Authors: Robert W. Walker
"No...just an observation."
"Well, I hear the Indian casinos are making a bundle," she countered. "So not everyone on the res is piss poor."
"Casinos pay a petty tribute to the tribe, not enough to make a difference to the common good. In effect, an Indian tribe on a modem reservation is a commune—everyone helping everyone, everyone doing his part, all that. But it doesn't ever work out that way, now does it?"
"No...it doesn't. Human nature being what it is."
"Most of the casinos are run by shrewd half-breeds who are as shameless as any CEO you have trading on Wall Street, NYC," he said.
"It can't be that bad."
"You haven't been out to the Coushatta."
"Well...perhaps we can get a little public awareness going, start a drive, have a marathon or something, generate some funds."
"You don't understand. It's not that simple."
"Why not?"
"Because of who we are—American Indians. We have been made charity cases by the state—the U.S. Government—for almost two hundred years now, since the 1820s."
"What's that got to do with what I'm proposing?"
"Damn, it's got everything to do with it. The Cherokee were robbed of their Eastern ancestral lands, an area covering most of Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Tennessee, and portions of Kentucky. They were given Oklahoma before the Okies arrived, and it became an Indian state. My ancestors migrated from the Tallaquah, Oklahoma, promised lands to here, East Texas, and we cohabited with the Alabama, Coushatta, and other western tribes. What I'm saying is that the Texas Cherokee in particular didn't want any handouts from the U.S. Government. My people left the ancestral lands before Andrew Jackson forced all the southern tribes out of the Southeast on the Trail of Tears. They saw the writing on the wall, so to speak. They next left Oklahoma before the white man's treaty there was made and broken again. In Texas, we found a third home so as to not accept the white man's charity along with his worthless, stinking treaties."
"Nice history lesson, but I still don't see what it has to do with raising awareness and funds for the reservation families and children."
"They don't want your charity, however heartfelt it may be, Mere. Don't you get it?"
"You don't have to shout!"
He raised his hands as if arrested. "Sony...let's eat."
"I didn't know it was such a touchy subject with you."
"Not me...I'm no reservation Indian, remember? I got off the res a long time ago."
"I'm sorry White America has treated your people so wrongly, Lucas. I wish there was something I could do, that's all."
"Meredyth, no one, least of all this clansman, holds you responsible for the thefts and rapes and lies committed in the past by the U.S. Government and military in the name of Manifest Destiny and assimilation of the aboriginals. So let's leave it at that...and while we're at it, you've got no business feeling guilty in the least for Lauralie Blodgett's becoming a twisted and cold-blooded killer either."
"You saying that maybe I take on too much responsibility on my shoulders?"
"Precisely, yes."
They fell silent for a time, listening to the robins and sparrows circling and darting through the trees outside the kitchen window in what seemed an eternal dance, but was in fact a series of short-lived bursts of energy in a chase of give-and-take, back-and-forth. A Texas raven cried off in the distance, while hummingbirds, tasting of the nectar of oleander bushes, silently hovered about the windows. A mild scent of oleander wafted into them. Meredyth smiled and pointed at the hummingbirds, telling Lucas they had once had a family of hawks visit the cabin and take up residence for two months before they'd disappeared.
Together, they made their way out on the wide screened porch, taking their sandwiches and drinks with them. Here they looked out over the lake to one side, the horse stables to the other. "What shall we do now?" she asked. "Water play or horse play?"
A phone rang somewhere deep in the house. "That sounds like my cell phone," he said. "And I left it upstairs in the bedroom."
"It's most likely mine. I switched it back on when we woke. My secretary at the practice is likely wanting to know when she can begin scheduling patients again."
"So where's your cell?"
"Upstairs alongside yours. But I didn't activate yours again," she lied.
"So not even Sophia knows the phone number to the cabin?"
"Not even Sophia, no, since there is no phone in the house. It's my one sinful indulgence, this place, and I vow it will never be spoiled by TVs, telephones, radios, computers, E-mail, or any other gadgets of labor. If I have to make a call out from here, it's done on my cell."
"You mean to tell me you don't have one TV or radio in the entire house?"
