Heaven's Keep

  “I’ll talk to Kosmo later,” Cork said, “see if Quinn gave up anything new.”

  No Voice looked back at the quiet town. “This might not be the safest place for you two. There are still people in Red Hawk who think it was you killed Ellyn.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind,” Cork promised. “And we’ll be careful.”

  “All right then.” No Voice lifted his hand briefly in a parting gesture and headed away.

  Cork parked in front of St. Alban, and he and Parmer got out. The mission door was open, and the priest stood just inside, out of the sun. When they approached, Father Grisham said, “Your friend needs to wait outside. This is for you alone, Mr. O’Connor.”

  “I’ll be in the Jeep,” Parmer said.

  Cork followed the priest into the mission. It was a small sanctuary with a lot of statuary that looked locally made. The crucifix above the altar was hewn from wood and roughly carved. The windows were opaque gold, and the light coming through had a golden hue. There were flowers everywhere, as if in preparation for a wedding, and Cork thought about all the women who’d been there the night before, decorating. Two people sat in the last pew, a woman and a boy. When they heard the men coming, they stood and turned. Cork recognized them. The Arapaho woman and the kid from Nightwind’s ranch.

  After glancing into his face for a brief instant, the woman looked down.

  “You know who these people are, Mr. O’Connor. They’re good people, and they have something they need to tell you.”

  Cork waited. The mission was quiet, peaceful. It felt safe.

  “Go ahead, Adelle,” the priest urged gently. “Tell Mr. O’Connor exactly what you’ve told me.”

  The woman spoke toward the floor. “We didn’t mean any harm. We didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Just tell him, Adelle.”

  The woman glanced at her grandson, who also looked at the floor. “When Nick was not much more than a baby, his father killed a man in a fight and went to the prison in Rawlins. He’s still there. His mother died two years later. We’ve raised Nick. My husband is a good man, and he tries to do right for our grandson. But a boy, he wants adventure. Lame Deer Nightwind is adventure. Nick, he follows Lame everywhere. One day late last fall, Lame loaded his big machine onto a trailer and got ready to leave.”

  “Big machine?” Cork asked.

  “His backhoe,” the kid said.

  “When Nick asked him where he was going, Lame wouldn’t say,” Adelle went on. “He was very mysterious. As soon as he was gone, Nick saddled a horse and followed. He does this kind of thing.”

  “You knew where Nightwind was going?” Cork asked the boy.

  Nick shook his head. “But out here there’s nobody. It was real easy to follow the tracks his truck and trailer left.”

  “Did he go to the box canyon north of the ranch?”

  “Yes,” Nick said. He risked a glance upward into Cork’s face. “I hid in the rocks on top of the canyon wall and watched him clear a long strip with the blade on his backhoe. I figured right away what it was, but then he did something I didn’t understand. He dug a big hole at one end. When he was finished, he left the backhoe and the trailer and drove off. I rode home. The next day he put Dominion into a trailer and headed toward the canyon again.”

  “Dominion?” Cork asked.

  “His favorite horse,” Adelle said.

  “Go on, Nick.”

  “He came back riding Dominion.”

  “What did he do with the truck?”

  The kid shrugged. “I wondered that, too. The next morning he flew away. He was gone for a couple of days, then the clouds came and I knew there was going to be a big storm and I worried about his truck. I saddled one of the horses and rode out to the canyon to make sure things were all right there.” He hesitated.

  “And were they?”

  “I could tell there was a lot of snow coming down in the mountains already, but nothing was falling here yet. Just before I got to the canyon, I heard a plane flying low over the foothills. I saw it come out of the clouds and bank for a landing on the strip that Lame had cleared. It touched down and taxied into the canyon and then I couldn’t see it anymore. I tied up my horse and climbed the canyon wall. I saw the plane in the big hole Lame had dug, and Lame was there with two other men. The two men went into the plane, but Lame didn’t go in with them. Then I heard a bunch of shots inside and they came back out. Lame got on his backhoe and buried the plane. Then he loaded the backhoe on the trailer and hauled it away with his truck. The two men who were with him drove away, too.”

