Slickrock Paradox (12 page)

Silas took the binoculars back. “We'll find out in a minute.” The two
SUV
s were bumping along the pitted track toward them. Goodwin put the truck in gear and steered so that his left wheels were in the outside track, leaving room for the
SUV
s to do the same. They came up to the duo slowly and stopped when the lead vehicle's window was adjacent to Goodwin's Ford. The window of the black Yukon slid down. Agent Taylor was behind the wheel. The man Silas didn't recognize was in the passenger seat.

Agent Taylor said, “Hello, Dr. Pearson, funny meeting you here.”

“I was thinking the same thing, Agent Taylor.”

“We're conducting a murder investigation.”

Silas asked, “Who's your co-pilot?”

“This is Charles Nephi. He works for Senator C. Thorn Smith.”

“
US
Senator,” said the man sitting next to Taylor. “He's currently in Washington on the nation's business, so he asked that I come to offer his condolences to the family.”

“Senator Smith represents Utah,” said Silas. “This is Arizona.”

“Yes, but the remains were found in our state. The senator thought . . .”

“I see,” said Silas. “Nice gesture to make.”

“What brings
you
here, Dr. Pearson?”

“Same as Mr. Nephi. Paying my respects.”

“And who is
your
pilot today?” asked Taylor, smiling.

Goodwin extended his hand and Taylor shook it. “Roger Goodwin, from
NAU
.”

“Somebody else I have to call ‘doctor,' I presume?”

“Roger will do just fine.”

“You're not getting involved in this investigation, are you, Dr. Pearson?” asked Taylor.

“I'd say I already am, wouldn't you, Agent Taylor? I just want to tell them how sorry I am about their daughter and let them have some closure. Nothing more.”

Taylor regarded them a moment. “Good enough. Please don't overstep your boundaries, Doctor.”

“How do I know what they are, Agent Taylor?”

“When you overstep them, I'll let you know pretty quick.”

Silas said, “Goodbye Mr. Nephi. Tell the senator hello. My wife is—was—a big fan.”

“I'll do that,” said Nephi as Taylor rolled the window up. The two
SUV
s passed on down the track. Silas watched them disappear in the cracked side mirror of the Ford.

“Penelope really a big fan?” asked Roger.

“Are you kidding? C. Thorn Smith is the senator who killed every single piece of environmental legislature brought before the Senate. If the environmental movement has an arch enemy, he's it. I don't know anything about his minion there, but I doubt he's any more sympathetic than his master. Maybe even less so.”

“You think he knew who you were?”

“I doubt it. Taylor is probably filling him in. I wonder why he felt it necessary to come all the way out here. I mean, nice sentiment, but usually a letter will do. Seems a little odd to be riding along with the
FBI
.”

“Budget cuts,” said Goodwin. “Maybe they're carpooling.” He put the truck in gear and crept on toward the trailer. They parked outside for a minute while dogs sniffed and then peed on their tires. After a moment a young woman appeared at the door to signal that they had been noticed and that they could approach the house.

“That's Kayah's older sister, Darla. She lives at home to take care of her folks,” said Goodwin. They both opened the doors and stepped out, Silas taking his cane. There was a breeze blowing across Third Mesa, and the air was lightly scented with sage. It was hot, but not oppressively so.

“
Um waynuma
?” said Goodwin as he walked up to the trailer.

“
Um pitu
?” said the woman. She was about five-foot-two, with a lean face and long dark hair. Silas immediately wondered if this was what Kayah Wisechild had looked like.

“
Owí
. This is Silas Pearson,” said Goodwin. “We've come to pay our respects to your mother and father. May we speak with them?”

“You can come in. They will be happy to see you.”

“The government men were just here,” said Roger, walking up the wooden steps to enter the trailer.

“They told us not to worry, that they would find whoever did this to my sister.”

Silas looked at Roger and twisted his mouth to indicate his skepticism. The two men stepped into the trailer. It was small and clean and smelled like freshly cooked corn. A couple in their late fifties sat in the living area on twin floral pattern chairs next to the open kitchen. Silas and Roger stopped. Roger said, “
Owí, nu' waynuma
.”

“
Um pitu
?” said Mr. Wisechild.

“
Owí
,” said Roger. “This is Silas Pearson. He is the man who found your daughter. He's come to bring his condolences.”

The man and woman looked at one another. “Do you want to have coffee?” the man asked after a moment.

“Yes, coffee would be good.”

“I am Leon, and this is my wife, Evelyn. You've met our eldest daughter, Darla.”

“We've met.” Darla went to the kitchen and plugged the coffee maker in.

“Sit, please,” said Leon, pointing to a matching couch. Both men sat.

“What did the
FBI
men tell you when they were here?” asked Goodwin.

“They said that they would catch the evil man who did this to our daughter,” said Leon.

“There is a witch at work,” said Evelyn. Leon nodded his head. Silas could see that Darla in the kitchen was less convinced. She rolled her eyes in exaggerated disbelief.

“We are glad that you found our little girl, Mr. Pearson.”

“It's Silas,” he said. “I'm very sorry for your loss.”

“Now her
soona
, her soul, can travel to the underworld. Now she is no longer just
qatungwu
.”

“Lifeless, a body,” translated Goodwin.

“I hope it brings some peace,” said Silas.

“How was it you came to be in that place, where you found her?”

Darla brought strong black coffee on a tray and handed them each a cup. Silas sipped his. It was hot and delicious. “I was looking for my wife,” he said. “She has been missing for three and a half years. I thought that maybe she was in that place, but instead I found your daughter. There was a storm, and a flood, and when it was over, I saw her. Under a cottonwood tree.”

“Is that what happened to your leg?” asked Leon.

“I was caught in the flood. It's on the mend.”

