Death Along the Spirit Road (8 page)

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Authors: C. M. Wendelboe

BOOK: Death Along the Spirit Road
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“But not you?”
“Never.”
“Who else did he see when he came here?”
Elizabeth paused. Her eyes darted upward as she dug into her own memory. “Jason met with many people when he came here on day trips. He held meetings with different contractors, and talked with different factions living around Wounded Knee where he wanted to build the resort. He brought everyone together and convinced them how the tribe could benefit. His charm eventually won out, and he got the land deal for the resort.
“When he needed to be here full-time, the tribe let him stay in a house they own in Pine Ridge so he didn’t have to travel from Rapid City. I had the displeasure of seeing him every day, and he thought I’d pulled strings so we could be together. That was the kind of ego he had.”
Manny understood egos. Some agents needed to be the center of attention, needed people to think they shone as brightly as the spotlight they craved. He read that same ego in Lumpy since he’d returned here. By what Elizabeth just described about Jason, he and Lumpy and many agents Manny knew could be brothers. “Tell me something about the resort plans.”
Elizabeth refilled their cups and restocked the plate of cookies that Manny ate. “I can’t do the resort justice,” she said over her shoulder. She dumped the grounds down the garbage disposal and started another pot of coffee. “You’ll have to come to the finance building and look at the mock-up in Jason’s office. It was ambitious for us Oglalas, we who never agree on anything. But that was Jason’s persistence and skill as a negotiator. He could tell you to go to hell and you’d look forward to the trip. He might have been a jerk, but he charmed the pants right off most people.”
Manny asked for an overview. Elizabeth sat in the chair and broke off another piece of her cookie. “It would have been a true five-star RV resort, with two hundred hookups located on Porcupine Butte.”
“That would have overlooked Wounded Knee cemetery.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Jason said just being close to the memorial alone would add to the tourist draw. To hell with what the memorial means, he just wanted to work every angle.”
“And what do you think?”
She shrugged. “The resort would have been a huge draw. A fence would enclose a yard for every RV site, with shower and toilets for every two spaces. The land would be maintained like a golf course. People wouldn’t expect that here on Pine Ridge.”
“How did he arrange for the land?” For years, tribal members wanted a Wounded Knee Massacre shrine there, but the shrine never materialized. Too many factions and self-interests involved, and private-property owners wanted triple their land value to sell. And the tribe wanted to hold on to their portions because of spiritual reasons.
“No one could figure out how to get everyone together. Enter Jason ‘P.T. Barnum’ Red Cloud and his troupe of high-priced corporate lawyers. The greatest show on Earth. On the rez anyway. A little song and dance here. Some razzmatazz there. And presto, he charmed Ellie White Mouse out of that land she owned adjacent to Oglala Lake, where the tribe’s been drooling to build a marina for so many years. Then presto, Jason traded that property for land the tribe owned around Wounded Knee.”
“But what about the private owners? Even Red Cloud Development couldn’t afford land prices there.”
She held in a deep breath then let out a loud sigh. “Jason got up on his soapbox in Billy Mills Hall and preached about the profits the resort would pour out upon his people, and they believed him. They wanted to believe him. He was everyone’s long-lost best friend. He was the rainmaker come to town in the midst of a drought. He was no less than the savior of all their lost souls. I guess even he started believing his pitch, because he wanted to believe in prosperity, too.” She pushed her cookie away. “Or at least get his business out of debt.”
“Would that RV stuff have drawn enough tourists to make the resort profitable?”
“Not if that were all.” She pulled her long hair behind her ears. Beaded earrings on gold wires dangled from her earlobes and twirled as she spoke. “Jason planned to run horseback rentals with Lakota guides taking riders on day trips, and a shuttle would ferry tourists to the Prairie Wind Casino for some day gambling. He’d even planned to charter buses to Rapid City for what he referred to as a ‘shopping safari.’ He planned an arcade for the kids and an outdoor theater. He planned so thoroughly that everyone knew it would make the tribe wealthy.”
“If he hadn’t been killed perhaps the tribe would have been able to get on its feet.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Jason was way over his head.”
“How so?”
“The Red Cloud Development Corporation was about to file Chapter 11.” Elizabeth put another heaping plate of cookies on the table. Manny didn’t want to be impolite and grabbed another.
“But Red Cloud Development thrived under him. That’d be like Bill Gates filing Chapter 11.”
Elizabeth looked first at her coffee cup, then at her apron, which she twisted in her hand. When she answered Manny, tears clouded her eyes. “Jason hired Erica to help with the resort. He said she was a bright kid, that she would bring a lot to the project. I thought he hired her because of her Harvard degree, but he hired her because she’s an Oglala. He used Erica to help sell the idea to the tribe. She’s a good kid. You know that.”
He wanted to comfort Lizzy, wrap his arms around her, tell her Erica would be all right. But that was one thing the bureau never taught its agents: how to shed a tear with a victim.
Elizabeth slumped in her seat, her energy drained, their conversation ended.
“How can I get hold of Erica?”
“You don’t believe me about Jason?” she snapped, then held up her hand. “That didn’t come out right. I’m sorry. I know you have to talk with her about his finances.”
Manny nodded. “And there’s another thing.” He told her what Henry Lone Wolf said about the argument he overheard between Erica and Jason days before his murder.
“But that sounds like they were having an affair.” Elizabeth stood and met his gaze. “He was twice her age. And she’s happily married. Not only does she love Jon, it wouldn’t look right, would it? She wouldn’t risk that.”
“I figured it was Henry’s bottle talking again. But I had to ask.”
“Of course.” She smoothed her apron, her composure reclaimed. She jotted Erica’s phone number on a napkin and handed it to him as she walked with him to the deck. She stood watching him from the screen door as he got into his rental, then she walked over and stood beside his door.
“One last thing. You’ll hear about it sooner or later, so it might as well be from me. Last Monday, I took my lunch break at Big Bat’s with one of the girls from the office. Reuben was there with a couple of his Heritage Kids when Jason came in and started toward our table. Reuben stepped in front of him, and they had words. Reuben was angry enough to kill him, people will say, but I think I know Reuben enough to say he wouldn’t.”
“What did they argue about?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Reuben never got over me—never got over the divorce. I know he figured Jason and I had something going and became jealous over seeing us together, but he wouldn’t have hurt Jason. Not really.”
Whenever he could talk himself into seeing Reuben, Manny would ask him about it.
He started out of Elizabeth’s driveway and stopped to check the bars on his cell phone. He punched in the number for the Red Cloud Development Corporation and waited until a woman answered. Clara Downing wasn’t in, and the operator wasn’t sure when she would be. Manny hung up, more determined than ever that Clara Downing held answers to many of the questions he had.
CHAPTER 4
 
