Shallow Grave-J Collins 3 (12 page)

ick dark eyebrows

accentuated soft brown eyes. Even the crow’s feet gave him a distinguished air.

He whistled. “Julie, my magnifi cent girl, I’ve been such a fool. Run away with me, eh?”

I kissed him square on the mouth. “You blew your chance years ago, buddy.”

“Figured as much.”

“Th

is way. Coff ee’s on.”

He lightly grabbed my arm but his gaze was on my belt. “When did you start wearing a gun?”

125

“When people started shooting at me. Now I shoot back.”

His eyes widened and I didn’t bother to hide my smile.

He tagged along to the kitchen, seating himself at the dinette table as I rounded up plates and cups.

Darrell tapped a teaspoon on the placemat. “You want to chew my ass fi rst? Or have me check out the artifact?”

“Chew your ass. Tell me why someone who professes to have been my brother’s friend purposely kept information about him from me?” I sipped my coff ee.

“Go ahead and justify it, Darrell, because I’m dying to hear your fucking excuses.”

“If I didn’t like you so much I’d walk out of here after that comment,” he grumbled.

“Wrong. If you weren’t feeling guilty as hell you would’ve stomped out.”

Darrell frowned. “Glad I didn’t marry you,
winyan
.

You’d have made my life hell.”

“Flattery will get you a big fat lip. Start talking.”

“About a year before Ben died, he contacted me because he wanted my opinion on a job he was thinking about taking.”

“What job?”

“Working for the Sihasapa Tribal Council.”

“Obviously he didn’t take it. Ben never worked for them.”

126

“Th

at’s where you’re wrong.”

My stomach lurched. I calmly shook out a cigarette.

Lit it and considered him through the smoke. Th e parallels weren’t lost on me. I’d been subjected to smoke and mirrors for years. “What was the job?”

“Glad-handing, mostly, you know, like a lobbyist?

Convincing general members of the tribe to vote for the initiative that would allow the Sihasapa Tribal Council to negotiate a gaming compact with the governor.”

“Leticia’s pet project.”

“Yeah. I know you didn’t live around here then, but the tribe had been seriously divided on the issue.”

I inhaled and stared at him.

“Because of the threat of a state moratorium on all Indian gaming, the Sihasapa Tribal Council knew they’d have one shot with the general membership to convince them to act quickly on the proposal that gaming was the best solution to their fi nancial problems.”

“Th

is is where Ben came in?”

He nodded. “Since Ben and his brother Owen were both so well-liked, Leticia recommended them to the Sihasapa Tribal Council. Th

e tribal president agreed, with

the stipulation that his cousin Roland Hawk also was hired to help out.” Darrell scowled in his coff ee cup.

“Nepotism at its fi nest. Problem was, Owen couldn’t stand Roland.”

127

I hadn’t liked Roland either. He’d always struck me as one of those guys who hid a violent personality beneath a crafty smile. Kind of like my father.

Kind of like Martinez.

Damn. I did not have time to stew about that.

“Leticia didn’t object?”

“At fi rst. But the rumor was it was a token protest because she and Roland were having lots of private closed door sessions.”

My mouth dropped open. “No shit? Queen bitch was doing the nasty with a thug like Roland?” Like I had any room to talk about falling for a bad boy.
Dammit,
Julie, concentrate.

“It never was confi rmed, but it’d sure explain why she overruled Owen’s protests. Besides, in Leticia’s eyes, Roland’s pedigree as a direct descendent of Chief Hawk outweighed his . . .
unsavory
reputation.”

Th

at was another thing I’d never understood about tribal politics; it rarely mattered what a person did in the present, as much as what glorious feats their Lakota ancestors had done in the past. Plenty of current and past council members had spent time in jail.

I couldn’t fathom any other governmental entity that would overlook such behavior. So, did it speak of the tribe’s tolerance? Or their stupidity?

I refocused. “Okay. So he had a job. It doesn’t seem 128

like such a big secret deal. Why couldn’t you tell me?

Especially after he died?”

Darrell watched me closely. “Because of confi dentiality laws. No one suspected where the Sihasapa Tribal Council planned to build the gaming facility once they got the governor’s blessing. Th

ey wanted to keep it that

way, because if it were common knowledge, it would’ve caused an uproar.”

