Those Who Came Before Page 5

  “’Course not. This is not the knowledge of the white man. It is the knowledge of our people.” Crazyhorse narrowed his eyes at her and she squirmed, feeling ashamed. Why should she be ashamed that this man was disappointed in her? It was beyond her, but she did. He had once accused her of betraying ‘the Native within’ in order to get ahead in a White Man’s world, and she guessed she had. The truth was, she had never felt connected to her culture. Her family tended to ignore it. They’d raised her to be like ‘everyone else’, and to them, ‘everyone else’ was white.

  “Enlighten me.”

  Crazyhorse coughed. “A cup of coffee would be nice.”

  “Of course.” Her cheeks grew warm. The man loved her Keurig, which might be the only luxury he experienced this week. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t offered. The lack of sleep had affected her more than she’d thought. “What would you like?”

  He smiled, and it was a smile that lit up his face despite the cracked and missing teeth. She’d often thought he should be on the cover of National Geographic. The lines that scored his cheeks and forehead told a vivid story. “What do you got?”

  “Oh, you’re in luck today. I’ve got new stock in. I have Irish Cream, French Vanilla, Hazelnut Mocha, Cinnamon Twist, and plain old dark roast.”

  Crazyhorse puffed his cheeks and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, pretending to be deep in thought while she pretended she didn’t know what his answer would be. He always had the same thing. “I think I’ll try that French Vanilla. That sounds real nice.”

  “Good choice,” she said, putting the little container of coffee into the machine. She made sure never to run out of French Vanilla.

  It took her a few minutes to make two cups, enough to fill the oversized mug she used for Crazyhorse. She’d noticed a couple of years ago that his hands shook too badly to manage anything with a small, delicate handle, so she’d bought him this bruiser. The weight of it helped to stabilize his tremors.

  He took it from her with both hands, trembling as he brought it to his lips. As was his habit, he smelled the drink before he sipped. “Ah, that’s good stuff. This is the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

  She’d brewed herself a cup of the Hazelnut Mocha, wishing she enjoyed it half as much as Crazyhorse loved his. They sipped in silence. Then she caught a glimpse of the case folder on her desk. It was thin – too thin.

  “What do you know about the campsite?”

  “I know it’s a place of evil. A place of darkness. Have you heard of the wendigo?”

  “Sure. It’s like a Native American boogeyman, isn’t it?” She recalled some scary stories from her youth, but she’d never paid much attention to that sort of thing.

  “No, it is not a ‘boogeyman’,” Crazyhorse said, resting his mug on her desk so he could make quotes in the air with his fingers. “Wendigos are the spirits of people, bad people. People with a taste for human flesh.”

  Images from the crime scene flashed through her mind. No one had been nibbled on, as far she could tell. The coroner had warned there was no chance of putting Kira together again. Maria prayed the parents would agree to cremation once the coroner had finished with Kira’s body, so there would be no risk the family would see what had become of her.

  If parts of Kira were missing, it would be extremely difficult to tell.

  Maria mentally slapped herself back to reality. Was she actually entertaining the possibility that a wendigo was responsible?

  “You need to talk to my friend, Chief Kinew. He’ll tell you what’s going on out there.”

  As much as she thought the idea of wendigos was preposterous, Maria made note of his friend’s name. Aside from questioning conservation officers for the twentieth time and asking the friends and family whether the deceased had any enemies, what other leads did they have?

  Perhaps there was a grain of truth buried within the legend and lore.

  Crazyhorse rose from his chair, handing her his coffee cup with reverence, as if it were a great treasure instead of a dollar-store mug. She’d once suggested he take it with him, but he insisted on keeping it in her office.

  “I need to let you get to your investigatin’. You’re a busy lady.”

  “Thank you. I’ll go see your friend today.” And hope he doesn’t waste my time with a bunch of wendigo bullshit.

  “Good. Good. The chief hates cops, but he won’t have a problem talking to you.”

  She was careful to keep her expression neutral, but inwardly she cringed. It saddened her how many of her people distrusted cops. The police were supposed to be there to help. Unfortunately, she was willing to bet Chief Kinew had his reasons.

  Crazyhorse paused at her door, holding on to the frame for support. “I can tell you one thing.”

  “What’s that?” Now that he was on his way out, she was impatient to return to her work. There were many calls to be made before she could visit the chief.

  “Those kids messed with something they should have left well enough alone.”

  The vehemence in his voice caught her full attention. Crazyhorse was many things, but angry was not one of them. “What are you talking about?”

  “The tree. They never should have touched that tree.”

  Chapter Eight

  Every time I closed my eyes I saw Jessica’s face.

  Not the ugly mockery that had been my last image of her, but the real girl. Snarling, pouting, arguing, and occasionally smiling. Damn, she’d been beautiful when she smiled.

  Unable to stand it anymore, I jumped in Mom’s Toyota. The cops were still ‘processing’ my truck, but I couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t like anyone had died in the Silverado.

  I’d only met Jess’s parents a couple of times, but they’d seemed like nice people. The least I could do was express my sympathy and pay my respects. Selfishly, I also hoped that being around other people who’d known her would help ease my own pain.

