Page 21 of Owl Dreams

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “How come bullshit is an acceptable public declaration but shit is not?” Albert Tiger tore his attention away from the afternoon news long enough to make sure Victoria was listening.

  “The extra syllable disguises the unpleasant truth.” As far as Albert could see, television press releases did exactly the same thing.

  The police spokesperson was a pretty girl, too young to appreciate the nature of her deception. Her hairstyle was post-coital. Her voice belonged on a phone sex hot line. Her bright red, collagen-injected lips were periodically moistened by a tongue with its own agenda. Albert tried to characterize her clothing, but he couldn’t. It vanished before his eyes.

  Men were distracted. Women switched to Oprah. No one but Albert and Victoria paid attention to the lies. The hot, nameless police spokesperson smiled like a thousand dollar call girl at a governors’ convention as she read her statement from the teleprompter.

  A team of well-meaning but misguided citizens had interfered with the ongoing investigation of a serial kidnapping ring targeting Indian Casino management. The vigilantes had endangered the lives of the stolen children. Police wanted them for questioning.

  “Three Native American Men.” Police artist’s renderings replaced the pretty girl on the television screen. File drawings, Albert supposed, of previous Indian felons never apprehended. One looked a little like his father.

  “Believed to be Creek or Chickasaw.” The spokesgirl pronounced each syllable of Chickasaw as if it were a separate word. “Anyone with information about these three vigilantes should contact police immediately.”

  “Not the kidnapper,” Albert said. “Just the three unknown vigilantes.”

  He was satisfied with that. He and Victoria knew what the police did not.

  Sarah Bible was the anonymous informant who had dumped information into the laps of the authorities in a manner they couldn’t ignore. Sarah Bible, not three poorly-drawn Native American men, had

  brought Baby Andrew home. Just Sarah and her mysterious male companion.

  Albert appreciated the value of quiet heroism because he was an Indian. Victoria accepted it because she was a mother. The couple expressed their gratitude to Sarah by telephone, because visiting their own guesthouse would have meant acknowledging Sarah’s friend. Casino managers knew all about plausible deniability.

  “Stay as long as you want,” Albert told Sarah. “Ask for anything we own, and it will be yours.”

  Victoria squeezed Baby Andrew hard enough to make him squirm. He had not been out of his parents’ sight since social services brought him home.

  Two other kidnapped children had been recovered and more would be found as the investigation proceeded. Hashilli Maytubby’s elaborate scheme was coming unraveled. According to the police, it was only a matter of time until he was in custody.

  The Tiger family owed Sarah Bible and the mystery man a debt they never could repay, but that wouldn’t stop them from trying.

  “Don’t tell anyone I’m here. And my friend . . . .”

  “What friend?” Albert almost told Sarah “Fugetaboutit,” but that sounded too much like The Sopranos. Instead, he said, “Goodbye.” Victoria didn’t say a word. She just kissed the phone. Albert wondered how long it would take her to remove the germs with a disinfectant wipe.

  Talking to the police could be hazardous to Sarah’s freedom. The cops would take a dim view of liberating a client from a mental hospital. But officer, he had to show me which grave to rob.

  She wasn’t sure if impersonating a bond agent was a crime, but stealing records from the Wise Owl Center certainly was, even if she did it with the best of intentions.

  There were lots of other embarrassing if not illegal details, like discussions with the wind, Indian witchcraft, Voodoo spirits, and a hummingbird that might be a ghost. By the time a clever interrogator finished with Sarah, she’d be keeping her mother company at Flanders.

  The activity at the Tiger house was hectic. The police paid regular visits. Aunts, uncles, and cousins dropped by periodically. Even Professor Lindsay flew in for a short visit with his daughter and her only child.

  Sarah and Robert watched the whole thing from the picture window of the guesthouse, unnoticed by family members or authorities.

  Their privacy was disturbed only one time, when Professor Lindsay knocked at their door. Sarah had anticipated her department chairman’s visit. He was the one who had made arrangements for her to stay there, after all. It was only natural he would drop by and check on her progress.

  “Victoria didn’t tell me you had a significant other.” Professor Lindsay gave Sarah a perfunctory embrace. Pro forma on the west coast but overly-familiar in Oklahoma. He shook Robert’s hand firmly and briefly, in the manner of a college dean passing out diplomas on graduation day.

  Dr. Lindsay studied Robert’s reactions, eager to place the young man within a social context, but Sarah’s boyfriend didn’t react to the embrace or the handshake. His facial expressions and body language gave no clue to his cultural disposition. Variations in interpersonal space had no effect on Robert. He didn’t back away when Dr. Lindsay became a space invader. He didn’t close the distance when the professor moved away.

