Heaven's keep

THIRTY-ONE

Let’s not rush to judgment,” Cork cautioned. In his years as a cop, he’d seen often enough the mess that could result from leaping to conclusions.

“But it fits,” Rude said.

“Okay, what’s his motive?”

“Whoa, hold on a moment,” Parmer said. “Who’s this Nightwind?”

“The pilot who guided us into the mountains when we were looking for Jo’s plane,” Cork said. “He’s Arapaho.”

“What’s he like? Is he a man who could do this kind of thing?”

“He seemed decent enough when he helped us search Baby’s Cradle,” Cork said and looked to Rude.

Rude sat back and considered. “Lame’s got secrets, no doubt about it, but then who doesn’t? He was gone for a lot of years. People say that he’s been all over the world. Rumors have him as CIA or Special Forces. Some folks believe he was involved with the drug cartels. Others say the mob. Or smuggling or a mercenary. Lame never talks about his past, so who knows? Depending on what you believe, he’s either Robin Hood or the bogeyman.”

“What’s the bogeyman side?” Parmer asked.

“We had a pretty bad drug problem a few years ago,” Rude said. “When Ellyn Grant came back, the problem was huge. Mexican dealers had established themselves on the rez by marrying Arapaho women, and they used the rez as a depot to distribute every illegal substance under the sun. We didn’t have the resources to fight back. Hell, nobody had jobs, and a lot of Arapaho got sucked into dealing because the money was good. Those who weren’t dealing were getting high on the merchandise. Not much Andy No Voice or the DEA could do about it because it was a family thing and nobody would talk. Ellyn took on the drug dealers and she won, but probably she couldn’t have done it without Lame Nightwind. See, what happened was the Mexican dealers simply started disappearing. Here one day, gone the next, one by one, and those that left never came back. It’s possible they returned to where they came from, but that’s not what most people on the rez think. Popular speculation is that Nightwind was turning them into coyote food somewhere out in the vast emptiness of the rez where no one would ever find their bones. The authorities didn’t go looking for them and the dealers who didn’t just disappear got so spooked they cut and ran.”

“So you think he’s quite capable of killing?”

“He can be dangerous, I’m sure of that, but I don’t think of him as a bad man. As far as killing goes, I’d guess he’s plenty capable provided the reason is compelling enough.”

“So what would his motive have been?” Cork asked.

Parmer said, “We’ve already figured this is about the Yellowstone casino, haven’t we?”

“I can suggest a motive.”

Cork turned and found Diane standing at his back. She’d come in silently from putting Anna to bed. How long she’d been standing there he couldn’t say.

“What motive?” he said.

“Love.” She walked to the table and stood beside her husband with her hand affectionately on his shoulder. “Lame Nightwind is in love with Ellyn Grant.”

Cork’s eyes jumped from Diane to her husband. “True?”

Rude shrugged. “Gossip.”

“I volunteer two days a week at the Singing Water Shelter in Red Hawk,” Diane said. “According to the women there, Lame has always been in love with Ellyn, all the way back to when they were kids.”

“Is she in love with him?” Cork asked.

“I don’t know. But her husband was a man nearly old enough to be her grandfather, so if not love, maybe something more physical.”

Rude said, “I suppose there could be something between her and Nightwind, though I’ve never seen it.”

“This is a big, empty territory, Jon,” Diane pointed out. “If you were careful, it wouldn’t be hard to carry on an affair without being observed.”

Rude glanced up at his wife. “You seem to have given this a lot of thought. Should I be worried?”

She laughed. “Be afraid. Be very afraid.”

Rude shook his head. “Grant and Nightwind? I don’t know.”

“Men can be dense.” Diane patted his head affectionately.

“Even if there’s something between them,” Rude went on, “I’d say he’s second in her affection, well behind the Arapaho people. She really does see herself as a kind of savior here.”

“How do you mean?” Cork asked.

