Authors: Mark de Castrique
“Like with the blowgun?”
“Yes. If I believed in reincarnation, I'd say he was an old soul who had walked these hills many times.”
Old soul wasn't the way I'd describe the frightened boy in the photograph, but I kept that thought to myself.
When we reached the summer lodge and neighboring asi, Romero retrieved the key from beneath the rock and opened the padlock. The interior didn't appear any different from my previous visit. The one wall of empty shelves reminded me of the trove of boxes we found stashed underneath Eddie Wolfe's trailer. The chairs seemed to be in the same position. Closer examination showed a thin layer of dust had been undisturbed.
The asi had an unlocked door and no windows. The cone-shaped structure looked like an upside-down basket. Mud appeared to coat the sides, and in a few chipped places I could see vines and wood strips underneath. The round roof had been constructed of bark shingles. Stepping into the dark interior, I saw a small fire pit illumined by a beam of light shining through a vent in the center of the roof.
“What's the main construction material?” I asked Romero.
“Wattle and daub. It's woven sticks, the wattle, and mud mixed with straw and grass, the daub. Holds the heat in the winter, although it's smoky as hell.”
He pulled a flashlight from his duty belt and searched the earthen floor. Nothing.
“We know Eddie was here,” Romero said, “but it looks like he didn't disturb a thing.”
“Maybe someone else got Danny, or Eddie saw him coming up the road to his home.”
“Maybe. Don't know where else he'd know to find him.”
It dawned on me one thing was missing from both structures. “How about the bathroom. The outhouse should be separated from the house a decent distance. Did you check that?”
Romero's lips tightened. “No. I didn't think of it. Should be in the back somewhere.”
We walked around the asi and saw a trail curving along the side of the ridge. About fifty feet after the bend hid both lodges from sight, we found a simple plank shell set on a flat inset in the hill. A once interior door hung askew on rusty hinges.
“Not exactly Bed, Bath and Beyond,” Romero said, “but it gets the job done.” He opened the door.
An unpainted wooden toilet seat sat in the middle of a frame about the size of a loading palette. The smell emanating from the dark hole in the center left no doubt as to the outhouse's active status. Again, Romero flipped on his flashlight, leaned in, and directed the beam into the hole.
“What you'd expect to see,” he reported. He moved his light to the space between the seat and the back wall. “What's this?” He leaned over and retrieved something.
A half-used roll of duct tape.
He pushed me aside as he quickly backed out. He cast the light across the dirt just inside and out of the doorway. Gouges could be seen in the soil. “Somebody jumped him here. Swifty had no chance to run.”
“The tape was probably already cut into strips,” I said. “In the struggle, the whole roll got knocked free. Eddie probably thought it fell into the latrine.”
“Eddie?”
The voice came from behind us. Both Romero and I jumped.
Skye Panther grabbed Romero's arm and physically wheeled the big man around. “For God's sake, tell me what's going on!” She was not crying. Her eyes locked on Romero's and burned with anger. “Eddie got my brother killed, didn't he?”
She released Romero and snatched the duct tape from his hand. “And he took that boy.”
Skye looked at me for confirmation, but I said nothing.
“We don't know that,” Romero said.
“Come on,” she screamed. “I'm not a fool. You either tell me the truth or I'll find someone who will.”
Romero glanced at me.
I nodded to Skye. “Let's go to your grandmother's. It's time we started working together.”
We sat in the front room of Emma Byrd's house. The furnishings were modest. Emma sat in a rocker nearest the stone fireplace in which seasoned, split logs had been stacked, prepared to ward off the fall chill of evening. A small table by her side held needlepoint work and a cup and saucer.
Romero occupied two-thirds of her floral print sofa. Skye sat at the other end, tight against the armrest, putting as much distance between herself and the detective as possible. Each balanced a cup and saucer in their laps, Romero's lap making the china look like it came from a dollhouse.
