Shallow Grave-J Collins 3 (40 page)

“What?”

“Did you have anything to do with Roland Hawk ending up in a body bag yesterday?”

Not a single change in his expression. “And if I did?

What would you do? Turn me in?”

“No.”

“Th

en why do you care?”

“I just do, okay?”

465

“Not good enough. Why does it matter?”

“Because I saw it . . . It was awful; it was like someone tried to remove his head from his neck with a hacksaw. And it looked like a crime of passion, brutal, personal, and done out of extreme anger.”

“Jesus. You
saw
him like that?”

“Yes, before the tribal police did. So I have to know if you did it.”

Stoic Tony appeared.

I pushed the issue. “If so, why? For revenge? Hombres retribution? As a warning? Was any of it about me? And while you’re formulating your answer, I’ll silently berate myself about morphing into one of those women who lie and cheat and cover for their man.”

He grinned slowly. “You admitting I’m your man now?”

“Shut up. I’m serious, Tony.”

Martinez sobered quickly. “Am I supposed to lie and tell you we never do shit like that?”

My turn to stare at him.

“It’s a moot point this time because I didn’t have anything to do with it. In fact, this is the fi rst I’ve heard of it.”

I ignored the
this time
portion of his response.

“Kevin didn’t tell you?”

“Th

e only thing Wells told me was that you’d had 466

a monumentally shitty day, you’d crawled into a bottle and he didn’t want to leave you alone to drown.” He crushed a handful of my hair and brought it to his lips before he let it fall through his fi ngers. “You were out of it when I got here.”

“Sorry. I don’t remember anything from last night after I hit the sheets.” I looked at him expectantly.

He lifted a brow. “Nothing to remember.”

“Good. I hate to have to stroke your ego unnecessarily.”

“You didn’t stroke my ego or anything else last night.”

“Oh, poor baby.”

“You can make it up to me.”

“Deal.” Wow. Th

at was almost . . . easy. Were we

fi guring out this relationship thing? “What’s on your agenda today?”

“I can cross ‘killing Roland Hawk’ off my list of things to do since somebody beat me to it.”

My jaw dropped. “You made a joke? An actual joke? Albeit a sick one.” I noticed the tight set to his jaw and remembered I wasn’t the only one with problems.

My fi ngers smoothed the stubble on his cheek. “What happened with Jackal yesterday?”

“He groveled. And . . .” He sighed, tilting his head into my hand for a more complete touch. “Just pretty much groveled and apologized. He’s on probation. If he fucks up again, he’s gone.”

467

I didn’t want to know what
gone
meant. “Is he still the chief enforcer?”

“No. Cal is temporarily fi lling in.”

“Who’s Cal?”

Martinez said, “Th

e guy you call No-neck.”

“Ah. Is he qualifi ed?”

“Immensely.”

“What’s his fi rst order of business?”

“Dealing with Dave.”

I suppressed a shudder. “Can I ask Dave’s punishment? Since I helped bring him down and all.”

Martinez rolled his eyes. “Dave has a video lottery gambling problem, which isn’t earning him the sympathy he’s expecting from me or anyone else. Everyone has addictions. Shoving 300 bucks in an electronic machine every goddamn night ain’t the way to solve it.”

“How much did he take?”

“He fessed up to every penny of the 15K from the last two months.”

“Holy shit. How’s he gonna pay it all back?”

“I’ll get my fi fteen thou, even if I have to take it out in pounds of fl esh, trust me.”

I had nothing to say to that.

He locked his gaze to mine and roughly pulled me against him. “Make time for me tonight. Better yet, let’s take a couple of days and hide out at my house. Th ink you

468

can get things arranged for time off by this afternoon?”

“Yeah.” I curled my arms around his neck and pressed my cheek into his chest. “Th

anks for staying

with me last night. I’m glad you’re here, Martinez.”

“Same goes, blondie.”

Th

e moment, while brief, was enough.

“Big Mike will jump my shit if I don’t get going. I’ll call you later and let you know what time I’m picking you up.”

After he left me with an entirely too chaste kiss, I felt even more at loose ends.