“And why were you looking there? In that place. It's big country,” asked Leon.

“I've been searching for over three years. I've looked everywhere. She went on a hike, within a day's drive of Moab, and never came back.”

“Third Mesa is within a day of Moab. Did you look here?”

“I did. Almost three years ago. Around the Peabody mine. She was . . . an environmentalist, an activist. She worked here on the mesa for years trying to stop the mine.”

Darla said, “There are only so many white women who come to Hopi. Maybe I have seen her. Do you have a picture?”

“She was half-Hispanic. Her mother was from Baja,” Silas said, digging out his wallet. He showed the picture to Darla, Leon, and Evelyn.

“Have you seen her?”

“I don't think so. Lots of white people have been trying to stop the destruction on Black Mesa, but only a few come and talk to our people about what
we
want,” said Leon.

“I expect that Penelope did. That's the way she was. I can't help but think that somehow maybe . . . I don't know, that my wife would have wanted me to find your daughter.” Silas drew a breath. “I had a dream. The night before. In it, my wife told me to go to this place. The place called Sleepy Hollow. It's where I was when the flood came. It goes into Courthouse Wash, in Arches Park. It's where I found your daughter.” The stillness that followed was interrupted as the wind rattled the metal trailer.

Outside a dog barked. Leon sipped his coffee, drew a long breath and exhaled quietly. “You will keep looking for your answers. My little girl, she has some of the trickster in her, some of the coyote. Maybe your wife does too. One or the other of these women has been tricking you, Mr. Pearson,” said Leon. “When a person dies, they do not go to heaven as your people believe, but instead live on, as spirit, in the rocks and in the corn. In the sky. Sometimes they play tricks. Sometimes they get into our heads, and even our dreams. I don't know if it was our little girl who got into your head, or maybe it was your wife, your Penelope. One of them wanted you to find Kayah. Whichever ghost led you to my daughter wanted you to find her because Kayah will help you find your wife. You go and do what you have to do to learn what happened to our little girl, and that will help you find your Penelope.”

Silas sat in complete motionless silence. He felt his heart racing and his breath coming in staccato pulses. He put the cup of coffee down on a tiny end table and stood up.

“You don't have to be afraid,” said Leon, pushing himself up. “Our daughter's
soona
is soon at rest. She won't play in your head anymore.” Leon put out his hand and Silas shook it and went to the door.

“Thank you for the coffee. Again, I am very sorry about your daughter. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get a little air,” he said. He opened the door and stepped out into the desert.

Ten minutes later Darla came out onto the porch with Roger. Silas was sitting in the cab of the truck. He hadn't moved since coming out of the trailer. Roger and Darla walked over to him.

“You okay?” asked Roger. Silas said he was, and Roger continued. “You should hear this. I asked about who Kayah was friends with, if she had a boyfriend, who she was working with. The
FBI
asked the same questions, I guess. Darla just told me something that she didn't tell the feds.”

“Why not?” asked Silas.

“They didn't show any respect to my father and mother. And they didn't ask me, just my parents.”

“Darla says Kayah got a job working with Dead Horse doing archaeological surveys. Mostly for the sake of the Archaeological Resource Protection Act, in advance of some building or development.”

“About two months before she disappeared,” explained Darla, “Kayah came home for a long weekend. We stayed up one night talking, you know, the way sisters do. She told me about a man she worked with, about how they were . . .”

“Involved?” asked Silas.

“Yes, involved.”

“Who was it?” asked Silas.

“A man named Peter Anton.”

“Yeah, Anton was a hired digger for Dead Horse Consulting. I've heard his name around,” said Silas. “Anton must have been forty years older than her.”

“
And
he was married,” Roger added. “He was also a professor at
NAU
.”

“It's bad for the Hopi to do this,” continued Darla. “The katchina don't like this sort of behavior.”

“When she went missing, was this known to the
FBI
?”

“I don't know. I didn't speak with them. Just my mother and father, and they didn't know about this Peter man. It would have been very bad for them to know. Maybe I should have said something, but I was embarrassed . . . If Kayah showed up, well, it would have been very bad for her if people knew about this. If she was dead . . . Well, what good would it have done?”

“Where is Anton now?” asked Silas.

“I don't know,” said Darla. “I've never met him.”

Silas looked at Roger.

“I don't know either. He left
NAU
around the same time that Kayah disappeared. He got a gig overseas, in Saudi Arabia. I don't even know if he's back in the country. What are you going to do?” asked Roger.

“Find Peter Anton,” said Silas.

THE SIX-HOUR DRIVE BACK FROM
Third Mesa gave Silas a lot of time to consider what he'd learned from his visit to the Wisechild family. The evening sky was shot through with lightning. Thunderheads hung over the tableland of the Colorado Plateau like so many anvils, threatening to crash to earth. Near Kayenta the heavens opened up and Silas, back in his car after returning to Roger's trailer, parked on the side of the road while rain fell to earth as a single wave of water. Ten minutes later the storm had passed and moved on across the desert.

The most troubling thing he had learned was that Kayah Wisechild may have been romantically involved with Peter Anton. Did the
FBI
miss this when they were investigating Wisechild's disappearance two years ago? Had they missed it again, now that the case was officially a murder investigation?

There was the business of witchcraft Leon Wisechild mentioned. It was always present among the Hopi and their neighbors, the Navajo. Silas was too pragmatic to believe that a witch had led him to the body in Courthouse Wash, but he was hard-pressed to explain how a nighttime vision of his wife was all that different. Try as he might, he couldn't shake the words that the elder Wisechild had imparted to him: “
Follow her
.” The words of a desperate father hoping someone—anyone—would find the person who killed his daughter? Or was there something more to his plea to Silas?