Hawk Moon (21 page)

"Why Cedar Rapids?"

"Because she's convinced that Perry Heston killed those two women."

"Why Heston?"

"She's got some cockeyed theory. You'd have to ask her." Pause. "And that's why I'm calling you. So you can ask her personally what she's up to."

"You have her address in Cedar Rapids?"

"Yeah, I do, but that's not where you'll find her right at the moment."

"Where would I find her right at the moment?"

"You know the county jail over on May's Island?"

"Sure."

"That's where she is right now."

"What the hell's she doing there?"

"Heston, who is one powerful sumbitch locally let me tell you, had her arrested last night for criminal trespass."

"What was she doing?"

"He has this house out on a lake, this private deal where he and his pals go if you get my drift, and she was peeking in the windows."

"God."

Pause. "She hasn't been quite right in the head since David turned that gun on himself."

"You think Rhodes killed those women, don't you?"

"Hell, yes, I do. He killed them because he saw them as evil. They were madams, in essence, and they dealt Indian girls and David went over to their place a lot of nights and chased away the johns and even roughed up the two women."

"You're sure of this?"

"I looked into things all good and proper after David committed suicide. Cindy wouldn't let me rest until I'd come up with a real plausible story for David killing himself. So I checked things out — with the help of the Cedar Rapids cops — and that's what we came up with. David was an alcoholic with a violent temper and he didn't like seeing teenage girls, especially teenage Indian girls, getting put on the market by a couple of old whores."

"That still doesn't explain why he killed himself."

"Now you sound like her." Sigh. "He did it because he didn't
want to go to prison. That's not so hard to understand."

"How much is her bail?"

"I really appreciate this. It's a thousand dollars."

"Steep.

"Told you, Heston's got clout."

"You know she hates me."

"I'm aware of that."

"Maybe she won't let me bail her out."

"Hard to imagine somebody turning down a free pass out of jail."

"The hell of it is," I said, "I care about her."

"I know you do and so do I, and that's why I thought I'd give you a call."

"You don't see any way possible that Heston would have killed those two women?"

"For what? Maybe they supplied him with a few hookers here and there. He'd kill them for that? Don't make a whole hell of a lot of sense when you think about it."

"I guess it doesn't."

"Tell her we're all thinking about her."

"I will."

"And tell her she's welcome back, as long as she doesn't get into any more trouble. I mean, the criminal trespass she can probably get dropped, if she has any kind of lawyer at all, but anything stiffer than that . . . well, I can't have my people getting into situations like that."

"I'll tell her."

"And tell her I miss her, too. She's a damned good cop and a lot more fun to be around than the rest of my force, believe me."

I smiled. "Why don't I just tell her that you think she's a whole lot prettier than your nephew?"

"Yeah. She'd like that. Yeah, tell her that."

I said goodbye.

Five minutes later, I left for Cedar Rapids.

T
he Linn County jail sits on May's Island where, the story goes, lived one of the town's very first citizens, way back in the 1840s. It was also said that he was a horse-thief, and ultimately hanged in Missouri for his predilection. I find none of that especially difficult to believe. While many pioneers were sound fine people, some were fugitives whose illicit hearts were not transmuted in the beauty and heat of the prairies.

The jail is just a few years old, overlooks the Cedar River on three sides, and has virtually no parking spaces. There's no room. This end of the island is overwhelmed by the venerable Linn County courthouse, which takes up most of the space.

The jail woman was brisk, efficient and far more friendly than I might have expected.

She explained that the bail had to be cash only, that the sum was $1000, and that 100 per cent had to be paid before the prisoner would be set free. I gave her ten crisp $100 bills, she counted them out and then pointed to the waiting area where a sad-eyed woman with three very noisy children stared wearily out the window. I doubted that this was the first time she had stared out this window with the same eternal beaten gaze.

A uniformed jailer opened the door at the far end of the waiting area. Cindy came out fast. She didn't even look at me. Her eyes homed in on the front door. She was a heat-seeking missile, sensing her target.

I didn't really fall into step with her until we reached the parking area. The day smelled of river and autumn and morning sunlight.

"Don't expect me to say thank you."

"Fair enough," I said.

"I'll pay you back right away."

"No hurry."

She started gazing around for my car. The only one she'd seen was the rental. I had a green Saab. She didn't know that yet.

She was lovely as ever, all cheekbones and girlish freckles and quick chocolate eyes whose approval you found yourself wanting desperately. She looked tired, and her amber blouse and jeans were wrinkled, but there was wiry strength in her every move.

"I didn't kill him," I said.

"I don't want to talk about it."

I grabbed her and spun her around and gripped her arm. I was angry and hurt and a couple of people were passing by, gawking, and I didn't give a damn at all, not right at this moment.

"I couldn't stop him. I didn't know he was going to kill himself any more than you did."

"You could've knocked the gun from his hand."