I squirmed. I knew where this was going.

“Th

e truth is, it was an unusual situation because we were called to do a study on disturbing potential burial grounds and holy areas
before
they’d even voted on passing the initiative. We both know if the general membership had an inkling that the proposed building site for the casino was
Mato Paha
, it never would’ve passed.”

I ground out my smoke. “Ben knew the proposed site was Bear Butte?”

“I don’t think so. But if
I
would have told you any of this, Julie, I would’ve lost my job. In all the years I’ve been working with NAGRA, I’ve never had to sign so many nondisclosure documents as I did with that one situation. Only a select few individuals had clearance.

Th

ey could’ve easily traced the leak to me.”

But if Ben had found out about the proposed site, he could’ve caused problems by telling other tribe members. Would the council have taken extreme action and 129

silenced him? “Who was tribal president then?”

“Auggie Two Bulls.”

Th

e name didn’t ring a bell. “Where’s he now?”

“Dead. Car accident outside of Chadron.”

Scratch asking him any questions. “You’re sure Ben’s involvement with the tribe didn’t have anything to do with his murder?”

He looked me dead in the eye. “Positive.”

“What about Roland Hawk? Could he have had anything to do with it?”

“Doubtful. But stay away from Roland anyway. He is psychotic.”

I shrugged.

“Promise me Julie. He was bad news back then, and he’s even more unstable now.”

I trudged to the sink and refl ected on this new information. “Why didn’t Ben tell me any of this?”

“I imagine he had some of the same confi dentiality issues.” A heavy pause. “Ben didn’t tell you anything?”

“Th

e last time I talked to him he told me he’d had a falling out with his family about the ranch. He didn’t give me specifi cs.” I faced Darrell. “You know anything about that?”

“I swear, Julie, this time, I really have told you all I know.”

“When I asked you yesterday about Ben working for 130

tribal interests while in Arizona, it wasn’t the tribal interests part that tripped you up, was it?”

He shook his head.

“So what specifi cally did Ben, Owen, and Roland’s glad-handing duties entail?”

“Attending community functions, ball games, taco feeds, powwows. Th

ey enlisted Myron Blue Legs to help

with the veteran contingent. Convincing the general members was supposed to have been done subtly, but Roland Hawk was about as subtle as a jackhammer. He caused all sorts of problems. Eventually the council fi red Roland, Ben, and Myron.”

In the past few months I’d learned fi rsthand the high stakes and confl icting issues with tribal gaming.

With this new information, no wonder I’d been stonewalled while investigating Ben’s murder. Th e Sihasapa

tribe had a reputation for being secretive—especially to outsiders, especially when money was on the line.

I sighed. “I don’t know what to think. I’ve never even heard of this Myron Blue Legs guy. Could he have had something to do with it?”

Darrell angled back and folded his hands behind his head. “He’s . . . hard to describe. He was some kind of Rambo-type hero in Vietnam; he won all sorts of med-als. Th

ese days he’s eccentric and keeps to himself, yet he’s highly opinionated. Most folks consider him a La-131

kota Holy man.”

“And
Ben
was friends with him?” Th at did not

sound right.

“Ben had lots of diff erent sides, Julie. You didn’t see them all. He was far too trusting, which is why lots of people took advantage of him.”

Or why someone killed him. “But evidently Ben didn’t stick around after he got canned. What happened after Ben left?”

“Th

e tribe let Owen fi nish the legwork. Within a year, not only had they gotten the initiative on the bal-lot, it’d passed.”

I decided not to share my information about Ben staying with the Hopi tribe in Arizona. “Th is stuff is

making me crazy, Darrell. It’s made me crazy for the last few years. Sorry I jumped your shit.”

His skepticism gave way to an insurance salesman grin. “Don’t sweat it. So, where’s this artifact?”

I unwrapped the object from the paper towel.

Darrell didn’t pick it up. In fact, he didn’t move at all. “Where did you fi nd this?”

“A ranch up in the northern part of the county.

Why?”

He ran a fi nger down the length of the braid from the leathery top to the beads on the bottom. He drew his hand back as if he’d been burned.

