She Who Watches (23 page)

“Because I'm an Indian, then?” Therman's dark eyes bore into Mac's.

“No. The letters sent to Senator Wilde after his niece was missing were postmarked from Warm Springs. The same as the letters you admitted to writing. There's also the matter of finding her body so close to tribal land.”

“And that she was buried with what might be one of our artifacts,” Therman added.

Artifacts?
He raised an eyebrow and noted Dana's concern. Had Nate told him about those? Mac knew he was planning to talk to the elders, but Post was a potential suspect.

Nate cleared his throat. “I showed him the photos and asked if he recognized the rock and the beaded bag.”

“And did you?” Mac directed his question to Therman.

He shrugged. “They look familiarize have a number of pieces like them at the Warm Springs museum. Items like that are easy to duplicate, though. A number of women continue to do beadwork and weaving in the old ways.” He gestured toward the bookshelves and cabinets. “My wife, for one.” There were several baskets and beaded bags placed in prominent places throughout the room.

“So you would have had access to similar stones and beaded bags.”

“I suppose that's true, but I assure you, I didn't have anything to do with writing that second set of letters. You may or may not choose to believe me, but I had nothing to do with that woman's death.”

“Do you have any idea who might have sent the second set of letters?” Nate asked.

While Mac preferred to have only one investigator asking questions at a time, he deferred to Nate.

“I do not. You're well aware of my political involvement. I know the inner workings of the state legislature better than anyone in the tribe. I not only wrote to the senator, but I encouraged others to do so.” He sighed. “I didn't know Senator Wilde was related to Sara Watson until the story connecting both of them came out in the news. If I didn't know about the connection, I doubt anyone around here did. Did you know, Nathan?”

“No. But obviously someone did,” Nate replied.

“Mr. Post, can you think of anyone other than yourself who is as passionate about the casino issue as you are?” Mac asked.

Therman pursed his lips and after a moment said, “You know, my people are not the only ones who would profit from the placement of the casino in the gorge. We've been working with developers for the six-hundred-acre parcel that the gaming center, conference area, and hotel is proposed to sit on. We've also been in contact with gaming experts from St. Louis, Reno, and Las Vegas, recruiting some of the best talent to help run the gambling aspect of the venture. There are a lot of folks who stand to make some serious money if this project were to go through.”

“He's right there, Mac.” Nate seemed relieved. “The property owner alone stands to lose millions of dollars if the casino isn't built.”

“I see your point,” Mac said. “Could you supply us with a copy of those names?”

“I could, but it will take awhile to put it together. We're talking close to a hundred names of people who have been involved in the consulting alone. I'll have to make a few calls. When do you want it?”

“Yesterday.” Nate finished off his coffee and grabbed another cookie. “I'll come back by this afternoon if you can put it together by then.”

“I'll do my best. How about I bring it to you? I'll have to go into town anyway.”

“We really appreciate this,” Mac told him. The suggestion broadened their investigation, and Mac wondered if the feds had done any interviews along that line.

“Am I still a suspect?” Therman asked.

“You're more of a person of interest. Our job at the moment is to eliminate as many people as possible. If you don't mind, I'd like to get a taped statement of your whereabouts for the past few weeks and fully document your letters to Senator Wilde.”

“I have no problem with that.” Therman brought out a daily planner that accounted for nearly every hour of every day from before Sara went missing to the present. He apparently had an alibi for the time Sara disappeared, but the journal could have been doctored. It was almost too organized. Most people couldn't tell you what they did more than a day or two back. He had also kept copies of the letters he wrote to Senator Wilde, all handwritten and signed with his unique logo.

The second grouping of letters that had been sent to Senator Wilde had been computer generated. “Do you have a computer, Mr. Post?”

“No, but I have access to one. I use the one at the library to do my research.”

Mac nodded. After taking Therman's detailed statement, he asked for a swab of Therman's gum line to secure a DNA sample, and Post readily agreed.

