“I don’t think you do. I think you were probably spying on us, and just like me you spotted those guys up on the hill.”
“Suit yourself. That Indian went out full throttle and fuck-it, didn’t he? Know why? Indians ain’t afraid of dying. That’s ’cause they think this world is already part of the next. But white people ain’t got that kind of comfort. How’d you like them motherfuckers who did Lester Antelope to go to work on Miss Temple or that boy of yours?”
He upended his thermos and drank it empty, his Adam’s apple working smoothly, an orange rivulet running from his mouth, his lidless eyes waiting for my response.
LATER, I CALLED our new sheriff, a stolid and unimaginative man who was more bureaucrat than law officer. I asked him what he had on the murder of Lester Antelope.
“It’s under investigation,” he said.
“I know that. I was at the crime scene. One of his pigtails was in my mailbox,” I said.
“I’m aware of all those details, Mr. Holland. You don’t need to raise your voice,” he said.
“Look, some men were watching me through binoculars yesterday. I think these guys are sending me and my wife a message.”
“I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about. If you want, you can come in and make a report. We’ll look into it. Sending you a message? About what?”
I walked across the street to Fay Harback’s office. I told her of my conversation with the sheriff. I also told her of Wyatt Dixon’s early morning visit to my house.
“What’s Dixon up to?” she said.
“I don’t have any idea.”
“We think we may have found the car that was used to abduct Lester Antelope. Or at least it fits the description given by the homeless man who saw the doll thrown from the window. It was burned in a canyon up Fish Creek. The tags were gone, but the vehicle ID matches up with a car that was stolen in Superior a couple of weeks ago. The sheriff didn’t tell you any of this?”
“He didn’t get around to it.”
“So you think the guys who murdered Antelope might come after you or Johnny American Horse now? Because you or Johnny might have access to the material that was stolen out of the Global Research lab?”
“They think I may have access.”
“No truth to that?”
“No.”
“Johnny doesn’t know anything about it, either?”
“He wasn’t involved.” I tried to hold my eyes on hers.
“I feel sorry for you,” she said.
“Why?” My face started to tingle, as though someone had popped me contemptuously on the cheek.
“You’re going to take his bounce,” she replied.
AT LUNCHTIME Lucas came into the office, his jeans hitched up above his hips, the legs tucked into his boots. “You eat yet?” he said.
“Can’t do it. Got to work.”
He looked disappointed for a moment, then he smiled. “I got invited to play at the bluegrass festival in Hamilton,” he said.
“That’s good, bud.”
“Y’all coming?”
“Couldn’t run us off with a shotgun.”
He stared idly out the window at the trees on the courthouse lawn. “Weird thing happened this morning. Somebody stuck a crunched-up license plate in my mail slot,” he said.