No one left, p.6
No One Left, page 6
The woman pursed her lips. “Is that so?”
“That is so,” James said. “In fact, if you’d like, she could sketch you right now. You’d be impressed.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “That won’t be necessary. Have a seat.”
James and Molly sat on chairs across from the annoyed woman’s desk. There were only three, made of hard metal. Clearly the state police didn’t want anyone waiting around.
“She seems lovely,” Molly whispered.
“A real charmer,” James agreed.
They sat for fifteen minutes. Twenty. Thirty. Molly shifted positions about a hundred times.
James thought about this Lieutenant Lark. Cops typically only came in a handful of personalities, and even fewer at this level—head of criminal investigations for the northwest region of New Mexico. Hard-assed. Smart. Someone who had an uncanny ability to understand people on a very deep level.
Finally, grumpy Chavez called, “James Pinter!” very loudly, even though no one had moved and she must have been well aware of that fact. She stood and glowered at them. “Lieutenant Lark will see you now.” James and Molly followed her down a hallway.
“He’s only got about ten minutes,” she said over her shoulder. “So get to the point.”
“Got it. Thanks for the heads-up.”
Lieutenant Lark was shorter than James and had a buzz cut and sharp eyes. He shook James’s hand first, then Molly’s, and looked her right in the eye when he said hello. His office smelled of peppermint and chalk.
“How can I help you folks today?”
“I appreciate you seein’ us on such short notice,” James started. “My name’s James Pinter, and I’m a private investigator. This here is my daughter and my assistant, Molly Pinter.”
Lieutenant Lark nodded at each of them in turn.
“I’ve got a new client as of yesterday,” James went on. “A Mr. Isaiah Winters. His parents were found dead about a week ago. A Judge Bartholomew Winters and his wife, Cathy Winters. Are you familiar with the case?”
“Yes,” Lieutenant Lark answered immediately. “I’ve got one of my senior investigators on it. The suspect is still missing. An Indian man.”
“That’s right,” James said.
“And why has Mr. Winters decided to bring on a P.I.?”
“I work closely with the Navajo Nation Police Department. My office is up there on the reservation. I have an established relationship with the Shiprock police, which is the region the suspect is from. Mr. Winters wanted someone with some connections to the Navajo.”
Lieutenant Lark nodded. “Makes sense, I suppose.” He took a moment to study James. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“I’m new to the area. Was living in Oklahoma for the past five or six years. I used to investigate all sorts. Drugs. Homicides.”
“Oklahoma State Police?” Lieutenant Lark asked.
“No, sir. Army. CID.”
Lieutenant Lark cracked a smile. “CID during Vietnam. Y’all did a lot of heavy work over there. Smuggling, drugs, rape, war crimes. We could use a guy with that type of experience.”
“Working my own contracts suits me now. I don’t have to answer to some general behind a desk in DC,” James said.
“Huh,” Lieutenant Lark said. James could feel the scrutiny behind his stare. Like he couldn’t possibly believe that James had fallen so far from being a cog in the big government machine.
“I was hoping I could get copies of the reports from the murders. Evidence findings. Crime scene photographs.”
Lieutenant Lark’s jaw worked. “Unlikely we can release everything,” he finally said. “I’ll have Sue at the front desk help you file a request. I have to be honest with you, Mr. Pinter: I haven’t had the chance to really comb through the case myself. But once you get the stuff, if there’s anything else you need from me, please don’t hesitate to call with any questions.”
He pulled out his top drawer and groped around for a moment before handing James his business card.
“Thank you, sir,” James said. “I do appreciate it.”
James and Molly stood. So did Lieutenant Lark. They all shook hands once more.
“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Pinter,” Lieutenant Lark said. “You too, Molly.”
James watched Molly blush a little, duck her head. She smiled at the man. “Nice to meet you, too, sir.”
They left the office, and Lark did not follow them to the door. When they got to the front desk, James leaned on it just a little. Put on his most charming smile.
“Sue, I hate to bother you again, but the lieutenant promised you would help me fill out a request for copies of a case file.”