Mac secured the cotton swab inside a paper envelope, preparing the evidence for an eventual trip to the crime lab. Right now there was no evidence with which to compare the control samples.

“I think we're done here.” Mac turned to Dana. “Unless you have something.”

“No. I think you and Nate have covered everything.”

“SO, WHAT'S YOUR READ?” Nate asked Mac on their way back to town.

“Too soon to tell. I try not to form an opinion this early in the game. He seems all right, but I've been fooled before.”

“I'd be pretty disappointed if Therman was in on Sara's death. To be honest, I just don't see him pulling a stunt like this. Therman is proud and has definite opinions, but he's not desperate.”

“How far out was the badger Therman shot this morning?”

“About a hundred yards, why?”

“Just curious. That's pretty good shooting, I'd say.”

“Implying what?”

“Nothing.” Mac tucked the information away. “Just an observation.”

“I liked him.” Dana leaned forward. “He's a no-nonsense guy who tells it like it is. Besides, Mr. Post wrote his letters by hand. Why would he change to the computer? I still think we're looking at two different people.”

“Could be,” Mac said, “but he might have decided to switch tactics to throw us off the track.”

“Well, you're right about one thing, Mac,” Dana said. “It's too early to make any kind of judgment call.”

“I did come away with something, though,” Mac said. “Therman might not be our killer, but I have a feeling he wasn't telling us all he knows.”

“You think he's protecting someone?” Nate asked.

“Could be. All I know is that I'm not ready to let him off the hook.”

Nate nodded. “You asked me earlier about Sara's ties to the tribe.”

“Right. What did you find out?”

“Margaret Case grew up in these parts years ago,” Nate said.

“Her daughter, Denise Galbraith, lives in Portland. I have an address for you. No family left on the reservation. The daughter has a couple of grown kids. She was pretty upset about Sara and says she's willing to talk to you.”

“That's great,” Dana said. “It'll be interesting to see if she knows anything about the beaded bag and the carved rock.”

“I'm sure she does. One of the things she asked me was if I thought Sara's family would be willing to give her the artifacts her grandmother had given to Sara. She didn't want to bother the family so soon, but since I'd called . . .”

“Artifacts? Does she think they're valuable?”

“Sentimental value, she said.”

“Thanks, Nate,” Mac said. “We'll contact her as soon as we get back to town.”

TWENTY-THREE

D
id you know Senator Wilde was going to the funeral tomorrow?” Dana asked on their drive home.

“I think Kevin said something about it. Dignitaries usually attend services like this. It's their way of showing support for the troops.” Mac frowned. “By the way, I forgot to tell you—I'll be standing in on the deathwatch, which means I have to leave tonight.”

“I talked to Kevin last night, and I'm standing in too.”

“Good. So we can still ride down together. I'll pick you up at, say, seven. Maybe we can catch a bite on the way.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dana sighed, “though I have to admit, I'm not too excited about driving five hours to Medford after this trip to Warm Springs. But at least we'll be able to take turns driving.”

Before heading across the river to Vancouver, they looked up the name and address Nate had given them for Margaret Case's daughter, Denise Galbraith. The place was close to the freeway, so they decided to pay a visit.

The house, situated in Gresham, was older, small, but nicely landscaped. The woman who answered had mocha skin and wore glasses. She wore her long, salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a braid that reached the middle of her back.

They introduced themselves and were immediately ushered in. “I've been expecting you. Can I offer you anything to drink?”

“Water would be great.” They hadn't stopped since leaving Warm Springs, and Mac felt nearly as parched as the desert itself. He blamed it on the lingering smoke from the forest fire.

“That sounds good to me too,” Dana said.

A corner of the living room had been converted to a craft area of sorts.

“I do beadwork,” Denise told them when she caught them looking. “My mother taught me.”

“On leather?” Dana asked.

“Sometimes. Mostly, though, I make and sell jewelry—necklaces, earrings. I do a lot with silver and turquoise. But I'm sure you're not interested in all of that. You wanted to talk to me about Sara?”

