Read Death Along the Spirit Road Online
Authors: C. M. Wendelboe
Death Along the Spirit Road (17 page)
“Oh, I remember. I remember a ruthless patrolman who edged everyone out for sergeant, then used his position to stick it to us.”
“Street sergeants have a job to do, too.”
“You didn’t have to be such a jerk about it. But it looks like you made it just to lieutenant and stopped.”
“People had it in for me.”
“Bullshit.” Manny sat on the edge of the desk. He recalled this was one of Lumpy’s absolute no-nos, and he glared at Manny. “It’s the same all over, Lumpy. People in authority go too far left, too far right, and they start making bad decisions. You walked the progressives’ road …”
“You think I want those AIM thugs popping up here again? Like Reuben?”
“You deserved Desirée.”
Lumpy’s mouth drooped and he broke his gaze. “I didn’t deserve what she did to me.”
Manny realized he had gone where he had no right, and he stood from the desk.
“You’re always digging in the knife about my battles.”
Manny straightened the papers he’d sat on. “I won’t mention her again …”
“Just go to Rapid. And send in Willie on your way out.”
Willie walked Manny to his car. When they got outside, Willie laughed. “Hell, that stain on his face couldn’t be worse if some kid tagged him with a can of Rust-Oleum.”
Willie laughed again, then the smile faded and deep furrows creased his forehead. He eyed the fresh gouge along the driver’s-side back quarter panel of Manny’s rental. “Wish I could go along with you today. You look like you could use a driver.”
Willie was dying to ask about the fresh damage. Manny had rehearsed his story just in case: The gas pumps at Big Bat’s moved a bit too fast and clipped the rental. The accident had been in self-defense.
“I was looking forward to sitting in on one of your interviews.”
“I’d like you there, too.” Manny would miss their discussions, Willie’s fresh insight. Besides, Willie was right: He drove better. “But keep your ear to the tracks. You never know when some tidbit of useful info will come your way.”
He waited until Willie went back inside the station before he called the Red Cloud Development office. Again. “I gave Ms. Downing the message,” the receptionist said. “She said she would call you when she could.”
Manny closed his cell. Maybe some soothing Six Fat Dutchmen riding with him to Rapid City would ease his anger. And his confusion.
Two hours later, Manny walked into the Rapid City Police Department building. He badged the receptionist, and she buzzed him through the security door into the inner office.
“Harold Soske.” Soske’s smooth, well-manicured hand applied just the proper amount of pressure to let Manny know there was strength in that grip, yet not strong enough to cause pain to his bandaged hand.
Manny smoothed his white shirt and bloodred tie. The bureau required agents to dress as if they were going to a business meeting, but Manny always felt stiff and out of place, like he was dressing for a wake. He fidgeted, awkward, standing in front of this young detective. Soske wore a dark blue herringbone suit that complemented his amber shirt and maroon tie, all of which exuded effortless professionalism.
Professional, hell. The kid looks like he stepped out of the pages of
GQ
.
Professional, hell. The kid looks like he stepped out of the pages of
GQ
.
“An honor to meet you.” Soske dropped his hand to the manila folder he carried. “You’re here to speak with Ricky Bell.”
Manny nodded. “Your evidence techs matched his prints to those found on the bone whistle from the Prairie Edge burglary. What did he tell you about that?”
Soske shrugged. “Nada. The kid clammed up tight when I asked him about the stolen artifacts. He invoked Miranda right off. We can’t even ask his name without his lawyer.”
“I have no intention of asking questions. I’ll just be talking to him. Does he have a lawyer?”
“No. Kid don’t have squat. He’ll end up with some public defender.”
As Soske led Manny to an interview room, he filled him in about Richard Bell from notes tucked away in the file folder. “We got more than a few contacts on Ricky. Minor contacts: shoplifting, public intox, joyriding when he was a juvie. But Pennington County nailed him on an agg assault three years ago, and he did a stint in Sioux Falls for that stunt.”
“Parole?”
“Served and released. He did just enough hard time to learn the tricks, like we can’t question him without an attorney.”
They came to a door separating the long hallway from another set of offices, and Soske held it open.
“How did Ricky gain entry to the Prairie Edge?”
“The kid’s pretty stout. He just pried the back lock off.”
“Alarmed?”
“Not then, but Brinks installed a system yesterday.”
“What do you make of the items just being left on the doorstep?”
Soske stopped. When he finally answered, he chose his words carefully. “I figure someone is trying to set Ricky up. Ricky’s prints coated the stuff we found. He’s been through Criminal College 101 in Sioux Falls, and he’d never leave prints all over it like that.”
“I understand the bag was a Sioux Nation brown bag.”
Soske nodded, and opened a file. He took out a stack of photographs. “This is just how the bag was found, with the items stuffed in there in no particular order.” Manny studied the photo. The bone whistle was resting on the star quilt that covered up and hid the other items. And the quilt was folded strangely, in a unique way of tucking the edges into one another to keep the material together. He would ask someone about that later. Soske unlocked interview room two. Two large fluorescent bulbs overhead looked like overkill in the tiny room. The only furniture was two straight-backed metal chairs and a card table. Pens and a stack of statement forms sat on the table.
A muscular man younger than Soske sat in one of the chairs, arms folded as he eyed Manny sitting across the table. He leaned back against the wall with the front two legs off the floor. Soske leaned against the opposite wall.
“I already told you a-holes I wasn’t going to talk without my mouthpiece.”
