Looking Through Darkness (10 page)

Ben chuckled. A.J. knew that it was either hot and dry or cold and dry at this FOB, and had to rub it in. Ben hated the sandbox, one of the printable names for Afghanistan. “Just working on my tan, A.J.”

“What's up, pal?”

Ben watched the image flicker a little bit because of the signal delay. Live conversations had a tiny time lag due to the satellite relays and that halfway-around-the-world thing.

“Remember when you promised to keep an eye on Jo and the rest of The Outpost crew for me? I hear Jo's been catching some grief lately.”

Ambrose nodded. “She's never said word one to me, but I've heard that somebody's trying to give her and Rudy Brownhat, the medicine man, a hard time. One of their patients died and rumor has it that the dead woman's boyfriend is raising hell.”

“I'm going to need you to stick close to her and The Outpost. I'm probably going to be out of touch for a while.” A big operation was hours away, first clearing the hills, then moving up the valley. Intelligence sources had indicated that there were several hundred Taliban in the area. His mission was clear. Go in, treat, extract, and transport the wounded until the operation was completed.

“Give me an idea. Are we talking days, weeks, or more?” A.J. asked.

Ben shrugged. “Can't say. You may hear about it on the news in a week or two, once it's over.”

“Okay, stay safe, and don't worry about Jo or the crew at the trading post. Watch your back, and I'll take care of things around here.”

“Appreciate it, A.J.,” Ben said.

“Anything else?”

“Nah, that's about it. Take care of yourself. Things can get damned hot at home, too.”

“Gotcha, Ben. Now get some sleep, you look like crap.”

“Tell me about it.”

Ben felt a mortar bomb hit close by, then the screen flickered, and went blank. He wasn't worried. A.J. knew what to do now and would take care of things for him back home.

Two more blasts followed nearby. Mentally shutting out the noise, he went back to his bunk to try to get some sleep. All things considered, he wished he were back in his easy chair watching a Rockies home game instead of sweating away the hours in this hellhole.

*   *   *

Later that morning, John Littlewater stopped by the trading post. Seeing him, Leigh Ann stopped dusting the candy display beside one of the registers and went to greet Melvin's uncle.

“Hi, John. Are you here for Melvin's check? It won't be ready until this afternoon.”

“Thanks, that's great, but the reason I came by was to ask you a question: Do you think the trading post would be interested in displaying some of Melvin's maquettes? They're small, preliminary models he usually makes of his sculptures. He was going to break them up and throw them out, but I think they could be put to better use. If you can display them as samples of what he can do, it might drum up some extra business for him and for the trading post.”

“Does Melvin need the extra work right now?” she asked, wondering if she was reading John right.

John shrugged. “It's not a big emergency or anything, but he has some repairs that need to done at his house. Just don't bring it up, okay?”

She nodded, having gone through the same situation recently. Last year she'd managed to get the roof patched instead of redoing the entire thing, but that was a temporary measure at best. Before long it would have to be completely replaced. When you owned a house, there was always a maintenance or repair issue.

“I'll ask Jo about the display and let you know as soon as possible,” she said, changing the subject.

John nodded, opened his mouth as if to speak, then turned away.

“There's something else, isn't there? Is Melvin really hurting for money?” she asked.

“No, that's not it. I have another question for you though, just between the two of us?” he asked softly, looking around to make sure nobody was listening.

“Of course. What's wrong?”

“I don't know if you've noticed, but something's been bothering Melvin lately. He hasn't been getting much sleep. I've asked and all I get in return is that he's been having some nightmares, I shouldn't worry, and that he'll deal with it. Has he said anything to you?” John asked. “I know Melvin respects your opinion.”

“No he hasn't. If he can't sleep, I think maybe it has to do with his accident. I can't imagine anything more traumatic than that. You almost die, then wake up blind or nearly so, with no hope of ever having your sight restored.”

John nodded. “That makes sense. I just don't know what to say about it, or even if I should bring it up at all. Any time I mention the accident he locks up on me or changes the subject. There must be more to it than he's willing to tell.”