“Yes, we do. Margaret Case was her grandmother, so I'm assuming you were Sara's aunt.”

“That's right.”

“Were you close?” Mac asked.

“I'm not sure how to answer that, Detective. After my sister and her husband died and Sara went to live with the Wildes, she rarely visited. Not like before.”

“Why would that be?”

“Perhaps we reminded her too much of her mother. The Wildes are very rich, and we . . .” She smiled. “We are not. I don't think Sara ever really thought about it. She lost herself in the white world with too many things to do and too little time. The last time I saw her, outside of her wedding, was at my mother's funeral.”

“Her cousin, Claire, said that she received an inheritance.”

“Yes. My mother listed a number of things that she wanted left to Sara. Some are very old and have been in the family for generations.”

“So they really are artifacts?” Mac asked.

“A few are. My mother was an artist much as I am. We've tried to preserve the old ways when we can.”

Mac signaled Dana to bring out the photos. “I'd like you to take a look at these pictures—see if you recognize the items.”

She looked over the photos and nodded. “I believe these were in the collection Sara received. I would have to see them up close to be sure. And the bag is torn—it wasn't when we gave it to her. It's one of the oldest pieces and can't be replaced. How did this happen? And how did you come to have them?”

“I'm not at liberty to say.” Mac handed the photos back to Dana. “Officer Webb told us that you'd asked about Sara's collection.”

“Yes. I don't mean to sound callous, but they probably wouldn't mean a lot to Scott or the Wildes. They were my mother's and my sister's. I realize they now belong to Scott, but I am hoping he'll be willing to give them to me.”

“I'm afraid we don't have any say in that.”

“I understand.” Her warm gaze swept over him and went to her hands.

“Do you have family, Mrs. Galbraith?” Mac felt uncomfortable with the woman's request and wanted to move on.

“Yes. A grown son, Aaron. And a daughter who lives in Port Orchard. My husband died last year.Heart attack.”

“I'm sorry. Does your son live here with you?”

“He did this past winter. Aaron moved out a few months ago when he was laid off.”

“Where does he live now?”

“On the reservation. He's staying with a friend. Got a temporary job at the casino at Warm Springs. He has a teaching certificate, so he's hoping to get on at one of the schools this fall.”

“How does he feel about the casino being built in the gorge?”

She hesitated. “He believes it will help the schools and would like to see it pass. We both would. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. My partner and I would like to talk with him, if he wouldn't mind.”

“I'm sure he'd be happy to. Though he saw Sara less than I did, so I don't know what he could tell you.”

“We need to talk to everyone who might have had a connection to Sara.”

Denise pushed herself out of the chair and went to the kitchen.

From a basket near the phone, she took out a pen and pad, on which she wrote her son's name and phone number. “I can tell him you will call.”

“That would be fine.” Mac gave her a card. “We appreciate your being willing to talk with us. You've been a big help.”

AFTER DROPPING DANA OFF at her apartment, Mac went straight home to check on Lucy and talk to Carl. He then showered and packed before changing into his uniform. He'd have preferred driving in more comfortable clothes and changing once they reached Medford, but they were going straight to the deathwatch, and there might not be a place to change. Besides, he wanted to make sure he had everything he'd need.

The OSP dress uniform had remained the same since the 1930s, even though they had gone to a more functional uniform for day-today use. For occasions like the funeral, the members of the department would wear the uniform that the early troopers wore on duty every day. The current day ankle-length slacks and functional lace-up boots had taken the place of slacks that came just below the knee to meet the leather knee-high boots that were polished to a high gloss.

The uniform fit Mac a little more tightly than he remembered, giving evidence to the ten pounds that had slipped up on him over the past year or so. Their traditional dress uniform was built more for looks than comfort. Once he put on the heavy wool coat, the gun belt would be supported by the leather Sam Brown, which was clipped to the heavy-duty belt in the front and worn over the shoulder to be connected to the back of the belt.