Authors: John Fortunato
Dark Reservations (43 page)
“Bullshit. You traded information for the promise of a promotion. But what I don't understand is why? You had a pretty much spotless career, not stellarânone of us do. So why? Why now?”
Dale didn't respond at first, but when he finally did, there was a visible droop in his shoulders.
“It didn't seem so wrong at first.”
“That's what Stretch probably thought. But he knew exactly what he was doing and why: money. So he could afford to be superdad with trips and cars and tuition. The problem with him was that by the time I came along, he was already in too deep to Othmann to refuse. But you were different. You didn't owe Malcolm or the senator. So why?”
“I watched you finish your career with nothing more than a pension and a kick out the door. I didn't want that. The senator was going to owe me a favor. But I wouldn't have done it if I had known he was involved in Edgerton's death. I thought it was just politics. You know me. I wouldn't have protected a murderer.”
Joe said nothing.
“What are you going to do now?” Dale asked, defeated.
Joe walked over to the bookcase beside Dale's desk, grabbed hold of one side, and shoved. The wall unit and the rows of model cars crashed to the floor. Die-cast parts flew across the rug. He crushed several under his foot as he strode to the door.
“We're even.”
N
OVEMBER
2 (E
LECTION
D
AY
)
T
UESDAY
, 10:52
P.M.
E
DGERTON
F
OR
G
OVERNOR
H
EADQUARTERS
, S
ANTA
F
E
, N
EW
M
EXICO
Grace Edgerton stood onstage, looking out over a roomful of volunteers and supporters who had come tonight to be with her while the votes were tallied. Now they cheered at the announcement. And Grace was moved to tears of joy, but her tears were not just for winning the governorship. That morning, she'd been notified by the FBI only minutes before their press release. Kendall Holmes had been arrested for the murder of her husband. The news went viral. The election alone would have paled in comparison, but the combination of the two overwhelmed her.
She stepped to the podium to deliver her acceptance speech. The applause and whistles and hoots continued.
Chris Staples, who stood to her right with Paige Rousseau, both clapping and smiling, leaned toward her and shouted to be heard.
“They love you, Madam Governor!”
Yes, they did. And she loved them. And it was only then, after all these years, that she realized how much she still loved Arlen. And that this election, like all the others over the past twenty years, were her way of honoring him and his memory, a way to carry on his work.
She raised her arms in the universal gesture of victory and imagined Arlen standing next to her as she accepted the governorship of this great state.
N
OVEMBER
13
S
ATURDAY
, 9:48
A.M.
F
AIR
H
ILLS
C
EMETERY
, A
LBUQUERQUE
, N
EW
M
EXICO
Grass had not grown over the grave. This was hard country, after all. Fine things struggled in New Mexico. Joe never thought of grass as a finery, but its delicate blades and small stature and its thirst for water that outpaced rainfall put grass at a disadvantage in this harsh region. So Christine's plot remained barren. But it didn't matter. She was not below that brown dirt. She resided in Joe's heart and was part of Melissa's existence. She lived on through them.
Her headstone was modest. Nothing fancy. Christine hadn't liked fancy. She'd preferred plain and unobtrusive. So Joe had selected a simple marble slab with the epitaph
BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER.
“Miss you, Mom,” Melissa said. They had walked hand in hand to her grave.
Joe listened to his daughter's words in silence.
Then she let go of his hand and went back to the car, leaving him alone with his wife.
Minutes passed. He felt at peace. It was a new sensation, one that he hadn't known since her passing. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about it.
“You know I miss you,” he whispered. “Every day. Every night. Every time I see Melissa.” A crow cawed from somewhere behind him. “I'm seeing someone now, but I'm sure you know that. She's nice. Broken, like me. I think that's a good thing, good for both of us. We can help each other.”
A breeze floated by and carried with it the soft scent of sage. “Dale's on review, so they asked me to stay and run the squad. But I'm not sure if I want to go back. And I have another offer. The new governor wants to appoint me as her border security adviser. Fancy title. I told her I don't know much about border security, but she says she trusts me to do the job.”