M M M

Th

e paper didn’t have any information on the Roland Hawk situation. No surprise. Th

ey usually lumped

all the bad news from the reservations together, once a week, and it encompassed an entire page. Funny, how little of the good things going on the rez were chronicled with such regularity.

Which reminded me I should probably give Sharon Dove a call. No doubt Jeannie’s arrest would make the paper.

Maybe this was the sheriff ’s job, but I felt I owed Sharon a personal accounting since I’d found Maria’s remains and worked on the case.

469

Sharon answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Sharon? Julie Collins. I just wanted to give you a heads up on Maria’s case. We fi nally had a break.”

“You did? When?”

“Sheriff Richards made an arrest late yesterday afternoon.”

Silence. “An arrest? But . . .”

“But what?”

“Isn’t Roland Hawk dead?”

I frowned at the receiver. How did she know that?

“He didn’t arrest Roland Hawk. He arrested Jeannie Colhoff . Remember the guy Maria had been seeing, the bouncer from the strip club? Well, I tracked him down.

Th

e suspected killer is his wife.” I detailed everything I knew.

Utter silence.

“Sharon?”

“Yes. I’m here. I-I can’t believe it. Sorry. It’s just such a shock.”

“I imagine so.”

“Th

e sheriff is positive Roland didn’t have anything to do with Maria’s murder?”

“I don’t know if Jeannie has plead guilty. It appears she killed another person while trying to cover her tracks. I doubt the case will go to trial. If anything, she might take a plea bargain. Good defense attorneys are 470

pricey and her husband isn’t about to lend his support, fi nancial or emotional.”

An old murder, plus a new one pretty much guaranteed Jeannie Colhoff would spend her life in prison.

Gave me a warm fuzzy feeling justice had been served.

Too often bad deeds go unpunished. Bad people get away with bad stuff all the time. Hence the appeal of vigilante justice. No one was immune to it. No one.

Reality washed over me like a frigid December wind.

No wonder Sharon Dove had known Roland Hawk was dead. She’d killed him.

Th

e bloody butchery of Roland’s body fl ashed in my memory. A crime of extreme anger. Frustration. A mother who’d avenged her daughter. Problem was, she’d avenged the wrong one.

No one would argue Roland Hawk had scraped the bottom of the barrel of humanity. Preying on people.

Causing problems with anyone who crossed him. He’d put Bonita in the hospital half a dozen times. He’d been the bane of the tribal police for years.

If Roland wasn’t around the rez wreaking havoc, how could that be a bad thing . . . for anybody? No more wasted manpower for the tribal cops. Bonita might actually become a productive member of society without Roland sucking her into the cycle of abuse. Denny could leave White Plain permanently, without fear for 471

his mother’s safety.

Could my conscience let me hand over Sharon Dove to the sheriff ? What would throwing her in jail prove?

Who would it help?

Not your job to act as judge and jury.

Th

en I heard her crying and I knew I wouldn’t make the call. She might choose to turn herself in, but it wouldn’t be at my urging.

Her sobs were getting louder.

“Sharon, listen to me. We all have demons. Sometimes we listen to them when we shouldn’t. You’ve fi nally got that demon off your back. Move on. I realize that’s cold comfort when you’ve buried your daughter, but the truth is, you’ve got
another
daughter who needs you.

She’ll need you more than ever now. Th

ink about that.”

“How can I live with myself?” Her voice was scarcely a whisper.

“If you’re looking for absolution, I can’t give it to you.”

Sniffl

ing pause.

“Whatever you decide is your business. My part offi

-

cially ended when the sheriff arrested Jeannie Colhoff . Far as I’m concerned the case is closed.” I quietly hung up.

Maybe I should take my own advice. Maybe I should try and get the demon off my back. Maybe it was time to admit I’d never have the answers as to why Ben was murdered. Maybe it was time for me to move on too.

472

With my potpourri of poisons last night I figured Kevin wouldn’t expect to see me at the offi ce. I wouldn’t

want to disappoint him by showing up.

But after an hour of my mind replaying Roland’s fi nal grisly image, the utter defeat on Jeff Colhoff ’s face, and the niggling truth about the high price of revenge, I decided work would numb my brain. I’d fi le; perfect punishment for a hangover. I’d fi le, and goddammit if I wouldn’t act happy as a fucking clam about it.