The desk phone rang, and Sue answered it, holding up a finger. “Uh huh. Yes,” she said, then hung up.
She sighed loudly, stood, and said, “Come with me.”
16
ADRIEL
Adriel missed how easy it had been to talk to his mom. He knew “talk” wasn’t the right word. He couldn’t do that. But with her, it felt like he could. Sometimes he wouldn’t even have to point or do anything with his hands. Sometimes, just the look on his face would tell her everything she needed to know. But with his dad, George, it had always been harder. Adriel needed to write things down and draw much more often now. It exhausted him.
He was having fun with his dad, though. He was. Things had gotten much better after that first day. That first day was scary. And sad. He missed Sunny. But he wasn’t scared anymore; he just wanted to know what they were doing. Where were they? How long would they be there? When would they go back to Sanostee? Back to Aunt Kay and Mrs. Long and that nice girl, Molly, who seemed to somehow understand him better than the grown-ups? If George understood what Adriel wanted to know, he didn’t show it.
Finally, Adriel wrote, Go hom? and shoved it in front of George’s breakfast one day. George stared at it for a long time with crinkled eyebrows and pursed lips. Had Adriel spelled it wrong?
George sighed. He shook his head. “Not yet.” And that was all.
Wer ar we? Adriel wrote next.
“Somewhere safe. Mr. Tallsalt will keep us safe.”
Adriel bit his lip. He wished his dad would tell him more, but he did like Mr. Tallsalt. He was an older man who didn’t smile much, but when he did, his whole face changed. It reminded Adriel of a clown he saw once at the fair, who could change his face from a frown to a big happy smile behind his hand. He wondered if Mr. Tallsalt had ever been a clown. Adriel didn’t think so, because Mr. Tallsalt was a serious guy. But he had told Adriel one joke, and Adriel giggled so much he almost peed his pants.
Even after Adriel stopped giggling and Mr. Tallsalt went back to being serious, Adriel could still see the kindness behind his eyes. He was a good person, Adriel could tell. And Adriel wanted him to smile more. To tell more jokes.
One day, when Mr. Tallsalt put him to work gathering firewood, he tapped Adriel on the shoulder.
“Follow,” Mr. Tallsalt said. He made a gesture with his hands. Adriel nodded.
“No,” Mr. Tallsalt said. “This means ‘follow.’ Do you see what I’m doing with my hands?”
Adriel watched the gesture again. Mr. Tallsalt had his hands in fists, thumbs on top. His arms were bent. Then he moved both fists together to one side.
“You do it,” he said to Adriel. Adriel squatted down, put his wood on the ground, and did the same thing with his arms and hands.
“Good.” Mr. Tallsalt nodded. “This is sign language. We’ll keep learning more.”
Adriel just stared at him for a moment. Mr. Tallsalt sighed and looked softly back at him.
“Sign language is how some deaf people talk. You know, deaf? They can’t hear. They talk with their hands.”
Adriel tried to slow his brain down. His thoughts were going too fast. He started to nod. He wanted Mr. Tallsalt to tell him more.
“It’s a language. Like English or Diné.”
Adriel kept nodding. He felt himself balancing on his toes. Like his body might explode. Take off into the air at any moment.
“Maybe we can teach your father, too,” Mr. Tallsalt said.
Suddenly, Adriel felt tears at the backs of his eyes, and he didn’t know why. He wasn’t sad. He wasn’t sad at all. He didn’t know what to call this feeling. Happy? Exited? Surprised? He swallowed three times. Mr. Tallsalt didn’t seem like the kind of guy who cried, and so Adriel tried not to, either.
He bent down and picked up the wood again. When he stood, Mr. Tallsalt was at his side. He patted Adriel’s shoulder but said nothing else. They walked the winding path back to the house in silence. But Adriel’s mind was not silent. Not silent at all.
