The Boy Must Die (11 page)

Out of the suitcase’s gloom shone the golden eyes, the thin pearl
mouths. Each mask was no larger than a man’s hand. They were flat, like plates, the features embossed and emblematic as if they had been made not to be worn but to be displayed in some kind of ritual. Randy picked one up. It was as light as a piece of paper. And as beautiful as he remembered from last October.

“You satisfied? I’ll bring ’em up to Chief Mountain. To your dig. Just like we agreed. Meet you at the site after lunch. Then we’ll take ’em over the border that same evening in your van. With you and your crew of students. It’s such a perfect cover, right? Who’d suspect a famous professor? So clean and innocent. No one’ll bother to check. I’ll come behind, in the truck. You still agree?”

“I went through that crossing this morning. Your fed boys searched the van top to bottom. Made me unwrap all the tools.”

“Good for them. Doing their job for once. So what?”

Randy sighed and gathered his patience.

“We should wait a couple of days so they can get to know us.”

“Fuck, no. That won’t make no difference. Chief Mountain’s a soft crossing. Always has been. You keep puttin’ this off. You keep wantin’. . . .”

“I want it to go right, that’s all. We agreed we’d be careful. You’re the one, Sam, who said we should lie low. We could’ve taken them over last fall.”

“With every state trooper chasing our ass? You and your fuckin’ dealer held us up. You went and talked to him, and he said we gotta wait till he gets the cash. What kind of dealer is that?”

“Sam, you don’t know anything about that end, so shut up. Robert Lau is reliable, trust me.”

“Trust is a big word, Randy.” Sam stood up. He lit a cigarette.

Randy didn’t like it when Sam stood to smoke. The last two times they got together, Sam always wanted to change things. At first, he wanted a bigger share of the money. Then he wanted to sell the masks to a local rancher for a third of the price Robert Lau was offering. Randy knew he had to change his own plan. Why trust Sam? Possession is nine-tenths of the law after all. Sam stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette
and sat down again. Randy could tell Sam was ready to make an announcement. “I’m coming over with you. I decided I wanna come out to the coast with you, too. To make sure I get my share.”

“What?”

“Forty, sixty. Sixty percent for me for stealin’ ’em. Forty percent for you for settin’ up the dealer.”

“Yes, and I go to the dealer alone, as we agreed. Alone!”

“Old Sam not so slow, Randy. Me and you both want the cash. I gotta make sure I get my cut.”

“No way, Sam.” Randy walked into the grove of trees and stood alone, silent, with his hands on his hips. “Listen,” he said, turning back. “I trusted you for six months to hold on to those masks. Now you have to let me sell them and carry back the cash. If you come, Lau will get spooked. He’s a fussy man, doesn’t like people breathing down his neck.”

“Fuck what he likes. I’m comin’. I can sleep in my truck at your place in Waterton. I can pretend to guide you and your crew while you do the dig. I know the site. My people love the site, and I wanna protect it. We’ll hide the masks in your cabin. On Saturday we fly out to the coast, get our cash, kiss Lau goodbye, and come home rich people.”

“Either I go alone, or the whole deal’s off.”

Sam broke into a belly laugh. “Don’t fuck with me, Randy. You’re pantin’ to get your hands on these little gold buggers. Look, we go, you meet him in the lobby of the hotel or somethin’, say you need to feel out in the open. I watch you two, make sure no shit goes down, what’s the big fuckin’ deal?”

Randy was about to insist again when Sam slapped his thigh, stood, and closed the suitcase.

“I’ll take these now. I stole ’em, I’m the one gets caught, I go to the state pen. You get to write your article on the dig. I gotta appreciate that. I gotta figure, too, that maybe you run off with my money.”

Randy knew he was cornered. “Fine. Okay. So explain to me how we’re going to get these over the border, when you’ve got them glued to your hip day and night?”

“Simple. I bring ’em to the site, here in Montana, just like we said.”

“Okay. But for Christ’s sake don’t do what you did last time. Say you’re coming, then you don’t show up for a day or two. I am still responsible for three students, so this dig goes right to rule. I don’t want any excuses about how you got drunk or how you’re on Indian time.”

“That’s Native time, old friend. We’re Natives now, Randy. And don’t you fuckin’ forget it.”

Randy could see his partner’s face flushing red with anger.

“Let’s go over what we have to do one more time. Please.”

