! Maybe it would help bring about a ceasefire with Sue.

  18

  The Amalgamation

  It was almost midnight when Archie’s phone beeped to indicate a message. He rolled over with a groan to check the time. It took a moment for his mind to make the adjustment—it was nearly two A.M. back east—it would not be Percy Vermeer at this hour. That left Carla, the only other person who had the number. Flicking on the lamp he gave himself time to come fully awake. The flashing red light was just enough to illuminate his unshaven face in the mirror on the closet door. He paused at the image, haggard, older now than he realized. He reached for the phone and grunted into the receiver.

  “Sorry…but you said to let you know should anything new turn up.” She sounded almost cheerful.

  Archie imagined a smile on the woman’s face. “Louise Johnson… Right?”

  “Yes… They found her car at a sleazy motel a couple of hours from here. Grants, New Mexico.”

  “Still no idea what’s become of her though?”

  “Not really…not for sure…there was an empty pill bottle on the nightstand. It remains to be seen if that was a factor. It’s hard to say how this is going to wind up. She may have decided to make a run for it, and this was part of her plan…or who knows…she could have been abducted.

  “How long since she was last seen…anything on that?”

  “Not long, four or five hours, from what I saw in the preliminary” There was a short silence. “It seems she had a visitor earlier in the evening; apparently not unusual for that particular motel. According to the night clerk the person didn’t stay long and it’s not sure when the car left, probably no more than a half-hour or so.

  “A man?”

  “Yes, a man, he thought. He couldn’t see the plates but thought it looked like a rental. Being discreet is apparently part of their business model. Louise may have gone willingly or…there’s the chance she may have been taken.”

  Carla yawned. She’d been up all night. “I’ll keep you posted,” she murmured before hanging up.

  Archie smiled and replaced the receiver. Percy’s information had been correct after all, apparently there was another interest at work. That was going to complicate an already complicated situation. He looked again in the mirror and lifted his chin…there was no denying it, he was, in fact, getting old.

  He woke at four and again at six, unable to sleep after the call. This wasn’t like Archie; he normally slept well regardless of the situation. He felt no real sense of urgency—he had a pretty good idea what he was up against now. He shaved and dressed, then called down to the desk to inquire if the breakfast bar was open?

  He positioned himself with a view of the outer lobby and set his roll and coffee down with the determination to relax a few moments before tackling the day. It might be his last opportunity for a while. He glanced at the complimentary newspaper on the table, folded the front page, and propped it against the napkin dispenser. The Johnson murder was front and center. He glanced at the date and saw it was yesterday’s paper. A picture of the murdered trader and his wife, obviously taken in happier days, took up a quarter of the page. Archie put his tongue to his teeth and made a tsk, tsk, tsk. Too bad the pair had not been more amenable to Percy’s earlier proposals…all this could have been avoided.

  Percy, he was sure, would be saddened by the news, though Archie felt certain it would only make him more determined…that was just Percy.

  Archie stretched and contemplated the roll on its saucer. It was the last one on the tray and he had taken it against his better judgment—he wasn’t in the mood for cold cereal. He was a man who enjoyed his amenities, and this didn’t fit the bill. Probably it was his continual deployment to the backcountry that was causing him to feel a bit jaded. He might even be losing his edge…that could be serious. The Factor had, several times of late, mentioned Arch
ie’s eventual retirement, assuring him there would be an ongoing and generous stipend along with his undying gratitude for his valuable service over the years. Percy made it clear the time to call it quits would be entirely up to him. Archie had never really thought about retirement, but he was thinking about it now. The problem was he didn’t know what he would do with so much free time. He thought he might like to take up fly-fishing—this though he’d only ever caught the one fish. The trout he’d hooked up by Jemez.

  He looked over the top of his paper as he took the last sip of the now lukewarm coffee and then picked at the crumbs left on the saucer. A Federal Express man pushing a package-dolly crossed the lobby to the front desk. Archie instantly felt better, these could be the things he was waiting for, things he might need and hadn’t been able to bring with him. When the lobby cleared, he made his way to the desk and asked if he had a delivery.

  The manager sat his readers lower on his nose, squinted up at Archie, finally smiling his recognition. “Ah yes… Mr. Jones, I believe We do have something for you this morning, overnighters, both of them.” He disappeared through the doorway behind him and quickly returned with the parcels. As he hefted the larger one up on the desk, exclaimed, “My, that’s a heavy one.” He glanced at the declaration label. “Survey instruments…eh? Well, I hope there’s nothing broken? Would you like to open it and see if it’s all right…while I’m here to witness? We seem to be having a lot of that lately.” He glanced expectantly at Archie, as though checking for damage would be the logical thing to do.

  Archie had actually been expecting only one package and regarded the smaller packet with curiosity. Finally, he became aware of what the manager was saying and looked up for a moment. Archie lifted the larger of the two and stood it on end against the desk. It was addressed to Ed Jones, San Juan Field Services…but in care of the motel. He smiled at the bold blue stencil declaring it ‘Survey Equipment’. Archie shook his head. “I’m sure it’s fine. These particular instruments are pretty much bullet proof.” Archie nodded his acceptance. The smaller package, in a special delivery tear-proof envelope, was also addressed to Ed Jones, but from an altogether different sender. Signatures were required and Archie signed for each with a flourish.