  He stopped and went back to looking at the floor.

  “And you went down there?” Cork said.

  The kid shook his head. “I should have. I had an idea what happened in that plane. But I was scared. Lame’s horse trailer was still there and I figured he’d come back for it and I didn’t want him to catch me, so I left and went home.”

  “Did you tell anyone what you saw?”

  “No.”

  “My wife was on that plane. But she’s not there now. Do you know why?”

  The boy lifted his eyes to Cork’s face. “I went back and got her.”

  “You?”

  “Yeah. I couldn’t stop thinking about that plane, and I had to know. The next day I went back. I took a shovel. It was still snowing and blowing, but it wasn’t that cold and I knew the way. When I got there, I saw that Lame had already come back for his horse trailer. There was snow over everything, but I could still see where the plane was buried. It was kind of mounded like. I started digging. The ground was still pretty loose, and it wasn’t hard. It took me a couple of hours, but I finally uncovered the door. When I opened it, it was bad inside. All those guys sitting in their seats, shot in the head, blood all down their faces. I wanted to turn around and just run, but I heard a noise. It came from the back of the plane. I was scared, but I went back there anyway. That’s when I saw her. She was shot different from the men. Shot here.” He pointed toward the middle of his chest. “She wasn’t dead. She looked at me and tried to say something. But all she could do was make a little sound. I didn’t think I should move her, so I found a blanket and put it over her and I tried to make her understand that I’d be back. Then I rode home and told my granddad.”

  “Your husband knew?” Cork said to Adelle.

  “The story isn’t over,” the woman said. “Before you judge him, please just listen.”

  Cork wanted to grab the kid and shake the story from him, the whole thing, in an instant. Struggling to sound patient, he said, “Go on.”

  “My granddad drove his truck. We went back inside the plane. The woman was right there where I left her. She was unconscious. My granddad carried her to the truck and put her inside. He said we couldn’t leave the hole open, so we filled it back in, and spread snow over it real careful so it was hard to tell we’d been there. Then we brought her home.”

  Cork could contain himself no longer. He reached out and grasped the kid’s shoulders. “What did you do with her?”

  “Let him go,” Adelle said. She pried Cork’s hands from her grandson and gathered Nick under the protection of her arm. “If it weren’t for him, you and your friend would be dead now. He saved you yesterday. In that canyon.”

  “You? You fired those shots?”

  The boy nodded. “I was at the barn. I heard Lame outside talking on his phone. I heard him say the buried plane would be a good place to get rid of O’Connor. I knew that was you. I told my granddad. He said we should stay out of it, but it didn’t seem right to me. So I rode out. I took my rifle. I don’t know. It seemed like a good thing. I got there and you already had the hole dug. Then the men came out from where they’d been hiding and I knew they were going to kill you. So I tried to shoot them. But I missed. I guess I was kind of scared.”

  Cork gathered himself and shoved aside his impatience and his anger. “Thanks,” he said more quietly, then asked, “What about my wife?”

  Adelle continu
ed the story. “We hid her and we nursed her. She was hurt bad, but we didn’t know what to do.”

  “Why didn’t you take her to a doctor?”

  “Because we would have to tell the truth. And they would know what Lame did and they would put him in jail. Lame’s been good to us. We didn’t want trouble. And if Lame was sent away, we didn’t know what would become of us.”

  “He didn’t know about her?”

  “Not at first. We were . . .” She looked down. “We were afraid of him. But she just got worse and worse. And finally my husband said we had to tell Lame. Lame had to figure what to do.”

  “How did Nightwind take the news?”

  “He was mad, like we knew he would be. I thought he was going to hurt Nick.”

  “I knew he wouldn’t hurt me,” Nick said.

  “We told him the woman needed help,” Adelle went on. “She needed a doctor. He said that if the people who’d shot her knew that we knew, he couldn’t protect us and they’d kill us all.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He made us leave the ranch for a few days in case those men showed up looking for us. When we came back, she was gone.”

  “Did he say what he’d done with her?”

