Dark Reservations (39 page)

O
CTOBER
26

T
UESDAY
, 8:16
P.M.

G
ATES
R
ANCH
, S
OUTH
OF
K
AUFMAN
, T
EXAS

Joe reached out the car window and pressed the intercom button. A few seconds later, a woman's voice came through the speaker.

“¡Hola!”

He held his credentials in front of the tiny camera lens poking through the intercom housing.

“Joe Evers, BIA.”

“Okay,” the voice said with a thick Mexican accent. “Come up to the main house.”

The ten-foot-high wrought-iron gate swung inward, the huge
G
at its center splitting in half. An arch straddling the road read:
GATES RANCH
.

He drove up to the large timber and stone house. Joe guessed the term
lodge
would be a better description. He parked behind a navy Land Rover. A woman waited on the front porch. She gestured for him to come in—or maybe hurry up. He did both.

They walked inside, where the woman led him into a huge room constructed of massive timber beams. At the room's center sat an impressive stone fireplace. The woman glanced at the bandage on his cheek. She gave a look of displeasure but did not comment.

“Mr. Gates wants you to join him for dinner.” She did not wait for his reply, but instead started walking.

He followed.

They came to what he guessed was the dining room, but he would have been just as comfortable calling it a dining hall. Ellery Gates sat at the far end of the long table. A second place setting was arranged next to his seat. At least they wouldn't be shouting.

“Welcome, Agent Evers.” Gates stood and walked to Joe, hand outstretched. “I hope you don't mind. I took the liberty of holding dinner for you. When you said you were flying down so late in the day, I thought you might enjoy a good meal. And I don't get much company out here, so entertaining a guest has become an infrequent joy for me.”

They shook hands.

“I learned about the shooting incident on the news and am sorry about the officer's death. Please accept my condolences for you and the officer's family.”

Joe nodded, unsure how to respond.

“Now please, come and sit down,” Gates said, walking back to his seat at the table. “Mariana cooks up one of the finest T-bones you'll ever have, I guarantee it. So for the next hour or so, if you don't mind, I'll treat you to some fine food, good spirits, and some straight talking. I'll do my best to answer any questions you might have. Sound good?”

Joe sat down and admired the elegant dinner service and expensive crystal. “I would be a total heel if I turned down such an offer, Mr. Gates.”

“And cut the mister crap. It's Ellery.” Gates clapped him on the back. “Mariana, bring out a bottle of red. Something he can brag about tryin'.”

Mariana started them off with a salad and a small bowl of posole. The T-bone followed and was as good as Gates had promised. Over the next hour, they talked about Texas, Oklahoma, and the BIA. They talked about everything but the Edgerton case. And Joe didn't mind. Gates was enjoyable company. A gentleman, a history buff, and an entertaining storyteller.

After dinner, they retired to what his host called the “smoking room.” It smelled of whiskey and leather, just as Joe imagined every smoking room should. Gates poured them each a glass of Johnnie Walker Blue. Joe would have to sleep in his car tonight rather than chance driving back to Dallas. Gates then brought over a humidor and Joe selected a Nicaraguan cigar. He clipped the end and lit it. The tobacco tasted sweet, as though touched by honey, the smoke earthy. Joe was getting too comfortable.

“I guess it's time we talk about Edgerton,” Joe said.

Gates examined his cigar, rolling it slowly between his fingers. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Tell me about the day you went to Albuquerque. I read your report. It said you wouldn't speak to the investigators. That you lawyered up.”

“Of course I did. I had just learned that I was being investigated for corruption. I knew enough to heed the advice of my attorney, Irvin Ritterhouse. He was an old friend, and a hell of a good tax attorney. Not much of a criminal one, though, but he did keep me out of jail. He and the two other law firms I hired. Irvin died last year. Lung cancer.” He again held his cigar out for inspection. “His last few months, he spent here. I set up one of the bedrooms for him. He'd outlived his wife. His two kids were miserable bastards. His elder son didn't even show up at the funeral.” He paused, seeming to reflect. “But I suppose you're not interested in all that.”

Gates went on: “Back when I was in Albuquerque, your counterparts came to talk to me. Irv told me to keep my yapper shut. His words, not mine. And I did. But afterward, after the hearings and the fines, and all the rest, I did talk to one of your agents. I told him all I knew about Arlen.”

Joe had not found any report in the file documenting a follow-up interview with Gates. “Do you remember who it was you spoke to?”

“I don't recall the name. A Native American gentleman. Tall. I recall we talked about the Long Walk. And that's what makes me think he was Navajo.”

Joe knew who the lead agent was back then. “Does the name Malcolm Tsosie sound familiar?”

Gates was thoughtful. “All I remember was our discussion about the Long Walk. He claimed Kit Carson was responsible for a near genocide. I suggested that while Carson brought about the surrender of the Navajo at Canyon de Chelly and the scorched-earth policy, it was probably not his intent to decimate the tribe. He did not much care for my account. He compared Carson to Hitler. I reminded him that Carson had married a Cheyenne woman, and he nearly ended the interview.” He laughed. “It was my own fault for discussing a topic of such cultural import. Other than that, he was friendly enough.”

“What did you tell him about Edgerton?”

“I told him I never saw Arlen that day in Albuquerque or since. When I got there, Arlen never showed up. Later, they said he'd disappeared.”

“Why did you go to Albuquerque that day?” This was the test. The fishing trip story had been a sham. Joe knew that just as surely as he knew Gates had been involved in the corruption back in '88. But he also knew this old gentleman in front of him was working hard to try to redeem himself for that past indiscretion. The former congressman would either live up to the seemingly honorable image of a man who had learned from his mistakes or he would fall to his own vanity and self-righteousness and remain that man of twenty years ago.

