No one left, p.17
No One Left, page 17
“How will you get them back?” Barbara asked.
James shrugged. “Slip them into their mailbox, maybe. Like I said, Donald Andrews ain’t checkin’ it.”
Barbara almost mentioned that the wrong person might take the blame. But why did she care what happened to those employees? What kind of people worked for kidnappers, anyway? They all knew what was going on there. They had to.
“I want to look through the intake list,” Barbara said to Molly now as they drove away from James’s trailer. The roads were empty. It was dark. They could only see the things Barbara’s headlights reached.
“I want to find the Navajo kids,” Barbara went on. “Learn their stories. See if any of this was done the way it ought to have been.”
“And you’ll recognize all the names?” Molly asked. “You’ll know the families?”
“I know a lot of people on the reservation. But if there’s anyone who knows more, it’s my father.”
“So, you’ll show it to him?”
“Yes. I was going to do it tomorrow, but . . .” Barbara glanced at Molly. “Would you like to go with me now? He’s a night owl. He’ll be awake.”
“Yes! I’d love to come.”
But then Barbara checked her watch. “It’s ten o’clock. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
“I won’t tell my dad,” Molly said.
Barbara’s mouth curled into a small smile. James wouldn’t care. Not really.
“I’ve been wanting to meet your dad,” Molly added.
“You’ll like him,” Barbara said. “Everyone does.”
49
WAYNE
There was an empty bar stool next to Tony Morris, and Wayne was not surprised. He assumed it was for him and sat in it.
“Cool off for a minute, Chief, before you start talking,” Tony said. “I ordered you a beer.”
“Lieutenant,” Wayne said, reaching for the Budweiser.
“Whatever.”
“You dragged me more than an hour away out here.”
Tony shrugged. “I knew you wanted to talk.”
“So talk,” Wayne said. “What was that all about?”
“I thought he might be able to help you find George. You were both looking for him.”
“And you couldn’t have just come to me and told me that?”
“What’s the fun in that?” Tony grinned. “Besides, I didn’t want to spook the guy. Maybe he would’ve been even quicker than me to figure out a cop was following him.”
Wayne sighed loudly. Took another sip of beer.
“I won’t say it was a waste of time talking to the guy,” Wayne said. “It wasn’t. But I will say I know for a fact that you’ve got a better idea of where George is than he does. You saw George when he dropped his truck off. I’m guessing you also found him another vehicle.”
Tony shook his head. “I don’t know where he is now.”
Now. But he had known. Wayne felt violent for a moment. Like he wanted to slam this punk into the wall. He didn’t like how clever Tony thought he was, and he didn’t like how far behind he felt. Wayne had looked up Tony’s rap sheet. A larceny charge. Tony had been stealing money—most likely collecting a drug debt, police had concluded—and had been arrested with a weapon on him. No criminal mastermind, just a regular, run-of-the-mill criminal.
“Why can’t you just let him sort out whatever he needs to sort out?” Tony asked.
“Because he’s got Adriel. And he’s a suspect in a murder investigation.”
“Which he didn’t commit. He loves Adriel.”
“Then why did he take him from the rest of his family?” Wayne asked.
“He’s got his reasons.”
Wayne probably should have swallowed his next words. “Do you know what George was doing before he disappeared?” He was sure that Tony was protecting a man he didn’t even know.
Tony shook his head. “I don’t want to.”
“I think you do.” Wayne held eye contact. “George was working for a woman at an adoption agency in Albuquerque. He was finding Diné children for them to take. Kids with parents addicted to drugs, alcohol, in jail.”
He added that last one for fun and watched Tony’s breath quicken.
“Parents who never saw their children again. George was a traitor. And a snitch.”
Tony looked angry but not exactly surprised. So he’d known at least some of it already.
“No,” Tony said. “Those people. They found him.”
“It doesn’t matter how he got involved, does it? He was involved. Janice Stone—the woman who sent the man you fought—she works for the agency. And George worked for her.”
Tony shook his head. Tore pieces off the small cocktail napkin beneath his beer.
“He’s running from those people,” Tony said, almost to himself. “That’s who he’s running from.”
“Did he tell you that?” Wayne asked.
Tony looked at his shredded napkin pile. “He told me they were coming for Adriel.”
“And he’s trying to protect Adriel?” Wayne asked. He didn’t know if he could believe Tony. And he didn’t know if Tony ought to believe George.
“Yeah,” Tony said. “And it’d probably be easier to do that if you’d lay off him.”
“We can protect Adriel,” Wayne said. “You can tell him that. If he comes home, we can protect Adriel.”
Tony laughed. A bitter laugh. “You’re telling me that George was involved in this little operation of taking kids and that he doesn’t know that you can’t protect Adriel?”
He turned his whole body to face Wayne. “If you can protect this boy, then why are these other kids getting taken? What are you doing for them? Jack shit.”
Wayne wanted to defend himself. He wanted to explain the impossible task that was his job. He wanted Tony to understand that most of police work was just staving off the inevitable—the disasters, the crisis—for another day. But he couldn’t put it into words. He also knew that Tony was right. That someone, somewhere, should be doing something more. Who better than Wayne? These kids—the future of the Navajo Nation—were slipping through his fingers.
