Death Where the Bad Rocks Live Read online

  Lumpy nodded. “Yesterday.”

  “Well, why don’t you be a little more direct? Tell Willie he’s shit for an officer. I’m sure that will improve his performance.”

  “I think someone else could use more direct criticism.”

  “Meaning?”

  “One Hotshot Agent Man needs to be told maybe he’s not the star attraction in the investigative world anymore. Maybe he was exiled here to the Rapid City Field Office because he’s lost his edge. Lost his ability to put things together.”

  “And that’s bull, too.”

  “Is it? The one case you failed to solve—perhaps your biggest one—and suddenly you’re a common man.” Lumpy laughed, but it was a forced laugh and he settled back in his chair. “Just accept that happens to everyone. Even the Manny Tannos of the world.”

  “All right, we’ve analyzed my deep emotional problems with the Red Cloud case, now let’s get down to what you brought me in here for.”

  Lumpy frowned. “Willie needs help, and I’m fishing for advice. What would the FBI do if an agent exhibited the problems Willie has?”

  Manny stood and reached for the coffeepot, pouring each one a cup before sitting. The coffee was stale and bitter, but not as stale and bitter as this conversation with Manny’s childhood nemesis had grown. “EAP.”

  Lumpy chuckled. “Employee Assistance Program? What do you think we have here, bottomless coffers? We don’t have the funds the federal government has.”

  “Find the funds. Somewhere. Because if you don’t, you’ll lose a good officer to depression.”

  Lumpy took a sip of his coffee, wrinkled his nose, and tossed the rest into the wastebasket beside the table. “Think that’s what it is?”

  Manny nodded. “Oh, he’s depressed all right. How would you feel if the woman who raised you goes to bed every night wondering if some other loony’s going to slit her throat. And you may be right—he may have gone to the bottle to forget.”

  Lumpy dropped his eyes. “Understood. Go on.”

  “Elizabeth was his family, and now that family resides in Ordway section in Yankton with other members of the criminally insane of this state. And he’s not handling it well.”

  “Tell me about it. Janet says even his girlfriend makes life miserable for him.”

  “Could be it’s because your niece is pushing her envelope? Purposely getting between Willie and Doreen Big Eagle.”

  Lumpy’s fists clenched, then he relaxed. “I’ll talk to Janet about that.”

  “And talk to your finance officer. The tribe has to find the money to help one of their officers soon, or he won’t be an officer. He’ll just be another drunk staggering on the road to White Clay every morning to drink his breakfast.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Ham dropped the legs of his chair onto the porch and set his book on the pine log table in front of him just as Sonja Myers emerged from Sophie’s house with a glass of tea. “Would you like a glass?” She rimmed the glass with her tongue and smiled demurely at Manny. He was transported back two months ago to a Rapid City bistro. He had sat close to Sonja, taking in her beauty, enjoying her womanly smells. He had disregarded the conniving reporter scamming for a feature piece in the front page of the Journal while telling himself she was attracted to him. His trust in her had accounted for another chunk of his ass being ripped away by his supervisor, Ben Niles, and had contributed to his transfer from the FBI Academy in Quantico to Rapid City.

  “Tea does such wonders for the complexion.” She held up a pitcher.

  “Just had coffee. Thanks.” Manny wanted to tell her his sore ribs prevented him from drinking anything right now, but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. He turned to Ham. “I would have called, but your mother doesn’t have a phone.”

  Ham smiled and sipped. “Sometimes not having a phone is an advantage. Like now, when friends just drop in.”

  Phony bastard’s rehearsing for the confirmation hearings. “I understand you’ve been here since yesterday.”

  “I have.”

  “Anyone vouch for that?”

  “Do I need vouching?”

  “Micah Crowder was found murdered in the Badlands yesterday.”

  “Micah Crowder.” Ham looked at his feet. He slapped his forehead. “Sure, that whacko cop that’s been writing those libelous letters about me.”

  Manny nodded and retrieved his notebook from his jacket pocket, watching Ham as he flipped blank pages. “A KILI maintenance man saw your motorcycle chasing—or following—Crowder into the Stronghold yesterday afternoon.”