"I thought you knew that from your last visit."
He blew out a lungful of air. "Guess I was having too much fun to notice."
"The only radio is the one in your car, Lucas."
"Hmmm...I see. And you're not curious about what's going on downtown?" he asked. "I mean with the case, any results on the APB on the girl or the car?"
"Not in the least, not today."
"I can't help but wonder if there've been any sightings of her... what her whereabouts might be... any new developments we should be paying attention to... that sort of thing, you know."
"Lucas, listen to yourself. No wonder you're so tightly wound."
"Whataya mean?"
"You left the scene of a grisly murder maybe ten, eleven hours ago, one in which you were relieved of command by your superior—remember that?"
"Yeah, yeah, but—"
"But nothing! You as much as told Lincoln to cram it."
"I did? I don't remember telling him to—"
"You told him he could rely on Jana North to assist the FBI, implying you wouldn't be available for such duty, and he took you up on it, Lucas."
"All right...I remember... but you know as well as I do that we're both too much a part of this case to simply step off."
"Lauralie has seen to that, and up to this point, she's been pulling all the strings, pal, but not anymore...at least not my strings. I'm more highly invested in this case than anyone, Lucas, but I'm not playing her game any longer. I am stepping off this lunatic's merry-go-round."
"Bravo! I think that's excellent advice you're giving yourself, Mere. Go for it."
"I intend to. Maybe Patterson and Lincoln are right, Lucas. Maybe you and I should have turned over the investigation from the moment we realized the killer's mania was focused on me and you."
"Well, now you've got your wish. Removed from the case, way out here in a place where she can't get at you...it's the right thing to do. Mere, absolutely."
"You make it sound as if I'm washing my hands of any responsibility."
"No, not at all. I don't mean to suggest anything of the sort."
"What's the alternative? Go on the offensive? Attack this crazy young woman where she lives? I might like the plan except for the fact we don't know where the fuck she is or where the fuck she will be in an hour, a day, a week. And you, Lucas 'Wolf Clansman' Stonecoat, what do you do given an opportunity to wash your hands of it? You fight it tooth and nail!"
"All I'm suggesting is we answer the cell phone, Mere."
The ringing from upstairs stopped.
"Bullshit. At least be honest with me, Lucas."
"What?"
"My restless Cherokee detective. You want to leap back into the chase with both feet. You're chomping at the bit like Says who and Yesyado when Jeff jingles their reins. You are that anxious to get back to tracking that bitch."
"All right, I admit that I'm a little eager to know what, if anything, has come to light since we put out the APB on the car."
"Do you have to be a cop twenty-four-seven?"
"What about you, Doctor? Heal thyself. Do you have to be a shrink twenty-four-seven?" he countered.
"Touche, mon amour. I guess we both know each other better than most couples, hey, Lucas?"
"That's usually a good thing, isn't it?"
"Dr. Phil would say so, but sometimes there's such a thing as too much honesty."
"Really? And when is that?"
"When the truth is clearly that two people are incompatible."
"You think that's the case with us?" he asked.
"Do you?"
"What kind of word games are we playing here, Mere?
What's more important than the truth that... that I love you?"
This silenced her for a moment. She raised her lips to his, kissing him. "I love you too, Lucas, truly."
The noise of birds skimming over the lake at the bottom of the lawn rose up to them. "Then we have no problem we can't overcome."
"You buy into that? That love can overcome any problem, any obstacle?" she asked.
"In my culture, aside from God, it is the most powerful force in the cosmos."
"Once you loved Tsali, and once she loved you, but what happened to your powerful force then?"
He dropped his gaze and sipped at his lukewarm coffee. She saw that she had hurt him, her words stinging. "That was young love. Our love, Meredyth, makes us feel young, but it's more solid, grounded. We have much more in common than you had with Byron and I had with Tsali, and we learn from each other each day."
She wrapped her arms around him. "So much evil is done in the name of love, like this love-starved, love- seeking Blodgett girl, searching for the attention of the world because she couldn't get it from her own mother."
"Every beat cop and detective on the force knows that love kills," he replied, holding her tight. "If it's not a prostitute murder, it's a stalking-ex murder, and if not that, the father who kills his family, why? Because 'I loved them too much.'"