I sat in a straight-back, cane-bottom chair that was probably made by a local craftsman. My cup and saucer were on the floor beside me because I held my pencil and notepad ready to jot down anything either woman might say.
Emma had offered hot sassafras tea. This time Romero accepted and he added I would like some as well. I didn't argue. The herbal concoction was known for its calming powers and the Cherokee used the root and leaves for medicinal purposes. The taste was akin to warm, flat root beer, and I hoped it would settle Skye down for our conversation.
Romero drained his cup and smacked his lips. Then he turned to Skye. “When was the last time you saw Eddie?”
“Late yesterday afternoon. I was here. Since Monday I've spent the nights with Emmama.”
“He came by to see you?”
“Not entirely. He said he wanted to check Jimmy's for the boy. Swifty.”
“Did you go with him?”
“No. Eddie thought two of us would double the chance of being heard. He didn't want Swifty running away.”
“How long was Eddie gone?” Romero asked.
“About forty-five minutes. I thought he might have found the kid and was talking to him.”
“What did Eddie say when he returned?”
“That there was no sign of Swifty. Eddie said he was late for work, but he would call me this morning.”
“And he didn't call.”
She nodded, but she didn't cry. Instead she reached into a handbag at her feet and pulled out a cracked leather wallet. “This is Eddie's. Emmama found it this morning when she went for a walk.”
“Found it where?”
“On the gravel road,” Emma said. “Where Jimmy parked when he didn't want to disturb me. Where the stream noise muffles the car engine.”
“Was that where Eddie parked yesterday afternoon?” Romero asked.
“No,” Skye said. “He pulled up into the yard.”
“How do you think the wallet got there?”
“He came back after his shift. The Camaro's seatbelt was bad to snag his hip pocket. I think it slid free when he got out of the car.”
Romero looked at Emma. “Did you hear anything?”
“No. And I was restless.”
Romero shifted on the sofa, angling to face Skye.
“I spoke to Cherokee Boxes. Eddie never showed for work yesterday. They also confirmed that the cleanup detail on Sunday finished at ten, not midnight.”
Skye's cheeks flushed. “He told me midnight.”
“How did you learn Eddie had been killed?”
“When Emmama found the wallet, I tried to call but got his voicemail. I assumed he was at home and out of coverage. So, I called one of his neighbors who has a landline. She told me the police were there and that Eddie was dead.”
Romero glanced at me to make sure I was getting things down. When he said nothing further, I realized he was encouraging me to pick up the questioning.
I laid the pencil and pad in my lap. “Skye, what do you think happened?”
“The same person who killed Jimmy killed Eddie.”
“And before that. Why did Eddie come back last night?”
“Maybe he thought Swifty would bed down for the night in one of Jimmy's lodges.”
“You were angry when you saw the roll of duct tape. Why?”
She stiffened, hesitating to tell me.
“Go on, child,” Emma said. “Tell them what you told me.”
Skye licked her thin lips. “I thought Eddie had found Swifty and come back for him. Maybe that was a condition Swifty wanted. Not to be seen. Not wanting his friends to think he went crying to Jimmy's. But when I heard Eddie was dead, I thought more was going on. Eddie wasn't Jimmy. He wasn't as confrontational. But he'd gotten into something over his head.”
Skye turned to me. “I saw that roll of duct tape on Jimmy's shelf Monday. It was there yesterday morning when Emmama and I went through his things.” She looked at Romero. “You came by after Eddie yesterday afternoon so I walked back up to make sure everything was locked up. The duct tape was gone. I thought you'd taken it.”
“Now what do you think?” I asked.
“That Eddie used it to bind Swifty until he could return after dark and move him. He must have left him in the outhouse.”
“And why do you think Eddie got your brother killed?”
“Because he'd become secretive the last few weeks. I thought he had another girlfriend. Several times I'd walk into a room where he was on the phone and he'd abruptly hang up. Or he'd get calls when we were out and he'd excuse himself to answer.” Tears finally welled in her eyes. “Did he kill Jimmy?”