  The driveway of the two-story house was empty, the street eerily quiet. For a moment I thought about getting back in the car, but since I’d come this far, I might as well knock.

  After rapping on the door, I turned to leave. I’d convinced myself the McCaffreys weren’t home, and never thought the door would open behind me.

  Mrs. McCaffrey stood on the step, staring at me with red-rimmed and puffy eyes. She looked like hell. I instantly knew this had been a mistake.

  “Reese. You’re the last person I expected to see. Bruce, come see who’s here,” she called over her shoulder.

  “I’m – I’m very sorry for your loss.” Fumbling over the words, I wished I’d planned what to say.

  “I’m sure you are.”

  I was taken aback at the hostility in her voice. She’d always treated me well.

  Just when I thought it was only her grief talking, I saw Jessica’s father. The man’s chest heaved as he glared at me. He looked like a half-crazed dog that would rip me to shreds as soon as he escaped his leash. “What the hell are you doing here? You must have a death wish.”

  What? What was he talking about?

  “I don’t uh – understand. I came to tell you I’m sorry about Jessica. But I can see I came at a bad time. I’ll go, and—”

  “A bad time? Don’t be silly. We’re always willing to talk to the psycho son of a bitch who murdered our daughter. By all means, come on in.”

  Stunned, I moved away from him, stumbling off the step. The full-body shaking that had only recently quit started up again.

  “That’s it, run like the coward you are. Killing two defenseless girls and a young man in his sleep. Bet you feel real proud of yourself. Bet you feel like a real man, huh?”

  I wanted to tell McCaffrey he had it wrong, that he had me wrong, but the words stuck in my throat. All I could do was stare at them. Jessica’s mother held her husband back, serving as his remaining link to civilized society,
but I could see her grip was tenuous. There had to be some part of her, probably a large part, that wanted to let him go, to watch as he tore me apart.

  “I need to know why. I need to know why you did this.” Her eyes filled with tears, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t fathom how I’d thought this would make me feel better. Their pain was too raw, too intense. Before I could run to the car, her voice stopped me.

  “What did she ever do to you? She loved you, Reese.”

  Loved me? I didn’t think so. Jess and I’d had a certain chemistry, and when she was in a generous mood, we’d had some fun together. But she hadn’t loved me. I was pretty sure about that.

  However, I wasn’t about to stand on the woman’s doorstep and tell her my big love affair with her daughter had only lasted as long as it had because we both enjoyed fucking each other senseless.

  “I didn’t touch her. I never hurt her, Mrs. McCaffrey.” And it was true. On that last, grim night, I couldn’t even summon the courage to break up with her. The irony was that if I had, she’d be alive. She would have insisted on leaving the campground, or maybe not going at all, and she’d have been free to find a new boy toy for her amusement.

  The realization tightened my chest to the point I could barely breathe. Perhaps I hadn’t killed her, but my cowardice had certainly played a role. A vision of Jess’s battered, nude body impaled on the tree flashed through my mind without warning

  Jess. I’m sorry. My God, I’m so fucking sorry.

  “You’re lying,” Mrs. McCaffrey said, and I noticed how much she resembled her daughter. Or, I guess, how much Jessica had resembled her. They could have been sisters if her mother hadn’t aged twenty years overnight. “The cops told us you were going to break up with her. Why couldn’t you have done it? Why couldn’t you have let her go if you didn’t want her? You didn’t have to kill her.”

  She sobbed then, knees buckling, and her husband automatically reached out to keep her from falling, as if he’d already done it several times.

  Her words had shocked me into silence again. Why on earth had Greyeyes told them? The last thing they needed to know was that their daughter’s boyfriend had considered her expendable.

  “Get out of here,” Mr. McCaffrey said.

  “But I didn’t hurt Jessica. I could never have done that. I—”

  Say you loved her, you idiot. That’s what they want to hear. That’s what their daughter’s boyfriend should say.

  “She was a great girl,” I finished lamely.

  Honesty had always been one of my best qualities and my biggest flaw.

  Mr. McCaffrey shook his head at me before guiding his wife inside. Still sobbing, her face pressed to her husband’s shirt, she couldn’t even look at me.

  It took ten minutes until the trembling eased enough for me to drive home.

  Tears stung my eyes, but I couldn’t let them fall. If I did, I was afraid they’d never stop.

  Chapter Nine

  The chief was nothing like Maria had pictured. His hair was cropped close to his head and its tight wave spoke of its tendency to curl. He wore cowboy boots and a Western-style shirt, and his painted-on jeans were held in place by the type of dinner plate-sized belt buckle most often seen at rodeos. The belt itself was completely unnecessary. He’d need a crowbar to get himself out of those pants.

  The bored woman at reception lost her sullen attitude fast when she saw Maria. She’d scurried to the chief’s office like a frightened weasel, and Kinew appeared before the second hand of Maria’s watch had managed a full rotation.

  The chief’s brow furrowed, but the lines crinkling around his eyes suggested this was not his typical expression.

  “What can I do for you, Officer?”

