The Shaman Laughs (38 page)

Fidel Sombra's hands tightened into fists. "You come here to talk about pigs?"

Moon didn't look up from his boot cleaning. "Wanted to talk about Arlo's murder."

The old man felt his heart racing. "You're… you're outta your juris—whadayacallit."

"Guess you're right." Moon wiped his boot heel on the hay bale. "But this isn't official. Kind of a personal visit."

The farmer turned up a burner on his Coleman stove until the black liquid in the blue enameled pot bubbled. "Why d'you care about that little horse's-ass…"

"It's kind of a puzzle," Moon said, "can't get it off my mind."

"You wonderin' why that foreign feller killed Arlo?" Fidel poured coffee into a filthy ceramic cup. "Why, that crazy drugged-up kid didn't need no reason."

"Ecker didn't kill Arlo." Moon continued to clean his boots. "We both know what happened, don't we, old man?"

The farmer sat down on a three-legged milking stool. He glared at the Ute policeman. "You know so damn much, you tell me—then we'll both be smarter."

"I've been checking the telephone records. You called your daughter on the same evening Arlo went into
Canon del Espiritu
with…"—Moon choked on Benita's name and started again—"… with Gorman's daughter."

Fidel dropped his gaze to the ground. "Don't mean nothin'. I call my dotter almost every night."

"Emily told you Arlo was late for their anniversary dinner date. Then," Moon continued, "the record shows you called the Nightbird Insurance Agency. Talked for about four minutes."

"I can call anybody I damn well please…"

"You bullied Herb Ecker into telling you that Arlo had gone up to the canyon to see my Aunt Daisy." It was a reasonable speculation. "So you knew where Arlo was and…"

The old man bristled. "You got no business here. This ain't no part of the reservation." Fidel regained some of his composure. "Besides, all you got is a pocketful of guesses."

Moon smiled; he got up and hitched his thumbs behind his gun belt. "What if I told you we'd picked up one of your runaway pigs?" He saw a sudden fear flicker in Fidel's eyes. "And what if I told you it was a real stylish porker—wearing Arlo's turquoise ear stud?" The Ute hadn't seen a sign of the pig with the jeweled ear, but Fidel wouldn't know that. Not unless Fidel had recovered the pig himself.

The old fanner deliberately poured his coffee onto the straw; he stared at the spilled liquid as it gradually disappeared into the soft earth. "I was drunk as a skunk when I prettied that pig up," he whispered, "but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time." The old man'wiped his eyes with a grimy sleeve. "What're you gonna do?"

"Can't leave this thing like it is," Moon said. "I'll have to tell Emily what I know."

Fidel turned his coffee cup thoughtfully in his dirty hands, studying the ceramic object as if he had never really seen it before. "I'd as soon you'd leave my dotter outta this."

Moon closed his eyes and tried to remember Benita's face. Every day, the picture faded in his mind. But one thing didn't fade away—Arlo was responsible for Benita Sweet-water's death. But Arlo had been murdered too, and payment must be made for that death. "I've been thinking about that a lot," he said. "I'll have to do what's right." He watched Fidel's face. "You understand."

"Sure," the farmer said. "I know." Everybody in Ignacio knew that you could count on Charlie Moon to do the right thing. Fidel cursed, then stomped the coffee cup into a thousand fragments under his heel.

The pretty clerk in the Durango flower shop beamed up at the tall, somewhat awkward figure, who shifted his weight from one foot to another and back again. "And what sort of message should I put on the card?"

"Well…" he hesitated, "just say it's from Charlie." It was the right thing to do.

The sales clerk scribbled on the card. "Very well, sir. That's one dozen long-stemmed roses." The Chicano girl beamed at the big Ute and wished she had a man like this to send her roses. "She's a very lucky lady."

"Yeah," Moon said. "I guess she is at that." Very lucky indeed.

This girl's big brown eyes were almost as pretty as Benita's eyes, but her lips were not as full. And her voice wasn't sweet music… but that, he reminded himself, was finished business. An opportunity forever lost.