“A friend had told me the ethics committee was going to announce the investigation and Arlen and I were the targets. I wanted to meet with Arlen to exchange notes. Please don't ask me the name of the friend who told me. I can assure you she was in no way involved.”

“So you knew Arlen was taking money?”

“No. I suspected he was taking money. We were often on the same side of the issues. And let me set the record straight. I did take the money. I took it not because I needed it but because I believed that was how politics worked. I'd been around it my whole life. A game of favors played by people who saw the deal as more important than the issue. Whoever wielded more backroom influence was the winner. I liked to win back then. And winning meant doing favors and then asking for favors. Foolish, yes. Naïve about what was really important, like self-respect and honor. Guilty as charged.”

So Gates didn't know for sure if Edgerton was on the take? Then who else was in a position to influence the legislation?

“Tell me about Kendall Holmes.”

“Have you heard the term
heterochromia
?”

Joe had not.

“People with two different-colored eyes. I don't know if that was the reason, but I never trusted him. It was that or the tinted sunglasses he always wore. Very self-conscious. And he looked like a mobster. They could have called him the ‘Teflon Don,' too, because his association with Arlen and the corruption investigation never tarnished his political career. About four years after Arlen's disappearance, he won a state senate seat. And then a few years later, he was elected to the U.S. Senate. Very savvy in his political undertakings. Now I hear he might throw his hat in the next presidential primary. He's not a household name yet, but that doesn't matter. If the party likes you, you're in. And they like him.”

“Mr. Holmes had told the agent investigating the case back then that he had gone to the airport to pick you up the day Edgerton went missing. Did you spend the rest of the day with him?”

“What I remember was sitting in the airport, furious, because he was about an hour late. I called Arlen's office, but no one answered. Ken finally showed and we did spend the rest of the evening together, waiting for Arlen. We had dinner and then started calling around when Arlen didn't show. We were at Arlen's office when the news broke about the ethics investigation.”

“Did you tell Mr. Holmes about the investigation?”

“No, but I think he already knew. Arlen had friends, like I did. He probably got a tip. Ken was his chief of staff. Arlen would have told him to work up a spin. And Ken was a lawyer. Duke, I think. Maybe Georgetown. Never practiced, went straight into politics. A policy man.”

They talked a little more, and Joe declined a second Johnnie Walker. When it was time to start the fifty-mile trek back to Dallas, Gates insisted Joe spend the night. The former congressman must have been a powerful persuader when he was in office, because Joe found himself not only accepting the offer but feeling indebted to his host.

No doubt Gates was still a master at the game of favors.

O
CTOBER
27

W
EDNESDAY
, 3:52
P.M.

O
FFICE
OF
S
ENATOR
K
ENDALL
H
OLMES
, 110 H
ART
S
ENATE
O
FFICE
B
UILDING
, W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

Both Dale and Andi were in the dark. This trip was off the books, so Joe could not call ahead to arrange the meeting before he flew to D.C., but at least Helena had been able to confirm the senator would be in town today. She'd picked Joe up at the airport and had driven him to the senator's office building. He told her if his meeting went well, he would have a story for her when he was finished. She said she'd wait for him.

Joe's plan was to hit up the senator cold. Not always smart when interviewing such a high-profile person, but it gave Joe the possibility of getting the story raw, which often proved more truthful (or sometimes more full of holes), and less likely to involve lawyers. If the senator refused to meet, Joe would at least try to get an interview with Malcolm.

The Capitol Hill police officer who worked the lobby of the Hart Building sized Joe up and offered a phlegmatic “May I help you, sir?” His stolid face and no-nonsense attitude made Joe suspect that important work was being done in the venerated congressional suites above. Work of a most high and noble nature. Work that would cause those upstairs to look upon Joe, a mere rube, as a distraction.

The officer picked up the desk phone and told someone on the other end that a BIA agent was here to see Senator Holmes. The call must have caused quite a stir in the senator's office, because Joe had to wait thirty minutes before the same officer got a callback. Joe secured his Glock in a lockbox by the guard desk and passed through the metal detector.

When he got off the elevator, Joe found Malcolm waiting, holding out a hand. He looked like an olive tree offering a branch, tall, dark, rough, and a lot of seasons behind him. They shook and the former BIA agent apologized about their previous encounter at Grace Edgerton's office.

“It's customary for an agent to call ahead before asking to interview a senator,” Malcolm said.

“I've never interviewed one before,” Joe said. “I didn't know there was a protocol.”

“It's okay. The senator was impressed with your work on the Edgerton case. I always believed he had run off. You proved me wrong. That art collector was never on our radar back then.”

“He wouldn't have been because he didn't kill Edgerton.”

“I thought the news said he did.”

“I believe they're saying he's being investigated for his involvement with the case.”

“Then who killed him?”

“That's why I'm here. I'm hoping the senator can help me.”

They stopped outside a door.

“After I finish with the senator, I'd like to talk with you.”

“Everything I know is in the file.”

“Not everything. There wasn't much in the file on Holmes.”

“There wasn't much to put in there.”

“How long have you been with the senator?”

“Eighteen years.”

“I'm sure you've gotten to know him pretty well. What do you think?”

“If you're asking if he's capable of murder, everyone is.”

“You, too?”

Malcolm didn't answer.

“Why didn't you write up the interview with Ellery Gates?”

“He refused the interview.”

“No. I mean the second interview.”

Malcolm stared back at Joe, revealing nothing. The olive branch had been withdrawn. He was impassive. Still a good imitation of a tree.

“You traveled to Oklahoma and interviewed him.”

“He refused that interview, too.”

“How come there was no report in the file?”