"Right, Cindy. And then I could've levitated it right out the door." I grasped her arm harder. "There wasn't time to stop him. I tried to jump at him but it was too late. I did all I could, Cindy. But he wanted to die and he wasn't going to let anybody stop him. Do you understand that?"

My voice must have been pretty loud.

A pair of cops, male-female, were walking from the parking lot to the front of the jail, giving me lingering, suspicious looks. This probably went on here a lot. Man and woman quarreling, right after one or the other of them has been bailed out.

"Which one's your car?"

"The green Saab. You're leaning against it."

We got in the car and drove away.

"Perry Heston killed those two women, not David."

"Why would Heston kill them?"

"They had something on him."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. But he was paying them money."

"How do you know that?"

"Sandy's daughter told me."

"I didn't think Patty Moore liked you very much."

"She doesn't. She thinks I hate being Indian, which isn't true. But anyway, she talked to me."

I drove through Cedar Rapids, taking the river road out to Ellis Park. She told me she had an aunt on the other side of the marina where she was staying.

The trees gave the sluggish river grace, blooming fires against the hard blue autumn sky, a hawk gliding low along the railroad tracks that ran in the hills on the top of steep limestone cliffs.

"You're not going to let go of it, are you?"

"No," she said quietly, watching the day.

"Why would your husband have killed himself if he hadn't murdered those women?"

"He did it for some other reason — something he was ashamed of."

"Murder isn't something to be ashamed of?"

She shook her fine sleek silken hair. I wanted to feel the back of her head nestle into the palm of my hand, the way it had so many long nights ago now.

"He wasn't ashamed of murder because he didn't commit murder, Payne. He really didn't. There's the driveway."

A small white clapboard house in need of paint and a new chimney sat on the edge of a grassy hill overlooking a bend in the river. It was peaceful up here and people with homes that had cost twenty times as much didn't have a view half as good. The nearest neighbor was probably a quarter-mile away and yet the house was still within city limits. Perfect.

I turned in the seat. "You get in any more trouble, Gibbs'll have to fire you."

She faced me, too. "I know. But I don't have any choice."

"Before I went to the jail, I made up my mind."

"About what?"

"I'm going to give you an early Christmas present."

"What?"

"Three days of my time. Free gratis."

She teared up. Put her head down. Started crying softly.

"All I can think of was when I spat in your face."

"Yeah, I guess I think about that sometimes, too."

"I'm really not like that, Payne, I'm really not. That day I was so worried about David, I was crazy. Literally nuts, I think."

"I know."

"I'm so sorry."

She reached out and took my hand and raised it to her perfect cheek which was warm and wet with her tears.

"I shouldn't let you help me."

"I want to help you. I volunteered to help you. I want you to keep your job. You worked too damned hard to lose it now." I paused. "And that's what David wanted too, you keeping your job. I didn't give much of a damn for him but I did see a different side of him in the cabin that day. He didn't love you but he cared about you and he wanted the best for you. And for him, that meant keeping your job."

She lowered my hand from her cheek to her knee. The warmth of her flesh just below the surface of denim was far more exciting than I wanted it to be right now.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "But I'll keep you informed." I hesitated. "But I've got to be honest."

"You think David killed them?"

"Right."

"And you think that at the end of three days, that's still what you're going to find?"

"Yes."

She leaned over and kissed me tenderly on the mouth. "Then I appreciate what you're doing all the more. I really do."

"You just take it easy," I said. "Rest and relax. Walk the hills around here."

She looked out at the day again. For the first time since leaving the jail, I saw a modest smile on her most appealing mouth. "God, that is what I should do, isn't it? Walk back in those hills . . . Maybe if I walk at dusk, I'll see a hawk moon."

"What's that?"

"My people believe that when you see a hawk fly across the face of the moon you'll have good luck for many moons to come."

"Then I hope you have a hawk moon."

She held my hand a long moment and it felt wonderful. "The same for you, Robert. A hawk moon for you, too." I drove back to town.

T
hirty-five minutes later, I pulled up in the parking lot behind the three two-story buildings that made up HestonCook Computers, Inc.

Inside, I took an elevator to the second floor and stepped off the car into a nicely appointed reception area. Muted blues and grays played off cherrywood wainscotting. Lawyers would envy the office and the receptionist. Intelligent, friendly and very definitely female and every bit as muted as the decor. Behind her, a trim gray-haired lady searched a three-drawer file cabinet for some papers.

"I'd like to see Mr. Heston," I said.

"I'm afraid he's not here."

"Then Mr. Cook will do fine."

"I'm afraid he's not here, either."

"I see. Will they be back later today?"

"I'm afraid they're away on business."

I wasn't sure why but I was sure she was hiding something.

For just the tiniest moment her azure-colored eyes had evaded mine as she spoke.

"Then they'll be back tomorrow?"