She saw the shadow pass over his face, and turned to answer the telephone. He idly watched the figures on her portable television set. It was the final scene of a hilarious James Herriot tale from the Yorkshire Dales. Siegfried was, as usual, furious with his younger brother. Tristan had terrified the neighborhood by donning a cloak and appearing nightly at a ruined monastery as the tortured "ghost" of an unhappy monk. A brawny constable, who did not believe in such nonsense, had almost run him to ground. The scene was abruptly replaced with an advertisement for "veteri-nary-approved" animal foods. "Your puppy will love Peter's Perky Puppy-Chow," the announcer insisted. The counterfeit veterinarian in the white smock droned on, listing the benefits of "enhanced vitamin and mineral content." This commercial was followed by others. Ford pickup trucks with a factory rebate. Salsa, a grizzled cowboy guaranteed, that wasn't made in New York City. An astonishingly beautiful woman leaned on a stuffed leopard, extolling the virtues of a new perfume from Italy. "My Confession," she whispered huskily, "is subtle, barely touching his consciousness." Then, a seductive smile as she unfastened the top button of her silk blouse.

The clerk hung up the telephone and turned to flash a smile at the policeman who was frowning at the television set. "Now," she said, "will this be cash or credit card?"

Moon didn't hear her. The revelation had been like a sudden illumination of a dark landscape that was already there. A strike of summer lightning at midnight. The Ute policeman already knew who killed Arlo Nightbird. Now he thought he knew how Gorman's Hereford bull had met its death. But he didn't have a shred of evidence.

Charlie Moon looked up from his desk. Emily Sombra-Nightbird had appeared without a sound. It was not an unexpected visit.

"Hello, Charlie."

He got up and nodded toward an uncomfortable wooden chair.

"Have a seat."

"I stopped by to thank you. For the lovely roses." She had the bouquet in her hands, a question in her eyes. Why the sudden attention from this big, taciturn Ute?

Moon tried to appear relaxed, but his heart was kicking against his ribs. "Hoped you'd like 'em."

Emily moved close to him; he enjoyed the wonderful fragrance in her hair. "I can't remember the last time anyone sent me flowers."

Moon nodded dumbly. Emily would be shocked if she knew why he sent the roses. Benita Sweetwater owed her a debt; the roses were a token of that debt.

She touched his sleeve. "You know, I've always had a soft spot for… strong, decisive men."

Moon swallowed hard. "We need to talk."

"I hope it's not about Arlo's death." Her eyes went flat.

"I'd like to put that far behind me." As East is from West.

The Ute studied Emily's face, especially her eyes. "Been doing some checking." He tried to sound casual, but his pulse throbbed under his shirt collar. "On that evening Arlo was late for your anniversary date, phone company records show your daddy called you, then called the insurance agency."

Emily raised her immaculate eyebrows. Her face said
So
?

"Herb Ecker must have told him where to find your husband. It looks like Fidel went to the canyon, found Arlo half alive. Everybody knows Fidel hated Arlo. And," Moon added, "your old man has a nasty temper."

"My father didn't… wouldn't…" She hesitated, her lips forming a tight red line across her face.

"I've been out to Fidel's farm. We had a long talk. About a pig that wears a turquoise ear stud."

Emily's face seemed to be frozen; her normally expressive eyes were vacant.

"You'll want to hire your daddy a lawyer." Moon paused to let this sink in. "A real good lawyer." He waited.

"My father," she said finally, "did not kill my husband."

"I understand you want to protect your daddy." Moon waved his hand to indicate a stapled sheaf of papers on his desk. "But the evidence against him is pretty solid." The papers were last month's gasoline receipts.

Her gaze followed the impressive document as Moon put it into a desk drawer. And turned a key in the lock. "I can give Daddy an alibi."

"Sure." Moon did his best to sound skeptical. "You tell me he was somewhere else, I'll listen." This was it. Either she would or she wouldn't. "But I doubt it'll help Fidel."

"How do I know you won't use something I say to… to create a problem for me?"

