She Who Watches (21 page)

“Right.”

“Here's a contact number.” Kevin handed Mac a slip of paper.

“Grant Stokely. He's Senator Wilde's aide.”

“Chief of staff, actually.” Kevin leaned back in his chair. “He was cooperative enough, although he gave pretty strict instructions that nobody was to talk to the senator without going through him. I found that a bit odd.”

“Kind of territorial, isn't he?”

“Something else that was kind of odd.” Kevin frowned.

“What?”

“He wanted to review any press releases on the case before they went out. He gave me the impression he was going to make sure he was present for any interviews with us.”

“What do you make of that?” Mac asked.

“He's a politician, so who knows? He's either up to something, looking out for himself, or just plain weird. Maybe all three; you can never tell with these guys.”

“I guess we'll find out Thursday morning. You want to come along?” Mac knew the answer.

“And leave all this?” Kevin spread his arms wide. “I'll let you and Dana sift through the answers and get to the truth.”

“We'll see. I don't even know what the questions are yet.”

“I have faith in you two. You'll come through.”

Mac hoped that would be the case. He couldn't remember a time when he'd had so much trouble concentrating. The investigation didn't seem all that daunting, except for the fact that they were dealing with a five-week-old murder. But there was more to being a cop than solving crimes. Mac drove home, his mind in turmoil. He couldn't stop thinking about Daniel's swift and unexpected death and how it could just as easily have been him. Though he wasn't on the SWAT team, he was just as vulnerable. They all were. Even a minor traffic violation could turn into a gun battle. Mac shook the morbid thoughts from his head.

Once home, he took Lucy for a walk and spent some time in the park playing with her ratty old tennis ball, a favorite. By the time they got home, Mac felt better, more upbeat, his mind clearer. His focus right now was finding Watson's killer. Tomorrow they'd go to Warm Springs and see for themselves what this casino business was all about.

TWENTY-ONE

M
ac groaned when the alarm clock went off at five thirty. He reached over and slapped the snooze button. After repeating the process three times, Mac finally dragged himself out of bed and took a long, hot shower.

He missed Lucy and then remembered he'd taken his dog over to Carl's the night before. He called Dana. “Hey, since we're both going to Warm Springs, want to bypass the office and just have me pick you up?”

“Sure. Sounds like a plan. We can at least skip some of the rush-hour traffic.”

“My thoughts exactly.” He finished getting ready and headed out to his car. Mac started the unmarked cruiser without getting in and reached over the steering column to hit the trunk-release button after turning the key. He had recently qualified with one of the department's new AR-15 rifles, the civilian model of the military's M-16. He kept the .223 caliber rifle in his trunk while off duty. Grabbing the weapon from the temporary storage and securing it in the roof-mounted rack of his cruiser, he tucked the shoulder strap around the rifle's forearm to keep it from hanging down in his rearview mirror.

Dana came out as soon as he pulled up to the curb. She looked nearly as tired as he felt, but that didn't detract from her appearance.

Mac couldn't help admiring her khaki slacks and matching jacket with a lavender scoop-neck knit shirt. Not a lot of color, but on Dana, everything looked good.

She got into the car with a sigh. “Sleep well?”

“Not bad. Morning came too early, though.”

“Tell me about it.”

Mac drove to Brewed Awakenings to order coffee at the drive-through window.

“We're way too habitual, Mac.” Dana's dimples creased when he ordered her usual.

He chuckled. “Keeps us from having to think too much until after we have coffee.”

From the coffee shop, they headed south on 164th, then west on Highway 14 to the I-205 junction. It took them an hour to get to Highway 26 and another hour and a half to drive to Warm Springs.

On the way, Mac called Nate to confirm their meeting while Dana began to pore over the case files they'd inherited from the feds.

“Any reports in there on Sara's cabinet?”

She shook her head. “Not that I could find.”

“We'd better ask our CSI team for the results then. Hopefully they dusted it.”

