White Ghost Ridge Page 31

  There was a pause.

  “There’s something I have to tell you, Susan,” he began. “Something you need to act on today before it hits the newspapers.”

  “Hold on, Locklear. Brodeur, get off the line!”

  Locklear heard a loud click.

  “Go on,” Walsh said.

  Locklear updated Walsh on Braff’s statements and how his testimony in court would shine a light on the army’s involvement in the transportation and sale of Iraqi artefacts. He told her that he fully expected Braff to say in court that, as his commanding officer, Walsh had known about and had possibly masterminded the murder of Private Hughes and the attempted murder of Lewis, Torres and Albert Whitefeather.

  “Locklear, you believe me when I say I had nothing to do with that, don’t you? You have my word.”

  “I believe you but Braff is going to want to point the finger at someone else. He knows it won’t get him off the hook but I suspect he’ll try to at least shorten his sentence. Your superiors are going to find it hard to believe that this happened under your watch without you knowing. You know the army are going to throw you under the bus.”

  Susan Walsh did not speak. Locklear knew the smart woman was considering her options. She came up with nothing. There were none.

  “What would you do?” she asked.

  “Start by sorting out some of the human mess. It’ll look better if you bring the situation to your superiors before Washington does. Give Whitefeather’s sister the compensation Albert was due and, if you can, get the army to retract their statement that he was insane.”

  “Then?”

  “Have the army declare Private Hughes dead. Then Torres can finally put her husband to rest. Then give Torres what she is due and have her reinstated to the army, if she still wants it.”

  “And?”

  “Then go and warn your superiors. You better hope you have time to warn them about what’s coming their way before Braff gives his testimony in court.”

  “That’s a tall order, Locklear. Sounds like a job for the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus.”

  “It’s the only chance you have of saving your career and, more importantly, doing the right thing. If the army feels its reputation is in question nationally, it might force them to do what’s right by the people who served them with honour.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Walsh said quietly.

  “Good luck, Susan,” he whispered as he hung up.

  Locklear lifted the phone to the last person he needed to speak with today.

  Lee Carter answered on the second ring.

  “Sarge!” he said merrily.

  Locklear could almost see the genial smile of his pleasant friend.

  “You back home?” Locklear asked.

  “Yes. Benson said it was OK. Is it safe to talk?”

  “Yes. Are you OK?”

  Carter stalled a little. “Yes, sir. Yes, I am.”

  “That’s good.”

  “You did it, sir, you proved me innocent.”

  “You don’t have to call me ‘sir’, Carter. You don’t work for me anymore, remember? Right – Hirsch hasn’t been tried yet but there’s enough evidence now to prove she killed Holton and that she had the help of two cops to plant evidence on you. They’ve entered a plea and admitted to planting the knife handle in your house.”

  “You believed me, sarge, when I said I didn’t do it, didn’t you?”

  Locklear blew out. “Of course I did – but next time someone you’ve fallen out with invites you to their home in the dead of night, say no, Carter!”

  Carter laughed. “I owe you, sarge. Oh, by the way, I’m not sure if I have a job now. I expect to be reinstated but I don’t know if I want it anymore, not with what was going on under my nose so ... if you’re looking for an assistant?”

  “To do what, Carter? You’re afraid of your own shadow!”

  Carter guffawed. “Well, if you ever need anyone who knows about anthropology, geology or theology, keep me in mind.”

  Locklear laughed. “Will do. Goodbye, Carter, and stay out of trouble.”

  Locklear put down the phone and noticed a missed call from Paytah Hunter. He decided he would call the young man after he got to the airport for his flight back to Richmond. He zipped up his bag and threw it into the trunk of his hire car. There was something he wanted to see before he left Pine Ridge for good. One more thing to see before he honoured his promise to Looks-Twice never to return.

  Chapter 33

  The view from the top of Pine Ridge was as stunning as Looks-Twice had described it. Locklear had driven his hired car through the deserted town and had searched for signs of the valley where Looks-Twice said the reservation once stood off Route 18 and had been the place where he had been born. There was hardly anybody on the streets and, as he slowed at the lights, he noticed the cafés and takeout joints were all deserted. As he passed Maggie’s gift store he looked into the lot but found that the woman was not there and the store appeared to be closed which Locklear found himself somewhat disappointed about. He would have liked to have got to say goodbye to the woman he had never spoken to but who had looked at him in a way that had wrenched at him. He took a sharp left onto the steep dirt road that ran directly behind her store and made a mental note to check in again on his way back onto the highway.

  The road was dry and the grit spun beneath his tyres as he tried to climb the steep hill. Twice more his wheels spun on the gritty surface. He dropped a gear and slowed but managed to make it only another half mile before he pulled into a small widening in the road. He locked the car and decided to make the rest of his journey on foot.

  The sun beat down on him as he climbed further and he panted in the morning heat. He stopped to draw his breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The sky was clear blue and in the distance he could hear the faint sound of beating drums. He climbed further and pushed his way through dense scrub until he felt he could climb no more. He searched for somewhere to sit but the trees were parched and wilting and the rocks at his feet were small and sharp. He listened and focused on the distant sound of cars revving and shook his head.

