Dark Waters, page 15
At last she regained control and went into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of wine, drank it quickly, then topped off her glass and drank even more. By the time her face began to tingle from the alcohol, she saw that her fingers no longer trembled.
Ethan. I have to suck it up and call Ethan. He’s the only one who’ll understand.
She went to her cellphone and opened it. She had told Ethan she would contact him when she’d worked through the trauma of her abduction, when she could see him without also seeing the sweaty, scowling face of Arlin Korbus. She hadn’t done that. It was time to grow up and face her fears.
She found his number in her missed-calls list. He’d tried to reach her in the middle of the night, just as she was falling under Kyle Stillwater’s spell. Cosmic coincidence, or her spirits trying to keep her from making a horrible mistake? And why hadn’t she called him back, really? What in the sonofabitching goddamned hell was she afraid of?
She hit the dial button. It felt like calling the first boy she ever had a crush on. The line rang several times. Then his voice said, “Hi, you’ve reached Ethan Walker of Walker Construction. I can’t take your call right now.…”
She closed her phone. She understood now why he hadn’t left a message. What kind of message could either of them possibly leave?
She drank some more wine. First things first. There was only one way to know the truth of Betty McNally’s warning. And it was too early in the evening for that yet.
Big raindrops splattered against the window.
“YOU AGAIN,” A female voice said.
Ethan looked up from the weight bench, where he lay on his back with seventy-five pounds across his chest. A smiling redhead with freckles on every inch of exposed skin looked down at him.
“Cindy,” he said, instantly recalling her name.
“Very good,” she replied.
He pushed the bar up and away from his chest, trying to make it look easy despite the protest in his shoulder. He was used to heavier weights, but the change in the weather had made his weakened shoulder ache, and he’d learned the hard way to give it a break at times like this. “Did you have another late meeting?” he asked as he sat up.
She tossed him one of the small white towels the gym provided. “Actually, yes. And it was about to start raining, so I knew that if I didn’t work out now, I’d talk myself out of it.”
He wiped his face and neck. He’d first met Cindy just before the whole Rachel Matre experience, and while she was definitely a stunner as well as being quick-witted, he’d brushed her off as politely as possible. Now, though, he’d accepted that Rachel would never call.
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
RACHEL 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 unseeding 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.”