  As soon as he spoke, she knew this was a man who had only received bad news from her colleagues. Both the office she ran and the company she kept were suspect. It didn’t matter that she was also Native American. She was a cop, and therefore not to be trusted.

  Before she could answer, he added, “It’s Kevin again, isn’t it? Little bastard is always getting into trouble.”

  “No, not Kevin.” She was quick to reassure him, glad to be able to give him some good news before the bad. Her eyes flicked to the dispatcher, who clung to Maria’s every word like Saran Wrap. “Is it possible to speak in your office? This is of a sensitive nature.”

  He sized her up for a moment before nodding and turning on his heel. She hurried to follow before he could change his mind.

  She’d expected his office to more or less match the reception area, which hadn’t been updated since the seventies. But instead of the faux-wood paneling so popular in the disco era, the walls were lined with bookshelves, which were crammed to capacity with every conceivable type of volume. At a glance, there were atlases, Farmers’ Almanacs, hunting and fishing manuals, travel guides, mysteries, true crime thrillers, graphic novels, and a few Stephen King and Ray Bradbury dog-eared paperbacks. Piled on a chair in a precarious stack were the novels she’d always meant to read and had never gotten around to: War and Peace, Crime and Punishment, Roots, and The Collected Works of William Shakespeare.

  “Before you ask, yes. I’ve read every one of them.”

  If possible, his posture stiffened even more, and Maria wondered how many people had insulted him with that question.

  “I wasn’t going to ask. I was just admiring your collection.” He grabbed a couple of books off a chair and gestured for her to sit down. “I’m a reader too, but I don’t think I’ve read as many books in my life as you have in this room.”

  She forgot everything else she’d planned to say when she spotted the book on his desk. The cover featured a young, blonde woman wearing a ceremonial headdress with her lips parted and her head thrown back, presumably in ecstasy. Grasping her around the waist was a Native man who sported an overdeveloped physique not common to their people. Captured by the Savage, the title proclaimed in lurid purple.

  Kinew noticed her noticing and tossed the book onto the shelf behind him, but he didn’t look embarrassed. “My daughter’s. I was desperate. It gets pretty quiet out here.”

  That was her cue. “Sorry to tell you, but your days of peace and quiet have come to an end.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “We had some trouble at the Strong Lake campground.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  He sounded interested, but not concerned. He’d shown more of a reaction when he’d thought she was visiting on behalf of Kevin, whoever he was. Maria supposed he’d had to deal with plenty of drunken exploits at the campsite over the years. He’d have no idea what was coming.

  “A triple homicide.”

  Kinew’s face remained impassive. They could have been talking about books.

  She tried again. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it. We’ve had officers up there since yesterday morning. We’ve got the campsite completely barricaded.”

  “I let the conservation officers handle anything to do with the campground.”

  His attention drifted to the nearest stack of books, and she swore she saw longing in his eyes. She was shocked when she realized he was bored. Did he consider a triple homicide ‘quiet’?

  “I was told the campground is on your land.”

  For once she had his full attention. It was an unnerving experience, and it took all her willpower not to squirm as he stared her down, his irises going from brown to almost black.

  “Conservation. Will. Handle. It,” he said, as if speaking to a child.

  “We would have involved you from the beginning, had we known the murders occurred on treaty land. Once we received the report, things moved quickly, as I’m sure you can understand. I’m assuming the tribal police will want to participate in the investigation.”

  He shrugged. “Do what you need to do. If Conservation has a pr
oblem, they’ll let you know.”

  Whatever had caught his interest for that fleeting moment was gone. He stared out the window, and Maria suspected he was waiting for her to leave. “Don’t you need to know what’s happening with the investigation?”

  “Nope.” Kinew focused on the window with such intensity she had the urge to look too. Then she remembered Jessica McCaffrey and her friends. She could feel rage bubble in her throat like heartburn.

  “Well, we could use your help. We’ll need to question your people, and it would be most appreciated if you would ask them to be cooperative.”

  “You’re wasting your time. My people don’t go up there.”

  “Not even your youth?” This surprised her. Strong Lake was a beautiful spot with the kind of isolation that was usually a siren song for teens. At least, it had been beautiful. Before it had been turned into an abattoir.

  “My people don’t go up there,” he repeated.

  “With all due respect, Chief, three people were slaughtered on Strong Lake Band territory. I will need to interview everyone in the community.”

  He shrugged again. “Suit yourself, but you’re wasting your time.”

  “What if I told you three of your own people had been killed?”

  “I’d know you were lying.”

  Fuming, she contemplated an obstruction of justice charge when he finally faced her again.

  “I bet I can guess who ran into a bad end out there. They were young, they were white, and they were from the city.”

  “And because they’re white, they’re expendable?” Her temples throbbed and she forced herself to relax her jaw.

  Kinew laughed. “Oh, like they think of us? No, I’m not that cold.”

  “Forgive me for calling you out in your own office, but you seem damn cold to me. If it were my land—”

  He held up a hand, cutting her off. “But it’s not.”

  “I would feel a duty, an obligation, to assist with this investigation any way I could.”

  “Forgive me for calling you out, but I’m not about to risk my life or the lives of my people for the sake of three dumb kids who were fooling with something they should have left alone.”