“I don't think so,” I said. “Sunday night I think he transported Jimmy's artifact collection from the new casino property to his trailer.”
“He stole Jimmy's collection?” Skye asked.
“No. Jimmy's collection was never stolen.” I summarized our theory of Jimmy salting the site of the second casino and his alliance with the Catawbas. Emma and Skye listened without interrupting until I got to the part about someone knowing what Jimmy intended to do and leaking the plan.
Skye began to tremble, clutching her arms across her chest and bending forward to stifle her sobs. “It was Eddie. It had to be Eddie. He used me, Emmama. Used me to bring him to Jimmy.”
Romero and I sat there, unable to say anything that would ease her grief.
Emma knelt in front of her granddaughter. “You can't blame yourself for the evil in another's heart, child. You trusted him and Jimmy trusted him. Eddie might not have pulled the trigger, but he was worse. He betrayed a friend.” Her face softened. “He betrayed you, Skye. He wasn't worthy of you.” Her eyes narrowed as she swept her gaze from Romero to me. “I'm glad he's dead.”
***
“Did you find a cell phone at Eddie Wolfe's?” I asked the question as soon as we were back in the patrol car.
“No,” Romero said. “I was just thinking about that.”
“If the killer took it, he's concerned either incriminating texts or phone messages might be on it. We should get the number from Skye.”
“Let's not,” Romero said. “Remember Emma found the wallet. Who's to say Skye didn't meet Eddie after dark?”
“You don't believe that, do you?”
“Doesn't matter what I believe. With Swifty's life on the line we have to consider all possibilities. I'll get the cell number from his employer. Then what?”
“I'll give it to Tommy Lee. We don't need the physical phone to check a call log with the carrier.”
“Won't that take days?”
“I think Tommy Lee's leaning on his niece at the FBI.”
Romero laughed. “Hell, the NSA's probably monitoring the calls as it is. Rooster should ask them.” He pulled the mike from his two-way and instructed his dispatcher to get Eddie's number.
Five minutes later, we had the information and I relayed it to Tommy Lee. I also gave him the update on the duct tape and the suspicion that Eddie Wolfe had trapped Danny Swift in the outhouse.
The sheriff asked me to put him on speaker phone. “Hector, I'm going to bring some soil samples from the site. Would you prepare some from Eddie's trunk and the artifacts?”
“You got it. What do you want me to do tonight?”
Romero and I hadn't discussed his role at the exchange. Although we were working well together, he would probably be more amenable to an assignment from Tommy Lee.
“I'll be in the parking lot of the Bureau of Indian Affairs,” Tommy Lee said. “With night binoculars, I'll cover the entrance to the bamboo forest used by Kevin. Can you get into a safe and invisible position to watch the other end where Tyrell and the boy should enter?”
“Yes,” Romero said. “What's the communication plan?”
“Since Barry's going to be inside at the exchange point, I want him in place early. We're opting for cell phones and earpieces. I can merge you in if you'd like. I don't want radio chatter.”
“You got it. Will Barry have night goggles?”
“No. I don't want to chance a reflection off the glass. How are you at camo?”
Romero winked at me. “I'm an Indian, Rooster. Once you see me, it's too late.”
“Well, Barry's not. He's a funeral director used to standing where he can be summoned on a moment's notice. I'm bringing him a vest, but help him find something that will make him disappear.”
Romero glanced at his watch. It was nearly two. “I've got just the thing.”
“Good. Get it to him before five. Barry, that's when I want to meet you in your hotel room.”
“You need me there?” Romero asked.
I started to object. I didn't want Romero crossing paths with Mack Collins.
Tommy Lee spoke first. “Not necessary. I'm going over some information from the Gainesboro side of the investigation. In fact, I took the liberty of faxing it to your department. They're going to hold it in an envelope for me. I'll pick it up with your soil samples.”