So instead, he said, “They will not take Adriel. I will lose my job before I allow that to happen. But I can’t protect him if I don’t know where he is.”
Tony studied him for a moment.
“Sorry, boss,” he finally said. “Even if I knew where he was, I wouldn’t tell you. Because I just don’t believe you.”
50
MOLLY
“It’s for your own good,” Molly said, but the dog still looked at her like he was in pain as she hosed down his backside. “It’s just water.”
The dog was tied to the last rail at the bottom of the steps, and Molly had on gloves to protect her hands from the harsh shampoo. She lathered up again and scratched his butt. The dog hung his head in surrender.
“And now, you can sleep inside with me tonight. Protect me until Dad gets home.”
The dog shook, flinging soapy water all over Molly. She gasped and then laughed. It was a little too cold for this, she knew, and she felt bad that the water wasn’t warmer. But the dog deserved a warm home.
“Fair enough. You stinker.” The dog wagged his tail low and slow at the sound of her playful tone. Maybe he forgave her.
When she finished, she dried him as best she could with an old beach towel and then let him in the house. He was cautious at first. Sniffing the floors, the trashcan, the toilet bowl. Then, he started to feel a little rowdy. He planted his feet and pressed his body up against the couch, drying off the rest of his dampness. Molly laughed again.
“Good thing that’ll dry before tomorrow. My dad will never have to know. Until your next bath, I suppose.”
She plopped down on the couch, and the dog did the same on the rug at her feet. She thought about the night before. About meeting Barbara’s dad. Molly had not expected him to be so playful and funny. It brought light out of Barbara, too, and Molly could feel the love between them, like the warmth of an oven baking brownies.
Mr. Nakai’s laugh was deep and loud and made Molly smile. “Not everyone gets to see that side of him,” Barbara told her later. “He’s so serious in public.”
When they looked at the list of children, Molly had seen that seriousness. It was almost fierce. He and Barbara confirmed fifty-two children from the Navajo Nation on that list. Barbara set her jaw and rubbed her temples.
“After all that work,” she said.
“You knew the fight wasn’t over,” her father said. “It might never be. But you’re my daughter. You have plenty left to give to it.”
“I know,” she said.
“What will you do now?” Molly asked. “With those names?”
“Check in with the families, with the courts,” Barbara said. “I think we can guess that things weren’t done correctly knowing what we know about Donald Andrews’s organizations. But like your dad said, the law was written for a reason. Now we start the long process of justice. Bringing those kids home, if we can.”
“We used to hide from them, you know,” Mr. Nakai said.
“Who?” Molly asked.
“The people that took us to the boarding schools. They would come onto the reservation and round up the kids. Most parents couldn’t see a way around it. And it was free education for their kids. That’s what many of them thought. They didn’t want to send their kids so far away, but the schools around here weren’t what they are now. There weren’t very many at all on the reservation, and they were bad.”
He paused and sipped his tea. “My parents, though. They would hide us. My mother said there wasn’t anything the boarding schools could teach me that she couldn’t teach me better.”
Molly knew she hadn’t seen the worst of it. She knew there was heartache and pain and struggle here. Especially with the poverty. But there was so much love, too. Molly had received it herself. And who had she been to them? A stranger.
Now, as Molly sat on the couch, she thought of Adriel. He wasn’t at the children’s home, so where was he? Was he with George? What was he doing right then? Was he safe? Comfortable? Cared for? Did he feel loved? Did he miss them?
There was a knock at the door, then. Molly opened it slowly and peeked her head out. Her heart pounded in her chest. It was Isaiah Winters. Had he seen her at the children’s home? Was he coming here to threaten her? Or worse?
But when she looked at his face, he didn’t look angry. He looked nervous. She remembered her dad saying that he always looked nervous.
“Isaiah, right?” Molly asked, opening the door a little wider. The dog was standing next to her now. Alert. Ears up, tail out. Isaiah noticed, too, and took a step back.
“You’re my P.I.’s daughter,” Isaiah said. “Is he here?”
Molly considered what to say. She didn’t necessarily want him to know she was alone, but she did want to know what he’d come all this way for. The dog was there. And by the looks of him, ready to defend her if need be.
“James isn’t home right now,” Molly said.
Isaiah nodded. Took another half step back. He was almost at the stairs now.
“I’ll just wait for him here, then.”
Molly bit her bottom lip. “Actually . . . he’s in Albuquerque.”
“What?”
“I know. I’m sorry you came all this way. But here. Why don’t you come in? I’ll make some coffee. Or tea. Which would you like?”
Isaiah looked at the dog. “Is he going to rip my face off?”
Molly looked at the dog, too. She patted the top of his head. Scratched behind one of his ears. “Not unless I tell him to.”
“That’s reassuring.”
Isaiah flattened himself against the doorway and shuffled his way in. “Good doggie,” he whispered.
Private—which was the name lodged into Molly’s head—eyed Isaiah but didn’t do much else. When Isaiah was finally inside, the dog looked up at Molly. Panted. Let his tongue loll out. Molly leaned down and whispered into his ear.