“I come, like I said. To the site. You dig. Remember, we will be on sacred earth, so no shitting, no smoking. Understand? I drink some beer. I work on your van, but really what I do is hide the masks. I bring along some black garbage bags. I wrap up the masks in the plastic, see? I stuff ’em around the rim of your spare tire. Your students think, hey, what a nice guy. Good worker. He likes Randy. We drive to the border crossing. We shoot the shit with the guards. A guard takes a quick peek, what does he see? A spare tire, some plastic. Nothin’ else. We cross the border into Canada, out of Montana, we get to your cabin, we got ourselves a fortune.”

“I’m not happy, Sam.”

“You will be.”

Billy woke at 6:30 and took a walk. He heard the phone ringing as he crossed the yard through the wild spear grass, and he had to sprint to the porch, slapping open the screen door in front of him.

“It’s me, buddy.”

“Butch?”

“Yeah. I need to see you. How ’bout I take my Sunday drive out to your spread, and we can shoot the breeze?”

“Sounds fine. I get the feeling something’s happened.”

“Yeah. Something in the shape of an asshole with a need to smash up property.”

“How long will you be? I can whip up some waffles.”

“As fast as my cruiser can go at the speed limit.”

Billy was setting coffee mugs on the porch table when Butch’s cruiser turned into the yard. A meadowlark sang overhead as the dust settled. After breakfast, Butch told Billy the whole story as the sun played shadow tag on the butte beyond.

“We’re not sure who it was. Snuck in through a back window. Smashed up Sheree’s bedroom and stole some of her things. I think it was Mr. Ponytail, Woody. He’s got a big chip on his shoulder, and he doesn’t have a lot of polite things to say about Sheree Lynn.”

“Sergeant Royce can’t
ID
him?”

“The guy had pantyhose pulled down to his Adam’s apple. Royce ended up with a black eye.”

“How?”

“A plate got thrown at him during the chase.”

“Any witnesses? Anyone see a man with pantyhose on his head running down the street?”

“Not so far.”

Butch pulled a cell phone with a leather case out of his right pocket. “Here’s a present for you, courtesy of city hall.”

“Morning, Dodd,” Billy said, trying out the new unit. He and Butch were now in the cruiser heading down the concession road towards Lethbridge. “I need you to get over to Randy Mucklowe’s and pick up the professor and Miss Bird. Tell them about the break-in. Warn her there’s a mess. I need to find out what’s missing and maybe some lead as to who did it. Then I want you back on the files. Dig up anything on Keeler. Yes, Woody. Did he make a statement yesterday, by the way? Look up theft, any data on vagrancy, check arrest records going back ten years.”

Out at the junction of Highway 3, Butch made the eastern turn into the fast lane and cruised the rim overlooking the Belly River valley. After twenty-five minutes, the two men reached the Lethbridge city limits. The cruiser crossed Oldman River, and Billy spotted two herons flying above the tops of the cottonwoods in Indian Battle Park. On Ashmead, Butch pulled up to Satan House. Dodd was on the front steps waiting with Sheree Lynn Bird.

“Morning, Miss Bird,” Billy said. He reached out and shook her hand.

“Randy’s in Montana this morning, Inspector. Working on his dig site plans.” Sheree Lynn looked drawn.

“I’m sorry we had to bring you back here on Sunday,” said Butch, climbing the front steps and opening the door. In the front hall was the chair where Sergeant Royce had spent part of the night on duty.

“Oh, God.” Sheree Lynn raised her hands to her mouth when she saw the tumbled mess in her bedroom.

Billy fumbled for a second. “I am sorry. We had a night watch, and our sergeant had sealed the place, but. . . .”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Take your time, Sheree,” said Billy. “Go in slowly, look around, tell us what’s gone.”

Constable Gloria Johnson was at Sheree Lynn’s dressing table dusting for prints. “Morning,” she said.

The bed had been pulled apart. A candle lay broken on the floor by the window. All the brushes and perfumes on the dressing table had been thrown to the floor. There was broken red glass by the doorway.

“I can’t really tell, Chief,” Sheree Lynn whispered. She turned and came back to the doorway. “Maybe a book or a brush.”

“Did any of the patients you counselled at social services ever do anything like this, Sheree?” asked Billy.

“No.”

“You have any idea who might have done this?”

