Durango (14 page)

Okay, she chattered.

Besides, he said as he dug a towel out of the pannier, you don't want one of those water finortens to get you.

She shouted, What? A what? What's a “finorten”?

He came back with the towel, turned around, and held the towel behind him. Oh, nothing very much. But they can grow kinda big up here and their teeth do get kinda sharp.

He heard her scrambling out of the water, splashing and gasping as she grabbed the towel held behind his back.

My God, she said. I had no idea. A what? A “finorten”? I never heard of such a thing. What do they do?

Toes, he said, mostly. There are lots of folks down in town and quite a few of these big city camper types that have lost toes. They're just too ashamed to talk about it. But your finortens do go for the toes, mostly.

He started to turn and she said, Wait a minute. I'm not dry yet.

Sheridan looked down at her feet and said, Lucky you. You kept all those toes.

Caroline said, Could you just wait until I get dried off?

Sheridan said, I don't mean to shock you or anything. But I saw a naked lady once before.

26.

For almost two months, since he began the research for his Daniel Sheridan profile, Patrick Carroll had conducted a makeshift search for Russell Chandler. He had carried out the obligatory Google exploration, which revealed dozens of Russell Chandlers, including a surprising number in financial professions of one kind or another, spread from coast to coast. None that he could find had ever been involved in banking in La Plata County, Colorado.

He felt like the small dog chasing a large truck, the young reporter occasionally reflected. He would not know what to do if he caught it. He believed he could eventually figure out what to do, though. He would ask this Chandler what his role had been in the political demise of Daniel Sheridan. It was that simple.

When he asked Professor Smithson's advice, the professor laughed. Okay, let's spin this out. You find this big-time financier at some gigantic investment bank in New York and you do what?

I call up and ask for an appointment, Patrick said.

“Mr. Carroll, is that your name?” his executive assistant will ask. You say yes. The assistant says, “What may I tell Mr. Chandler is the purpose of your call?”

Patrick said, I wish to speak with him, in person if possible, about his banking experience in Durango, Colorado, some years ago.

The professor spluttered. “His banking experience…where did you say?”

In Colorado, in Durango, he owned a bank there about fifteen or more years ago.

The assistant says, “Mr. Chandler is quite busy these days. Perhaps you could just let me know what exactly you are looking for and I can tell him. Even better, may I suggest you simply send Mr. Chandler a letter with whatever questions you may have. I'm sure he'll try to find time to respond, though…let's see…he does have a rather extensive calendar of foreign travel coming up, so it might be some time.” The professor said, Then you say what?

Patrick said, But it is very important that I speak to Mr. Chandler. It has to do with some serious matters that occurred in Durango when he was living here. Just before he left.

“Mr.…Carroll was it?” the assistant will say, “What exactly is your interest in this rather mysterious matter? I'm afraid I cannot help you unless you are more clear about your purpose.”

Patrick said, I will be direct. I will say that I am a reporter with the
Durango Herald
and I am looking into a story having to do with Mr. Chandler's former wife and a local man—

Bang, the professor said.

Bang? Patrick looked confused.

That's the sound of the phone hitting its cradle, the professor said.

But Patrick Carroll was not easily deterred. Some days later, it suddenly occurred to him that he could seek a favor from a former roommate at Fort Lewis College who had gone to work for a national investigative firm. He googled the firm and discovered that one of its specialties was tracing lost or missing persons, having mostly to do with civil litigation. He correctly suspected that this had to do with runaway fathers and husbands. But it didn't matter. Tracing people was tracing people.

He tracked his roommate down to the Kansas City office of the firm and called him. That's five thousand, his friend Mitch said.

Five thousand what? Patrick asked.

Dollars. Just to locate this guy. Quite a bit more if you want a D&B—

A what?

