Call Me Joe (16 page)

He stood and straightened his lapels and the tie.

"And you have yours Roderick," Pembroke said quietly. "Call D'Onofrio and retain this detective. Pay whatever it takes. I want this stopped."

"Will do," Hooks replied, picking up the phone as Pembroke left, as always leaving the door standing wide open.

Twenty

The offices of the Colville tribe are located almost five miles from the town of Colville, in a little hamlet called, appropriately, Colville Indian Reservation. The tribal offices were housed in a dun-colored two-story office building with about as much character as a strip mall.

A small bell was attached to the inside of the glass door, and it rattled in a barely bell-like way as Jack and I pushed it open.

Most present-day tribes' daily activities and infrastructure are run by a business-manager type selected by the council, in loose consultation with the tribal chief. Depending on the tribe, the chief's duties may range from purely ceremonial to a co-manager, to de facto supervisor of the whole government. Sometimes the tribal chief is the council's chair but sometimes not.

In Colville, there was a chief, Raymond Stonehorse, who rarely visited the office, and a "town manager" type, Dale Little Moon, who ushered us into his office with rather overstated courtesy.

We were brought coffee and cookies and fudge and offered soda pop and mineral water before Moon would even think of talking business.

Moon was a ruddy, round little man in his 40's whose long braid and turquoise necklace seemed curiously at odds with his nice, gray Nordstrom's wool suit and powder blue college tie. His smile seemed genuine and unforced and his rounded baritone bespoke a lot of nights addressing the V.F.W., the Moose, and tribal functions.

"Mr. Bartinelli," he smiled, "so good to meet you at last. You may have noticed by my tie, that I'm a Carolina alumnus, and I have vivid and pretty painful memories of that game in '79, when you lit us up for 46 points in our own stadium."

"I had a good day," Jack smiled. "Very kind of you to remember."

"I've tried to forget, I'll confess," Moon smiled. "And now, of course, our project helps take a lot of the sting away. On behalf of the tribe, I want to thank you and your partners for giving us the opportunity to participate in something that brings the spectre of much prosperity to a region that is in desperate need of good news."

It sounded so obviously rehearsed, I almost laughed out loud.

Jack just smiled and nodded and looked touched.

"Without your kindness, Mr. Moon, the project would have been impossible," Jack oozed. "Whenever I can link a sound business plan to an area that needs and appreciates a shot in the arm, that makes it that much better."

I tuned out the smarm for a minute or so, fitting the pieces of what I'd observed since arriving with the situation.

This guy was one of the big shots of his tribe but he was in a good, serviceable suit that had obvious mileage on it and worked out of an office whose compact stereo system looked to be its priciest furnishing. The lot had been filled with pick-ups of five to eight years' vintage and cars that ran 3 to 5. A Toyota Camry was the newest thing in it and I made that for the brunette cutie in the reception area.

Graft, corruption, and embezzlement rarely spring forth fully formed. The raid on the pension fund, most times, is built on the bones of stolen coffee money, padded receipts for office supplies, and small-scale kick-backs. The person who graduates to the big scores is rarely smart or discreet enough to keep from a few visible indulgences—cars, TV's, RV's, sharp clothes—of the type which act upon a good accountant or detective like a red cape works on a bull.

I saw none of that here. The poverty and desperation were palpable, despite Moon's fusillade of warm fuzzies. I tuned back in just as Jack got to the point.

"Truthfully, Dale, I'm a little concerned with this thing about Lucille Greenway and Marcus Ramey's votes. I had assumed the council was in accord about the development, but Mr. North and I talked with both of them and they seem pretty certain they didn't sign the bill."

"I know, I know," Moon sighed, shaking his head. "About half the council is convinced Lucille and Marcus signed it and forgot and half think somebody forged their signatures."

"What do you think?" I asked, breaking my silence.

"Depends on when you ask," he smiled uncomfortably. "Much as I hate to think of somebody stooping to forgery, realistically…this project means so much to all of us. It's not like we were besieged with offers to develop this land. I mean, take a drive through—a lot of it is straight up and down. Can't farm it, 40% of it was timbered out in the 50's, and what's there now is too small to bother with, even if we could legally sell it. No roads to speak of. At least not paved roads. Your concept fit this land like a glove. It was right on time, too. We had to close our clinic because the building was falling apart. The fire department equipment no longer meets state standards. We're in desperate need of water facilities. Your retainer and earnest money paid for that new construction you saw on the way in. We're drawing up plans for a small hospital—an actual hospital! In a few years, we'll break ground on that. All thanks to you."

"Dale, I was looking at your mailer on that," Jack replied. "I want to go ahead and fund the hospital."

There was a stunned silence. Moon's face went white and his mouth moved jerkily for a few moments.

"Mr. Bartinelli, I…" Moon gulped, "when you say 'fund the hospital'…"

"Three point four million was the figure in the mailer," Jack said quietly. "I'll put up four even if you start construction within four months."