  “Guess there’s another way up here, you idiot,” he said although there was no-one there to hear him.

  He remained still as he thought about the fact that on this day, fifty-eight years ago, he was born somewhere close to where he now stood. He walked on further and noticed movement below in the valley, a gathering of people. And remembered it was the day of the Sun Dance. He squinted at the tiny figures dressed in Native clothing dancing in the burning sun. Small fires were lit upon which food was being cooked. Six men beat drums rhythmically and whooping war cries could be heard from young men standing on the perimeter. Locklear became so lost in the sight before him that he did not hear the sound of footsteps coming from behind him.

  “Brother, is it you?” a woman’s voice said.

  Locklear turned to find a woman standing on the dry path, smiling. It was the woman from the craft store, the woman who had stared so intently at him. His mouth opened but no words came out.

  “Brother?” she asked again.

  “I’m ... I’m Locklear,” was all he could think of to say.

  The woman stepped forward and stretched out her arms.

  “I always hoped I would see you again, that you would find your way back home.”

  She placed her arms about his body and pulled him to her.

  Locklear tensed but she did not seem to notice.

  “I’m Magaskawee. Maggie. I am the daughter of Wachiwi, your mother.”

  The woman smiled and Locklear could see his mother’s face in hers. He could see Wachiwi’s deep brown eyes, her soft brown skin and her thick, slightly greying hair in long braids on either side of her small face.

  “Looks-Twice … he said there was no-one looking for me.”

  “Uncle told me you were dead. That you and my mother had both passed a long time ago.”

  “She asked for you, when she was i
ll. She cried out for Magaskawee. I thought you were a place.”

  “In a way, I was. I am. She was looking for home.”

  Maggie pointed behind him, into the dense scrub.

  “Come with me.”

  Locklear followed the woman along an old path until she came to a clearing where a modern wood cabin stood alone in the wilderness. She opened the door and he followed her inside.

  “This is where the cabin you were born in once stood. I was here standing outside with Looks-Twice, waiting to hear your cry.”

  Locklear looked around the modern cabin which had one large living area to the front. Three doors stood at the back. A large wood stove sat in the centre of the simply furnished, wood-panelled room.

  “The old cabin didn’t have two bedrooms and a bathroom. It was just one room where my grandmother lived alone – but I always loved it here. My late husband rebuilt it when it fell into ruin. I couldn’t bear to see nothing in its place. It was the last place I saw my mother and you. I rent it to tourists from time to time but I always hoped that if you ever found your way home, there would be a place for you. I come up here often and sit here alone, especially during the Sun Dance ceremony. It should be a sad day but for me it always made me feel closer to you because I knew it was the day you were born and I tried to send out to you a message that I remembered you, that you and my mother were in my heart, wherever you were.”

  “So you didn’t know that Looks-Twice actually found us?”

  “When our brother was dying he drove to find you. When he returned he told us that you were both dead but I did not believe him. I knew he was protecting Chaska and me from something but, even after I felt my mother had died, I knew you were out there. I didn’t know your name so I couldn’t find you. I see now she gave you our grandmother’s name but I didn’t know the first name she gave to you.”

  “She didn’t change my name – the name the chief gave me. It is still my name.”

  Maggie’s eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. “Shadow,” she said sadly. “We will need to change that.”

  Locklear looked at his feet.

  “Come,” she said.

  She took his hand and led him along a steep path towards the centre of the valley.

  Locklear’s head swam in the heat. His throat was like sandpaper. The ground seemed to rise up towards him as he tried to move his large feet along the narrow pathway. He stopped and moved his free hand to his head.

  “I got concussed a few days ago. I’m still a little off balance.”

  “Let me help you. This is the same path our mother carried you on the day you were born.”

  “Please. I don’t want to hear it,” he said as images of his blood-soaked mother flashed again before his eyes. “Looks-Twice told me. I can’t hear it again.”

  “Did he tell you how proudly she held you up to the chief? How she stared down the eyes of the men and the women who turned their backs on her? Wachiwi walked bravely to the centre of that valley and held you up for the world to see. She was not afraid although she should have been.”

  Locklear shook his head.

  “Did he tell you that she stood her ground? Did he tell you about her strength and that she was burdened with an impossible choice?”

  “To choose between her children,” Locklear said.

  “She made the right choice. She made the only choice a mother could,” Maggie said. “We had our grandmother. We had Looks-Twice. Chaska died and I grew up. I married and had my daughter and she had two children. When my daughter and her husband died, I thought I would never be able to breathe again but I found a reason to live by caring for her children.”

  Locklear could not speak, moved by her words.

  “Come,” she said and they made their way down to where the land flattened and the valley stood before them.

  Locklear looked around at the unfamiliar faces at the gathering and found himself inching closer to his sister’s side.

  “It is alright, brother. You are among your family here.”

