Homicide My Own (13 page)

“That’ll have you doing it again, like a mink. Only problem is, you’ll grow a beard, fart a lot, and beat the shit out of any guy who accidentally bumps into you.”

“The beard thing could be a turn-off.”

I was glad to see the little double-wide Tribal Police Headquarters loom into sight. We pulled up in front and went inside. Instead of Robert there was another young man behind the counter who looked a lot like Robert. He looked at us like he should know us but didn’t.

“Can I help you?” he said.

“Chief in?”

“Chief!” he yelled to the back office. “Man and a woman, here.”

“Send them back, Robert.”

So it was another young man who looked like Robert and was also named Robert. Some island. We walked back to his little office. He was expecting to see us in uniform. He leaned forward on his chair, elbows to the desk, and looked us over, as though an unfamiliar pair like us could be trouble.

“You saw the Coyotes,” he said.

“How’d you know, smoke signals?” I asked, and, of course, that was strike three on me.

“It’s a small island.”

“Not so small I’d want to back-hoe it into the water,” I said, which is exactly what I would like to see someone else do. I was on a roll, and Odd had the good sense to throw himself in front of it.

“Do you mind?” he asked the chief. “We had time to kill and we can’t resist a mystery.”

Speak for yourself, Odd. I can’t resist chocolate. A mystery can wither and fade away while I dunk for Godivas.

“It’s a free country…except for the rez, where you answer to me. Which mystery is it you can’t resist?”

“There’s another?” I said.

“Old man Drinkwater is convinced Jeannie lives in your form,” he said, looking at Odd.

“Has he convinced you?” Odd asked.

“No. I’m a Christian.”

“Then we’re back down to only one mystery. Who killed two kids on a rainy night so long past? Could it be Karl Gutshall?”

“You saw Karl?”

“We shook his chain,” I said.

“Well put. The poor guy’s been in a trap all these years. A lot of people still think he’s guilty.”

“You?”

“I don’t know.”

“We’ll know,” said Odd, “before we leave this island.”

Under normal circumstances I don’t rattle, but normal circumstances had flown some time back and what we were into now was paranormality at its best. I was not used to anger in Odd, and I was not used to that resolute tone in his voice. Most of the time he could hold four opposing points of view simultaneously, which works against you as a cop. Often he seemed unsure of himself, of the path, and of the destination. Now I was impressed. And so was the chief, if not a bit worried about the steady equilibrium long enjoyed by his little island reservation.

I told him why we had dropped by, to see about the current health of our boy Houser. He got on the phone to his wife, speaking in Shalish, which I thought impolite, but considering my own mouth I could not object. I waited and watched his face for some reaction. Nada. He hung up and said, “Much improved.”

We drove there in two cars, again. Odd was deep into himself and I left him wherever that was, wondering only about what Connors did for lunch and was he alone or with Esther. Did he bring a sandwich from home and eat it quickly in the break room, or did he and Esther go to Pizza Hut and urge the last piece upon each other?

We pulled up next to the chief’s car in front of his house. The first thing I noticed was that Stacey and her mom had decamped from his front porch.

“Where’s your wailing little friend?” I asked, when we got out of the car.

“Half way to Spokane, I hope,” he said.

We followed him up the stairs to the room where they were keeping Houser. He was sitting up in bed, taking broth without assistance. The window was open and the cool air cleansed the sick room. He gave the empty bowl to Mrs. Shining Pony and thanked her. I asked her what his temperature was.

“Ninety-nine, point six,” she said.

“That’s not bad,” I said.

“It’s dropping.”

She took his tray and left the room.

“How’re you feeling, Houser?” I asked.

“Better,” he said. “Much better. I thought I heard Stacey…”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. I think they heard her in Bellingham.”

“Is she still here?”

“She’s a little girl, what do you care? She’s with her mother, where she belongs.”

“Houser…?” The patient turned to the sound of Odd’s voice and found him sitting by the window. “How did it start? With Stacey.”