"Mr. Bartinelli, I…"

"Jack, please."

"Jack," Dale wheezed. "Whew! I mean…the plans are finalized. We could break ground anytime…"

"Do you have a contractor?" Jack asked.

"We've talked to a couple," Moon said steadily, finally getting his wits about him, "but none of them has ever built a hospital."

"If you'll allow me," Jack replied, "I endowed a small hospital back in Maryland and used a company called Sellner Systems. They only build medical facilities. I'd like to have Bill Sellner come out and talk with you and the council.

"Of course," Moon grinned. "Mr. Ba…Jack, are you sure about this?"

"It's a good investment for me, Dale," Jack chuckled. "I'm not some wild-eyed philanthropist. It saves me the expense of building one on-site and gives me a huge tax write-off."

Jack made a face and scratched his head thoughtfully. I had to stifle another giggle fit.

"The thing is," Jack winced, "I can't really go ahead with the project or the hospital unless I can resolve Lucille's and Marcus' claims. I can't afford to get six months down the road and suddenly find out we don't have a valid contract. Know what I mean?"

Moon went a little green at the gills.

"Of course," Moon stammered. "Of course…uh…"

"Mr. Moon, if I could," I interrupted, "that's sorta my area. If you could just tell me who's involved in gathering the signatures on the ballots, we could probably clear all this up pretty quickly."

"Sure," Moon blurted, rising and coming around the desk. "Candace, Jeff, and Billy handle that. Anything that's not handled in the council meetings is driven out to the homes. Candace!"

The cutie-pie from the outer office walked in. She was tall, maybe 5'9", and carried herself like a Nubian queen. She had dark brown almond eyes, full lips, and skin like polished marble.

"Candace, can you call in Jeff and Billy? This gentleman needs to ask them some questions."

Candace looked at me, color rising in her cheeks.

"Is this about Lucille and Marcus and those damned ballots?" she snapped.

"Mr. Moon, could we borrow your office for about five minutes?" I said evenly.

"Sure, sure," Moon sputtered. "I'll just be…uh…"

He went out and closed the door noisily.

"Have a seat, Candace," I said quietly.

She sat primly and crossed her ankles, hands folded in her lap.

"'Those damned ballots'?" I asked, sitting on the corner of Moon's desk, invading her space a bit.

"I carried both of them," she said defiantly. "I went to Lucille's first, dropped hers off, drove to Marcus', dropped his off, and came back here. The next morning, I went back to Lucille's, picked up the signed ballot, then went to Marcus and got his signed ballot. No matter how many times people ask me this the answer's not gonna change, 'cause that's what happened."

"So we have two possible explanations," I replied. "Either Lucille signed the ballot and forgot…or you forged two signatures."

"I did not forge any signatures!" Candace shouted. She glanced nervously at the door and lowered her voice. "Why the hell would I do that? And how, for God's sake?"

"That your Camry in the parking lot, Candace?" I asked pointedly. "The little red job?"

"Yes," she huffed.

"Best ride in the lot," I observed. "You come into a little money lately?"

She turned bright red and stood up.

"Sit your ass in that chair and don't get up until I tell you," I barked. "If you didn't do anything wrong, why are you acting exactly like someone who did?"

"That's your problem," she hissed. "I know what happened that day. The best you'll ever be able to do is theorize. I was there. I dropped off an unsigned ballot at each house and picked up two signed ballots. That's what I know."

"Was anybody at either house besides Lucille and Marcus?" I asked.

"Lucille's great-granddaughter Tabitha was there," Candace replied. "She's five. Want to grill her, too?"

"Candace," Jack interjected. "I just now offered to pay for the tribe's new hospital. Pay for it, lock, stock, and barrel. You know what that would mean to your community?"

"Yes," she answered. "Are you kidding?"

"Not at all," Jack smiled. "My name is Jack Bartinelli. I'm…"

"I know who you are," she said quickly. "I…I looked you up on Google."

"Then you know I'm building the new development and you know I can pay for the hospital. But I won't pay a dime until this is straightened out. So, anything you can do to help us…"

She sat straighter and closed her eyes.

"I'd do anything to help," she whispered, "but I just don't know anything."

"Did you see any cars at either house that day?" I asked. "Any you didn't recognize?"

"No," she moaned. "Jeez, I've racked my brain for an answer to this! Lucille's car was under her carport and Marcus' was by his side door. That's…"

She froze for a long moment and bit her lower lip.

"I didn't remember this at first because…well, I didn't think it was important but…"

"What?" I urged.

"There was this car I noticed behind me…the reason I remembered it at all is because it was white and had a gold grill."

"Where was it?" Jack prodded.

"What kind of car was it?" I asked.

"I don’t know cars," she shrugged. "My dad bought the Camry. I didn't know what that was 'til I got it."

"Big car? Compact?" I asked.

"Big," she nodded. "Big like a Cadillac or something. Like a luxury car."