“Well, he's the only one still alive that experienced the entire incident. I guess we have to let him make the first move. If there's anything I can do to help, let me know, okay?”

“Thanks, Leigh Ann, for hearing me out. Just don't mention I brought this up, though. I have to respect his word when he says he has his own way of dealing with this,” John responded.

Or not,
Leigh Ann thought as Melvin's uncle walked away. Some things needed to be talked about, or they'd eat you up inside. But how could she persuade Melvin to open up? That was the problem.

Barely ten minutes after John left, Leigh Ann saw what looked like a SJCSO department vehicle pull into a parking slot just outside. Dale had warned her to expect a visit from someone in the San Juan County Sheriff's Office. Something told her this was it.

 

— SIX —

Leigh Ann took a quick look around the front room. There were only two customers and Jo was at the front register. Leigh Ann signaled her, pointing out the window.

“Go ahead, Leigh Ann,” Jo said as the door opened and a tall, slender man in gray slacks and a light blue jacket entered the store. The man had closely cropped brown hair, steel-blue, intelligent eyes, and wore a gold badge on his belt. Barely visible beneath his jacket was a handgun in a black holster.

After the officer introduced himself, Leigh Ann led the man down the hall and into her office. “Have a seat, Sergeant Knight,” she said. “If I recall, I spoke to a Detective Alvarez when my husband was killed. Is this your case now?”

“Detective Alvarez was on the violent crimes unit, Mrs. Vance, but he's retired now. I work white collar. Crimes involving corporate theft, such as embezzlement, end up on my desk. The metal box and contents you turned in went to Detective McGraw, who replaced Alvarez, then came to me.”

“So Detective McGraw doesn't think this is connected to Kurt's death?” she asked, wondering if she should be disappointed or relieved.

“Your husband's death was determined to be a hunting accident, and the individual responsible has never been identified. Unless substantial evidence suggesting otherwise comes to the department's attention, we'll be investigating what you found as a potential case of fraud. Would you please tell me, in detail, how you came to discover this box?”

Leigh Ann knew that Sergeant Knight had probably heard all about it, but she took her time and told him everything. The only thing she left out was finding the .38. Later, if a weapon like that became part of the investigation, she'd turn it in. Until then, she'd hang on to it.

Knight listened carefully, asking questions and taking notes during her statement. Leigh Ann explained her theories about the list of names in the notebook and told him about the storage compartment Kurt had rented. The detective commented that he planned to speak to the employees at the facility.

At last he seemed satisfied and put away his notebook, then said, “Do you have any questions for me?”

“Yes. From what you've seen of the evidence, do you think my late husband really stole that money?”

“At this point, that's not at all clear. I spoke to his former business partners at Total Supply and both denied that any money had been taken. The largest discrepancy they'd found in the books was one that resulted from a five-dollar entry mistakenly entered as fifty dollars.”

“But the spreadsheets in that box show how the numbers were concealed. How do Kurt's partners explain what I found?” she asked.

“According to Mr. Boone, you and your husband were having some marital problems around the time of his death. He speculated that you were still angry and are now trying to destroy your husband's reputation retroactively. Mr. Hurley, interestingly enough, didn't agree. He thought it was more likely that what you found was one of Kurt's many gags, one he'd never had the chance to put into play. According to him, Kurt was a practical joker who loved watching people squirm.”

There was some truth in what Wayne Hurley had said, but even for Kurt, this seemed to be a lot of work for a joke. “What did they say about Frank Jones, the vendor that my husband clearly made up? Total Supply company checks were sent to my husband, payable in Jones's name.”

“Hurley and Boone both said they had no record of a client or supplier by that name and that no checks had been made out to Jones. They also denied asking you about any files, other than those needed for the partnership settlement after your husband's death. Were there any witnesses to either man asking you about Frank Jones?”

She shook her head. “No, but they're lying. They repeatedly asked me about Frank Jones.”

