Dark Waters (15 page)

He noticed that she was sweaty as well. “Are you finished, then?”

“I could be,” she said.

He stood. “Then let’s get cleaned up and go have a drink.”

JAMES RED BIRD
listened as his lawyer, Maurice Langkamp, spoke quickly and earnestly. “I was at a function at the campus museum, and a cop came in, looking at the pottery collection. He confiscated one of the pieces you donated.”

Red Bird’s stomach plummeted. He kept nothing from his lawyer. “How in God’s name did he
know
?”

“I don’t know, but he did, and you better act fast. Come to my home right now and we’ll figure out our next step.”

Red Bird snapped his phone shut, tucked it back in his pants pocket, and turned to his wife. “I have to go out for a while.”

She looked up from the couch, where she was reading
Us
magazine. “Will you be late?” she asked flatly.

“I’ll try not to be gone too long.”

“It’s raining,” she said. “Take an umbrella.”

“Thanks.”

He looked away, unable to bear the steady, laser-hot scrutiny of his wife’s gaze. Their marriage existed on a bed of unspoken knowledge with edges that blurred if looked at too closely. She knew he was unfaithful, but he was careful to keep the details out of public sight. And if she, too, had lovers—something he found impossible to imagine—she kept that to herself. To the public they were a successful married couple, and an example to all Native Americans, not just other Karlamiks. They both understood the importance of that role.

He backed out of the garage and into a deluge. The wipers barely kept pace as he headed down the highway toward Madison.

“I KNOW I
keep harping on it, but this just isn’t ethical,” Maurice Langkamp said.

Marty Walker laughed. “Ethics and lawyers. That’s like military intelligence, isn’t it?” He looked around in disgust at the palatial lakeside home.

“You have no cause to talk to me like that. And besides, if you know who killed Garrett Bloom—”

“I’m going to make an arrest. That’s not the same thing as knowing who did it. And I’m doing your client a favor, Maurice, so don’t push it. I’ve got enough evidence to have him very publicly hauled in for questioning as an accessory. I’m betting it won’t help his fund-raising if the label ‘person of interest’ gets attached to him.”

Langkamp sighed. “I can’t always pick and choose my clients, Marty. And if I take one on, I’m obligated to do the best I can.”

Marty was saved the need to reply by a soft knock at the study door. James Red Bird opened it slightly and said, “Maurice? Antoinette said you were in here.”

“Come on in, Jim,” Langkamp said. “And close the door.”

Red Bird stopped suddenly when he saw Marty. “Who’s this?” he asked suspiciously.

“Detective Martin Walker, Madison police,” Marty said formally. He did not offer to shake hands.

Red Bird’s eyes cut between the two men. “What’s this about?”

“About the murder of Garrett Bloom, Mr. Red Bird,” Marty said. “I have evidence that places you at the scene the night of the killing.”

Red Bird began to sweat, but his voice was steady when he asked Langkamp, “Am I under arrest?”

“If you were,” Marty said, “I’d have read you your rights by now. Truthfully, I don’t think you had anything to do with it, because Bloom’s death put the kibosh on your plans to open a casino on the isthmus.”

“To do
what
?” Red Bird said, eyes wide with the perfect level of confusion. “Garrett Bloom was a great man, and—”

“And he kept copious notes,” Marty said. “He wasn’t about to get caught with only his neck on the block. But that’s not what really interests me right now. I want to know what you saw that night. If you tell me now, I’ll keep my source to myself if I possibly can, which keeps you out of the news.”

“I was nowhere near Garrett Bloom when he died,” Red Bird said formally.

Langkamp sighed. “Jim, please. He’s doing you a favor.”

“You were seeding the site of the new community center so that it would be classified as Indian land,” Marty said. “I can positively link you to the pottery shards you used. I can prove you were in league with Bloom on the casino plot.”

The study was silent. Finally Red Bird said, “Maurice?”

Langkamp ran a hand through his thinning hair. “My advice is to answer his questions now in private, instead of later on the record. This is off the record, right, Marty?”

Marty did not reply but continued to stare evenly at Red Bird. A flash of lightning lit the room, followed by a window-rattling thunderclap.

“Apparently the Great Spirit wants me to answer your questions too,” Red Bird said wryly. “All right. Yes, I seeded the site. I’m not admitting to any reason for it, but I did it.”

“What time?” Marty asked.

“Just after midnight.”

“Did Garrett Bloom know you were going to do it?”

“Yes. He didn’t know when, though. Plausible deniability and all that.”

Marty nodded. “Did you see him that night?”

“No.”

“What
did
you see?”

“Nothing. I was in and out in ten minutes. I didn’t expect the gate to be locked, so I had to throw the stuff over the fence. I’m not a very good petty criminal.”

“Did you see anyone else in the park?”

“No.”

“On the street?”

“No, I said. Look, really, if I did, I’d tell you. Garrett was my friend. Whatever else you may think about me, I swear to you that much is true. I liked him, we’d known each other for years, and we had plans for the future. If I knew anything that would help, I’d tell you.”

Marty nodded. “All right. I believe that’ll be all, Mr. Red Bird.
If
you’ve told me the truth.”

