Death Where the Bad Rocks Live
PRAISE FOR
D
EATH
A
LONG THE
S
PIRIT
R
OAD
“A mystery novel that grabs you by the lapels and refuses to let go…This is storytelling at its best and C. M. Wendelboe is a new author to watch.”
—Margaret Coel,
New York Times
bestselling author of
The Perfect Suspect
“The pacing of the novel…is distinctly native, something I haven’t read since the departure of the old master, Tony Hillerman.”
—Craig Johnson,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Hell Is Empty
“Wendelboe paints a vivid portrait of life on the reservation and deftly mixes history with a satisfying mystery.”
—
Kirkus Reviews
“The absorbing first in a new…series.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“
Death Along the Spirit Road
is a fantastic read…C. M. Wendelboe is a fabulous writer with an eye for detail and the ability to express it perfectly. This is a definite must-read.”
—
The Romance Readers Connection
“This Native American police procedural is a strong whodunit because of the powerful backdrop in which Tanno investigates.”
—
Midwest Book Review
D
EATH
W
HERE THE
B
AD
R
OCKS
L
IVE
C. M. WENDELBOE
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
•
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
•
Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
•
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
•
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India
•
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
•
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2012 by Curt Wendelboe.
Cover illustration by Richard Tuschman.
Cover design by Rita Frangie.
Interior text design by Laura K. Corless.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
BERKLEY
®
PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are registered trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime trade paperback edition / September 2012
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wendelboe, C. M.
Death where the bad rocks live / C. M. Wendelboe.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-1-101-58145-2
1. United States. Federal Bureau of Investigation—Officials and employees—Fiction. 2. Indian reservation—South Dakota—Fiction. 3. Dakota Indians—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3623.E53D46 2012
813’.6—dc23 2012014771
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
To those who have become ill and lost loved ones
in the place where the bad rocks live.
CKNOWLEDGMENTS
Again I would like to thank my editor, Tom Colgan, and my literary agent, Bill Contardi, for their patience and professionalism leading me through this maze that is the publishing world. I am thankful to my first publicist, Kaitlyn Kennedy, and Penguin’s sales and marketing staff, especially Eric Boss and Kacey Pfaff. I am grateful for my mentors, Judy and Craig Johnson—especially Craig for keeping me and “Big Elvis” up on two wheels. I value the input of my Lakota friends, especially Oglala Lakota Ernie LaPointe for sharing his knowledge of the Old Time as it relates to present attitudes on Pine Ridge Reservation. I am most thankful for the support, untiring help, and love of my wife, Heather—who absolutely never tells me what to do.
Since the creation of the Turtle Island (The North American Continent), the first Nations always knew all things have a Spirit. The four-legged, those that fly, the green growing things, the water, the rocks (stones), and the Earth. The first Nations lived with all these entities as relatives, because we are all born from the Earth, our true Mother. There is not anything bad or evil from these living entities, but are labeled as such from people that do not have any knowledge, by the two-legged that create controversy.
E
RNIE
L
A
P
OINTE
Great-grandson of
Tatanka Iyotake
: Bull Who Sits Down
(Sitting Bull; Hunkpapa Lakota)
C
HAPTER
1
DECEMBER 1944
The faint whisper of wind grew louder in Moses Ten Bears’s ears as the throp-throp-throp of a large aircraft cooking off speed neared. Snow, mixed with cottonwood seeds that made their own breed of snowstorm, swirled around the car as the bomber passed overhead at treetop level. If there had been any trees in the Badlands.
“You’re sure they’re not bombing here today?” Ellis Lawler’s eyes darted between Moses and the aircraft, which was shrinking in the distance. The frail, little man with skin the color of dirty snow shivered inside the frigid Buick, and his teeth clicked together as he rubbed his hands for warmth.
Moses chuckled. Here on the reservation, people would say the Buick they huddled inside was a Big Ugly Indian Cow Killer.
“You think that’s funny?” Ellis blew into his gloves. “They came pretty close that last pass.”
“They have not bombed here since last year. Those Army Air Corps flyboys have used this part of the Stronghold for practice so long they could make the run in their sleep. Besides”—Moses snatched a glove from Ellis and held it just out of his reach—“they stopped using cars for targets last year.”
Ellis reached for the glove, but Moses kept it away, finally allowing Ellis to grab it. He craned his neck out the window in the direction the bomber had flown. “Just the same, I’ll feel better when Clayton gets here. This place gives me the creeps.”
But it didn’t give Moses the creeps. It rejuvenated him every time he came here. The Wanagi Oyate, the spirits of those that have passed on, called to him from this place. This was the Stronghold, for so long a Lakota sanctuary, for so long a place where warriors fled to seek safety from invading enemies, for so long a place where spirits of those gone before him still roamed. This was
Oonagazhee
, the Sheltering Place. And he decided this would be the final time he’d guide any
wasicu,
White man, here.
Ellis uncapped a mason jar of corn whiskey, the odor permeating the car. Moses retched, as much from the revolting smell as from what revolting things whiskey had done to the Lakota, draining their will, draining their history, like the cold draining the heat from him this frigid afternoon. Ellis took a long pull and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He passed the whiskey jar to Moses, but Moses shook his head. Ellis shrugged and took another drink before capping it and setting it on the floorboard. “Where the hell’s Clayton?”