It was becoming clear to her that Wayne and Pierre were covering something up. Had they all been underreporting to avoid taxes, or was something else going on?

“Unless I come across evidence that an actual crime has taken place, there's not much more I can do. If something changes, I'll get a forensic bookkeeper to go over Total Supply's business accounts and records. Until then, I've got no case.”

“What if I find more evidence? Can I turn it over to you?”

“Of course, but here's a piece of advice, Mrs. Vance. Be careful not to do or say anything that might be considered slander in regards to Total Supply or your late husband's associates. They weren't happy to hear about your discovery, and they might decide to get in touch with their lawyer if you keep pursuing this issue.”

“I appreciate your advice, and I'll keep your card, Sergeant.”

“Thanks for your cooperation, Mrs. Vance,” Sergeant Knight said, standing to shake her hand. “I'll be in touch if the situation changes.” He headed for the door. “I'll find my own way out. Take care now.”

*   *   *

The day went by quickly after that for Leigh Ann. She and Jo, whose mood had improved immensely after talking to Ben, kept a lookout for strange cars, but there were no further signs of trouble.

“Maybe the driver who hit us has already done his worst. He wanted to scare us or get even, and now he's ready to move on,” Leigh Ann said. “That vandalism with the paint could be nothing more than kids acting up right before graduation.”

Jo didn't reply right away.

“You don't think so, do you?”

Jo shook her head. “I have nothing more than a gut feeling, but I trust it. Keep watching your back.”

Knowing it was almost quitting time, Leigh Ann brought up the possibility of displaying Melvin's maquettes. “What do you think?”

“That's a great idea,” Jo said. “It'll give everyone who comes in something new and interesting to look at and consider.”

Leigh Ann said good-bye and, promising to visit Melvin that evening to give him the news, headed out.

Alone on the highway, Leigh Ann's thoughts drifted back to Jo and Ben. It had to be a special kind of hell to have a loved one fighting a war eight thousand miles away. She had a feeling that Jo never really stopped worrying. Yet, despite that, she still envied her.

Jo loved Ben and he loved her. Their relationship was one based on mutual respect and seemed virtually unassailable.

Leigh Ann sighed. Maybe someday she'd find that same kind of deep, steadfast love herself. Unfortunately, she was a rotten judge of men. From day one, she'd seen only what she'd wanted to in Kurt. Then by the time she'd realized her mistake, it had been too late. Reality had torn her apart like a Texas tornado, leaving her broken, and afraid to try again.

Now, when she looked at Melvin, she wondered if she was really seeing him for who he was, or whether her fantasies were getting in the way. After all, she knew about Melvin's dark side, but not the reasons for it. Her conversation with John had suggested where it might have originated, but that was something Melvin had kept private. If she brought it up now, that might just compromise John's relationship with his nephew without gaining anything helpful for any of them.

Pushing back those thoughts, she focused on the present. Leigh Ann tried calling Melvin on her way over to his home, but he wasn't picking up. Although he often didn't answer the phone, he'd given her a key and an open invitation to drop by whenever she wanted.

She smiled. That was one of the things she liked most about being friends with Melvin. He was always glad to see her, making her feel special and valued just for being who she was. Although their friendship had boundaries, or maybe because of that, it had also set her free.

*   *   *

Jo went home early, and although she'd spoken to Ben, she was more worried about him than ever. Everything he did as part of a medevac team was dangerous, and no matter how hard Ben tried to reassure her, the reality was he was fighting a war. There were few certainties in his life except that he faced danger and death nearly every hour of every day.

Although she wasn't always successful, Jo tried not to show her fears or ask too many questions whenever he Skyped. Navajo ways taught that to talk about bad things was to attract them. Yet the constant uncertainty had a way of wearing her down.

As Jo drove up to her home and parked, she saw a coyote lurking around less than fifty yards away. Coyote was the Trickster in Navajo creation stories. Maybe his appearance today was a reminder that uncertainty was part of the pattern, too.