Read The Pot Thief Who Studied Billy the Kid Online
Authors: J Michael Orenduff
“
To summarize,” he said, “w
hile digging for pots
on BLM property
, you discovered a human hand which you took to be the hand of a prehistoric person. Not wanting to dis
turb the
grave
further
, you covered th
e
hand. Some days later
, you began to wonder if the hand might belong to a contemporary person. I put aside the question as to whether
the person in the gr
ound
was a murder victim as that
issue
has no bearing on your legal situation. You decided to return to toderthe site for the purpose of examining the hand to determine the age of the body. But the body had been removed. You now seek advice on your legal liabilities and obligations.”
I nodded.
“With regard to your first visit,
the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act
contains a provision regarding the i
nadvertent
discovery of a burial site. That provision specifies, and I think I am quoting precisely here, ‘The
person who makes the discovery must immediately notify the responsible Federal official by telephone and provide written confirmation to the responsible Federal official
’
.
‘Immediate’ is an imprecise term. You were stranded for two days and required medical attention after you were found. Then you were given reasonable arguments by Miss Inchaustigui
to the effect that it was a modern grave. So I believe if you report the finding now to the BLM, they will judge you to be in compliance.”
“Since they don’t know when I was there, I could just tell them I found it yesterday
.”
“I will not comment on that suggestion. You
would normally
have a legal obligation to report finding the grave. But the obvious legislative intent of that provision of NAGPRA is to allow the authorities to protect the remains. You now know that the remains are no longer there. Thus, the intent of the provision cannot be accomplished, rendering your reporting responsibility moot. You are require
d
to report where a grave
is
, not where it
used to be
.”
“So I don’t have to report it.”
“
My legal opinion is that you are not required
to report i
t
under NAGPRA
. But my personal opinion is that it
would be an act of civic responsibility to inform them of it since knowing that there had been a grave there might be of some archaeological significance.
If, on the other hand, the body
you
partially unearthed was a recent death, then you are
required under New Mexico law to report it so that the authorities can record the death and attempt to discover it
s
cause. But once again, the disappearance of the body may render that obligation moot as well. It is no more helpful to the State, perhaps even less so,
than it is to the BLM
to be told where
a body
used to be buried
.
”
“It sounds like I don’t have to report it either way.”
“You should probably do so. But you
have
no legal obligation.”
He could have
saved the explanation and
said
only those last f
ive
words
. B
ut
he charges by the hour.
“Can we talk about the pot now?
”
I asked him.
“May I see it, please?”
Tristan handed him the pot Martin Seepu
h
ad brought me. Tristan had become both my driver and my porter. I couldn’t carry a pot and use crutches.
Kent
lifted the pot into a beam of light and
examined it
.
“Mariela will like it. The price you
mentioned on the phone
was five thousand. I had one of my paralegals withdraw cash as you requested.”
He handed me an envelope. I opened it on my lap an
d counted it below table level.
I looked up and said, “There is only forty five hundred in here.”
He smiled. “Ie s>
took the liberty
of deducting
my fee.”
25
On the way back home, I gave Tristan sixteen hundred dollars to mat
ch the half of his tuition he’
d saved from his summer job.
“I’ll add it to the running total of what I owe you,” he said.
I shrugged.
He took me to Dr. Batres’ office
where I paid
my dental bill.
Sharice
was with a patient, so I didn’t get to see her. I dealt with that disappointment by rationalizing that I
preferred to envision her in
her
white sun dress rather than a blue lab coat.
Our
next
sto
p was at the pharmacy where I’
d rented the crutches. I rented them only for three weeks because I was short of cash. Tristan ran in and paid enough to take me up to six weeks.
But
not before he argued about it.
“Why are you renting crutches? There’s a place that lets you use them for free.”
“
I know
. T
hat was the first place I called.
Turns out y
ou get to use the crutches free, but they say that for sanitary reasons, you have to buy the hand-grip pads and the armpit pads. Those pads were more expensive than renting.”
“After six weeks of rental, you will have spent enouge s>
“I don’t want to own crutches.”
“Why
not
?”
“For the same reason I don’t have life insurance. I don’t want to prepare for things I don’t want to happen.”
Our final stop was
the
Old Town Savings Bank. This time I went in, releasing Tristan from his duties since the Bank is
within shambling distance from my house.
I paid my mortgage and met with a young woman named Saundra who had a small cubicle and a big customer-service smile. I told her I wanted to borrow some money using my equity in my building as collateral. She gave me
a
sheaf of papers to complete.
I’
ve never applied for a national security clearance, but
it has to be easier than applying for a second mortgage.
When
I got home,
I placed
the
thousand dollars for
Martin’s uncle
in my secret hiding place
. Then I called Whit Fetcher, a detective with the Albuquerque Police Department
,
and asked him to drop by.
After shelling out for the tuition,
dentist, crutches
, mortgage
and the money for Martin’s uncle,
I had
just
enough left from the forty five hundred to pay for the margaritas that evening.
But it was still early. I hobbled over to the Plaza and sat down on a shade
d
bench.
Although Layton’s explanation
h
ad the ring of sophism, it was not for me to question. He said I had no legal obligation to report the body. I was off the hook.
Legally.
But I didn’t feel as good about it as I should have. Part of that may have been being broke. If I had found a couple of valuable pots high above the Rio Doloroso, I
might
have been
fretting
less
.
But there was more to it than that. I was still worried about the dirt
of the
illegal
antiquities
trade rubbing off on me. And I felt guilty about missing Frank Aquirre’s funeral. And maybe about Dolly, although it was clear that Dolly didn’t think I had wronged her in any way.
“Hallow
,
Youbird.”
That’s the way it sounded. But I’ve gotten so used to it that I no longer think of it as an accent. It’
s just how Father Groa
z
sounds.
“Whot happen to your foot?”
Father Groa
z
is fluent in Latin, Spanish, French, Italian and his native Rusyn. Yes, R
usyn, not Russian. It’s a
Slavic language spoken in and a
round the Carpathian Mountains.
His English is fractured. Combine that with his booming bass voice, his thick beard and
a
black robe
draped over
a
6’ 4” 250 pound frame, and you have someone right out of central casting if you’re filming a vampire movie.
I
nside that barrel chest beats a heart of gold. The parishioners love him
,
and even we non-Catholics in Old Town look to him for
advice.
I told him how I sprained my ankle, including everything that led up to it.
“So I came out here to sit and think about the dead guy I accidentally unearthed.”
hedalign=
I looked up at him. “I guess I came in search of spiritual guidance.”
His deep-set eyes sparkled.
“Then is a lucky coincidence that I come along. I am in that line of work.”
“Susannah says there are no coincidences.”
He stuck his hand into his beard and rubbed his chin. Or maybe he was petting a gerbil. That beard is its own ecosystem.
“She is correct
sub specie aeternitatis
.”
I thought about that. I’m not fluent in Latin
even though I
took four years of it
. But that was
decades
ago. I attempted to read Spinoza in the original Latin three years ago to see if I had retained enough to do so, but I hadn’t. I gave up and switched to the English translation
.
Even
in
the English version, t
hat phrase was still in Latin, as if
it
were one of those Latin
terms
we use
every
day
, like
v
ice versa
,
alma mater
and
et cetera
.