“I’ve answered your questions.”

Marty smiled. “And we both know that’s not the same thing.”

Again Red Bird looked from Langkamp to Marty. “So I’m off the hook?”

“As long as you had nothing to do with his murder, you’re off
my
hook,” Marty said. “I can’t speak to what other government agencies might do.”

“But somebody would have to tip them off first, wouldn’t they?” he said.

Marty shrugged. “They might, if you try to hone your petty-crime skills. If you don’t, I have no reason to ever discuss you with anyone. And truthfully, that makes me very happy.”

Red Bird nodded, turned toward the door, then stopped again. “In the spirit of full disclosure, then … there’s one more thing.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

R
ACHEL STOOD NAKED
, ankle-deep in the water. The rain had stopped, and now everything glistened with moisture. The night air was heavy with the promise of more precipitation, and even the mosquitoes seemed intimidated by it. Or perhaps the fear radiating from her repelled them.

More tentatively than she’d done in years, she stepped out into the water. It rose up her legs as it always did, but this time it felt unnatural, warm and slick with pollution and algae. When she was waist-deep, she waited for the first caress—the initial foreplay that signaled her lovers’ presence—but nothing happened.

She stood very still. The water, turbulent from the wind, began to slap her more roughly. Beneath the surface things would be different, and it wasn’t until a surge struck her in the face that she worked up the nerve.

She slid down under the water and let herself drift, waiting for the spirits to announce themselves. Above her the water still swirled and fought the wind, and she found it hard to keep herself oriented. She surfaced for a quick breath and instead got a face full of wind and water, which choked her and sent her into a momentary panic.

She managed to get some air and slid beneath the water again. It was black, and the noise sounded like a train muffled by layers of blankets. She kicked and tried to stay in place, awaiting the steadying caress of water-formed fingers.

She held out until her lungs burned. The spirits couldn’t abandon her, she thought desperately—not like this, not without warning. She gulped a new breath and sank three more times. But nothing happened.

The spirits did not come to her.

Were they ignoring her, as Betty McNally had said? Or were they weakened and nearly destroyed, as the old Lo-Stahzi woman had told her? She felt panic rise, along with the desperate need to take another breath.

Old woman
, she cried mentally,
tell me what to do! There must be a way!
She burst above the surface, praying she’d see the untouched shoreline and the Lo-Stahzi medicine woman, but it was still night, and she was still in her own time.

She stumbled from the water as the storm hit, pelting her bare skin with needle-sharp droplets. Her tears were lost in the rain, and she struggled to pull on her soaked clothes as thunder crashed above her.

Suddenly there was a crash so loud that it tore through her ears like an ice pick, and a bright blue light illuminated the area. With a rifle-shot crack, a tree limb crashed down through lower branches and landed jagged end first in the midsection of the effigy mound. If the mound had been a living animal, this would’ve pierced its heart.

And Rachel screamed as if it had pierced her own.

ETHAN DROVE HOME
slowly through the rain, wondering what the hell had just happened to him.

He and Cindy had watched the storm from a booth at Pedro’s, his favorite Mexican restaurant. They had discussed many things, none of them serious. When he started to feel the Dos Equis, he rose to take his leave, but she suggested they go to her townhouse for a nightcap.

He knew what she meant. He also knew he wasn’t in love with her, and that he never would be. But he followed her car through the rain anyway.

When they got to her place she kissed him the moment the door closed behind them. Squirming against him and making little whimpers of delight, she began unbuttoning his shirt before their lips parted.

He kept his hands demurely on her waist. “Whoa, wait. Shouldn’t we talk a little first?” he asked when she let him breathe.

She laughed. “No. I want you right now, Ethan. On the floor, even. How do you like that?”

Part of him liked it a lot. She wormed out of her jeans, revealing firm freckled thighs and a lime-green thong. “When I first met you, I fantasized about you for a week,” she said as she pulled off her T-shirt. “I mean, what are the chances of knocking you down on the street, and then seeing you at the gym?”

“Pretty slim,” he agreed. She wore a matching green bra, which quickly joined her other garments on the floor.

“So you’ll forgive me if I don’t need a lot of foreplay the first time out,” she said breathlessly, with a smile that promised things he no longer thought existed.

She took his hand and pulled him toward the stairs. For a long moment he resisted, but the way she stood against the rail, breasts swaying, every inch of freckled skin calling out to him, finally overcame his resolve. Only they never made it to the top step.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan said. “I just … I can’t.”

She frowned at him. “Oh, come on. You don’t mean—”

“No, it’s … I won’t.”

“ ‘Won’t’?” she repeated in annoyance.

“There’s someone else,” he said.

ETHAN PARKED IN
his garage, turned off the engine, and sat in the dark. Okay, he’d wanted to sleep with another woman. That was fine, actually; he had no ties to anyone, and had not broken his word. But at the last moment, all he could think about was Rachel. Until that wasn’t true, he couldn’t just fuck someone for fun.

He was too wide-awake to sleep, so he started the truck again and backed out of the garage. The rain had stopped, but the streets were still wet, and he drove around for twenty minutes before heading back home, using a route that would take him by the construction site for the new community center.