Dun and Bradstreet, his friend said. Full financial work-up. That's another five. Then, if you want us to carry out a little loose surveillance—you know, see who he's with, where he eats, stuff like that—that's a good deal more. But this month's blue ribbon special, including, you know, phone calls, a few office tapes, that kind of stuff, that'll cost you real money. But let me tell you, you can pick up some really good stuff.

No, no, God no, Patrick said. It's not that kind of thing. I'm just working on a story about some bad politics here years ago, and he ought to know something about it.

So, you just want the basic track-down for five? his friend asked.

No, Mitch, Patrick said. I don't have five.

Well, your paper ought to spring for five, Mitch said. The big papers pay a lot more than that to track down some suspect.

He's not exactly a suspect, Mitch, and the
Durango Herald
is not a big paper. I'm doing this on my own and I'm asking a favor. Just work a little magic for an old friend. There's a man here who was chased out of city and state politics and I'm trying to find out who did it and why.

You're still the crusader, Mitch said. Which is it, Woodward or Bernstein?

I've about had it with crusades, Patrick said. Those were college days. I'm just trying to find out if there's any justice left in the world.

Like I said, man, you're still the crusader, Mitch said. I'll see what I can do.

27.

What's all this about? Daniel Sheridan asked. Patrick Carroll had just called him to invite him to lunch.

Patrick said, Mr. Sheridan, I've talked with a local gentleman who wants to meet with you. It's not about the old days. It's about the Animas–La Plata. So I thought maybe we'd just have lunch.

Well, I'm not much for surprises, Sheridan said. Why doesn't this “local gentleman” just call me up and we can talk on the phone?

Mr. Sheridan, Patrick said, he has an idea about how we might get this thing solved once and for all. And he'd like your thoughts on this idea.

Sheridan pondered the invitation, then said, It might also be a good idea if you brought your professor friend along. He's always interested in big ideas. Maybe this mystery man has in mind to make some history.

That's great, Mr. Sheridan, Patrick said. How about the Ore House for lunch next Thursday? I'll get a table in the back at noon.

On Thursday, Sheridan parked his pickup on East College near the restaurant and left Toby in his customary passenger seat spot with a new bone to chew. He walked toward the back of the place and was surprised to see not only Patrick Carroll and Professor Smithson but also Walter Hurley.

Sheridan nodded to Patrick and Duane Smithson and said, Mayor.

The old man stood up and put his hand out. Daniel, it's good to see you after all these years.

Sheridan said, I guess I should have asked who your “local gentleman” was, Patrick. After a slight hesitation he shook Hurley's hand.

Duane Smithson said, I told Patrick he shouldn't surprise you. You've been known to walk out of places where there were surprises. On the other hand, we were afraid you might not show up if we told you the full cast of characters.

I haven't lost every one of the social skills, Duane, Sheridan said. I may have gone rustic, but I'm not barbaric. He studied the old man and said, You're keeping pretty well, Mayor.

You mean for an old guy, don't you, Daniel? Hurley said.

Not at all, Sheridan said. It's just that I haven't seen you for a while, and none of us are getting any younger.

The four men made their way through their sandwiches as they discussed the erratic Colorado Rockies' baseball season, the local weather and summer tourist business, and the unpredictable cattle prices.

Once the plates were taken, there was a moment of uneasy silence. Patrick, Sheridan said, if this is going to be one of your attempted trips down memory lane, then I will thank you for the hamburger and be on my way.

That's not it at all, Patrick said. Getting you together with the mayor was actually Professor Smithson's idea. And, as I told you, it has to do with the mess we're all in with the Animas–La Plata. I actually approached the professor about talking to you a few days ago and he said he wasn't the best one to do it. Everybody knows he's a leader of the opposition.

Patrick's right, Smithson said. You know I'm opposed to this thing and hope it goes away. Unlike the mayor here, who's out in front of the project boosters, I think it's a nightmare. But whether it's built or not, we can't let this town go up in political flames over it. Keeping this town together is a whole lot more important than that dam. Patrick was one of the student leaders at Fort Lewis against the project. So I told him he needed someone on the other side, someone with respect in the community to join him in bringing you in as some kind of mediator.