"So many deaths all balled up with love and its many permutations. And yet so many beautiful and wondrous outcomes have resulted from pure, genuine love."
"Let's don't ever take our love for granted, Mere."
"Agreed. Let's celebrate it often."
"Right you are. All the same, sweetheart, I am curious to know if anything's come of our APB."
"Christ, Lucas, it's not our APB anymore. Ahhh," she mock-screamed. "I give up. Make the call. No! Wait a minute. Hold on!" She had pushed him away from her and stepped back. "If you love me, you'll get it off your mind for a while."
"Celebration time, you mean?" he asked, holding his arms out for her to return to him.
She fell into his arms. "I'm not referring to sex. I'm talking about having some fun—F-U-N!"
He held her at arm's length, staring into her sea-green eyes. "Hell, you're right. I've forgotten how to spell it. As for the Ripper business, it's not even my case anymore. Let them deal with it."
She pulled away and went to the porch swing, pulling herself into a ball there. "I really don't want to hear another word about the fucking case, Lucas." She pulled her feet up and under her. The swing swayed only slightly, unhappily.
"Isn't that what I just said? Am I missing something here?" Lucas watched her sulk, and then he stared down at the movement around the stables. Men who worked the horses and saw to their needs had already begun to exercise some of the animals. "Let's go for a ride, shall we?" he suggested.
She remained balled up, but her eyes found his. After regarding him for a moment, she smiled. "Now your're talking."
"Walk you to the stables?"
"You're on." Meredyth's smile broadened, lighting up her features.
"Is this how you intend to always get your way with me?" he asked.
"Whatever are you talking about?" She pushed open the porch screen door and skipped down the stairs. "I have no modus operandi that you don't know about."
He followed her down the steps and along the gravel drive to the path leading to the stables. "I meant the way you had me come to the deduction you wanted."
"Are you suggesting that I would stoop to some sort of Aristotelian third degree to bring you around to the conclusion you'd already logically deduced, Detective, in the subterranean depths of that big head of yours?"
"Aristotelian...is that a shot?" He grabbed her and began tickling. She ran ahead of him with Lucas giving chase. Their laughter joined with the robins and the sparrows nipping at one another, flitting in and out of the trees. Their laughter echoed in the quiet and rumbled down to the workmen at the stables, who looked in their direction, and the laughter traveled across the lake.
Now, arms entwined, they sauntered the rest of the way down the path toward the stables, hibiscus bushes and a thicket of trees lining their way. "Kind of like Oz for grown-ups here," Lucas confided. "I really like this place, Mere."
"Good...I'm glad you do. Strange thing is, Lucas, it's always been special for me and my parents, but now, having you here to share it...well... it's positively dreamlike."
"I know what you mean...the sharing of it, like we shared the desert that night—that's what makes it doubly special."
A tractor down at the stables roared into animation. Behind them, just out of earshot, Lucas's police-band radio crackled into life as well, and Stan Kelton's voice came over, asking, "Lucas? Lieutenant Stonecoat? If you can hear me, please respond."
After a pause, Kelton cursed and broke off.
In the house, on Lucas's cell phone, Jana North was leaving a message at the same time. "Lucas...I tried Dr. Sanger's cell and now I'm trying you. There's been an unusual shooting at a cafe in the Spring Brook area, not far from the Waller County line and the farm we raided. Four dead, two civilians, two state troopers. Looks like a hell of a firefight, but the troopers only got off one round. And, Lucas, a silver-gray BMW was seen leaving the scene."
A groundskeeper who came in and did the landscaping once a month arrived, pulling in alongside Lucas's unmarked squad car. He regarded the car as something unusual, and seeing the house had been opened, he guessed one or more of the family had come up from Houston for the weekend. Surveying the stables, he saw Dr. Sanger and a guest waiting for a pair of fine-looking, eager horses to be saddled up. Howard Kemper wondered at the injustice in the world, that some people had all this freaking free time and lavishness in their lives, while he had played the Texas and Louisiana lotteries religiously for the past ten years, to win the occasional fifty or a hundred bucks.