Threepersons Hunt (20 page)

The bullet screamed off a rock two feet from the Apache's boot; it left a white smear and the ricochet echoed up the canyon in pulsing waves of sound.

It had the sobering effect Watchman had intended. The Apache got up slowly and lumbered to the truck and laid his arms out across the roof, palms down.

The little one was sitting on the ground swaying slowly, moaning.

Watchman frisked the big one and took a folding knife out of his pocket. He stepped back and glanced at the little one, walked over to the discarded pigsticker and put it in his own pocket for safekeeping. “Come over here and sit down with him.”

The Apache lumbered through the rocks to his bleeding partner and hunkered down. “Christ you smashed his face all to hell, man.”

“You could get ten years apiece for this little ballet.”

“Hell we got carried away.”

“You could get carried away in a box if you pull something like this again.” Watchman stood with the sweat drying on him. “What's your name?”

“Sanada.”

“Full name.”

“What the hell. Danny Sanada.”

“What about him?”

“Name of Nelson Oto.”

“Oto.” Watchman glanced at the dead body up in the rocks above the truck. “His brother?”

“Yeah, yeah. You do that to him?”

“No.”

“Well Nels thought you did.”

“Next time you might try asking first.”

“Ask a cop?” Danny Sanada took out a pocket comb and slicked back his hair. “Yeah.”

“Who sent you up here?”

“Sent us? What you talking about, man? We live up here, Cuncon. Right over the hill there. We seen the wreck, we walked in from the bottom of the road. Seen you picking over him that way, Nels figured you was up to something.”

The weapon in Watchman's hand was getting heavy. He picked up Sanada's hat and tossed it to him. Sanada put it on and turned his brooding stare toward Jimmy Oto's brother who was beginning to whimper. “We ought to do something for him.”

“It'll stop bleeding,” Watchman said. “When did you two see Jimmy last?”

“What's it to you?”

Watchman sat down with his back to a rock and let the pistol hang from both hands between his upraised knees. He spoke without heat. “If I push charges they'll toss you away in jail like a squeezed lemon. Now that would be a waste of everybody's time. Somebody's hanging Jimmy's scalp on a door right now and you could help find out who did that.”

“So we was right. It wasn't no accident.”

“No accident. His tie rod was sawed through.”

“Aw son of a bitch,” Sanada said. “You hear that Nels?”

“I hear.” Nelson Oto's voice had a stuffy twang; his nose was plugged with wreckage.

Sanada said, “I didn't see him since last night down to the Arrow. I don't know about Nels. We was both working all day down to the sawmill, day labor.”

Nelson Oto lay back slowly until his head touched the earth; then he twisted his face to one side so the blood wouldn't run back into his throat. He had trouble getting his breath. “I saw him this morning.”

“Where?”

“Home, man. Before I went to work.”

“What time was that?”

“I don't own no watch. Breakfast time. Man I don't know—maybe six, six-thirty, seven o'clock. He said he had some money, he was going down to the post sometime today and get his bill paid up.”

“Where'd the money come from?”

“I don't know. That's the truth.”

“Was it from Harlan Natagee?”

He couldn't see Nelson Oto's face very well. Sanada reacted to it sharply but it was more surprise than secretiveness. Nelson said, “Could be. I don't know.”

“How big was his bill at the store?”

“Not much. He paid the whole thing off a week ago maybe. He just had the one week's stuff to pay for.”

“Where'd he get the money a week ago?”

“I don't know that neither. He had some private things working, you know.”

“Like what?”

“If I knowed that, they wouldn't be private, now would they.”

“Who was he hanging out with besides you boys?”

“I got no idea. He had his own truck, he was out by himself a lot of the time.”

“How many of you were in on the jailbreak?” Watchman asked.

Sanada looked genuinely puzzled. Nelson Oto said, “What jailbreak?”

“Joe Threepersons.”

“Man you think we done that?”

“I'm asking.”

“Didn't know a damn thing about, that,” Nelson Oto said.