I had my coat on, my keys in hand when the phone rang. I hesitated to answer it, but maybe Martinez had gotten away earlier than he’d expected. Ooh. Th en I

could avoid fi ling altogether.

“Hello?”

Abita blurted, “I-I’m sorry about the other day.”

473

I slumped against the wall. “Me too.”

“Look. I know it’s short notice, but is there any chance you could meet us at the park today? It’s important.”

“When?”

“You tell me.”

“Now? It’ll take me at least a half an hour to get there.”

“Th

at’s okay. I’ll wait. Same place as last time?”

“Sure.”

“Good. See you in a bit.”

Something funky was going on.

But hey, like that was any big stunner in my life.

M M M

I pushed aside the ugliness of my recent adventures as I racked my feeble brain for clues to Abita’s phone call.

Th

e second Jericho saw me he bounded over. “Hey!

Didja bring me any more trucks?”

Th

e image of JJ and his trucks fl ashed in my head, and the utter decimation of his young life. “Afraid not.

Does that mean you’re not gonna be my pal if I don’t buy you stuff ?”

He looked torn, then a smile creased his chubby cheeks. “You’re funny,” he said before he scampered to the sandpit.

I faced Abita. “Why the summons? I fi gured you’d 474

take off and I’d never see you again.”

“I thought about it. But I wanted to explain. You caught me off guard,” Abita said. “I’d hoped to work my way up to talking to you about John.”

“Well, the fi ancé is out of the bag so to speak; I’m listening.”

Abita blushed. “John is a great man.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“Compared to Ben I’m sure you wouldn’t think so.”

She cocked her head and looked at me. “Th

en again does

any
man compare to Ben for you?”

Martinez immediately popped into my head. Her testy comments notwithstanding, I pasted on a benign smile. “If this is where you chastise me for putting Ben on a pedestal, I’ll leave. I’ve heard it before.”

“I’m sure. From Yvette?”

“And Reese. And Owen. And Leticia.” And Kevin and Sheriff Richards and my ex-husband and my father

. . . could there be something to this I wasn’t seeing?

“Ironic, isn’t it, the Standing Elk family has decided to come around now that Jericho and I are returning home.”

My belly muscles jerked like a log chain. “When are you going?”

“Th

e next couple days.”

“Is your weaving seminar fi nished?”

“Almost.”

475

Getting information out of her was almost as hard as dragging it out of Martinez.

“I saw Yvette and Owen and Reese for dinner last night. Leticia popped in for coff ee and dessert. I-I didn’t tell them about John. I probably won’t. I’ll just leave without saying goodbye.”

“Is that why you called me? To say good-bye?”

“Partially. But I wanted to show you something fi rst.”

Abita dug a small wooden box out of her purse.

Th

e top had intricate tribal carvings. “What is that?”

“Remember the box I told you about? Ben made it while he was in Arizona. My uncle was teaching him how to carve. He was getting pretty good.”

My blood pumped faster, making my head throb and my guts twist into tiny knots as she lifted the lid.

“I was sorting things before I came here and I’d completely forgotten about this.” Abita untangled a worn necklace.

My heart alternately soared and sank. I recognized that necklace. I’d given it to Ben the summer I turned thirteen.

I was sucked back in time to the blistering summer day Ben and I had attended the Oglala Lakota Nation Fair and Rodeo in Pine Ridge, one of the largest outdoor powwows in the Midwest.

Scents of dirt, sweat, onions, livestock, and cook-476

ing grease hung in the humid air as we wandered from booth to booth, drinking lukewarm Gatorade. Vendors circled the outdoor arena. I checked out the dream-catchers, crafted from chokecherry branches, sinew, deerskin leather, and fi nished off with red, black, yellow, and white beads. I lingered at the stalls with colorful Indian art and T-shirt stands touting NATIVE PRIDE.

In essence the
wacipi
was part fl ea market, part spiritual ceremony, part family reunion, part Indian taco feed.

While I’d been pawing through the racks, Ben had haggled over the price of a necklace. Th