Sheridan said, Now wait a minute, Duane. There are more reasons than you and I can count for me to stay as far away from this dispute as I can. Nothing I'm aware of in recent times changes that at all.

The mayor spoke up. Daniel, I came here today as much as anything to tell you one thing. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what happened to you those years ago. And I'm mostly sorry for my role in it. I was wrong. That was not the first time. But I was foolishly wrong, and it caused you great damage. Now, if I could somehow take it all back, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But I can't. None of us can. So when this young man—he gestured at Patrick—came to me recently with this idea of joining up to try to solve the Animas–La Plata, I saw it as a chance to ease my conscience, I guess you'd say. Apologizing to someone you've harmed is the hardest thing any of us has to do. But now I'm doing it.

Well, Mayor, Sheridan said cautiously, that's mighty kind of you. And though no apologies are called for, I certainly welcome your generous remarks. I'd be less than honest if I didn't say that your statements back then were more or less the straw that broke the camel's back where I was concerned. When you said I should throw in the towel, I knew the whole thing was over. So, I did what I had to do. Life up Florida Road hasn't been all bad since then. But from time to time it has gotten lonely.

Apologies are not all of it, Daniel, the old man said. I don't know whether you've figured it out already or not, but young Carroll here is the late Congressman Carroll's son.

Come to think of it, Sheridan said, slightly surprised, I didn't know it. He never told me. But now I think about it, I do see the resemblance. He turned to Patrick. Your father was a great man, a strong man. He helped this area become what it is. He was a true public servant.

He was indeed, the mayor said. He and I were closest of friends. So when young Patrick came along with his idea of teaming up, I had little choice but to lend a hand. We could use his father's wisdom right now to keep this community from blowing up.

That's hard to quarrel with, Mayor, Sheridan said. But I don't know how all of those old connections bring you around to my doorstep.

It's the Utes, Daniel, the mayor said. This project started out decades ago as a traditional agricultural water project. Water for the farmers and ranchers hereabouts. Congressman Carroll kept it alive year after year with appropriations to study and re-study. But there was never enough commitment in Washington to get the thing built. And as time went on, there was less support for traditional irrigation and more for municipal use and for oil and gas development and for storing water to be sent down to Albuquerque and Phoenix and so on.

The professor said, Mayor, you're certainly right, but with all due respect, we know the history. We even remember when Jimmy Carter tried to cancel the thing completely. If we hadn't fought back, we'd have lost the project completely. Man from Georgia didn't know the first thing about western water.

Absolutely, Professor, the Mayor said. But you're right. I don't need to ramble on with this. The point I'm trying to make, Daniel, is that the only way this project is finally going to be built is with the support of your friends down there, the Southern Utes, and their brothers the Ute Mountain Utes.

From all I can tell, Sheridan said, you're right. It won't pay its way in crop production or even in tourism and new housing around here. The financing now only makes sense if the tribes can use it to develop their energy and mineral resources.

That's where we're stuck, Daniel, the mayor said. And that's why young Carroll and the professor and I are here to see you. We think you can help. Hell, it's more than that. We think you're probably the key to the whole thing.

Sheridan said, Whoa. It's too early in the day for anyone here to have been drinking. But if I didn't know better, I might suspect it.

The minute he said this, Sheridan wished he hadn't. The mayor was known to have a midday toddy to ease him into the evening.

Anyway, he continued, I don't have any magical influence with the Utes.

Well, Daniel, hold on there, the mayor said. We think you might. I've made a point to keep in touch with Mr. Maynard, and Sam says the Utes are not being offered a fair share of the project water under the proposed allocation agreements. So they won't sign on under the current formulas. And until they do, the Animas–La Plata's not going anywhere. And the longer it's stuck, the angrier people around here are getting with one another.