  Ham walked to the edge of the porch. Stalling. “I’ve been here at Mother’s since yesterday morning.”

  “All that does is get you closer to the murder scene than if you were in Spearfish.”

  Ham turned, his jaw muscles tight. He flexed his hands, the muscles on his forearms dancing under his thin, silk shirt. “That’s not the first time you’ve accused me of murder.” He stepped closer to Manny. “I’m a prolaw guy, but this is getting old.” Even angry, Ham’s ice blue eyes projected warmth. Disarming. For a moment Manny forgot Ham was on his suspect list. And potentially dangerous.

  “I can vouch for him.” Sonja moved behind Ham and wrapped her arm around his waist, bending and whispering into his ear. They both laughed and she winked at Manny. “We were both here yesterday. And all night.”

  Ham drew Sonja closer and nestled his chin in the crook of her neck. “You don’t approve?”

  “I’d think the last thing you’d want now is a rumor of impropriety.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s a reporter. One that will stop at nothing to get that big story that’ll be her ticket out of Smallville. How would it look if the reporter covering the murders had relations with one of the suspects?”

  Ham tilted his back and laughed. Disarming. “And I thought you disapproved because of our age difference. You know a man is only as old as the woman he feels.”

  “That’s none of my business.”

  “Then relax, Agent Tanno. I got no reason to read conflict of interest in Sonja. She knows I won’t give her an exclusive until after the Senate hearings.”

  “That’s right.” Sonja held the tea glass sweating moisture against the side of her head. “I got no interest in a story right now. My interest is in Hamilton.”

  “And I can vouch they were here all night.” Sophie slammed the screen door. “And noisy.” It bounced against the side of the house and stayed open as if it didn’t want any more abuse. “Hamilton and his lady came here yesterday. He was gone just long enough to be by himself. Praying in the Oonagazhee.”

  “Why would you go to the Stronghold?”

  “If you’d have stuck around the reservation you’d know the importance,” Sophie said, stepping between Ham and Manny. “Rather than going off to the White man’s city.”

  “Mother…”

  “It’s the truth. He abandoned his own people to pursue the almighty—”

  “Mother!”

  Ham took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “It’s all right. Just let Agent Tanno do his job.”

  She peeked around Ham and glared at Manny before turning on her heels and stomping over to her chair. She set the bowl of quills in her lap and began softening them for her hoop project.

  Ham turned back to Manny and lowered his voice. “The Old Ones are still set in their ways.”

  “So I see.”

  “But to answer your question, I went to the Sheltering Place to prepare myself, make myself right with Wakan Tanka. I have the hearings in a few days and I’m just a little overwhelmed by the nomination.”

  “Did you ride your bike there?”

  “He took my car,” Sonja answered, pointing to her silver BMW, shiny and bright and appearing as if it hadn’t stepped a tire into the Badlands. “I picked the judge up at his Spearfish cabin.”

  “Out of the goodness of your big heart?”

  Sonja scowled. “You know better than that.
I wanted to talk with the judge, and he needed a ride here.”

  Manny looked over Ham’s shoulder at Sonja. Except for having a recorder handy where she could tape their conversation, she looked the part of a predator reporter salivating to land the next big scoop. Manny motioned Ham off the porch and away from Sonja. “I saw your Suburban got damaged.”

  “Joe. Got tuned up in Spearfish again and had a fender bender.”

  “Where?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Did he report it?”

  Ham shrugged. “Doubt it, knowing him.”

  “You in the habit of covering for him?”

  Ham’s eyebrows came together in a stiff glare that Manny had not seen before. After a moment he relaxed and the smile reappeared. “Look, all I know is Joe was doing a brake job on my Suburban. When he brought it back, he was a little tipsy and the ’Burb was damaged. Tire shredded where the fender had caved in. He wanted to take my bike so I let him.”

  “Even though he was drunk?”

  “Joe is a better rider drunk than most people are sober. He needed to tune it up anyway. We planned a run to Devils Tower, swinging by Bear Butte to pray before I went to Washington for the hearings.”