132

Whoa. “Darrell, you’re scaring me. What the hell is this thing?”

“It’s a segment of hair.” He fl icked the beads and they rattled. “I can see why you thought this might be rope because it’s so tightly braided.” He pointed to the top. “Th

is is what clued me in—it’s hair. Th

is is dried

skin, or more accurately, part of a scalp.”

“Eww! I’ve been carrying a scalp in my purse?”

“Yep.”

“How old is it?”

“Without running tests I don’t know.”

“But doesn’t the fact it’s got a chunk of skin attached to it mean it’s probably really old?”

Darrell smirked. “Like when we used to scalp the white man kind of old?”

I batted my eyelashes. “Ooh. Did it take a PhD to hypothesize that possibility, Mr. NAGRA?”

“Smart aleck, but you’re right. I’d sure like to get a look at the area where you found this. Any chance we could drive out there now?”

Most likely June was in bed, sleeping off a drunk and hiding from the world. I certainly didn’t fault her.

But I had told her I’d wait before bringing in the law.

Might be fuzzy logic, but Darrell wasn’t the law.

Darrell said, “I don’t mean to pressure you, but I’m fl ying to DC in the morning and I’ll be gone at least for 133

a week. It’s important to know if we’re dealing with a burial ground before you contact the sheriff .”

“And if it’s not?”

“Th

en the sheriff has a problem.”

I frowned. “Like what?”

“Like who was buried there in the fi rst place and why all of a sudden those bones have vanished.”

Excellent point.

“I’ll get my keys.”

134

Darrell tossed his shovels in my truckbed before we took off .

I let
Th

e Punisher
soundtrack serenade us. My truck, my rules.

During a break in the music he asked, “So, what guy you got on the hook now?”

“What makes you think there’s only one?”

“Because no man in his right mind would share you.”

I shot him a glance. “Or he’d make damn sure no one even knew about me.”

“What?”

“Never mind. We’re here.” I turned onto the gravel road leading to the Everett place.

Darrell opted to stay in the truck as I dashed out.

Th

e dog wagged his stumpy tail upon seeing me 135

climb the steps. I pounded on the door.

June answered my summons, dressed in the ratty pink bathrobe again. Tangled hair sheltered her bloated face. “What?”

“June? It’s Julie.”

“Julie?” Her chin came up but I doubted she could see me through her alcohol stupor. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I know we talked about waiting, but I brought a guy to check out the hole where the bones were found.

Th

ought maybe he’d save some time when we contact the sheriff . Is it okay with you if we go out there and poke around?”

“Yeah, like you’re givin’ me a choice. Do I hafta come along?”

Whew. She reeked of booze. Her breath. Her hair.

Her skin. “No. I’ll stop in before we take off .”

Th

e minute I climbed in the truck, Darrell said,

“Did the landowner give you explicit permission to access this area where the bones were found?”

“Yep. Why?”

“I’ve run into problems in the past. People see an Indian guy and they usually shoot fi rst.”

“I’ll protect you, darlin’.”

“Th

at’s what I’m afraid of.”

I smiled.

Th

e gate to the pasture was humble; rusted barbed 136

wire loosely wrapped around a gnarled gray tree trunk, worn smooth by the oil of hands and gloves.

Darrell sketched in the notebook teetering on his lap.

Even with the truck bumping up and down, his drawing didn’t look like the random lines of an Etch-a-Sketch.

With the sun shining, I didn’t recognize the bluff .

Th

is chunk of earth had seemed austere the day Lang Everett died. Probably the bleak circumstances had discolored my perception.

Upon closer examination, the low-lying plants I’d dismissed as dead and brown refl ected shades of russet.

Glimpses of crimson rose hips were interspersed with the puff y white mountain balm shrubs, milkweed seedpods, sage, and the occasional tumbleweed.

Yellow leaves shimmered in the trees beyond the pla-teau. Th

e Black Hills were a faint bruise on the horizon.

Not a bad fi nal resting place for whoever had been buried here.

I sat on the bumper while Darrell scoured the perimeter. He jotted notes and measurements, all the while talking to himself. Wasn’t exactly
Indiana Jones
stuff .