He smiled. “It's been a long time since anyone's trusted me.”
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T
HIS NOVEL WAS INSPIRED
by an actual event that occurred in Chi Chil Tah (Navajo Nation), New Mexico. Several years ago, I was investigating a missing-person case with Navajo criminal investigator Larry Etsitty. While canvassing a community for leads, we were given information about an abandoned vehicle in the nearby woods. After a somewhat long and dusty hike through a thinly populated forest of scraggly junipers and oaks, we came upon a long-forgotten and fully stripped sedan. Three large bullet holes marred the windshield, and another pierced the driver's door. While the vehicle was never linked to a crime (except being the victim of abandonment, vandalism, and target practice), the scene stayed in my mind and eventually grew into this novel.
Few stories are written in a vacuum. They are the result of many interactions and much research. This book is no exception. My interactions involved working with the individuals who investigate violent crimes on the Navajo reservation. I would be remiss not to thank them for accepting me into their circles and sharing their personal experiences and views with me, whether at a crime scene or over coffee afterward. Many of those revelations made it into this book, in one form or another, or simply influenced the tone of the narrative. I offer my thanks and gratitude to all the officers and criminal investigators on the Navajo reservation and specifically to the following individuals: senior criminal investigators Larry Etsitty and Malcolm M. Leslie; criminal investigators Denise Billy, Darryl Boye, Christopher Tsosie, Robert James, and Charles VanOsdell; and evidence-recovery technicians Donovan Becenti and Randall Bluehouse. To the FBI agents and staff who work in Gallup, New Mexico, and who must handle the worst of the worst and see the most tragic of tragedies on a daily basis, I offer recognition of their difficult tour of duty.
As for the research that went into this book, I want to thank Richard Malone and Amy Wyman, investigators with the New Mexico Office of the Medical Investigator; plastic and reconstructive surgeon Nathan S. Taylor, M.D.; Professor David A. Phillips, Jr., University of New Mexico, Department of Anthropology (Archaeology); Professor Michelle D. Hamilton, Forensic Anthropology Center, Texas State University; Cindy Josley, Jenelle Yazzie, and Carol A. York, who helped me with Navajo language and traditions; the fine docents at the New Mexico Museum of Natural History & Science who took me into their work space and shared stories of the museum; and the many law enforcement officers and agents who answered my questions and provided me insight. While I took some liberties with the material presented, the accuracy and realism are accredited to these individuals. Where the information is wrong, I am solely to blame.
And finally a warm thank-you to all the individuals who brought
Dark Reservations
into the light: Ann Hillerman and Jean Shaumberg of Wordharvest, who host a truly wonderful conference and make everyone feel a part of their family; executive editor Peter Joseph, associate editor Melanie Fried, and the professional staff at Thomas Dunne Books and Minotaur Books who worked so hard to make my novel shine (many thanks to you, Peter, for your editorial guidance and sage publishing advice); Elizabeth Trupin-Pulli, a most genuine person and a most marvelous agent; David Shifren, Randall Silvis, and Victoria Thompson, my Seton Hill University writing mentors who transformed me into a writer; freelance editor Michael Dell, whose editing and story advice made my novel so much stronger; my Seton Hill writing community and writing group buddies who make the job of writing fun and not so lonely; and my early readers, Carla E. Anderton, Frank A. Fisher, Jennifer Felts, Rebecca Glover, Matthew Hellman, Mark Hoff, Stephen Marshall, and Laurie Wood Sterbens, who kept me on my authorial toes and challenged me to do better.
If I have forgotten anyone, please know you are very much appreciated and the oversight is my memory and not a reflection of your contribution.
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John Fortunato
was a captain in the U.S. Army who worked in military intelligence and served at the Pentagon during the early part of the global war on terrorism. He is now a special agent with the FBI and has earned an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University. A native of Philadelphia, he currently lives in Michigan with his wife and three daughters. This is his first novel. You can sign up for email updates
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Contents
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
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A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin's Publishing Group.
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DARK RESERVATIONS.
Copyright © 2015 by John Fortunato. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
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