"Whatever you say is off the record." He saw the hesitation in her eyes. "You have my word."

Emily put her face in her hands and sighed. You could trust Charlie Moon. That was one of the few constants in Ignacio. "Herb Ecker did tell my father that Arlo had gone to visit your aunt. Father and I went to look for him early the next morning. We found his car stalled on the gravel road. Daisy wasn't at home, so we drove farther up into the canyon." She closed her eyes. "We found Arlo under a scrub oak… almost naked… head bleeding…"

Moon's tone was sympathetic. "I imagine you got pretty upset."

She glared back at the policeman. "Of course I was… practically in shock."

"And angry?"

Emily squeezed a rose stem, pressing a tiny thorn into her finger. "Angry? Why would I be angry?" She sucked the drop of blood from her finger.

Moon took a deep breath. Now or never. "Because he… uh… gave you a disease?" He hadn't intended to make it sound like a question.

Emily's mouth dropped open. "How… how could you know about that?"

"Cecelia Chavez visited you that same night Arlo was late." True enough. The public health nurse had admitted to the visit, but nothing more. Now for the big guess. If he was wrong, Emily would realize how little he really knew and the game would be over. "She came to tell you that the blood you donated didn't pass the test." He watched her face. Emily's pupils dilated ever so slightly. Time to play the hand out. "I've had a talk with Doc Anderson." Moon's expression was confident, as if he knew everything. Emily's personal physician had flatly refused to discuss his visit to the Nightbird residence, had even threatened to destroy Emily's medical files at the least hint of a court order. The doctor was hiding something, but what? There was a long silence. Moon wondered if he'd gone too far. Too fast.

Finally she spoke, barely above a whisper. "So you know." She looked at a rose, rubbed her finger across the delicate petals. "HIV-positive. AIDS. That's what Cecelia said the test on my blood indicated." Emily found a lace handkerchief in her purse. "I was awake all night. First, I cried." She trembled at the memory. "I was afraid to die.

By first light, I was furious. I called my father, told him everything. When we found Arlo, he had a lump on his head but he wasn't dead. He opened his eyes." She squeezed the handkerchief into a tiny ball. "The filthy little bastard grinned at me! I must have went berserk. It was like I was outside my body… floating up above… watching someone else. Arlo's knife was on the ground beside him. I used it to…" She couldn't go on.

"So you castrated him," Unconsciously, Moon pulled his knees together.

She patted the handkerchief on her eyes, but there were no tears. "It was the surest way to make sure he wouldn't infect someone else."

The logic, he realized, was unassailable. "But… you shoved his balls down his throat." The policeman tried, without success, to swallow.

"He started screaming. I had to make him stop." Emily's voice trailed off. "You have to believe me, Charlie. Angry as I was, I wouldn't have done anything like that… if I'd been in my right mind."

So. She was already considering an insanity plea. Wouldn't need it. She had his word that this conversation was off the record. But that promise was academic. He hadn't read Emily her rights, so the confession wasn't admissible in any case. And no Colorado jury would convict her. Not after her husband had infected her with a deadly disease, then attempted to rape Benita Sweetwater. Moon's hands were cold; he flexed his fingers to encourage the blood to circulate. "Then," he said softly, "you… uh… cut off his ears so it'd look like whoever mutilated Gorman's bull also butchered your husband?" A pretty calculated plan for a woman who was out of her mind.

She winced at the word 'butchered.' Emily passed a delicate hand over her eyes, as if to erase the ghastly picture from her memory. "Having some kind of plan was the farthest thing from my mind. I simply dropped the knife and walked back to Daddy's truck. I don't remember much after that."

"Then it was Fidel that…"

She sighed. "Daddy took Arlo's knife. And… I didn't find out until later… he also… removed Arlo's ears." Her eyes were now blank, like a large pair of black buttons sewn on a doll's face. "You already know what he did with Arlo's turquoise ear stud." At the edge of hysteria, she began to giggle.

Moon leaned over to put his hand on her shoulder. When she became quiet, he spoke. "Emily, you can't just kill your husband because he's…"