Defiled: The Sequel to Nailed Featuring John Tall Wolf (A Ron Ketchum Mystery Book 2) (21 page)

John Tall Wolf’s eyes were sensitive to bright light, but their acuity — 20/15 — was near that required by the USAF for its fighter pilots. As he walked along the pine-shaded slope of a mountain northwest of Goldstrike, his Ray-Bans dangled from a braided leather cord worn around his neck. He wore a forest green polo shirt, wet-sand colored khakis and Hanwag trail shoes that were predominantly brown.

A subtle take on camouflage gear, one that wouldn’t draw a second look back in town.

Of course, a strategy that might deceive the eyes of other bipeds wouldn’t fool a predator’s keen sense of smell for a second. In doing his research on Ron Ketchum and the town of Goldstrike, Tall Wolf had come across the story of the rogue mountain lion that had plagued the town a few years back. The beast had Goldstrike in a panic and had claimed a life.

For that reason, Tall Wolf had made an early stop at the PD and asked for the loan of a rifle. Sergeant Stanley had been obliging, going so far as to offer the special agent the use of a M-4 carbine. The kind of heavy armament used by SWAT teams. Tall Wolf didn’t think he’d need a weapon capable of firing seven hundred rounds a minute.

One of the cops on duty had a Winchester Model 94 Short Rifle in his locker. With a nod from Sergeant Stanley, he let Tall Wolf borrow it on nothing more than his promise to bring it back cleaned and oiled. The special agent said he’d return the weapon good as new.

Before Tall Wolf left police headquarters, Sergeant Stanley said, “You mind if I ask where you’re going?”

“Prospecting,” Tall Wolf said.

“For gold?”

“Exactly.”

The sergeant thought about that for a moment. “What will you do if you find any?”

Tall Wolf smiled. “Make a map and put a big X on it.”

“Yeah, of course. But if there was gold you could, say, pick up and hold in your hand, what would you do with that?”

Tall Wolf understood now that the sergeant had a specific reason for this line of questioning. “You mean, would I bring it back and hide it somewhere?”

“Yeah.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that. I would — I will, if I find any — leave it right where it is, and then do my best to cover up any tracks I might have made leading to it.”

Sergeant Stanley nodded as if he could see the sense in that.

“But that’s not what you were thinking, is it?” Tall Wolf asked.

“No.” The sergeant hesitated for a moment before saying, “I was wondering if somebody finding something valuable might put it in a safe-deposit box.”

The special agent nodded. “Sure. If he could do that without anyone paying special attention to him, that would be good. It would also be the kind of thing someone used to city living would do.”

The sergeant liked that last bit of reasoning and wished Tall Wolf good luck.

So far the special agent considered his luck to be good as he’d gone out at dawn, feeding time for predators, and nothing had sized him up for breakfast. His parents had taken him out into wilderness settings from the time he could first walk. He’d received further survival training from the federal government shortly after he’d graduated from college.

His ethnic heritage was pure Native American. His acculturation had been largely Western. His outdoorsman skills were a match for anyone he’d ever met. He could feel when a pair of eyes, human or otherwise, were watching him. Right now, he was unburdened by anyone or anything taking an existential interest in him.

That was good as far as wildlife was concerned.

He’d been hoping, though, that members of his own species might take note of his presence and pursue him. See just what the hell he was up to. He had plans for those guys.

Reaching the top of the mountain he’d been climbing, above the tree line now, he looked around. He still didn’t see anyone. Under the bright sun and blue sky, he put his sunglasses on and made his way to a small gully formed by millennia of snow melt making its way downhill. There was neither snow nor water present now but the bed of the gully was still muddy.

Tall Wolf squatted and pushed his right hand gently into the mud. There was still enough moisture in it to make resistance minimal. He closed his fingers and pulled his hand free. He rubbed his fingers and thumb together dispersing the wet earth he’d dislodged. When he was done he looked at the handful of pebbles left on his palm.

None of them was gold, but one was smooth, polished by eons of mountain building, and was shaped like an arrowhead.

Tall Wolf chuckled. Even nature liked its little jokes.

The white man got the gold. The red man got the gag gifts.

He put the stone in a hip pocket. Maybe he’d make an amulet of it.

He started back down the mountain, continuing to check the gully. His research had informed him that most gold placers, alluvial or eluvial deposits, were formed by the erosion of a surface with outcrops of gold ore, known as lode gold. Runoff water carried gold from the outcrops into creeks, streams and rivers.

That being the case, erosion and water always carried gold downhill or downstream.

Which was why Tall Wolf had started at the top of the mountain he’d chosen at random. He had no idea if that particular peak was the site of any deposit of precious metal. He wouldn’t have minded if he’d gotten lucky, but as with most prospectors he came up empty.

Even his plan to see if Herbert Wilkins had anyone watching him had been a bust. He’d hoped he might turn the tables on someone and follow him back to … where? The place where the gold really was? Tall Wolf remained convinced the Washoe people knew that location, had known at least since Timothy Johnson’s time. But no one had followed the special agent. So that plan had fizzled.

Except for finding the cool arrowhead stone.

As he neared his car, Tall Wolf finally felt the interest of a feral presence.

It wasn’t any fanged creature in the nearby forest; it was Coyote.

He took out his phone, turned it on and called Marlene Flower Moon.

She answered by saying, “Where are you, Tall Wolf? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Keely Powell stared at the stack of pancakes Ron Ketchum placed before her.

“Looks good enough to eat,” she told him.

Ron grinned and asked, “Maple syrup?”

“Yes, quickly, before the cakes get cold.”

Ron returned post haste with the syrup, and a cup of coffee for each of them.