17
KAY
Jeff Natonabah lived even farther away from anything resembling a town than Kay did. After a nice, greasy burger at a diner in Kayenta and a stop at the district offices for a detailed map, Wayne and Kay were heading west on a two-lane highway. She hadn’t seen a building, a shed, or a trailer in two miles. Finally, Wayne turned onto a dirt road, and Kay could smell something burning.
They parked next to a trailer with a purple door. Smoke billowed from behind it. They circled around back and found a man tossing cardboard and tree branches into a fire.
“Hello?” Kay called over the crackle of the fire. “Mr. Natonabah?”
The man turned and waved. He was almost the same height as Kay. As they walked closer, she could make out the details of his face through the parting smoke. He had a wide nose and round eyes. A small, wrinkled mouth. He was wearing overalls and sandals.
He threw another piece of cardboard on the fire. “How can I help you folks?”
Wayne stuck out his hand. “I’m Lieutenant Wayne Tully.”
Jeff turned his head to spit and then gripped Wayne’s hand so tight his knuckles turned almost white.
“I’m Kay Benally,” Kay said. Jeff gave her the same tight shake.
“We’re looking for a guy from around here,” Wayne went on. “He went missing with his eight-year-old son.”
Jeff put his hands on his hips. “George Morris, right?”
“That’s right,” Wayne said.
“We’ve had quite a few people around here looking for George Morris. After he was all over the news.” Jeff stepped closer. “Well now, let me get us some chairs.”
He disappeared into a shed, emerging with three folding chairs. He set them up around the fire.
He smiled at Kay as he unfolded her chair, and something about the whole situation felt familiar. It made her miss her dad. Maybe because of all the times she’d sat next to him by a fire. Or maybe there was something fatherly about Jeff’s smile. Or maybe it was a unique combination of smells and sights and feelings that couldn’t easily be replicated. But at that moment, Kay felt like she could reach out and touch her father. Like if she buried her hands into the dirt just a little, she would find him there.
She was grateful for the beat of silence when they all sat. She watched the embers fall at her feet.
“Who else has been looking for George?” Wayne asked.
“There were some reporters at first. They’re quick to descend on a town. Like a swarm of bees.” Jeff chuckled. “Saw them up at the old trading post. But then I had a man come all the way out here. Definitely not a reporter, I can tell you that much. When I asked who he was, he gave me some story about working with George. Or working for a woman who worked with George. I think that was it. But he was from Albuquerque, he said, and I knew George lived over in Sanostee. The whole thing was strange. He scooted off, though, when I brought out the shotgun.”
Jeff grinned, and that made Kay grin, too.
“What’d this guy look like?” Wayne asked.
“Pale. Freckles. Fiery red hair. Looked like bad news, to be honest. I didn’t like the looks of him.”
“Did he give you a name?”
Jeff looked deep in thought for a moment. He scratched his chin and looked up at the sky. “Can’t say he did.”
“Hm,” Wayne answered.
“Can’t imagine how the man found me, other than maybe by talking to Pastor Hogue.”
“That’s who sent us,” Kay said. “He told us you were the youth director at the church in town.”
Jeff nodded. “That’s right. It’s just like the pastor to send everyone to me. He never did like taking responsibility for things. Wouldn’t want to be associated with a suspected killer.” Jeff sighed. “Not that I mind you all coming by. I’m happy to help law enforcement.”
“So, what can you tell us about your time with George?” Wayne asked.
“That family.” Jeff shook his head, crossed his arms. Stared into the fire. “I felt for those kids. If any of us saw them around, we tried to help. Bought them a sandwich or a soda. Gave them spare change. Offered a ride. They were polite, too. Respectful. That always surprised me. You’d expect them to be feral with the way their parents were. For George’s upbringing? He was a good kid. A good kid. The George I knew wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“When did you leave the church?” Wayne asked. “Was it while George was still around?”
Jeff shook his head. “George was long gone. I retired a few years ago. Hung in there as long as I could, but Pastor Hogue was wearing on me.” He paused and scratched the back of his head. “You know, when I found Christianity, there was a different pastor at the church. I was looking for something that I hadn’t found in the old teaching. The spirituality I grew up with.” He paused and looked up at Kay. “No disrespect if you practice.”
