Threepersons Hunt (16 page)

“You stay away, then. You get close to that boy he might hurt you.”

Watchman smiled; that had been what the old man was leading up to. They all had their own ways of telling him to leave Joe alone.

5.

Victorio was waiting in the Volvo. Watchman shook Rufus Limita's hand and drove out of the yard. The shocks bottomed on the same bumps again. Pretty quick he was going to have to make a big decision: spend a small fortune renovating the old clunker or buy another car.

Victorio said, “Rifle like that, Joe sure as hell doesn't aim to get caught alive.”

“That's not why he took that gun.”

“No?”

“You said yourself it's an assassin's rifle.” Watchman steered onto the dirt road and headed down toward the fork. “He's got it in mind to put somebody away.”

“Who?”

“Whoever killed Maria.”

“
Killed
Maria?”

“She was murdered.”

Victorio stared at him. “Maybe you'd better repeat that for the benefit of the West Coast audience.”

“Somebody fed her enough barbiturates to knock out five people.”

“I thought she crashed a car.”

“She crashed because the Seconals put her to sleep at the wheel.”

Either Victorio was a far better actor than he appeared to be or the news did come as a surprise to him.

Watchman said, “You were there that morning, weren't you.”

“I was where?”

“Maria's house. A little while before she died.”

“The hell I was. Who told you that?”

“Your car was there.”

“That's a lie. This was last Tuesday?”

“Monday. Fourth of July. It was a holiday. You weren't in your office.”

“Wrong. That's exactly where I was. All morning. I had a brief to finish. And I had my car there and I'm pretty sure I had the keys in my pocket the whole time. You're barking up the wrong tree—I never left Whiteriver that day. We had a rodeo that afternoon and I was there. I was one of the bronc handlers. You ask anybody.”

“That was afternoon. You had time to get back from Phoenix by then. Who saw you in the office?”

Victorio thought about it. “Nobody, I guess. Like you said it was a holiday. But somebody might have noticed my car. I always park it there between the council house and the trading post. Everybody knows my car.”

“Anybody else around here drive a blue VW?”

“Not that I know of. There's a lot of them around but not right in town.”

“Well nobody's arresting you yet,” Watchman said. “But somebody killed her. You're right up at the head of the list.”

“If I'm such a hot suspect why are you telling me all this?”

“Think about it, you'll figure it out.”

He turned the car onto the paved road and picked it up to forty-five heading back up toward the sawmill. Beside him in the bucket seat Victorio sat as tense as a runner in the starting chocks. “It's a frame. A lousy frame. Somebody lied to you. I wasn't anyplace Monday morning, I was in the office. I can show you the brief.”

“Sure.”

“I think I get it. You figure if I killed Maria then Joe's gunning for
me.
I'm supposed to get scared and confess everything so you'll put me in protective custody.”

“Well the idea crossed my mind,” Watchman agreed. “How about it?”

“I didn't kill her. For Christ sake I've been in love with Maria since I was in pre-law.”

“You told me you were sore at her.”

“You murder everybody you get sore at?”

Watchman smiled with one side of his mouth. He saw Victorio's right hand reach the dashboard handgrip and flex around it. Victorio said, “You know what worries me now? Suppose Joe heard the same lie about me and my car? Suppose he thinks it was me? Then he
could
be after me with that damn elephant cannon of Rufus'.”

“He sure could.”

“Son of a bitch,” Victorio breathed.

Watchman drove into town and made the turn at the corner by the council house and pulled into the lot behind it. He parked right beside the blue Volkswagen. Dwight Kendrick's Corvette was farther back in the shade. Over against the trading post wall were parked several cars and one of them was Charles Rand's high silver-grey Rolls Bentley.

Victorio said, distracted, “That's Charlie Rand's.”

“I know. Slumming?”

“He was due in today to talk a deal with the council.” Victorio sat with his hand tight on the grip even though the car was motionless.

“When's the case due to come up in court?”

“It's already been postponed a dozen times.”

“By Rand?”