  Nick said, “I asked him if he killed her. He said no and I believed him.”

  Cork looked at the Arapaho woman. “And you? Did you believe him?”

  “I wanted to. But I don’t know. She was gone and I tried to forget. And then you came back looking for her. And we”—she put her arm around her grandson and drew him to her—“we decided that you needed to know the truth, whatever it cost us.”

  “Does your husband know you’re here?”

  “Yes. He stayed at the ranch. He believed he should let Lame know what we’re doing.”

  “Where is Lame?”

  “I don’t know. He left last night and still wasn’t back this morning.”

  The priest said, “I’m sure that by now he knows about Ellyn Grant, Mr. O’Connor. Word on the reservation travels remarkably fast. And he’s probably aware of what you know and the danger it presents to him. I can’t imagine that he’ll simply wait around to be arrested, though Lame isn’t a man easy to predict.”

  “Yesterday we made sure that he couldn’t fly away,” Cork said. “And there aren’t a lot of roads out here and No Voice says his guys are patrolling, so if he tries to drive there’s a good chance he’ll be spotted. But sometimes, Father, a cornered man just hunkers down and waits.”

  “And then what?”

  “That’s always the question.”

  A woman rushed into the mission and stood just inside the door, breathing hard. A ball cap was pulled over her long hair and shaded her eyes. She wore faded jeans and a T-shirt with an image of four Apache warriors holding rifles. The caption for the image read HOMELAND SECURITY. FIGHTING TERRORISM SINCE 1492.

  Cork recognized her, though he couldn’t remember her name. He’d seen her the night before at the office of the tribal police. She was a dispatcher.

  “What is it, Lee?”

  “I just spoke with Chief No Voice on the radio. He’s on his way back, but he said I should come over and tell this to Mr. O’Connor.” She looked at the woman and the kid. “I suppose it’s good you’re here, too, Adelle. It’s about Ben.”

  “What about him?” Adelle asked.

  “We just got a 911 call from Lame Nightwind’s ranch. Your husband’s been shot, Adelle. It doesn’t sound good, but it’s not fatal.”

  “Who shot him?” Cork asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Cork spoke again. “Who made the call?”

  “Lame Nightwind,” the dispatcher said.

  FORTY-TWO

  It was thirty miles to Nightwind’s ranch. Cork drove like a madman. In the dust raised behind him, Father Frank and the Arapaho followed in the truck they’d driven to Red Hawk. Ten minutes after they left town, Cork’s cell phone rang, and he handed it to Parmer.

  Parmer answered, listened, then turned to Cork. “It’s Sheriff Kosmo. He’d like you to stop immediately and wait. He’ll have men out here as soon as he can and an ambulance.”

  “Tell him to go to hell.”

  Into the phone, Parmer said, “Sheriff, I’d have better luck trying to stop a bulldozer with a feather duster.” He listened again, then held out the cell phone to Cork. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Cork took the phone, snapped it shut, and handed it back to Parmer. Then he bore down even harder on the accelerator.

  Half a mile from Lame Nightwind’s ranch compound, Cork stopped. “Check your Ruger.”

  Parmer opened the glove box where he’d placed the weapon. He pulled the firearm out, ejected and checked the magazine, then slapped it back into place. Cork swung himself out of the Jeep and opened the back door just as the Arapahos’ truck drew up behind him. He lifted out Quinn’s Winchester, which he’d kept.

  Adelle, Nick, and Father Frank got out of the pickup and hurried to the Jeep.

  The priest frowned at the rifle in Cork’s hands. “Is this necessary, Mr. O’Connor?”

  Cork checked the magazine to be sure it carried a full load of rounds.

  “I’ve got no idea what we might be walking into, Father. It could be Lame Nightwind or it could be a couple of professional killers. I just want to be prepared.”

  “Mr. O’Connor, I understand your eagerness—” the priest began.

  “Father, what you understand or don’t isn’t important to me. Nightwind may be the only man alive who knows where my wife is. I intend to get some answers from him.”

  “What if you kill him first?” the priest said.

