CHAPTER 16
Manny pulled into the
public safety parking lot beside Lumpy just as he grabbed on to his
doorjamb and, with a grunt, pulled himself out of the car. He
gently closed the door of his new Mustang GT, white and
sporting-blue racing stripes running the length from the hood to
the trunk, and sauntered to Manny’s car.
“What you here for,
Hotshot?” The dark purple stain from two days ago was lighter.
Lumpy put his hand over his cheek to hide it. “If you’re here for
Willie, I can’t spare him today either.”
“I’m checking on any
more lab results that might have come in.”
“None yesterday.”
Lumpy grinned as he eyed Manny’s rental, then glanced back at his
own car. “What kind of ride you got there in
Virginia?”
“Nothing like that
fancy machine you got, just an eight-year-old Accord. How long you
had that?”
Lumpy smiled wide. “I
got it last month. Still got the dealer tags on it. Why, you
looking to upgrade?”
“Not me,” Manny said.
“Guess we don’t get paid what you tribal cops do. I was just
looking at those new tires. Kind of odd.”
Lumpy laughed
nervously as if he had missed an important point in their debate.
“What’s your point?”
Manny hung his head
out the window, and looked down at the tires. “They’re new, just
like those impressions of new tires we found at Jason’s
murder.”
“What the hell’s that
supposed to mean?” Lumpy stepped between Manny and his car, as if
shielding the Mustang from suspicion. “You implying
something?”
Manny held up his
hands. “Of course not. Just not many cars here with new rubber.
That’s why it’s so important that old Crazy George’s car be
processed, just in case those tire marks at the crime scene match
his old Buick.”
“I’ll get Pat Pourier
on it this morning.” Lumpy turned and tripped over his own feet,
caught himself, and disappeared into the station. Manny had too
easily convinced Lumpy that processing Crazy George’s car was a
priority, but he had scant moments to savor his small victory when
his cell phone rang. “Niles here. Good morning.” The Pile didn’t
intend it to be a good morning for Manny. “How’s the investigation
going?”
“Slowing.”
“I’m not surprised.
What the hell you doing out there in the Wild West? Reports I get,
you’ve been chasing skirts rather than chasing leads.”
“Don’t tell me:
Lieutenant Looks Twice.”
“And a reporter for
the local rag, a Nathan Yellow Horse. Seems like his paper is up in
arms that you’re lovin’ this babe Sonja Myers, who landed an
exclusive. How’s that going to look for the bureau?”
“Take a breath,
Niles.” And rub yourself with some Preparation
H. “I’m not sleeping with her.”
“Bullshit! Yellow
Horse says Lieutenant Looks Twice and you are feuding over her. He
swears you’ve been dissing his paper because this Myers woman has
been sleeping with the lieutenant, and you gave her a story to woo
her back.”
“First I’ve heard
about it. Look, the fact is that I’ve run up against a stone wall
here. Actually, a stone wall would have felt much better.” Manny
filled Niles in on what little information he had uncovered, and
how his injuries from his two assaults had delayed things. “That
sound like I’m having fun? How about you come out here. Give me a
hand.”
Niles laughed. “You
know I don’t do fieldwork.”
“Then how about
sending a couple agents from the Rapid City office down
here?”
“Can’t do,” Niles
said. “Like I told you before, we don’t have any other agents with
a background in Pine Ridge.”
“But Harlan
LaPointe’s Lakota from Rosebud. I talked with him a couple days ago
in Rapid. He doesn’t have anything on his plate right
now.”
“But he’s not full
blood,” Niles said. “He’s one-eighth Sicangu Lakota. That’ll just
remind people there that he’s seven-eighths White, and he’ll get
nowhere on Pine Ridge. But I’m not telling you anything you didn’t
already know.” Then, after a long pause, he added, “I called you
just as a friendly reminder that the academy begins in a week. And
I need you to leave that woman alone.”
There was no
convincing Niles that he wasn’t womanizing, so Manny promised to be
at the academy when the next session began. When Manny hung up, he
wasn’t so sure he would. And Niles never even asked him how he was
doing after being attacked. He had little time to be pissed at the
Pile when his phone rang again.
“The auditor finished
and I need to go through Jason’s things,” Clara said. “Would you
like to meet me here and we can go over his report?”