“Usually. Sometimes we have to ask for a continuance ourselves.”

“I thought the tribe wanted to wrap it up as soon as possible.”

“Things aren't that simple. It's all juggling and maneuvering. You don't want to go into court at a time that's advantageous to the opposition. Hell a few months ago somebody rifled our files, we lost a lot of papers and practically had to start again from scratch. We've been stalling like mad until we can get the information together again.”

“What kind of information was it?”

“Nothing vital. Stuff like references to obscure cases that were tried seventy-five years ago in places like Montana and the Canal Zone. You have to marshal all the precedents. It's boring as hell.”

“And somebody stole your notes?”

“Notes, briefs, transcripts, the whole mess.”

“Was the theft investigated?”

“Sure. The Agency cops and the County both. Somebody'd pried that window over there. They busted into the filing cabinets and took half a drawer of files.”

“Did they steal anything else or just the water-rights materials?”

“Just that stuff. They knew what to look for. It was Rand's boys of course, but try proving that.” Victorio's eyes came around to Watchman. He looked bleak. “I can't help it, I keep thinking about that gamy son of a bitch out there lining up his crosshairs on the back of my neck.”

“Tell me something,” Watchman said. “How good was your alibi for the night Ross Calisher died?”

“Alibi? Why the hell should I need an alibi?”

“Because somebody killed him. It wasn't Joe.”

“It wasn't?”

“I'm pretty sure he was taking the rap for somebody else. Knowingly.”

Victorio stared at him, the expression not changing at all; as if his face were frozen. Finally he licked his lips. “So that's how she got that money.”

“That's the way I tote it.”

“You know that does make a morbid kind of sense.”

“Joe was in Cibecue the night Calisher was shot. Does that help?”

“You mean where was I? Hell I was in Tucson. Law school.”

“It's only four, five hours' drive from Tucson up to Rand's ranch. Calisher was killed late at night. You could have driven up there, killed him, driven back to Tucson and made your morning classes.”

“Why the hell should I kill Calisher?”

“I have no idea,” Watchman said.

“Only an amateur tries to make facts fit a theory,” Victorio said. “You could be right that Joe didn't kill him, but that doesn't mean I did. Christ I don't think I ever met Ross Calisher more than two or three times in my life, and those times it was only at rodeos up here.”

“The way you felt about Maria, you might have been just as jealous as Joe if you found out she was sleeping with Calisher.”

“To tell you the truth I never bought that story about her having an affair with Calisher. She wasn't like that.”

“Reverend LaSalle thinks she was just about the fastest thing on wheels.”

“LaSalle's got the imagination of a horny old maid. Maria was fast with her lip, she annoyed a lot of people around here because she liked to talk back when she thought it was called for. Sure she had wit, but she didn't sleep around.”

Watchman glanced at the Volkswagen beside him. “The truth is I don't think you're guilty of anything except brass. I don't see where you had much reason to want Calisher dead, I don't see how you could have killed Maria, and I don't know where you'd have found the kind of money Maria was living on. But somebody saw a blue VW parked outside her house that morning and I still need an explanation for that.”

“I'll damn sure find out what I can, if Joe doesn't bushwhack me first.”

“I don't think it's you he's after.”

“Jesus I hope you're right.”

6.

Watchman got out of the car and heard Victorio shut the other door. Two white-garbed nuns in sailboat hats walked out of the trading post and got into a huge station wagon and drove away. The wagon's place was taken almost immediately by the white Ford of the Indian Agency Police Force. Pete Porvo got out and walked into the trading post and Watchman turned that way; he felt Victorio's presence at his heels.

He hadn't put his boot onto the first step yet when a ruined pickup came staggering down the highway and he stopped and put his eyes on it while it went past. Jimmy Oto was driving; Oto's hard glance fixed itself onto Watchman and stayed there, the head turning, until the grey truck almost went off the road. Then Oto was gone and Victorio behind him said, “Him you want to stay away from in dark alleys.”

“We've met.”