  “Where is Joe now?”

  Ham shrugged. “Let’s see.” He flipped his cell phone out and pocketed it again. “Damned rez. No service. But he’s probably at his shop. Like I said, he needed to do a tune-up and adjust the valves on the Indian before we took our road trip.”

  “And you never saw Micah Crowder in the last couple days?”

  Ham’s response was slow, measured, as if he were convincing a jury. “I haven’t set eyes on Micah Crowder since he was a Spearfish cop in my college days. I’ve heard from him—in the form of those cockamamie letters he writes about me—but I haven’t seen him since I graduated college.”

  “Why do you think Joe Dozi would be in the Badlands, riding your collector bike on those terrible trails?”

  Ham shrugged. “Testing it.”

  “Don’t you think he’d test it closer to his shop?”

  “How should I know?”

  Sophie got up from her chair when Ham raised his voice. He gestured to her that he was all right and she sat back down. Sophie looked after her son, even now that that he was grown, like she’d always done. A traditional Oglala mother.

  Ham sipped the rest of his tea and tossed the ice cubes into the dirt in front of the porch. “Joe must have had a reason to take it in the backcountry.”

  “You don’t sound too concerned. If it were me, I’d be mad as the dickens that someone rode my collector bike into the Badlands.”

  “If Joe bangs it up, he’ll fix it. Believe me, the Indian’s in good hands.”

  “And so are you.” Sonja walked up behind Ham and draped her arm over his shoulder and kissed his neck. She smiled at Manny. “The judge needs to prep for his hearing.”

  Ham nodded. “She right. Sonja’s giving me a different perspective, a different line of questioning to prepare for. Now if you’ll excuse us.” Ham turned back to Sophie’s porch. “Let me know when you find Joe, Agent Tanno.”

  Manny nodded. “Even if we find him in that sacred place?”

  CHAPTER 25

  SPRING 1940

  Moses led the way down the precarious path that wound between the two buttes. Popcorn gravel gave way underneath the huge man, and he grabbed onto a scrub juniper jutting from the hillside.

  “You didn’t say it was going to be this hard getting there.” Ellis Lawler fell, picked himself up, then slid down the last twenty feet on his butt. He screamed just before he hit a boulder on the bottom that stopped him from falling over the edge and into the chasm a hundred feet down. “What the hell you guys laughing at?”

  Moses shook his head as he looked down at Ellis slapping dirt from his trousers, and he turned to Clayton. “I cannot understand why you brought that pissy little man along.”

  Clayton finally stopped laughing. “Let’s say he’s entertainment.”

  “Be real entertainment if he would have sailed off over the side.”

  “That any way for a holy man to talk? Besides, Ellis knows minerals better than anyone I know. And, he’ll keep his mouth shut.”

  “Will it need shutting?”

  “Depends on what those bad rocks of yours tell us.”

  “I just wished you would have brought somebody quieter.”

  “He is what he is.” Clayton laughed again as Ellis scrambled up the hillside. “He’ll be all right once we bed for the night. Trust me.”

  “Seems like I trusted you once before.” Moses handed Clayton a water bladder and he took shallow sips. He took off his hat and dribbled water inside the brim.

  “You’re not going to get on me about Renaud LaJeneuse again.”

  “I would if it would do any good. You promised me that man was honorable.”

  Clayton uncoiled his rope from his shoulder and fashioned a loop for Ellis. “How was I to know Renaud intended keeping those paintings you took to New York.”

  “I should have hired an attorney.”

  “You signed the papers, hoss.”

  Moses’s voice became low, hostile, as he vented his anger on Clayton. “So you said. I thought I was signing a paper allowing him to show the paintings for an extra month in exchange for more food delivered to Pine Ridge.”

  “Don’t forget the mineral supplements for your cattle.”

  “That just prolonged their deaths by a couple months.”

  “And the donation in your name he made to the tribe.”

  “That donation he made will just about cover the price of vegetable seeds for one season. I should still hire a lawyer.”