“And who might that be?” Manny asked. “F. Lee Bailey? Gerry Spence? Fact is, Richard, you’re looking at some snot-nosed public defender, who just squeaked by the bar exam, getting between you and a murder rap. You’re going to end up playing leapfrog with some horny cellmate for a long time. You want to put your future in the hands of some flash-in-a-bedpan right out of law school?”
Bell smiled. “Murder? Who am I supposed to have murdered?”
“Jason Red Cloud.”
“Jason?” Bell laughed. His voice wavered and his eyes darted between Manny and Soske. “Now why would I murder my own boss, kill my way out of the only job an ex-con can get in this town?”
Manny looked at Soske and motioned him into the hallway. “Bell worked for Red Cloud?” he asked when the door was closed.
“Bell’s a janitor at the Red Cloud Development building. The victim hired him fresh out of the penitentiary two months ago.”
“Any more surprises?”
Soske shook his head. “But don’t be shocked when this kid comes up with an airtight alibi. Cons have been tutoring him the last three years.”
Manny nodded. He didn’t like surprises, and this one in particular. He led the way back into the interview room.
“Take a hike, Indian,” Bell said before Manny could speak. “I’m invoking my Fifth Amendment rights, and I ain’t speaking to you or anyone else.”
Manny pulled his chair around the table and scooted it close to Bell. “Good. Exercise those rights and sit still while I do the talking.” Without waiting for a response, Manny continued, “The tech found your prints all over the artifacts stolen from the Prairie Edge two weeks ago. One of those items, a Lakota war club, was found buried brain-deep in Jason Red Cloud’s skull.”
Bell dropped the chair onto the floor and leaned closer to Manny. “So I heard, but I ain’t killed no one, so go screw yourself. I got nothing to say to you.” His voice broke. Perspiration formed on his brow. Bell folded and unfolded his hands and studied them as he avoided looking Manny in the eye.
Manny shrugged and turned to Soske. “We’re done here. Have your detention officers prep Richard here for transport.”
“Transport?” Bell asked, his voice breaking once more. “Where the hell to?”
“Pine Ridge, of course. You’ll be spending some time there in the lockup until I can house you in a regional federal lockup.”
Bell stood abruptly and his chair fell against the wall.
He stepped toward Manny, but Soske stepped between them and shoved Bell back into his seat. “He can’t do that, can he? He can’t just take me out and lock me up, can he? I’ll be the only White dude in that jail.”
Soske picked up on the ruse. “Of course he can. His murder case takes precedence over our burglary. And the murder was on the reservation. Federal jurisdiction.” Soske started for the door. “I’ll have the detention officer grab the belly chains,” he called over his shoulder. “I take it you’ll be transporting?”
“Wait!” Bell yelled at Soske’s back. “You can’t let him take me to Pine Ridge. Those Indians will kill me in there.”
Soske’s face drooped in an exaggerated display of sadness. “Sorry, Ricky, but that’s your choice. You invoked your Miranda rights, and we can’t ask you a thing without your attorney.”
“Hold it. What about if I tell you guys what I know?”
Beads of perspiration widened and ran across Bell’s forehead. Sweat dripped into one eye, and he wiped at it with his hand as his eyes darted between Manny and Soske.
“I uninvoke,” Bell pleaded. “Whatever I got to do, I’ll do it. I don’t want an attorney. Just let me tell you what I know.”
“We’re listening,” Manny said.
“Let me talk with that public defender first. Then we’ll deal.”
Manny picked up his briefcase and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Brief the transport officers.”
“Wait!”
“When I go through that door, the offer evaporates and you take your chance on the reservation.”
“All right. All right.” Ricky ran his fingers through his hair. “What you need to know?”
Manny reached into his briefcase and placed a recorder in the middle of the table. After noting the time, date, and place of the interview, he asked Bell to state that he had received an explanation of his Miranda rights and had voluntarily waived them. “Now we can begin.”
Manny sat back in his chair and patted his pocket. Whenever he had scored a victory in the interview room, he would grab one of his little buddies from his pack and light up. He would have to find some other way to celebrate later.
“Jason Red Cloud hired me to steal the stuff.” Bell must have read the doubt in their faces. “It’s true. I’m a night janitor at the Red Cloud Development building. Jason got hold of me a couple weeks ago. He says, ‘Ricky, I need you to do me a special favor.’ He hands me a list of shit to steal from the Prairie Edge. I spend one afternoon inside the store looking around. They got no alarm. No guards. It’s a cakewalk, and the next night I waltz into the place.”
“And you stole these items for him out of the goodness of your heart?”
“Not hardly. Jason paid me ten percent of what the stuff was worth, two hundred bucks. Not bad for a few minutes’ work one night.”
“The things you copped were worth at least forty thousand dollars,” Soske said.
“That bastard,” Bell breathed.
“No honor among thieves,” Manny added.
“Now I don’t have to go with him?” Bell jerked his thumb toward Manny. “I can stay here in the Pennington County lockup, right?”
“As soon as you tell me why you brought the artifacts back.”
Bell looked from Soske to Manny. “You talking trash? I never brought anything back I stole. Ever. What would I do that for?” Bell hunched over. He cupped his face in hands as he stared at the floor, silent, offering nothing else. When Soske told Bell he would remain at the Pennington County jail, he slumped in his chair with relief, like he’d been granted an eleventh-hour pardon from the governor. Outside the interview room, Soske asked if Manny thought Bell had been truthful.
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