“Then why was there a map of Florence in Jimmy's truck?”

“I didn't see no map. You see a map there, Nels?”

“I never seen no map of Florence anyplace.”

“There you go,” Sanada said. “Fuckin' A well told.”

The way they both talked they hadn't been out of the Army very long. Watchman got his handkerchief out and inspected it for cleanliness. It wasn't too bad. He took it across to Nelson Oto. “Here, clean your face off.”

14.

Under portable searchlights it was nearly midnight by the time the Apache County officials and technicians had finished in the canyon. They cordoned off the wreck and put two deputies on guard; Watchman heard the Undersheriff promise to relieve them by eight in the morning.

There was a rustic unhurried manner to the operations of the Sheriff's deputies, the County Coroner and Attorney's men, the ambulance crew and the wrecker-crane operators; but they were professionals and did their jobs carefully. Fingerprint men dusted every inch of the wreck and afterward the entire steering assembly was dismantled and wrapped in manila paper and carried uphill through the rocks to the county station wagon.

When the gathering broke up, Tom Victorio said, “I'm afraid I still need a ride. You want me to hitch a lift with one of those guys?”

“You can ride with me.” Watchman eased the Volvo along between the ranks of parked official vehicles until he cleared the tight bend. Light from the quarter-moon glimmered on the rocks. Watchman said, “You handled those two punks like a pro.”

“I'm an ambulance-chaser at heart. I can use a few clients.”

“Those two haven't got a dime to rub together. You won't get rich on the fee.”

“But the word will get around. I stood up for Nels and Danny. Next time some Apache wants himself a lawyer in a hurry maybe he'll think about calling Tom Victorio instead of Legal Aid.”

The road ran close under the lee of the foothills and the Volvo's tires slithered on the corners. Victorio added, “Besides I don't think those two had anything to do with it. Nels' own brother?”

“He only wanted to take them in for questioning.”

“Then let him get a warrant.”

They emerged from the notch in the hills and Watchman picked up a few late-burning lights of Whiteriver down the valley. “Where can I drop you?”

“My car's still in town.”

“You live around here?”

“Live with my folks, fifteen miles down toward Cibecue.”

“Where does Kendrick hang his hat?”

“He keeps an apartment in Showlow. He doesn't live around here full time—matter of fact he's a partner in a firm in Phoenix. They all specialize in Indian work.”

“But Kendrick's been concentrating mostly on this area for several years, hasn't he?”

“Yeah. I imagine if we ever get this water-rights mess straightened out he'll move on to some other tribe.”

“Leaving you to pick up the baton here.”

“I'm kind of hoping it'll turn out that way.” Victorio cleared his throat. “Jimmy Oto was nobody's favorite character but I'd dearly love to find out who killed him. I'd like to find out quick, before everybody in the tribe starts suspecting his neighbor. We've never had a sneak murderer in this tribe that I know of and that's one ancient tradition I'd just as soon keep. I want to find out who did it and I want it not to be an Apache.”

“You could help find out the answer.”

“How?”

Watchman braked at the fork and turned onto the macadam. The headlights swung across poor houses and a windmill tower. “Find out who Kendrick's client is. The one who laid out the money for Maria.”

“Find out how?”

“You work in the same office. You've got keys.”

Victorio didn't reply right away. Watchman steered into the lot between the trading post and the council house. A night-light burned in the store but the only car on the lot was Victorio's beetle.

Victorio's face was tipped toward his knees. “You're asking me to rifle Dwight's files.”

“We need that name.”

“I'm no sneak thief. Anyhow if you obtain evidence unlawfully you can't use it.”

“You can't use it in court. I don't give a damn about court. I'm trying to find Joe before we start finding more corpses.”

“I still don't understand what Jimmy Oto had to do with it.”

“He had a detail map of Florence in the truck.”

After a silence Victorio said, “Yeah, okay.”

“Of course it still could be that Joe killed him.”

“Why should he?”

