a lesson. When Darcy scoffed, he bristled and said, 'One of them laughed just like that. She went swimming one night and never came back.'
He had to be referring to the incident on St. Martin island when his lady companion had drowned-a chilling confirmation that there'd been something far more sinister involved than his supposed efforts to save her.
But no one had ever told Darcy about that, and she assumed that Fraker was just making it up. Pam and Hannah both knew about it, but decided not to tell Madbird because of well-grounded concern that it would push him into confronting Fraker, with predictable consequences. Instead, they worked on Darcy to convince her that Fraker might be dangerous and she'd better back off.
Then Darcy didn't show up for work this morning and Pam got scared. She contacted Hannah, who called Darcy's cell phone repeatedly. She had been answering Hannah's calls without hesitation, but now the phone just rang. Hannah finally confessed to Madbird about the threat. He drove immediately to Darcy's, jimmied the door-the deadbolt wasn't locked-and found the apartment empty, with her purse there and the cell phone in it.
The most likely guess seemed to be that Fraker had come by and talked her into going somewhere with him, maybe in a spur-of-the-moment rekindling of passion. With any luck, she was safe in a motel room and she'd turn up before long.
But there was also concern that he'd lured her out on some pretext-say, called her to come sit in his truck and talk to him-and then taken off with her against her will. It was hard to believe he was crazy or stupid enough to harm her, but then again, he was an ugly drunk.
Gary Varna came stalking over to us, looking as grim as Madbird, which was easy to understand. A twelve- year-old murder case erupting out of the blue was trouble enough. Now, right on its heels, came the disappearance of a young woman, with a highly visible politician implicated.
'Fraker went to work this morning same as ever,' Gary said. 'Claims he doesn't know anything about this, but he agreed to talk to us. I'm heading back downtown.'
Of course Fraker would deny it and act like all was normal, while he came up with a cover story.
Gary wanted Madbird on hand to consult with. My own presence wasn't required; the police might interview me at some point, but I was far down the priority list. Still, I decided to go along and keep Madbird company. I knew that beneath his stoicism he was bristling with tension.
I went out to my truck, climbed in, and started it up. My windshield was misted from a new weather system that was bringing back wintry gloom. The temperature had dropped a good fifteen degrees since the recent couple of balmy days, and heavy wet clouds threatened rain or even snow. I turned the defrost to high; the old fan whirred and screeched-another of the endless repairs that I hadn't found time to get around to-and I had to click it on and off a couple of times to settle it down.
My thoughts were still with Madbird, and maybe it was that clicking sound that caused a sudden connection in my mind between him and something I'd forgotten but that had been hovering in my subconscious.
Right now Madbird was staying on the fringes of the buzzing activity, stony-faced, appearing detached. But that was far from the case; I'd come to recognize the same quality in a lot of Native Americans. They might seem to be absorbed in work, talk, drinking or playing pool in a bar, but behind that screen, they were intensely observant and aware of everything that was going on around them. Above all, they were watching people, gauging what was likely to happen in the immediate situation and whether somebody new would turn out in the long term to be a friend, enemy, or other.
The connection went back two days, to when Renee and I were about to leave for Missoula and we'd stopped by Evvie Jessup's realty office. I'd noticed her husband Lon in the background, where he usually seemed to stay. I'd put that down to the social awkwardness of a bluff, outdoorsy man dealing with people he didn't know.
But now, I was struck by the same sense I'd just gotten from Madbird-that Lon Jessup, behind his outward shyness and tinted glasses, was carefully taking account of everything going on around him.
Indians possessed that kind of wariness for good reason, but I'd rarely if ever seen it in the kind of man that Jessup appeared to be. Was it innate to him? The result of a harsh upbringing?
Or did it stem from circumstances that had come about later in his life-that had created a need for constant vigilance?
I realized I knew hardly anything about Lon-nothing at all about his past except Renee's mention that he'd been friends with Astrid and Professor Callister. It was a safe bet that he'd been inside the Professor's study and knew its layout. While Madbird and I were working there, he had dropped by and unobtrusively checked it out. He'd seen Renee wearing Astrid's earring at the Professor's funeral-and then hadn't come to the reception afterward, an abrupt and surprising derailment of what he and Evvie had obviously intended. And if the SUV driver had, in fact, been watching Renee, Lon was one of the few people who knew that she had come back to Helena within the past couple of days.
I felt my skin prickle lightly, the kind of sensation that old-timers used to say came from somebody stepping on your grave.
51
Instead of heading downtown to the courthouse, I drove to Evvie Jessup's real estate office. Madbird and Gary wouldn't miss me for a while, if at all, and hanging around worrying about Darcy wasn't going to help her.
I pulled my truck into a parking lot across the busy strip of Eleventh Avenue, staying screened by other vehicles, and found a spot where I could see into the office plate glass windows without being noticed by anyone inside there. I didn't have a real plan-I just wanted another look at Lon Jessup, to watch him while I thought things over.
But Evvie was alone in the front room, sitting at her desk, talking on the phone, doing business or maybe gathering the gossip she was notorious for.
Another connection took place in my head. Through her, Lon had a direct pipeline into a lot of behind-the- scenes information in this town-maybe including police activity.
I'd never heard any mention of Lon as a suspect, including from Renee. I didn't know if he'd been looked at and vetted, or simply never considered. But I hadn't gone straight to Gary to ask because I didn't want to be the boy who cried wolf, especially when he was so busy with other concerns, and more especially when those were vital to Madbird. This notion of mine was nothing but a fancy, and probably a wildly unfounded one-I couldn't even call it speculation.
There was another reason I kept it to myself. The last time I'd been in a really serious situation I was overwhelmed, without a clue, scared shitless. Madbird had informed me solemnly that I'd stepped into a different world-one that had been there all along, coexisting and intertwining with the one I knew, but that I'd been oblivious to. Without his guidance I'd have been lost there for good, and very possibly would have died.
That hadn't turned around one hundred and eighty degrees by any means, but I no longer felt helpless. I'd become aware of an edge to it, an intensity, that brought me to life in an electric way. I couldn't truthfully say I enjoyed that like Madbird did, but it sure the hell was exciting.
Now I wanted to push it some-and this time I was the one hunting instead of the one on the run.
Over several minutes of watching Evvie's office, I didn't seen any sign of Lon. He might have been in the back, but I decided to move on and take a look at their home.
I remembered Renee describing the place as being off old Highway 282 near Montana City, a few miles south. Much of that area was former ranch land that had been carved up and developed fairly recently, and there was a maze of spur roads looping in and out.
But I didn't have to cruise long to find the Jesssups' mailbox; it was right on the highway, although they didn't sacrifice any privacy on that count. The property was pristine, meadowland in front that merged into timber, at least a couple dozen acres and maybe more. Their house was set so far back in the trees I could only see flashes of its blue sheet metal roof.
I wasn't about to go driving in there and risk Lon spotting me, but half a mile farther along, a gravel road turned off that side of the highway and led several miles into National Forest land. I'd driven it when I was a teenager, along with pretty much every other back road in this part of the state; I didn't remember it well, but it had to roughly skirt the Jessups' property.