“It's possible they didn't. At the time of her kidnapping, we knew nothing about her Native American connection.”She dialed the lab and asked that the reports in question be faxed to her at the OSP office.

Mac had reviewed Therman Post's infamous letters the night before while looking through his own copy of the file. In the first group of letters, Post alluded to but never actually made an overt threat. The second set of letters, however, had a cruel tone and a definite death threat:
Do as I say, or Sara dies.
“Did you read the letters?” he asked, wanting Dana's take.

“I did. Several times.”

“And?”

“I don't think Therman Post wrote the second batch. They're too different. I really think we're looking for someone else.”

“I tend to agree. The only corresponding evidence we have so far is the Warm Springs postmark on the envelopes. I'm sure Post isn't the only activist out there.”

“Hopefully Mr. Post will be able to shed some light on things.” Dana tucked the files back into her briefcase, set it on the floor behind her, and settled back against the seat.

“Tired?” Mac asked. She seemed more subdued than usual.

“Mmm. That guy called again last night, five times.” She sighed. “I thought I'd catch up on my sleep on the way.”

“Sure. Have you reported the calls?”

“Yes—to the Vancouver police. They suggested we get a trap trace on my phone.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

“Maybe. He doesn't stay on the line long enough.”

“Just phone calls?” Mac asked.

“I—I think so.” Dana's hesitation spurred Mac on.

“He's following you?”

“I don't know. He may be parking outside my apartment complex at night. I've noticed this car, but it's always gone in the morning.” She gave Mac a sidelong glance. “It's probably a new tenant or something.”

“Just the same, next time you see it, jot down the license plate number. We can check it out.”

“I already thought of that, but he's got no front plate and always backs into the stall. I haven't brought myself to walking out to look at it yet.” She folded her arms and closed her eyes.

Concern for Dana etched its way into Mac's mind. Maybe he'd do a stakeout himself. He'd have to remember to mention it later.

The scorched earth gave evidence of the devastating forest fire as Mac entered Warm Springs around ten. He slowed to forty-five miles per hour when they entered town, heeding the reduced speed warning. Warm Springs was notorious about speed enforcement, with the proceeds of traffic citations going into their municipal budget.

Turning off the highway near the tribal interpretive center and museum, Mac made his way to the Warm Springs Police Department on the south side of town. The tidy brick building was one story, with two marked police cars and Nate's pickup parked by the front entrance.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Mac nudged his partner. “We're here.”

She yawned. “You go ahead. I'll be there in a minute.”

Mac stepped out of the car. Across the street in a school playground, at least a dozen school-age children played kickball, laughing and running in the sun. He smiled and waved at a young girl as she ran toward him to pick up an escaping red ball. She paused momentarily, but when an older woman called her name, she grabbed up the ball and hurried back to her friends.

Mac was taken aback by the woman's stern look, but he shouldn't have been surprised. He was a stranger here. He had no police authority and no professional contacts other than Officer Webb.

The feeling left him a little unnerved. Being an ethnic minority was new to Mac, and it bothered him more than he thought it should.

He'd never really thought about cultural divisions and felt a tug of guilt and embarrassment that he would be flustered by being the only white person other than Dana in the immediate area.

While waiting in the lobby for a receptionist to find Nate, he reflected on how he felt and vowed to make life easier on others when the roles were reversed.

The female receptionist returned a few moments later, tucking strands of long, black hair behind her ear as she slipped back into her chair. “Officer Webb will be with you in a minute.” Her curious gaze lingered on him for several long moments before turning back to her work. Probably sizing him up.

While he waited, Mac admired the brilliant artwork displayed on the wall, most of which had a Native American theme. In the corner stood a beautiful bronze statue of an eagle, with the words
Brave at Heart
etched into the marble base. The small police department apparently had a great deal of pride in their community and heritage. Mac wished he had the same connection to his past. He'd never really felt as if he belonged anywhere except maybe to the OSP department and, of course, at home with his grandmother.