“Maybe Oto knew where Joe was hiding out. Maybe Joe killed him to keep him quiet.”

“No. That wouldn't be Joe's style. Sawing through the steering gear? Never, man. Joe'd use his fists or maybe a gun. A gun's farfetched enough. He's not what you'd call a subtle thinker.”

“Then let's find him before somebody outthinks him and Joe ends up out in the bushes with birds picking over him.”

Victorio bit a knuckle. “I don't know. I just don't operate that way. I'm getting the shakes just thinking about it. Suppose I get caught?”

“It's your own office. You're not doing anything illegal.”

“They're not my files, they're Dwight's.”

“You're splitting hairs. It's the same law office.” Watchman got out of the car. “I've got a few calls to make. If you find something I'll be over in the phone booth.”

15.

He dialed the local number first and Angelina answered on the first ring.

“Did I wake you up?”

“No, I was waiting for you. Where the hell are you?”

“Whiteriver,” he said. “Everything all right?”

“It's boring out,” she said. “I've had more fun watching test patterns.”

“Well you'd better stay where you are for a while yet.”

“Why? Has something happened?”

“Jimmy Oto was killed.”

There was static on the line while she absorbed it. “It wasn't Joe.…”

“I doubt Joe had anything to do with it. But it looks like Jimmy Oto died because he knew something.”

“Killed,” she said. “You mean really dead. It's a little hard to believe, just like that.”

“Anything happened there?”

“Not much. I talked to Will Luxan on the phone. He said it would be all right, any time I wanted to come back to work.”

“Did he say anything about Joe?”

“He's a cagey old man. He didn't say anything you could pin down. But I do have a feeling. I think he knows something. Maybe he knows where Joe is.”

“Any special reason to think that?”

“I don't know. You have to know Uncle Will. It's nothing he said. Except maybe that he told me I shouldn't worry my head too much about Joe. The way he said it, I took it to mean he knows Joe is all right. How would he know that if he hadn't seen Joe or something?”

“You could have a point there.”

She said, “It's awful late. Are you coming back tonight?”

“Maybe in a little while.”

“Be careful who shoots at you this time.” But her voice wasn't as light as she meant it to be.

“Take care,” he said.

“Yes. You too.”

He held the cradle down with his finger and glanced across the way. Only the front of the council house was visible and he didn't see Victorio anywhere. He rang Buck Stevens' home number, collect.

Stevens' groggy voice was half an octave lower than usual. “The hell time's it?”

“About one. I couldn't get to a phone before.”

“Uh.”

“Get a notebook.”

“Okay, wait a minute.… All right. Pencil and all. Speak.”

“We had a murder up here,” Watchman said and kept talking over Stevens' interjections. “Young fellow name of Jimmy Oto.”

“Otto?”

“Oto. One tee. He's got a surviving brother named Nelson Oto and there's a friend name of Danny Sanada. Got the names?”

“Spell Sanada.”

Watchman recalled the spelling from Sanada's driver's license. “Now one of them's dead and the other two are here on the Reservation but I'd like to run R-and-I checks on all three of them, see if they've got records. I think Jimmy Oto helped engineer that jailbreak.”

“Not according to what I got,” Stevens said. He sounded a little pleased with himself. “I went down to Florence today. Joe Threepersons had a visitor. Twice. The day before the escape and the day
of
the escape. Fellow signed in under the name of William Jojolla.”

“Late twenties, big as a house, driving an old grey Ford pickup?”

“They didn't say anything about what he was driving. But they remembered him because he was big. A big big guy.”

“I don't suppose they keep fingerprints or mug shots on visitors down there.”

“No. But they'd have a couple of samples of his handwriting from where he signed in both times.”

“I'll get a handwriting sample,” Watchman said. “Now the next thing, try to find out if the Pinal County Engineer had any customers lately for one-to-five-thousand scale maps of the northeast quadrant of Florence. Oto had one in his truck—maybe somebody bought it for him. They couldn't have had that many inquiries about that particular quad.”