  Hard and soft eye contact didn’t trouble Robert. The young man didn’t mind excessive scrutiny, and being ignored didn’t bother him in the least. As far as Dr. Lindsay could tell, Robert had no stereotypical niche behaviors.

  Interesting. Professor Lindsay could usually figure people out in a matter of minutes with social cues that would be meaningless to almost anyone else, but Sarah’s friend remained an enigma.

  “Very good.” The anthropologist shook Robert’s hand again, more vigorously the second time. “You’re just the sort of young man I hoped Sarah would attract.”

  Robert reacted to this statement with a smile that stretched the corners of his mouth to their elastic limit. Sarah didn’t smile at all.

  Dr. Lindsay recognized the signs of denial. Smart people wrestle with their emotions for a long time before they finally give in. But the fight is fixed. Emotion pins intellect every time.

  The Professor said, “I understand someone sent the authorities a kidnapping conspiracy all wrapped up and tied with a bow.

  “Someone who had the kidnapper’s driver’s license. Someone who knew the kind of car he drove. Someone who could identify Andrew Tiger’s photograph in a record from the Wise Owl Child Development Center.”

  Professor Lindsay said that sounded like a fabulous senior project. A student who could complete a project like that would be certain of a place in graduate school. “In anthropology or any of the social sciences.”

  Over the years, Professor Carson Lindsay had accumulated a great amount of political capital at the University of New Mexico. Saving for a rainy day. He was prepared to spend it on the undergraduate student who had reunited Andrew Tiger with his family.

  “Your forensic anthropology project is outstanding. First student ever to tackle an active crime.” The professor winked at Sarah and then at Robert—more like a nervous tick than acknowledgement of a conspiracy. The department chairman had the reputation of never crowding the borders of academic ethics, but now it was time to make a run for the wire.

  Dr. Lindsay lowered his voice to a coarse whisper. He looked around the room as if he were checking for hidden microphones.

  “Archie Chatto called me from El Reno penitentiary,” he said. “His trial date has been set for the end of next week, Sarah. He wants to see you before then.”

  “Men like Archie are a dying breed,” he said. “Like wolves, jaguars, Siberian tigers. Inconvenient, but irreplaceable. Men like Archie Chatto are the stuff of legends. We’ll miss them when they’re gone.”

  “And the man he killed?” Sarah moved beside Robert.

  “Allegedly killed,” the professor said. “There is often a presumption of guilt when Native Americans are accused of crimes, especially Apaches.”

  “
Archie’s appearance doesn’t help his case,” Sarah said. “It isn’t hard to imagine him in the role of a murderer.”

  “Unfortunate, but true.” Dr. Lindsay lifted a carefully-folded piece of copy paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to Sarah. It contained all of Archie’s Department of Corrections particulars.

  “He thinks Marie is in some kind of serious trouble. He believes he might be able to help.”

  “From a cell in a federal prison?” Sarah made a show of studying the numbers, dates, and times on the sheet of paper. She refolded it and placed it into her purse.

  “Never underestimate the abilities of an Apache warrior.” Dr. Lindsay had no problem with stereotypes, especially if they were outrageous. He turned his attention to Robert, who had yet to speak a single word.

  “In spite of those blue eyes, I believe I detect some Native American influence in your features. Tell me, young man, am I wrong?” The professor made certain his voice was completely free of judgment and deception.

  Robert invested several seconds studying Dr. Lindsay.

  Carson Lindsay kept his mind open. He prepared himself to accept whatever Robert told him on face value, at least for the time being.

  Zen anthropology. Trust had the distinctive sound of one hand clapping, and Dr. Lindsay heard the sound of applause.

  Robert remained silent, but he directed Dr, Lindsay into the kitchen with economical gestures that would inspire jealousy in a professional mime. When the professor and Sarah were seated and the quiet tension had built to the breaking point, Robert finally spoke.

  “Let me tell you how the spirit of a Sinagua Singer came to live inside my body.”

  Supernatural ideation was hard wired into every culture; nothing new for Dr. Lindsay. He wondered if Robert would object to some brief notetaking. Probably not, but Sarah certainly would.

  “My parents were archeologists, excavating a Pueblo ruin that had been abandoned for twelve centuries.”

  Robert’s backstory. No emotional tone. A simple disclosure of facts.

  “They celebrated an unexpected discovery in the way young lovers often do. How could they have known that a spirit had been waiting more than a thousand years for such an opportunity?”

  Dr. Lindsay smiled. Robert had the tone and pace of an accomplished storyteller. He settled into the most comfortable position the kitchen chair would allow. “Wherever did you find him, Sarah?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

 
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