As he approached, he noticed a car parked at the curb. It was a BMW, which seemed odd enough in this neighborhood. And the emergency flashers were not on, which he’d expect if it had broken down.

He drove past it, then parked around the corner. He strolled back toward the park, not hiding but not making himself obvious. Down the hill, he saw the unmistakable glow of a small flashlight.

Ethan reached for his cellphone, then remembered he’d left it in the truck, inside his gym bag. He debated going back for it but decided not to. There was probably no need for the police. It was likely just kids out for a cruise in Daddy’s car, messing around with petty vandalism, and he could easily scare them away with his drill sergeant’s voice.

He crept down the hill, almost losing his balance on the wet grass. By the time he reached the fence, the light was gone. The gate had been bent enough to allow someone fairly small to wriggle through. Ethan silently unlocked it, slipped inside, and fastened it behind him.

The flashlight reappeared over near the corner where the new sewer pipe would be laid. Ethan moved silently through the shadows, edging closer. When he was twenty feet away, he saw that it was a lone man holding the light in his teeth as he scooped things from the ground and dropped them into a small cardboard box.

Ethan crossed the distance between them so fast that even though the man heard the approach, he had no time to respond. Ethan grabbed him by the back of his collar, yanked him to his feet, and slammed him face-first into the fence.

“Don’t fucking move,” Ethan growled. Still holding the man against the wall, he bent to pick up the dropped flashlight. The man tried to make a break for it, but Ethan tripped him. He landed face-first in the fresh mud and skidded a few feet.

Ethan yanked him to his feet and shone the light on his face. The mud hid his identity. “Wipe your face off. And if you try any more shit with me, you’ll be eating creamed corn from now on.”

The man used his shirt sleeve to wipe his mouth and lower face. “What does that even
mean
?”

“It means I’ll knock your teeth down your throat.”

“Oh! I’ve always wondered. Thanks for clearing that up.”

Ethan shone the light again, and this time he was momentarily speechless. “Red Bird, right? John—”

“Call me Jim,” James Red Bird said sheepishly.

Ethan grabbed Red Bird by the arm and dragged him over to the box. He shone the light into it and saw several pieces of broken pottery, as well as what looked like a stone ax head. “Holy shit, you were seeding the site?”

“No,” Red Bird said. “I was
un
seeding it. I seeded it for the second time earlier tonight. Sorry about your gate; I could throw stuff over the fence, but I had to actually get inside to pick it up.” He shrugged as if he’d merely spilled something on the couch.

Ethan bit his lip as he tried to decide the best thing to do. “You have a cellphone? Give it here.”

Red Bird dug his phone from his pants pocket. “It’s not what you think, really.”

Ethan looked at him. “Uh-huh.” He dialed Marty’s number.

Red Bird said, “If you’re calling the police, ask for Detective Martin Walker.”

Ethan stared at him in surprise just as Marty sleepily answered, “Hello?”

“Marty,” Ethan said.

“Are you all right?” Marty said at once, his voice instantly clear. “Where are you calling from? I don’t recognize the number.”

“I’m down at the new community center site. I caught somebody putting out more artifacts.”

“Is it James Red Bird?”

Ethan looked from the phone to Red Bird in confusion. At last he said, “I’m way out of the loop on this, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Red Bird said.

“He’s not planting them, he’s picking them up,” Marty said wearily. “Or at least that’s what he’d better be doing.”

Ethan looked at Red Bird. “Tell me what you were doing here. Seriously.”

“I put these here earlier tonight; I was picking them up before someone found them.”

“That’s what he says,” Ethan told Marty. “Do you want me to hold on to him?”

“No, let him go. But make sure he gets everything first. It’s sort of a plea bargain.”

“Uh-huh. You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t expect you to be prowling around at two in the morning. Just let him go. I know where he lives, and I know what he’s been up to. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”

“It’s already tomorrow.”

“You know what I mean. Good night, Ethan.”

Ethan closed the phone and handed it back to Red Bird. “He said to make sure you finish and then let you go.”

Red Bird stood with as much dignity as the situation could give him. “Thanks.”

“Hold on, I’ll get a floodlight. It’ll make it easier.”

“Thanks,” Red Bird said again. And for the next half-hour, Ethan held the light while James Red Bird retrieved dozens of pieces of pottery, arrowheads, and beads.

WHEN HE HUNG
up, Marty sat on the edge of the bed for a long time. His partner, Chuck, rubbed Marty’s back and said sleepily, “You okay?”

Marty stood. “Yeah. Can’t sleep. I’m going downstairs to watch TV.”

“Do you need to talk?”

“Nah, it’s just work stuff.”

“Okay,” Chuck said, and rolled over. Marty got a glass of milk and settled in to watch infomercials.

In a few hours he would have to arrest Rebecca Matre for the murder of Garrett Bloom. Officers were watching her, and if she tried to run they’d nab her; otherwise, he would make the collar right after the news media were surreptitiously notified. He hated that, but it was the way the world worked.

And then he prayed the real killer would make a mistake. For Rebecca Matre’s sake, and his own.