 
“Hoka hey.”
Willie handed Manny a large foam cup through the open passenger-side window.
“Hoka hey.”
The steaming liquid instantly clouded Manny’s sunglasses. He shook them in the air. That was the problem with cheap sunglasses. He missed his Gargoyles, wherever they might be. If he could kick himself in the ass for losing them he would. But it was so normal to misplace them, Manny thought he should buy them by the gross. It was hell to get old.
When the fog evaporated from his shades, he climbed in Willie’s cruiser. KILI out of Porcupine blared powwow music, its hard, steady drumbeat pounding in Manny’s head: like polka music, only harsher. He looked sideways at Willie, then at the radio. Willie turned the music down and cleared his throat.
“Got something to say?”
“You sure you want to do this today?” Willie asked at last.
“I got to talk with Reuben sometime. Better sooner and get it over with. Let’s drop by the justice building and check for those fingerprint results first.”
Manny sipped his coffee and his glasses fogged again. As they pulled into the parking lot, Manny took them off to air them out and he saw that the parking lot was full.
Lakota Country Times
logo on the side of one car.
Rapid City Journal
on another.
Indian Country Today
on yet another. A KELO news van was set up in front of the building, its T-whip antenna on top assuring some reception for television watchers.
Reporters and producers crowded around a roped-off podium in front of the justice building. Lumpy’s head peeked above the wooden lectern in the center. Willie had to park the car outside the fence. As they walked toward the entrance, Lumpy pointed. “Here’s Special Agent Tanno now.”
The crowd swarmed them and microphones hung in Manny’s face. Reporters fired questions, all at once. Willie shouldered his way through to make a path for Manny. He jerked away when someone grabbed his arm. “What the hell’s this?”
Lumpy smiled and waved his arm across the crowd. “News conference. They’re here to learn from the legendary Agent Tanno.”
“I can see that. Who called them?”
Lumpy grinned. “We’ve been inundated with questions about the progress of the investigation. I’d field the questions, but we’re out of the loop. It’s your investigation, Hotshot.”
“But I didn’t prep for a news conference.”
Lumpy’s toothy grin again.
“You’re about as useful as a mint-flavored suppository,” Manny called to Lumpy’s back as he disappeared into the justice building.
Manny turned to the crowd and held up his hand. “One at a time.”
“Sonja Myers.” Her voice was soft, faint, and other reporters quieted to listen to her. “Have you identified the prints on the war club that killed Jason Red Cloud?”
Manny fought to keep his train of thought. Blond hair overfilled a
Rapid City Journal
ball cap and she stepped closer to the podium. She wore her jeans a size too tight, and her shirt a size too small.
“The prints? Can you identify them?”
“Who told you there were prints on the murder weapon?”
“Sources.”
“Then ask your sources. I can’t comment on that just now.”
“Then when can I have that information?”
Manny ignored her and called on another reporter.
“Were you assigned this case just because you’re an Oglala?”
“What kind of question is that? Who are you?”
“Nathan Yellow Horse.
Lakota Country Times
.”
“I was assigned this case in part because of my background at Pine Ridge.”
“And if you don’t find Red Cloud’s killer, your being Oglala is supposed to appease us country Indians?”
“Nonsense,” a voice whispered, barely audible. Sonja Myers stepped toward Yellow Horse. “Agent Tanno’s here because he’s solved every homicide in his career. Isn’t that so?”
Manny nodded. If eye candy were real calories, Manny could get fat just watching her.
“Agent Tanno certainly has some ideas as to Red Cloud’s killer, don’t you?”
“Nothing’s conclusive yet.” He’d conducted enough news conferences to know how to stall, to parry reporters’ questions, to feed them just the right amount of bullshit to get him out of the spotlight.
A KELO reporter pushed his way through the crowd, a camera perched on the videographer’s shoulder like it was a parrot waiting to throw back whatever Manny had to say. “Is an arrest pending?” The reporter’s hair remained pasted to his head, moving not a wisp in the strong wind. Too much hairspray. Or starch. “Will the resort go forward now that Jason Red Cloud is dead?”

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