“Oh, I could guess. Some of the parents — like Cody’s mom — have claimed I was trying to steal their kids from them. Who knows?”

“I’ve found no evidence of prints so far, sir,” said Johnson.

“So all we have is guesswork here,” Billy added.

Sheree shrugged. “No matter,” she said. “At least the person didn’t harm anyone.” She started to cry and covered her face.

Billy handed her a tissue from his pocket.

“Thanks.”

Downstairs, Billy inspected the back window, where the intruder had
entered Satan House. He went out on the porch steps and gazed around, letting his eye fall on the area surrounding the window and the entrance to the house. He walked to the bottom of the steps and knelt.

A moment later, Sheree Lynn came and stood on the top step. “What is it?”

Billy raised his hand. “Call Butch to come here, will you, Sheree?”

Butch came with a Ziploc already open. “What’d you find?”

Reaching down, Billy folded the baggie over the thumb and pointer finger of his right hand and picked up a broken red elastic band. He folded the Ziploc so that the band fell down inside, then sealed the edge.

“Won’t hurt to call on Woody this morning,” grimaced Butch.

“You think this investigation will take a while?” Sheree sounded anxious.

“I’ll tell you this,” answered Billy, his voice betraying frustration. “The longer we take, the harder it is to piece together the puzzle. We’re only one day into the investigation, and all we’ve got is a phone call and a caller who may know the person or persons responsible for hurting Darren. So far, we’re still lacking firm leads. And witnesses.”

As Billy knew only too well, the crime scene is the key to an investigation. Evidence leads to conviction; fitting clues together presents a logic of motive, opportunity, and means. It wasn’t customary for him to give out details of the investigation to those who, for one reason or another, could be tagged as potential suspects. But then he’d often found that sharing selected information could prompt something of use, a hint, an attitude in the respondent, a revelation to be stored away for future consideration.

Billy noticed that Sheree Lynn blinked as if she’d felt a sudden pain.

“Inspector, I want out of this whole mess. I hope you can clear this up soon, and we can let Cody and Darren rest in peace.”

“If we need you, we’ll contact you at Randy’s. Butch and I can give you a lift back now.”

En route, Billy talked to Sheree Lynn, who sat beside him in the cruiser’s back seat.

“There’s got to be a motive for this killing,” said Billy. “Somebody had a big need to hurt that boy. Is there anybody you know of who’d want to do that?”

“You asked me that already, Inspector,” replied Sheree Lynn.

“What about Woody? What do you know about him?”

“He drank. He beat up Darren once. With a rope. He admitted it the time Children’s Aid sent me over to the house to meet with Sharon. He was an angry man. Used to hitting people. The agency ran a check on him, but only in terms of complaints concerning family matters. We didn’t find anything. Sharon told me Woody had been poor, brought up on a dryland farm near the Peigan reserve. I never saw him outside of the social services meetings I’d arranged with him.”

“Can you think of any boys Darren’s age, anyone who was jealous of him, or may have picked on him?”

“Jealous? There was Blayne Morton, I suppose.”

“Was he part of a group with Cody Schow?”

“No. Just the opposite. Blayne was the outsider. I remember Darren told me about him a couple of times. I only saw Blayne once, standing out on the street in front of the house on Ashmead. He was a big kid. Darren was scared of him. He and Cody didn’t like the boy much, and I think Cody once had a fight with him at school. Blayne often pestered Darren, always wanting to take his picture.”

“You never spoke to Blayne?”

“No, Inspector.”

“He never came into the house?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Do you think he knew much about you? I mean, did he know where you went, what your phone number was? I’m fishing here. Could Blayne be the one who called you yesterday?”

“He may have gotten my — our numbers — from Darren. Who knows?”

They drove on in silence. Billy waited to see if Sheree might add more. In his experience, silence was a great motivator. Talkers abhor a vacuum.
But Sheree sat with her eyes down, fatigue turning her features pale.

The cruiser crossed the river and ended up in a housing development near the university grounds. Billy made a mental note of the apartment building where Randy lived. It was not impressive. He expected a professor to have a more fashionable address. “Randy rents here, Sheree?”

“Alimony, Inspector. Humbles a man’s setting.”

Butch dropped Sheree Lynn at Mucklowe’s, then drove back across the river.

“Royce find any trace of Darren’s clothes?”

“Nada. He was in pain after the plate-tossing incident and called in to dispatch for backup. I’ll send him out later.”