They threaded their way past empty graves to the tent. In the lantern light, Pilot could see Bevel Harkness and Dummyweed talking to the young man who had come in to report the computer damage.
“It’s just that Indian curse I was a-telling you ’bout,” Harkness was saying in sepulchral tones. “They went and got him for sacrilege.”
“Harkness, that’s not how we expect officers to talk while investigating a homicide,” growled Pilot Barnes. He did not like Harkness at the best of times, and his opinion had scarcely altered with what he had just heard. He turned to the other of his least favorite people. “Coltsfoot, that note you left me wasn’t exactly a wealth of information.”
He took the criticism philosophically. “It was hard to know what to say. I was pretty reamed out myself by the news, you know?”
“Just remember to tell
Milo, to whom the question was addressed, opened the tent flap and ushered the deputy in. Pilot Barnes took in the scene with considerably less emotion than that displayed by Coltsfoot. He stared at the body for several minutes without speaking.
“What are you going to do now?” asked Milo softly.
“Usual procedure,” said Pilot, still staring at the body. “Photographs, site investigation. Dr. Putnam out there is the coroner, and he’ll do an examination in situ. We’ll secure the area until sunup; ought to be able to tell more then.”
Milo hesitated. “Well, that’s what I wanted to ask about, really. Who are you planning to leave guarding the scene?”
Sensing that there might be a logical reason for the question, Pilot replied: “Bevel Harkness, I reckon. We’re shorthanded.”
“Uh… I don’t mean to tell you your job, but I don’t think that’s a very good idea, since this is a murder.”
“Oh? And why not?”
In a low voice, Milo told him about Harkness’s appearance at the Cullowhees’ meeting, and about his warnings of “Indian curses” should the project continue. “I don’t think he’d be the most objective of investigators, Mr. Barnes,” Milo concluded.
Pilot Barnes nodded. He wouldn’t have to wait for Duncan’s okay on this one; they were of the same mind about Harkness. “I take your meaning,” he said to Milo. He went back outside, motioning for Dr. Putnam to take over.
“McKenna, how’s your work coming?”
The deputy looked up from his camera. “As well as could be expected,” he said. “We’ll know more in the morning.”
“All right. McKenna, I want you to finish up here, and get these pictures developed, and relieve Harvey Jeffers at the office. He’s sitting in for us right now. Coltsfoot, you’re going to start earning your keep as a deputy of this county. I’m putting you on guard duty here to secure the area-
“What about me?” Harkness demanded.
“I hear you have some opinions about this strip-mining business.”
“Damn right I do. I don’t want this land to be roped off by the federal government like some kind of a people zoo, so-”
“Well, be that as it may, in a murder investigation it’s a conflict of interest, and I’m taking you off the case. You can continue your regular patrols in the valley until further notice, but you are to have nothing to do with this homicide investigation. You got that?”
“I got it, all right,” muttered Harkness, turning to go.
“You want me to stay here all night?” gasped Coltsfoot. “Is
“No. After McKenna takes his photos, we’ll take him on back to town for the autopsy,” said Pilot.
“Well, what about all those skulls in there?”
“They stay here,” said Milo promptly. “They have no bearing on the case, and we need them to continue the project.”
“Oh, you’re going on with it, are you?” asked Pilot Barnes.
“Oh, yes,” said Milo softly. “I’m going on with it.”
“Well, are any of those people planning to leave the area? I need to get statements from everybody, but it can be left till the morning if they’ll all be around.”
“Well… there’s two of them I’m not sure about. Dr. Lerche’s wife… widow.”
“Oh, Lord! The widow is here?”
“Arrived tonight. I expect she will go back to the university to make arrangements for the funeral and so forth. She may want to speak to you now, so that she can leave in the morning.”
“Who’s the other one?”
Milo hesitated. “Dr. Lerche’s graduate assistant, Mary Clare Gitlin. She was supposed to go off and do research, I think. I haven’t had much time to talk to the group tonight.”
“Come on, I’ll walk back to the church with you,” Barnes offered. “You look like you’re on your last legs. Just let me tell the doc to meet us there when he’s through.”
Milo wished he had brought a jacket. Mountain nights were chilly, even in late summer. He was glad of the cold, though, because it kept him awake despite his tiredness. He hoped that the numbness of fatigue, which was hitting his legs and his shoulders, would seep into his brain sooner or later and allow him to sleep. He didn’t want to face what was left of the night staring into the darkness seeing Alex facedown among the Indian skulls.
“I reckon I ought to get preliminary statements from everybody tonight,” Pilot Barnes remarked. “While it’s still fresh in their minds.”
Milo shrugged. “Why not? I doubt if they’ll be asleep yet.”
“Why don’t we start with you, to pass the time while we’re walking? You found the body, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I had just come back from Laurel Cove, from setting up the new monitor in the motel room. Mrs. Lerche had just arrived, and she asked me to take her up to the site, where Alex was working. Apparently he wanted to see me about something, too.”
“Oh? What about?” Pilot’s voice had lost its casual tone.
“I don’t know; he was dead when I got there. I don’t think it had any bearing on this, though. It was probably something about the project. A measurement he wanted taken, or some data looked up.”
Pilot shrugged. That seemed logical to him, too. “Why would somebody have wanted to kill this fellow?” he asked.
“I don’t think it was personal,” said Milo. “I think somebody wanted the strip-mining company to get the land, and that they killed Alex because he might have proved the Indians’ claim, which would give them the land.”
“Somebody who favored the strip miners,” mused Pilot. “Such as Bevel Harkness?”
“He’s on the top of my list,” said Milo.
Pilot Barnes looked around the Sunday school room at the sleeping bags and cooking utensils. His eyes came to rest on Victor, snoring peacefully against the wall.
“Is there someplace private I can go to talk to folks?” he asked in a pained voice.
“How about the sanctuary?” asked Jake.
Pilot thought this over for a few moments, without being able to come up with a better idea. “Well,” he said at last, “it might encourage them to tell me the truth.”
Pilot thought it looked like an ordinary little country church-seating capacity maybe seventy-five, too poor for stained glass, upright piano, and varnished pine pulpit in front of homemade velvet curtains, which concealed nothing but a whitewashed wall. No holy of holies here. He’d wondered if the Cullowhees were footwashers or snake handlers, but seeing the sanctuary he reckoned not.
He ushered Mrs. Lerche gently to the front pew and pulled up the piano bench for himself. “Now, ma’am, I know it’s awful to be put through this in your time of sorrow, but you must understand that I have to do it.”
Tessa nodded. “I won’t be much help,” she said in a voice of quiet composure. “I just got here, and I’m afraid I