  “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  Cork pushed the priest aside, got into the Jeep, and handed Parmer the rifle. Adelle Iron rushed to his door and stood looking at him very afraid.

  “What about my husband?”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Cork said. “But until we know the situation, you and Nick and the father stay back. Do you understand?”

  He didn’t wait for her to answer. He kicked the engine over, and as soon as she stepped away, he sped off.

  A hundred yards from the ranch house he pulled to a stop and scanned the compound. Except for the horses grazing in the pasture behind the barn, nothing moved. Two hawks circled on thermals above the foothills, and beyond that the face of Heaven’s Keep, distant and brooding, looked down. A line of dark clouds had begun to mount from behind the Absarokas.

  Cork reached for his rifle. “Stay here and cover me,” he said to Parmer. “I’m going to check the house.”

  He used the protection of the boulders that were a natural part of the landscape and made his way toward the ranch house.

  Behind him, Adelle Iron parked the truck next to Parmer and the Wrangler.

  Cork reached the porch and bounded up the steps to the front door. He waited, then tried the knob. The door was unlocked. He nudged it open but kept to the side, out of sight. When nothing happened, he kicked the door wide and slipped inside. He scanned the living room and the dining room beyond. He listened carefully but heard nothing. Then he sensed movement at his back. He spun and found Parmer in the doorway.

  “Easy, Cork. Just me.”

  Cork turned back to the interior of the house. He motioned with his hand for Parmer to follow. Slowly, carefully, they went through the whole place. Nightwind wasn’t there. They returned to the Jeep.

  “My husband?” Adelle asked.

  Cork shook his head.

  “At the cabin,” she said.

  “Wait here until we’re sure.” Cork’s attention became focused on the outbuildings. He sprinted to the garage and peered through a window. Nightwind’s pickup was parked inside, along with a Jeep Cherokee. Cork turned to Parmer, who’d shadowed him.

  “His vehicles are still here. He’s around somewhere. We’re going to check the outbuildings one at a time. I’ll go first, you cover me.”

  Parmer was dripping sweat.
His shirt was soaked dark. He put a hand on Cork’s shoulder. “The sheriff’s people will be here in an hour or so. Sure you don’t want to wait?”

  Cork wanted to scream so bad he could barely speak to Parmer. What he managed to say was this: “I have to know about my wife. If God himself were coming in an hour, I wouldn’t wait.”

  For an instant, Parmer’s grip tightened on Cork’s shoulder, then released. “All right, I’m with you. Whatever it takes.”

  Cork ran in a crouch to the next outbuilding, where Nightwind kept his backhoe. He tried the door. It opened easily. Inside, except for the silent bulk of the great machine, the place was empty. He motioned Parmer to join him, and he nodded toward the barn.

  Cork slipped along the front wall toward the barn door, which was pulled wide open. From inside came a steady hum that Cork couldn’t identify. He motioned Parmer toward the rear of the building. Parmer climbed a rail fence and disappeared in back. Cork reached the door and edged his left shoulder and his head around the threshold. Slowly, the scene revealed itself to him. The barn was in disarray, tools and materials thrown about as if in the heat of an angry battle. A chair sat in the middle of the room. It was empty, but an uncoiled length of rope lay like a long, dead snake on the ground around it. The hum continued, coming from the corner of the barn that was still hidden from Cork’s view. His finger nestled the rifle trigger, and he eased himself farther into the barn.

  What he saw stopped him cold.

  A body hung upside down, its ankles tied to a rope that ran through a pulley suspended from a rafter. It was male, nude, eviscerated. Entrails hung from the gaping wound and lay in the dirt directly below. The body was black with a skin that seemed to ripple. Flies. Thousands of them. The source of the hum Cork had heard.

  Parmer entered through the back door and came to where Cork stood.

  “Jesus,” he said. “Is that Ben Iron?”

  Because of the flies, Cork couldn’t tell. He walked to the hung body and nudged it with his rifle barrel. The flies dispersed. The body slowly rotated. Cork looked at the face.

  “It’s Gully,” he said.

  Parmer glanced around. “Where’s Mike?”