Read Death Along the Spirit Road Online
Authors: C. M. Wendelboe
Death Along the Spirit Road (35 page)
“Odd in what way?” Manny asked, somehow feeling he knew that answer, too. He always thought it was odd that Billy Two Moons had been shot five times, not six as Reuben claimed, just as he thought it was odd that Little Boy had loaded his revolver with only five rounds the night he attacked Manny.
What the hell, did everybody count their rounds with their toes?
What the hell, did everybody count their rounds with their toes?
“He thought it was strange that the guy didn’t shoot six times. Six-shooters are a lot more common than the five-shot revolvers. And if he was shooting an auto, there’d have been a lot more rounds fired.”
“Maybe the shooter used something like a Chief’s Special .38,” Manny said, thinking back to Elizabeth’s snubbie. “Maybe a Charter Arms. Something that’s designed to hold five rounds.”
“No. The ME dug .45 caliber slugs out of Jumping Bull.”
“What kind of .45?”
“What’s that?”
“The round, what kind of .45 slug? Was it a ball round? Lead? What was the exact diameter of the bullet?”
Andrews said he didn’t know, but promised to fax Manny a ballistics report at the OST Office when he had the answers.
Manny remained on the line for one more surprise from Andrews: Alex Jumping Bull was murdered the same weekend that Jason Red Cloud flew to Minneapolis.
Manny held the car door open for Clara. She slid into the seat and fastened her seat belt even before shutting the door, and read his questioning glance. “Because if you don’t wreck your cars, someone else does it for you.”
“Can’t argue there.” Manny buckled his own seat belt before starting for Rapid City Regional Airport. Between his crappy driving and people trying to kill him, a little insurance in the form of a thin web strap couldn’t hurt. “Tell me about Jason’s flying phobia.”
“He abhorred flying,” she began as they left the Red Cloud building. “He’d start shaking just talking about it.” By the time they had cut through Rapid Valley on their way to the airport, she’d convinced Manny that Jason had not flown to Minneapolis the weekend Alex Jumping Bull was murdered.
“You’re certain he didn’t catch a bout of brave just one time?”
She shook her head and winked. “Jason wouldn’t mind me opening his mail just this once.” She took an envelope from her handbag. It was a receipt from the Crook County, Wyoming, Clerk of Court for a ninety-eight-dollar speeding ticket on I-90 just out of Devils Tower. “Jason got the ticket the Saturday that he should have been in Minneapolis.”
“In law enforcement,” Manny grinned, “we call that a clue.”
Clara grinned back, a wry smile that melted Manny’s thoughts, and he turned his attention to his driving.
They pulled into the airport and followed the signs to Business Voyages Charter Flights. An elderly couple waited in a small lounge, while a young receptionist greeted them from behind a service counter. “And you wish to go where today?”
Manny was tempted to tell her back to Quantico before he lost his instructor’s slot, but he kept it to himself and showed her his ID and badge. “He would have flown out that Friday evening on one of your charters.”
“I remember him,” the receptionist said. She sat in front of a computer terminal. “Mr. Red Cloud flew out of here that Friday at 2:24 in the afternoon.”
“Alone?”
“Oh, yes. He insisted he wanted no company on the trip. After all, he did charter the flight.”
“Are you certain it was Jason Red Cloud?”
She stepped back, her poker face faded, and anger replaced her congeniality. “Of course I’m sure. When he called, he paid by credit card.”
“Company?”
“Personal card. When he arrived here, I insisted on the verification number, which he gave me.”
“Could you please describe Mr. Red Cloud,” Clara said.
The receptionist warmed to Clara, and turned her back on Manny as she spoke. She described a man shorter than Jason, stocky, but in shape. “I heard so much about Mr. Red Cloud, I thought he’d be a much older man.”
“Is this him?” Clara handed her a publicity photo of Jason. The picture was of a younger, thinner Jason Red Cloud, wearing a fringed buckskin jacket and beaded headband that held his long braids together.
The receptionist shook her head. “No. That’s not him.”
Manny threw Clara an “I-told-you-so” glance. “Could the man flying as Jason Red Cloud have gotten a gun on the plane?”
The girl scowled. “He did. Mr. Red Cloud had some Indian artifacts he was taking to Minneapolis for a museum loan. Among the items was an old cavalry Colt he claimed was used at Wounded Knee in 1890, but it didn’t work.”
“How do you know it didn’t work?”
“He told me. He said it was too old to shoot, so I let him have it on the flight with the other items.”
“Anything else you can think of about the man who posed as Jason Red Cloud?” Manny asked.
The girl looked to the ceiling for a moment. “Not much. Unless you think it would be important that he looked like a weight lifter. And had a pronounced limp to one side.”