“After she took care of the drug situation, she wanted to tackle the poverty of the rez. Edgar Little Bear argued for opening the land to the oil and gas companies. Hell, they’ve been eyeing the Arapaho holdings for years. Ellyn was opposed. Not just opposed, she was furious. She was sure the mineral exploration would destroy the land. When she couldn’t get Little Bear to budge, she married him and moved him in ways that words couldn’t. That’s how she got him behind the Blue Sky Casino.”

“Sacrificed herself for the sake of the Arapaho, is that what you’re saying?”

“Little Bear wasn’t exactly a prize catch. We all respected him enormously, but like Diane said, he was one pretty tough old piece of jerky.”

“And his breath could have knocked over a buffalo,” Diane added.

“Everyone on the rez understood what she was doing, probably even Edgar,” Rude said. “He knew he was getting himself a hell of a bargain.”

“So Nightwind loves Ellyn Grant, and maybe he’d do anything for her. And Ellyn Grant loves the Arapaho and would do anything for them. How does the disappearance of the charter help either of them?” Cork asked.

They lapsed into another thoughtful silence. Finally Rude said, “The Gateway Grand Casino up at Yellowstone.”

“How?”

“Edgar Little Bear didn’t like the idea of the casino at all. A few weeks before he disappeared, I went to a meeting of the tribal council where they discussed the Yellowstone plan. Little Bear asked me to be there and to talk to the council about my gambling problem. After I spoke, he told the council he knew a lot of other people with the same problem, white and Indian. He was afraid the casino was damaging the spirit of the Owl Creek Arapaho. He thought a bigger operation would only create a bigger problem. He pointed out that the Blue Sky Casino wasn’t exactly bringing in the flood of revenue Ellyn had promised, and he was afraid that this project, if it failed, it would ruin the reservation.”

“How did Ellyn respond?”

“With all kinds of charts and graphs and projections that promised we’d end up richer than God.”

“Sounds persuasive.”

“It was. But you didn’t know Edgar Little Bear. He was a great presence. People looked up to him. The council listened. Their big concern was the money. And Little Bear offered a solution. He proposed once again that the Arapaho begin talking with the oil and gas interests.”

“How did that go over?”

“The council was willing to consider it, but Ellyn hit the war-path. Which didn’t seem to bother Little Bear, so I figured they’d already discussed this between them. She argued that the companies would rape the land, but Little Bear was sure that, with proper oversight, the Arapaho could make sure that didn’t happen. He talked about available new technology and a new sensitivity to the environment. I don’t know about the Ojibwe, Cork, but the Arapaho consider things long and carefully before making any decisions. The plane disappeared before the council took up discussion again. When they did and the conversation finally ended many weeks later, Ellyn Grant had persuaded the council to support the Gateway Grand Casino.”

“Which might not have happened if Little Bear had been around?” Cork said.

“Exactly.”

Parmer said, “Maybe it’s not one or the other. Maybe it’s both love and politics. With Little Bear out of the picture, the way is clear for Nightwind and Grant to proceed with their relationship and for the casino project to go forward.”

“But why such a complicated plan to get rid of Little Bear?” Cork said.

“Because if Edgar had just disappeared, everyone would have looked immediately at Lame Nightwind and Ellyn Grant, and Ellyn would have lost all her credibility to lead,” Rude said. “But if it’s the weather that was responsible and a whole plane full of people disappeared along with him, then nobody suspects a thing.”

“It works,” Cork agreed. “In theory. But we still have no proof. If we could just tie Nightwind to the missing plane.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Rude said. “I’ve been thinking about Will Pope’s vision. He saw the eagle descend from the sky and glide into a box, where it was covered with a white blanket, right? What if the box was an airplane hangar and the white blanket was the snow on the roof?”

“Does Nightwind have a hangar along with his private airstrip?” Cork asked.

Rude smiled. “He does indeed.”

“Can you draw me a map that’ll take me there?”

“I’ll take you there myself.”