Did Manny detect
something more than business in her voice? “Sure.” At least he
hoped he did. “I’m doing no good here today. I’ll meet you there in
two hours.”
Manny bounded up the
stairs at the Red Cloud Development Building. At the first landing,
he doubled over from the pain in his ribs. When he caught his wind,
he continued up as he held his side.
“Ms. Downing is
expecting you. Please go in.” Manny detected some hostility in
Emily’s tone, probably because Clara had chewed her out for not
relaying his messages all week. She put her headset on and resumed
typing without looking up.
Manny reached for his
comb as he walked to Clara’s office, formerly Jason’s, then
realized he didn’t have enough hair to comb and left it in his
pants pocket. He paused at the door long enough to pop a piece of
gum in his mouth before he swung the huge old door
open.
Clara sat in Jason’s
chair pouring over papers scattered across the desktop. She smiled
and dropped her glasses. They dangled from a silver chain around
her neck, and rested in brimming cleavage. Manny averted his eyes
and concentrated on the green business suit and black pumps that
illustrated her professionalism.
“I’m glad you could
make it.”
“How could I refuse?”
They fidgeted as they eyed each other. “You said you had something
to show me.”
“Of course.” She
shuffled through papers on a corner of the desk. “I found where
Jason has been mailing checks to a Clifford Coyote at a Pine Ridge
post office box.”
“How
much?”
“Two thousand
dollars. Every month since 1976.”
Manny couldn’t recall
Clifford Coyote ever coming up during the investigation or in his
memory, and few people on the reservation actually had post office
boxes. Most received their mail General Delivery. “Who’s Clifford
Coyote, and why the monthly checks?”
Clara shrugged.
“Don’t know. Jason didn’t confide in me where he spent his money.
With him, it could have been anything.” Manny made a mental note to
call Willie and have him check on that post office box, and to see
if the post office had a residential address for
Coyote.
“You said there was
more.”
“There is.” She put
her glasses on and walked around to the back of the desk. She
shuffled through papers and snatched one from the pile. She handed
it to him and leaned closer, and her perfume distracted him. The
receipt marked BUSINESS VOYAGES showed that two weekends before
Jason died he had booked a round-trip flight to Minneapolis on the
charter service based in Rapid City.
“But you said he
often traveled on business.”
“He did.” She walked
around to sit on the edge of the desk next to Manny. “But he never
flew. This trip must have been so important he sucked it up—or it
wasn’t Jason who flew that day. I also found this.” She handed
Manny a note ripped from a spiral notebook. It was written in
clear, neat letters, threatening to expose Jason if he didn’t
resume payments. The note was signed “Alex.”
“Tell me you know
something about this Alex.”
“I wish I could, but
I don’t know any more about him than I do any of Jason’s
associates.”
Chief Horn was
adamant that Alex Jumping Bull and Billy Two Moons were
inseparable. Was Alex Jumping Bull still alive all these years, as
the chief suspected? If he was, what did Alex have on Jason? And
why send Clifford Coyote a check every month?
“Do you think this
Alex may have known Jason intended embezzling the tribe’s
money?”
Clara shook her head.
“I don’t know. Jason had a lot of contacts, knew everyone, and he
could have told this Alex. Maybe Alex was in with Jason on the
scheme.”
“That’s a thought. Do
you have a paper sack I could have?”
Clara nodded and
stepped out of the room. She returned with a brown paper
Albertson’s grocery bag. Manny placed both the envelope and letter
from Alex inside, and sealed it with tape from a dispenser on the
desk. “I’ll overnight this to Quantico to get the letter and
envelope fumed for prints.”
“They can do that on
paper?”
Manny smiled. “Ve
have our vays,” he said. It came out as a silly impression of
Colonel Klink of Stalag 13. “There’s a lot of prints on the
envelope by now, but maybe I’ll luck out. Because you handled the
letter, you’ll have to go down to the police department here and
have a set of elimination prints taken.”
Clara nodded and her
face lit up as she looked at the clock over her desk. “Speaking of
lucking out, it’s quitting time and I’m famished. We have a great
Olive Garden by the mall. Be my treat.”
Before Manny could
stammer his way out of the offer, she had threaded her arm through
his and started for the door. As they left, even Emily wore an
approving smile.