“Good God!” Manny led Clara out of Business Voyages. He dialed Harold Soske as he shuffled to his car.
Manny didn’t object when Clara took the elevator to the Red Cloud Development floor. She led Manny through the outer office and into Jason’s office. “You’re certain of this?”
“Pretty sure. Ricky Bell fit the receptionist’s description, and Soske confirmed that Bell has a pronounced limp from a prison fight.”
By the time Clara found the key and unlocked the sliding door on the display case, Manny had put on latex gloves. He reached into the case and took the Colt Army revolver from the wooden peg holding it to the wall. He stepped away from the case and held the gun to his nose, then held it for Clara to sniff.
She drew back. “I don’t much know guns, but this thing’s been fired recently, long after Chief Red Cloud owned it. But how’s that possible? It’s been hanging here since I’ve worked for Jason.”
“That Gulf War vet living above Alex Jumping Bull in Minneapolis heard five shots that night. Five shots, which he thought was odd, and I did, too.”
“But this is a six-shooter,” Clara said. “If someone would have used the gun, they would have shot six times, not five.”
Manny shook his head. “These Colts, even the ones manufactured today, have no hammer block to prevent an accidental discharge. People who know guns load these with only five, leaving the cylinder under the hammer empty in case it’s dropped or caught on something. Ballistics will find only five chambers recently fouled on this gun. I’m certain.”
Manny folded the top of a paper sack around the gun. “I’ll call you.” He kissed Clara on the cheek and left before she spotted his embarrassment.
Manny met Detective Soske at the Pennington County Detention Center. “Ricky Bell’s in interview room one.” He led the way down the long corridor and unlocked the door. “I’ll be outside if you need anything.”
Bell sat with the legs of his chair tilted back. He met Manny’s gaze, then dropped his chair down, his muscular arms remaining crossed, and he mustered defiance as he spoke. “I told you everything I know.”
“About the burglary, not the murder.”
Bell sat upright. “What murder, Jason’s? You can’t pin that on me.”
Manny didn’t answer, but placed his briefcase on the table and opened it.
“What kind of crap is this?” Bell’s voice raised an octave.
Manny placed his recorder on the table, and dropped a manila envelope beside it. He noted the time, date, location, and that he’d read Bell his Miranda rights. When he was finished, he made a little tent with his fingers and sat looking over his hands at Bell.
“I didn’t kill Jason.”
“Why should I believe you? You had every reason not to trust him. After all, he arranged for you to fly to Minneapolis and kill Clifford Coyote. ‘Alex Jumping Bull’ to you. If Jason would have talked, you’d be looking at life in Stillwater.”
Bell slumped in his chair looking like a balloon that had just been pricked with a needle when Manny mentioned Alex Jumping Bull. He looked down at the floor as he spoke. “What bullshit is this?”
“You got this huge problem, Richard. You tell me what I want to know, and I let Minnesota have your young ass on a state murder charge. You might cop a plea to second degree if you’re lucky, out in ten. You jerk me around and make me work for this, and I’ll see you’re charged federally for Jumping Bull’s murder. And federal sentencing guidelines what they are, you won’t see the light of day until you’re too decrepit for Social Security.”
Bell fidgeted in his chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Manny opened the manila envelope and slid photos across the table to Bell. “You’ll recognize that old Colt: It killed Jumping Bull, and it has your prints all over it.”
“Of course it does, I’m the janitor. I clean Jason’s office every night.”
Manny ignored him, and grabbed a photocopy of the flight agreement with Business Voyages. “You took a charter out of Rapid under Jason’s name. The receptionist identified you from your booking photo,” he lied. “She remembers checking that gun with the other artifacts. And one of our Minneapolis agents found a witness watching you coming out of Jumping Bull’s apartment right after you shot him,” he lied again. “What you got to say, Richard?”
Bell remained silent. Manny rapped loudly on the door, and Soske opened the door. “Take him back to the cell block. I’m going federal with him.”
“Wait.” Bell’s shoulders drooped and he slumped in his chair. “I got nowhere to go, but I sure don’t want to end up in a federal slammer for the rest of my life. What kind of deal you giving me?”
“I don’t deal,” Manny said. “That’s the prosecutor’s job, but I got a lot to say about which jurisdiction hears a case. I can recommend to the U.S. Attorney that we decline the Jumping Bull murder and remand it to state court, at which time Minnesota tries you. But I guarantee, Stillwater is whole lot softer time than Leavenworth.”
Bell sighed and picked up the photo of the Colt pistol. He nodded slightly, resigned, and answered Manny’s questions.
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