Kay wondered how he knew. She shook her head. “It’s all right. Go on.”
“I was looking for peace. For comfort. I was a fearful young man. As a boy, I was always seeing signs of skinwalkers. Was always convinced someone had cursed me and my family. The evil was too much. I never felt like I could defeat it. But the Bible’s New Testament. Jesus. He brought me peace.”
Jeff stopped again. He went to stand up. “Would you all like something to drink? I’m thirsty, myself. Been standing here all morning breathing in this smoke.”
“Sure,” Kay said.
“I’d appreciate it,” Wayne said.
“What are you burning?” Kay jumped in, before Jeff could walk away. He frowned and swatted at the air.
“Just trash. My mother died recently. I’m slowly going through her things.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kay said.
Jeff smiled. “She was old. Very old. But I still miss her.”
Kay thought about George, then, after Jeff walked away. About his siblings. Their parents. What that must have been like. Kay and Linda had been poor, but they had been loved. Maybe George hadn’t been loved. Maybe Linda’s love felt like a gift to him. Kay felt a small tug of sympathy for George but pushed it away. He had stolen Adriel, she reminded herself. Possibly killed two people. She had no time for explanations or pity.
Jeff came back out and passed them bottles of Sprite.
“Where was I?” he asked, sitting back down.
“Jesus brought you peace,” Wayne said.
Jeff nodded. “That’s right. He did. I suppose we all come looking for different things. I’m not sure what brought Pastor Hogue, but if I had to guess, it might have been something like what brought me. Except he didn’t find peace. Didn’t seem like it to me, at least. He found anger. Maybe even hatred.”
“What do you mean?” Kay asked.
“He railed against the old ways. Pure evil, he called them. We all must turn away completely. Repent. It never sat right with me how he used fear. I’d had enough of that. It wasn’t what I went there to hear. Maybe it was the Old Testament that spoke to Pastor Hogue. A vengeful God. A punishing God.”
Kay stared into the fire, feeling the bubbles from the soda in the back of her throat. “Maybe our people respond to that because it’s something we understand. Suffering.”
Jeff made a whistling sound as he sucked through his teeth. “Well now, isn’t that the truth?” he asked. “I think sometimes our people are looking for an explanation. Why we went through what we went through. Why we’re still going through it. Maybe we’re all evil and we deserve it.”
A quietness settled over the three of them. Kay took another sip. She didn’t think Diné were inherently evil. She wondered what Wayne thought. She didn’t know much about his spiritual beliefs other than the fact that he and Barbara attended a Catholic church.
“The kids, though,” Jeff went on. “He was teaching them to hate themselves. Their families. Their culture. Everything they knew. It seemed to me Pastor Hogue wanted to tear them down to nothing.”
“Is that why you stayed as long as you did?” Kay asked. “To counteract that?”
Jeff smiled a sad smile but didn’t look at her. “I sure tried.”
“Did George Morris believe that?” Wayne asked. “That he was no good?”
“George didn’t need Pastor Hogue to tell him he was no good. He believed it in every fiber of his being before he ever set foot in that church. Pastor Hogue was speaking George’s language. George already knew something was wrong with the world. His parents in particular. He ate those sermons up.”
“Was he close with George?” Wayne asked.
“No,” Jeff said. “Pastor Hogue is a little removed from his people. They’re a little afraid of him, I think, and he doesn’t mind that.”
“Reverence,” Kay said, softly.
Jeff nodded. “Reverence.”
18
TAMMY
Tammy Morris tapped the end of her cigarette into her ashtray, watching the black burnt parts crumble into a pile of ashes. She still expected the shrieks of children. Their annoying, incessant pleas for one thing or another. Money. Food. A ride. She had to remind herself constantly that the children were grown. Gone. The grandchildren didn’t want to see her. And that was her fault, apparently.
But when Tammy tore through her memories trying to find what she could have done differently, all she felt was exhaustion. Not regret. Not longing.