“He’s okay, I think. But don’t go too far.”
Private licked Molly’s face, and she straightened.
“So. What’ll it be? Tea? Coffee?”
“Coffee, please,” Isaiah said.
“Okay, you got it,” Molly said. “You can sit.”
Isaiah looked around and chose a folding chair in the corner next to James’s desk. The dripping coffee and the dog’s panting were the only sounds in the trailer for a couple of minutes. When the coffee was ready, Molly brought it out with sugar and milk.
“Sugar and a little milk, right?”
“Good memory,” Isaiah said.
They sat and sipped for a moment—Isaiah on the folding chair, Molly on her swivel chair.
“You drove a ways to see my dad,” she finally said.
Isaiah nodded. “My, um, friend is being followed. I wanted to let your dad know. Agent Sanchez wanted me to let your dad know.”
Molly kept her expression neutral. “By who?”
“This lawyer, I think. His name is Bobby Tate.”
Molly eyes widened. “Bobby Tate?”
“Do you know of him?”
Molly nodded. “He was a lawyer on a lot of your father’s cases.”
“Was he?”
“Yes. My dad and I noticed when we were going through your dad’s cases. Bobby Tate kept showing up.”
“Representing children?”
“I think he was representing the parents. The ones trying to adopt.”
“What does he want with Peter?” Molly knew it wasn’t a question for her. Isaiah stared into his coffee, and Molly felt like he knew exactly what Bobby Tate wanted with Peter. Dread was written all over Isaiah’s face.
“Peter . . . is he like a childhood friend? Have you known him for a long time?”
Isaiah stared at Molly. Studying her, she thought. She was trying to be professional with all of this. Cool and relaxed. Trying to put Isaiah at ease.
“My boyfriend, actually,” he said. “We’ve been together for about a year.”
Boyfriend. Woah. Molly didn’t know any gay people in real life. Still, she kept her expression the same. Or at least, she hoped she did.
“Oh,” Molly said. “So, your parents knew him? A year is kind of a while.”
“No,” Isaiah said. “They never met. My dad didn’t know.”
Molly nodded. That must’ve been hard, she thought. But she didn’t say anything. She was afraid of saying the wrong thing just then.
Isaiah stood. He put his hands in his pants pockets and started to pace.
“There are some things I should probably tell your dad,” he said.
“I can write them down,” Molly said. “Exactly. And then he’ll know. Or . . . we have a tape recorder. I could record you. Or not. Whichever you prefer.”
Isaiah stopped pacing.
“All right,” he said. “Tape recorder is fine.”
That surprised Molly, but she didn’t sit there a second longer. At first, she couldn’t find it. It wasn’t where she knew they kept it. But then she found a different tape recorder. Interesting. She brought it out and set it up on James’s desk.
“This is insurance, I guess,” Isaiah said, as Molly replaced the cassette tape with a new one. “In case something happens to me.”
“Do you think something is gonna happen to you?”
Isaiah shrugged. “You found my mom’s shoeboxes, right? In the garden shed?”
“Yes.” Molly pressed the record button.
“I was helping her.”
“What was she doing?”
“She was investigating Donald Andrews. Specifically, she was looking for incorrect use of donations, profiting from his nonprofits, proof of bribery, things like that. Whatever she could find.”
“And why were you helping her?”
“Because she asked me to. Peter could get us the documents she needed. Well, some of them.”
“And your mom was sending what she found to the attorney general.”
“Yes.”
“But she didn’t want your dad to know.”
Isaiah pursed his lips.
“Would he have been angry if he found out what she was doing?”
“Probably.”
“So how did your mom even start on this . . . project? If it wasn’t for your dad?”
“She volunteers a lot. She used to, I mean. She used to give money to Donald Andrews’s children’s home. Money for orphans. What could be wrong with that? But then Dad started telling her what he knew about Donald Andrews and the ICWA law. How Andrews was in violation. How he thought Andrews was skipping steps. Not going through the proper channels.”
Isaiah paused for a moment. He picked at his fingernail, then combed his fingers through his hair.
“My parents hated injustice. It brought them together. When they met, Mom was involved in those early civil rights protests. I think when she heard about Donald Andrews, she felt personally offended. Like she’d been tricked into supporting this person who was doing things that disgusted her. But she’s been around this kind of stuff long enough to know that what people truly care about is financial crime. It gets their attention. She was set on bringing Andrews down.”
“And what kind of things was your boyfriend getting for her?”
He looked sideways at the recorder, and Molly realized she probably should have just said “friend.” But Isaiah went on anyway.
“Anything that might help. Peter coordinates between the children’s home and the adoption agency. He has access to a lot of files. Like the backend financing.”
“And now this lawyer, Bobby Tate, is following him. So, he must know?”
“I guess?” Isaiah had his hands open, his shoulders up.
“Has Peter worked with Bobby Tate before? The children’s home has lawyers, right?”
“Sure, they have lawyers. It’s not Peter’s area, though. So, if he has worked with Tate, he doesn’t remember. It would have been briefly.”
“Maybe it has nothing to do with this, then. Maybe it’s something else. How did you guys figure out the lawyer was following him?”