“Sounds good, Rooster. See you at the station.”
“All right,” Tommy Lee said. “Barry, I'll see you in your room at five. And charge your damn phone.”
***
The rap on the door came at five fifty-five. I cracked it open, saw Mack Collins, and motioned him inside. As he passed me, I took a quick look up and down the hall. No one was in sight. I wondered if Mack had come from the elevators or from Frankie Tyrell's room.
Behind me, Collins said, “Tommy Lee, Barry didn't say you'd be here.”
I closed the door and turned to see Collins stopped at the foot of the bed, hesitant to venture nearer the sheriff.
Tommy Lee pointed to the chair I'd just vacated. “Sit down, Mack. We have some things to discuss.”
I walked closer, blocking Collins' return to the door. Tommy Lee and I had rehearsed how the scene would play. On the coffee table in the small conversation area, he'd laid out the New Jersey newspaper articles and the photo Kevin Malone had taken of Frankie Tyrell outside the Cherokee casino. Facedown was the picture of Danny Swift gagged in the trunk of a car. Tommy Lee would play that card if and when the time seemed right.
Collins glanced at the table as he moved toward the chair. His step faltered and he grabbed the armrest to steady himself. “Where did you get these?” he hissed.
“That's not important,” Tommy Lee said.
“The hell it isn't. Darren Cransford would say or do anything to bring me down, even stoop to digging up thirty-year-old dirt. And that's all it is. I wasn't convicted of anything.”
“The way I understand it a key witness went into the dirt.” Tommy Lee tapped the photo of Tyrell. “And this isn't thirty years old.”
“I have no idea who he is,” Collins snapped.
“I have a witness who saw you arguing with him last night. I'm in the process of pulling the surveillance footage now.”
Collins' face went red. “Do you have someone following me?”
“No. But the FBI is following him.” Tommy Lee said the lie easily enough.
Collins sat. He looked at the documents in front of him, his eyes lingering on the turned-down sheet of paper. “I have nothing to do with that man.”
“Which man would that be?”
“So, this is the way you're going to play it? Not a conversation but an interrogation?”
“That depends on you, Mack. If you want to lawyer up, then I'll have to bring the FBI into it. And you know the death of two Indians who opposed the second Cherokee casino will bring federal scrutiny, particularly when the leading legislative advocate for the project is seen talking with a Boston hit man.” Tommy Lee waved his hand over the documents. “And the New Jersey stories alone are enough to embolden anyone who might challenge you for your seat.”
Collins seemed to shrink in the chair. “I knew Tyrell a long time ago. I didn't like him then and I don't like him now.”
“You're denying you brought him down here?” Tommy Lee asked.
“Of course I deny it. Look, I'm not admitting to any wrongdoing in the past, but I am saying I came to Gainesboro thirty years ago to make a clean start. I've done that, and I've worked hard for our community and this region.”
If Collins was telling the truth, a new possibility arose in my mind. “But did they let you?” I asked. “As you became successful, you had more to lose. What did Whitey Bulger and Frankie Tyrell extort from you?”
At the mention of Whitey Bulger, Collins' head jerked around. “Nothing. I refused to give them one red cent.”
Whether that was true or not, Tommy Lee and I didn't have the resources to delve back through years of the financial records of Collins' company. But his statement confirmed Frankie Tyrell had tried extortion.
“Is that why you argued with Tyrell?” Tommy Lee asked. “You thought he'd come here to cut himself in on the casino expansion.”
“I saw him, I didn't know why he was here, and I told him to leave. That's it. End of story.”
“You're saying Tyrell wasn't here for a piece of the action?” Tommy Lee said. “I find it hard to believe you ran into him by coincidence.”
“Believe what you want.”
“Then I'll take your cell phone, please.”
“What?” Collins puffed himself up with indignation. “You have no warrant, you have no right.”
Tommy Lee looked at me. I moved closer, better to see Collins' face.