“No, from this point on you stay clear of us. Things could get difficult, Jon.”

“That doesn’t worry me.”

Cork said, “Maybe not, but I’ll bet Diane doesn’t like the idea.”

Rude looked up at his wife, who said, “If Cork really needs you, I won’t stand in your way. But I’d prefer to know you’re safe. I’d like Anna to grow up with a father.” She didn’t smile, and Cork understood that everything she said was true.

Rude spent a long moment weighing his response, then gave a nod. “All right.”

When they returned to their hotel, the desk clerk signaled to them as they passed. She was a woman of Indian descent, India of the subcontinent. She wore a smart blue suit and had an ornamental spot in the middle of her forehead. She smiled and handed Cork a note.

“The sheriff was here earlier. He asked me to give this to you.”

“Thank you.” Cork opened the note. It said, “Call me. Kosmo.” He’d written both his office phone and his cell phone number.

Upstairs in the room that, for safety’s sake, he and Parmer had decided to share, Cork called the Owl Creek County sheriff. Because it was late, he tried the cell phone first.

“Kosmo.”

From the background sound, the harsh music of casino slots, Cork knew where the man was.

“This is Cork O’Connor.”

“Heard you were in town. I’d like to have a talk with you first thing in the morning, O’Connor.”

“It’ll have to be early, Sheriff. I’ve got a full day planned.”

“Make it seven. My office.”

“I’ll be there.”

When Cork ended the call, Parmer said, “Well?”

“We’ve been summoned.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. Tomorrow will tell. Been a long day. Let’s get some sleep.”

“Hang on. Something I want you to see.” Parmer hefted his suitcase onto his bed and opened it. He dug under some of the clothing and drew out a large handgun, a Ruger Blackhawk.

“Four seventy-five caliber?” Cork asked.

“Yep.”

“That’s a substantial piece, Hugh. Could bring down an elephant. Planning on hunting while you’re here?”

“I figure it’ll stop any critter, elephant or otherwise, intent on doing us harm.”

“Got a permit?”

“Wouldn’t be without one. I also have a permit for this.” He reached back into his suitcase and drew out a slightly smaller firearm, an S amp; W Sigma 18. He held it out, offering.

Cork shook his head.

With a shrug, Parmer put the gun back. “It’ll be here if you decide you want it.”

Cork laughed. “I honestly don’t believe they’ll break down our door during the night. If they’re going to jump us, they’ll do it in the middle of nowhere.”

“Lot of nowhere out here. And won’t it be a good thing that I have a gun that’ll bring down an elephant?”

Cork said, “I’m going out for some air. I’ll be careful to watch for elephants.”

He left the room and walked to the courtyard, where the little pool was filled with water from the hot springs. He stared up at the clear black sky and the stars, and thought about Stephen, who was alone in the deep Minnesota woods, staring up at the same sky. He drove out of his heart any worry about his son. Stephen had spent much of his life in the forest, and he understood its ways. He was in the keeping of the spirits of that land and under the watchful eye of Henry Meloux. Cork’s only concern was whether Stephen would be granted the vision he sought. And over that, no man had control.

The night was cool but still much warmer than any had been when he’d stood there months earlier during his first search for the missing plane. Those cold nights he’d held desperately to hope. What he held to now was something very different, a resolve like a hard fist in his heart. After months of torturing himself, he’d finally stopped re-creating in his mind the morning of Jo’s disappearance, which he’d accepted as the morning of her death. Then Liz Burns and Becca Bodine had brought him the videotape. And now he understood that much of what he’d imagined, particularly the ending, was untrue. There probably had been no problem with turbulence, no sudden tilting of the wings, no long, irrevocable slide toward earth. What had been the true end for Jo? The kiss of a gun barrel against the back of her head? Did she know what was coming? Oh Christ, did she know?

Alone in the courtyard under the black sky, Cork stared down at his empty right hand and closed it slowly until it was a rock of bone and flesh.