“You're lucky you've still got your teeth then.”

Watchman pushed into the gloom of the store. He found Porvo at the sandwich counter. The high small eyes whipped across Watchman's face and settled on Victorio.

Watchman said, “Any sign of that Land Cruiser?”

“Nope.”

Victorio said, “We just came in from Rufus' place.”

“That right?”

Watchman said, “I understand you spotted Joe last night.”

“What about it?” Porvo stood phlegmatically rocking heel-to-toe.

“Did you try to stop him?”

Porvo's eyes crinkled to show he knew Watchman was kidding him. “Come on.”

“How about it, Pete?”

Porvo's face changed. “What the hell are you trying to pull?”

“I just want to know what you did, Pete. Did you yell out to him? Did you fire a warning shot and tell him to halt?”

“You're crazy. By the time I got the car stopped he was back out of sight in the woods someplace. You think yelling and shooting's going to do any good?”

“Did you take a flashlight and run in there after him?”

“The son of a bitch was toting a rifle. You want me to go in after him with a
flashlight
?”

Victorio was looking on, puzzled. Watchman said, “You had him in sight, you let him go. It was the middle of the night. So if he was close enough for you to recognize him he might have been close enough to stop. That's all I'm asking you.”

“If I could've stopped him I would have. That satisfy you?”

“It'll do for right now. I had a shot at him myself, I know how it goes.”

Victorio said, “You did?”

“It's a long story.”

Porvo finished his sandwich and crumpled the wax paper as if it were Watchman's throat. “Look, porcupine, I don't need Navajos telling me how to do my job.”

“Take it easy. My dad was an Agency cop.”

“This still ain't Window Rock. This is my bailiwick, Watchman. I wouldn't mind for you to get in some real trouble sticking your Navajo nose in it.”

“I didn't come up here to muss up your turf, Pete. All I want is Joe Threepersons.”

“Look,” Porvo said, “I believe in my job here. It's a lot better to keep house inside the tribe than have outside agitators come in here and stomp law-and-order all over us. Now I told you before—I find Joe, I'll give him to you. In the meantime you can quit pushing your weight around here.” He turned on his heel and marched out of the building.

Watchman turned mildly to Victorio. “You want some lunch?”

“You're just a beaming ray of sunshine, aren't you?”

“Deep water is for those who can swim. I think Porvo's making a mistake, taking this too lightly. The next time he comes across Joe he might get shot before he decides whether he should wave hello or pull his gun.”

“You're expecting too much. Pete's an Agency cop, his jurisdiction's limited to traffic cases and misdemeanors that don't carry a penalty of more than six months in jail. The big stuff they leave to the County Sheriff. You can't expect him to know his way around a murder case.”

“I can expect him to know his way around this Reservation. If anybody'd know where to look for Joe it would be that cop. I'd like to find a way to reach him.”

“You won't do it by insulting him. Pete's kind of proud. He likes that uniform and he likes to think he can fill it.”

Watchman considered the selection of sandwiches. “Maybe you're right. But with his kind you don't grovel. I figure he understands authority. It's probably the only way I can break through that Navajo-hate of his.”

“Just don't expect too much,” Victorio said again. “I mean you
are
a Navajo after all. Try the corn beef, it ain't too bad.”

They took the sandwiches out on the porch and ate standing up in the shade beside the phone booth. Watchman said, “This Jimmy Oto. Tell me about him.”

“What's he got to do with anything?”

“I don't know yet. Maybe nothing. But he was pretty anxious to scare me off the Reservation last night. He had some anxious-looking friends with him.”

“That rat pack of his, I guess. I wouldn't pay him too much mind. He likes to ripple his muscles.”

“What do you know about him?”

“He used to be a pal of Joe's. I don't know if he still is. Maria couldn't stand him, wouldn't let Joe hang around with him.”

“I understand he hasn't got a job.”

“Well he's on welfare, I think, some kind of relief. He's sort of got a job, if you could call it that. You know about Harlan Natagee and that red-power movement of his?”