“You gonna stand there gawking all day?” Nate's familiar voice sounded behind him.

“Hey, Nate.” Mac turned, catching a glimpse of Nate's broad smile. “I was beginning to wonder if you had gone without us.”

“Wouldn't think of it.” Nate shook Mac's extended hand. “Where's your partner?”

“In the car, waking up. She'll be in shortly.”

“You want some coffee?”

“No, thanks,” he chuckled. “I'd like to get rid of some, though.”

“Right down the hall, past the drinking fountain. I'll meet you outside. I just got off the phone with Therman, and he's asked us to meet out at his place. We'll head over there first.”

Mac walked out to the parking lot a few minutes later where Nate was sitting in his four-wheel-drive, crew-cab pickup. Dana, now looking revived and anxious to get started, sat in the backseat. “It's about time you got here,” Dana teased. “We were about to leave without you.”

“I'd be happy to drive,” Mac offered.

Nate nodded toward Mac's Crown Vic. “Your rig wouldn't get us past Therman's cattle guards. You better leave that city-slicker car in the lot.”

Mac chuckled at Nate's exaggeration. “Whatever you say.” He popped the trunk on his cruiser and pulled out his large briefcase. It contained a portable camera and evidence collection kit, along with his interview gear, like notepads and a tape recorder. He adjusted his tie while peering into the case and looking over the contents of his trunk to make sure he wasn't leaving anything essential behind.

Satisfied that he had everything he'd need for the interview, he shut the trunk and set the alarm on the car with his keychain remote control.

“My rifle is in the car. Will it be OK here?” Mac asked as he climbed in on the passenger side.

“What, you think this is a bad neighborhood?” Nate asked, only half joking.

“No. I just don't want any of those kids getting curious.”

“It'll be fine here at the P.D.We should only be gone about an hour. Therman just lives a few miles out of town.”

Mac looked around the cab of Nate's pickup. A twelve-gauge shotgun was secured in a vertical mount on Mac's side of the cab, with a sidesaddle of spare ammo mounted to the stock. Although the outside of the truck was covered with dust and mud, the inside was clean and neat. Maps and resource books were crammed in every car door pocket and visor, just like any other cop car Mac had been in. A large brown feather with a white tip hung from the rearview mirror.

“What kind of feather is that? Eagle?” Mac flipped the feather with his left index finger.

“Close. It's from a red-tailed hawk. They're are all over the place in central Oregon.”

“Does it mean anything—you know, carry any significance?”

“You mean like spiritually?”

“Or whatever, anything to your culture or to tribal members.”

Nate looked up at the feather, then back to the highway. “To some, maybe. I just think it's cool. We can possess the feathers from birds of prey here on the reservation, whereas for you guys, it's a crime.”

“Bit of a double standard, you think?” Mac softened his words with a smile. “I mean, it's not like you're using it for ceremonial reasons.”

“I like your honesty, Mac, even if you are trying to put me on the spot. You're probably right. I shouldn't flaunt it. But it is one of the perks of being an Indian.” Nate chuckled. “Just like you white guys get to wear all that gel and girlie stuff on your hair without anybody bothering you. We get to keep feathers.” Mac ran his hand through his hair. “It's not gel; it's mousse. And they make it for men too. You could use some if you grew your hair longer than a quarter inch.”

“Picked up the habit of short hair in the army; it makes haircuts a little cheaper when my wife cuts it at home.”

“You guys are too much.” Dana rolled her eyes. “If you can get serious for a minute, I have a question.”

“What's that, Dana?” Nate eyed her in the rearview mirror.

“Should Mac and I be aware of any customs? The last thing we want to do is offend Mr. Post.”

“Not really. Just show him the same respect you might show an elder in your own community. Therman is an old horse trader, a jack-of-all-trades kind of guy. I may not agree with some of his business dealings and the tactics he takes to get his message across, but I can't fault his dedication to the plight of some of our people on the reservation.”