Keely doused her pancakes and took a first bite. A look of bliss appeared on her face. “You know, you’ll make some girl a fine catch.”

Ron said, “I promise to make you breakfast twice a week, if you’ll reconsider taking the chief’s job.”

Keely sipped the black coffee. Just the right contrast to the sweetness of the syrup.

She said, “Okay, we got distracted last night before we could have this conversation, so let’s have it now. Tell me honestly, could you work for me? Have me be your boss? Give you a do-it-my-way order, if it came to that?”

Ron sipped his own coffee. He’d had his breakfast while Keely was showering.

Putting his cup down, he said, “No.”

“Well?” Keely asked.

He said, “If the shoe were on the other foot, would you have asked me to become your chief of police?”

“Well, yeah, if only to be polite, and you promised to cook for me.”

Ron laughed. “Okay, I’ll do that unconditionally. But you’re right, it wouldn’t be good for me to work for you either. We were partners too long.”

“Besides that, you don’t know for sure you’ll even be elected mayor, an idea which still makes me wonder what I’ve been smoking.”

Ron sighed. “It wouldn’t be my first choice. But I like living up here. I’ve come to think of it as home. And right now I don’t see anyone else I think could do a better job.”

“I can understand that, I guess,” Keely told him. “But I
haven’t
been living up here, and I’m not sure I could. Not full time anyway.”

“Oh … well. I’m grateful you came this time.”

Keely ran her fork through a puddle of syrup and licked it clean.

“Give me a kiss. I promise it will be a sweet one.”

Ron did and told her, “We’re both going to have to brush our teeth for ten minutes.”

“What a romantic,” Keely said with a laugh. “I do have one idea that might work out for us.”

“What’s that?” Ron said.

“Well, if you could find me a decent place to live in town, at a subsidized rent, and you offered me the right contract, I could become the Goldstrike PD’s consulting detective.”

“Consulting detective?”

“Why not? It worked for Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, “but if you’re Holmes that makes me Watson.”

When nobody was looking Abra Benjamin drove to Reno and caught an FBI plane to San Francisco. She met Deputy Director Byron DeWitt at the Mark Hopkins Hotel. Both of them decided, the weather being unusually clear and warm for summer, that they’d walk a few laps of nearby Huntington Park.

DeWitt told Benjamin, “I don’t know how Helios Sideris has been able to keep such a low profile for so long. Possibly because he was suspected of much but convicted of nothing at all. From information we’ve gathered, he’s been a person of interest in seven murders, coast to coast and border to border. But there’s never been quite enough for any prosecutor, even some of the more zealous ones, to bring him to trial.”

“The cops have never questioned him?” Benjamin asked.

“That has been done, with predictable results.”

“He asked for his lawyer. What about us? Have we ever had reason to talk to him?”

“You mean get him on a 18 USC Section 1001?” The law that forbade lying to federal agents. “We’ve had a crack at bat, too. He knew the magic words. ‘I will not discuss anything without first consulting counsel.’”

“Damn,” Benjamin said.

DeWitt nodded. He and Benjamin were both lawyers and knew that making a conditional response was a much smarter move than simply refusing to talk. Total silence by a person not in custody, in the face of an accusation of having committed a crime, might be used as an adoptive admission of guilt under the Federal Rules of Evidence.

Invocation of counsel, however, could not be used at trial.

Benjamin said, “If we had a go at Sideris, that must mean he has more bad habits than simply killing people.”

“Two of the people he’s suspected of killing were the top executives of a company that disposes of toxic waste.”

Benjamin’s head snapped around and she looked at DeWitt.

Before then, they’d been looking at their surroundings not each other.

DeWitt continued, “The two victims ran a legitimate business. They followed all the EPA guidelines for the proper disposal of materials you don’t want making their way into the water table. They even had the bright idea of working at a very low profit margin. Thought they’d make their money in volume, attracting clients who might otherwise go to companies with dubious business practices.”

Benjamin understood immediately. “They took business away from illegal dumpers who didn’t appreciate the competition.”

“Exactly. That’s why I was so interested to hear from you about Sideris being seen in a town threatened by a dirty bomb.”

“Yeah and, who knows, Chief Ketchum could be right that Hale Tibbot’s death is connected to the bombing attempt, what with Sideris being a suspected hit-man.”

“Do you want more help up there?” DeWitt asked.

Benjamin shook her head. “I’m good.”

“Ketchum is being cooperative?”

“I don’t think he’s telling me
everything
, but I’m getting most of what he knows.”

“Can’t ask for more than that. How are things with our friend from the BIA?”

“Tall Wolf? He’s not what I thought he’d be. He’s not … not territorial like some of us would be in his place. He goes his own way. Maybe he even knows something the rest of us don’t.”

“Not necessarily a bad thing,” the deputy director said.

Benjamin stopped walking, bringing DeWitt to a halt.

“Byron, there’s something you should know.” She looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. Then she lowered her voice anyway. “I’m pregnant, and I’ve decided to keep the baby.”

At the risk of blowing their secret, he took both of Benjamin’s hands in his.

“I never did plan to make government my life’s work,” he said.

Benjamin gave her undercover paramour a smile. One with a glimmer of regret.

She
did
plan to make the FBI her career.

Gently disengaging herself, she asked, “Does Sideris have a legitimate front?”

DeWitt said, “He designs sets for Las Vegas shows.”

Seated in Ron Ketchum’s office, the chief and Keely were discussing her suggestion that he should be the one to question Veronika Novak. For one thing, he had the authority to detain her as a material witness to a crime. Having Keely make a citizen’s arrest would look a lot more iffy, if charges were ever brought against an alleged killer. Also, Veronika, if she got her back up, could demand a lawyer and refuse to say anything.