  Clayton tossed Ellis the rope. “Slip it around your waist.”

  “Make it your neck,” Moses yelled down, but Ellis was too busy wiggling into the loop.

  “Renaud is a lawyer and he set the agreement in stone. Couldn’t be broke. Guess it isn’t his fault you can’t read English. Now if it had been in Lakota…”

  Clayton braced his feet against the side of the hill while Ellis took up slack on the rope and pulled himself up hand over hand. Ellis glared at Moses as he made the top and dropped into the dirt.

  “What you grinning at? I could have been killed.”

  “Have you not heard—only the good die young. You are in for a very long life.”

  Ellis undid the loop and walked to where the water bladder was propped against a rock.

  “It is not the same out here without Samuel.” Moses looked after Ellis pouring water over his sweaty face.

  “Couldn’t be helped,” Clayton said. “He’s lucky they plea-bargained the aggravated assault down to a high-grade misdemeanor. Best I could do.”

  “Still, a year in the Pennington County lockup for stabbing a ranch hand that picked the fight with him is pretty stiff. Guess you wasicu will always treat Indians differently than you do Whites.”

  Clayton coiled his rope and slipped it over his shoulder. “What more could I have done for Samuel—I sent my aide to talk with the prosecutor.”

  “You could have been a father to him.”

  Clayton shook his head. “Little late for that, isn’t it? What do you want me to do, bust him out of jail and drag him back to D.C. with me?”

  “If that is what it takes to be the father you should have been all along.” Moses grabbed the water bladder and walked along the path with Clayton close behind. Ellis brought up the rear, yelling and cursing as he slipped and nearly fell again.

  Clayton scrambled to catch up. “I’m not like you. I don’t have the time to spend with Samuel like you do with Eldon. You show him the old ways, and that’s a good thing. Never let him forget his heritage. But Samuel’s a half-breed…”

  Moses turned and grabbed Clayton’s shirtfront. He lifted him off the ground and debated if he should toss his friend over the cliff. Clayton, wide eyes darting to the hundred-foot drop, tried speaking, but couldn’t. Moses took deep, ca
lming breaths and gently lowered Clayton to the ground. “In the old days, Samuel would have been called atkuku. Bastard. But your son is much more than atkuku. He deserves more respect than to be called a half-breed.”

  Clayton stepped away and straightened his shirt. Somewhere behind him Ellis yelled about cactus sticking to his butt. “You’re right, hoss. But my point was that I wouldn’t have known what to teach him. We’re from different worlds.”

  “You could have taught him the White man’s ways. Leave the old ways to me. At least he would have had a chance.”

  “More of a chance than we’ll have in finding these legendary rocks you’ve been telling me about. How much farther?”

  “Don’t be too anxious to get there. They are evil wakan.”

  Ellis stumbled on the shifting dirt of the Badlands and yelled when he hit his shin against a rock. Moses jerked his thumb behind him. “I am having second thoughts about showing you the place with that bonehead along. I got half a notion to leave him and let him make it on his own.”

  “That’d be like killing him.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” Moses sneered and started back along the trail.

  “Look at the bright side.” Clayton scrambled to keep up. “If these rocks pan out, it’ll be good for the tribe.”

  “Sure. Trust you?”

  Moses turned the venison backstraps crackling just above the embers and checked the wild onions and turnips roasting under the venison to catch the drippings. Embers sizzled and popped and landed in the dirt in front of Moses. “What is Ellis doing in there?” He nodded to his cabin. “Sounds like he is giving a speech, but there is no one in there with him. Like, if some wasicu rambles in the Badlands and there is no one to hear him, is he still crazy? And still a pain in the butt?”

  Clayton shrugged. “Ellis talks to himself when he’s in the throes of discovery, as he puts it. He’s making some calculations based on what he measured today.”

  “All the same, if I would have left him where you shot that deer, I would not have had to listen to his drivel.”

  Clayton prodded the venison with his knife and licked the blade. “Look, he’s been a professor at the School of Mines all his life. Geology is all he has. His wife won’t even talk to him.”