  Maggie led Locklear by the hand and brought him closer to the centre of the large gathering.

  Paytah, dressed in a ceremonial headdress, stood in a line of young natives, preparing for the ceremony.

  “Paytah, this is your Uncle Ohanzee,” she said to the shocked young Native.

  The young man looked different without his Grateful Dead T-shirt and jeans. His long hair was loose under the headdress and his face was painted with long red streaks across his high cheekbones. The expression on Paytah’s face told Locklear that his grandnephew did not want him to reveal their previous meeting or the trouble he had almost landed himself in through his dealings with his estranged granduncle, Looks-Twice.

  Locklear put out his hand but Paytah pulled him into a strong embrace.

  “Don’t worry, Paytah,” Locklear murmured. “I’m not here to rat you out but I do need to know this. Are your days with INTENT over?”

  Paytah smiled and nodded.

  Maggie was drawing a young woman in traditional dress towards Locklear.

  “This is Olowa. My granddaughter.”

  The girl from the shop rolled her eyes but then gave Locklear a warm hug.

  “And now my brother needs a new name,” Maggie said as she led him to the elderly chief who sat in the centre of the large gathering.

  Paytah followed and stepped close to the chief.

  “May I rename my uncle, please?” he begged the chief.

  The old man nodded and smiled patiently.

  Paytah pretended to look Locklear over as if he was trying to decide what name would suit the ‘stranger’ in front of him.

  “At first glance I would choose ‘Two-Sides’,” he teased.

  Then he looked into the clear blue sky and smiled.

  “But I think I will name you ‘Misae’.”

  “Mis-saa-eh?” Locklear repeated as the crowd laughed.

  “It means ‘white sun’ because your return has brought bright light back to my grandmother’s face but I’m also giving it to you to mean ‘white son’.”

  Locklear laughed. “I don’t think I’ll be putting that on my driving licence!”

  Maggie led Locklear to the chief and beckoned for him to kneel in front of the old man who began to hum quietly. Men began to join in the chant. Drums began to beat in rhythm from behind him. Locklear’s heart began to race as the sounds seemed somehow familiar to him. He felt tears sting in his eyes and looked up at the kindly face of the old man.

  “You are home. My white son. Your wait in the wilderness is over. Here, you will have water,” he said as a woman handed Locklear a drink. “Here, you will have food,” he said as another offered him a bowl of steaming soup. “The shadow has lifted from your heart and your mind. Peace is now yours. Peace from your ancestors. Peace from your tribe. Rise now, Misae, and join your brothers and sisters.”

  Locklear stood and turned to watch the tribesmen chant and drum faster and faster.

  Paytah grinned and began to dance as Locklear retreated from the centre of the crowd to sit and watch the proceedings with his sister by his side.

  Much later he walked with Maggie halfway to the top of the ridge.

  “I have to go back to Richmond,” he said.

  “But you’ll come back?” She pressed a key in his hand. “This is for the cabin. Whenever you want to come home, it is here waiting for you and so are we.”

  Locklear thought about the pledge he made to his dying uncle.

  “I promised Looks-Twice that I would never come back.”

  “Uncle was a damaged man. He blamed you for everything that happened to our mother but none of it was your fault. Wachiwi’s children shouldn’t have to suffer anymore for what happened so long ago. Will you come visit again? For me?”

  “I will.”

  Maggie hugged her brother one more time and watched as he climbed the rest of the hill to the top of the valley. He turned and waved to her and watched the gathering for a moment.
His chest swelled as he felt a wave of emotion wash over him. An eagle soared above him. Wachiwi, guiding him, as he knew she always did.

  As he reached his car, Locklear’s phone beeped four times. He took it from his pocket to see he had two missed calls, one hour apart, followed by two text messages. The calls and texts were all from Kowalski.

  The first text said, “Are you shitting me?” – an obvious response to Locklear’s ‘expenses claim’ and the second ‘Urgent! Get back here now’.

  Locklear pressed the button and waited until a familiar voice answered.

  “Kowalski?”

  The End

  Author’s Note

  The massacre at Wounded Knee is documented fact, but the episodes of the retaliatory attack on the wagon train and that of the expelling of mixed-blood children from the community are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as fact.

  Also published by Poolbeg Crimson

  THE PACT

  Carol Coffey

  When Richmond homicide detective Locklear is called in to investigate the attempted murder of a young Mennonite in a Virginian farming town, he is instantly drawn into a web of secrecy and lies spanning back to the American Civil War.

  Frustrated by the refusal of locals to co-operate with the investigation, Locklear realises that to find the perpetrator he must first solve a 150-year-old mystery. With his leads restricted to historical records, the Native American is running out of time to save the orphaned boy’s siblings from a similar fate. As the body count in a seeming local feud rises, Locklear is no nearer to solving the most complex case of his career.

  Flanked by his trusted colleague Jo Mendoza and local cop Carter, Locklear finds himself embroiled in a silent religious community where nothing is as it seems and everyone has something to hide.