“What do you mean?”

I interrupted. “Houser, do you remember me reading you your rights?”

“No.”

“Then I’m gonna do it again,” and I did, and we all waited until he told us he understood.

“You know we’re cops, ain’t? Him and me? From Spokane? And we’ll be taking you back there for booking?”

He understood all that.

“All right, so if you want to talk to Odd, or anybody else, without a lawyer present, be my guest.”

“What did you want?” asked Houser of Odd.

“I want to know how it started, with Stacey. She’s fourteen, you’re thirty-something. Did she come to you? Was she looking for a guide? A sexual guide? Was she a virgin at the time?”

“She still is,” said Houser.

What?

12.

I wondered if Houser was clever enough to be laying down a defense, that being that the crime in question never occurred. Or at least not the crime of penetration. But if that was the case, what was he doing with a fourteen-year-old girl clear across state on a little island hard against Canada? Nature walks? And besides, if he was lying, one quick peek with a professional eye would catch him.

“We were running away from rumors and hatred and intolerance.”

Pul-leeze!
He was running away from the law that keeps grown men out of the pants of little girls. I wanted to cover his face with the pillow, snuff the sucker out, but Odd was gentle with him, wanting to hear the whole story.

“How did you meet?” he asked.

“In church,” said Houser.

I wanted to puke.

He was in the row behind her and across. She was sitting with her mother, and she kept turning to look at him, until their eyes met. He smiled at her, thinking no more than she was a teen-ager bored to death. She smiled back, a mischievous grin. They did things with their eyes, silent sarcastic commentary to whatever was going on in the Sunday ritual. He was there alone, a shaky believer, half out of habit, half out of fear. She was there because her mother dragged her along, though she shared some of the devotion, and a little of the fear. It was a harmless game they played, an adult and a child in an amusing conspiracy.

A week passed. He thought about her as he worked on computer systems. He was experienced with UNIX, AIX, HPUX, LINUX, all those things. He had a girlfriend, Clare, a tenured middle school Spanish teacher, who wanted to get married. She was twenty-nine and not at all unattractive, with rich red hair and a soft plump body and a sense of humor and a big heart and a good head on her shoulders. Houser was anxious that he would eventually marry her.

The next Sunday, in church, he changed his seat so that he better would be in that funny teen-age girl’s line of vision and they could play their game of smiles and looks. Each Sunday after, he made sure to arrive just at the start of the processional hymn and to find a seat close to hers.

One Sunday, after the service, while her mother was chatting on the steps of the church with the pastor, and Houser was standing at a distance watching, the girl came to him, and her walk was girlish and enchanting, and her yellow hair was in the breeze, and her lips were curled in a conspiratorial grin, and all she said was, “Hi,” and all he said back was, “Hi,” and he was gone, in her control, captured by her youth and beauty and innocence. It was a moment he had never imagined and had no defenses against. He adored her.

Before long, she was visiting him at his apartment, in the evenings and on weekends, and that is where Clare discovered them together and was outraged, first confronting Charles, who admitted he was powerless against the charms of this young girl, and soon after filing a report with the police. He was arrested and released on five-thousand dollars bail, put up by his parents. Stacey was at his apartment when he returned, telling him she could not live without him. They ran.

“But you had never had sex?” asked Odd.

“No.”

“You were in love with her?” he asked.

“I was, I am, I always will be,” he said.

“And she’s in love with you?”

“She’s much older than fourteen, in many ways,” he said.

“Sure she is,” said I. “People who are in love express it, physically. I mean, you can’t help it, when you’re in love.”

Listen to me, expressing it physically. Like I knew.

“I know that,” he said. “We kissed.”

“You kissed?”

He looked at me like, what’s wrong with that?

“A kiss is the glory of the universe,” he said. “A kiss is the most beautiful and satisfying of all physical encounters. We kissed all the time. It was like food and drink to us.”