No one left, p.9
No One Left, page 9
“Really?” Tony did his best surprised face, which he knew was pretty good but maybe not good enough depending on what kind of cop this one was. Without waiting for an answer, he asked the woman, “What’s your name?”
“Kay. Kay Benally. My sister was married to George.”
“Huh. Didn’t know George had a wife.”
“He doesn’t. Not anymore,” Kay said. “She’s dead.”
“Oh. Well, um. I’m sorry. That’s a real bummer.” He could tell by Kay’s face that “bummer” was probably not the right word.
“He kill her, too? Along with those other two?”
Kay’s eyes grew fierce. It kinda turned him on.
“No. Someone else killed Linda,” she said. “And we aren’t sure George killed those two people. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. But he did steal my nephew.”
“Stole his own kid?” Tony asked. “That isn’t a thing.”
Kay rolled her eyes and then said, “We . . . uh . . . met your mother.”
“That couldn’t have been fun,” Tony said.
Finally, a smile. “She wasn’t the most pleasant.”
“So, can I assume you don’t spend much time with her?” the cop asked.
“I’ve got a kid,” Tony said. He crossed his arms. Tucked his hands under his armpits. “I don’t want him anywhere near her.”
“Understandable,” the cop said. “You work at the mechanic shop.” It wasn’t a question, but Tony nodded anyway. “Does George know that?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” Tony said.
“Any cars go missing there recently?”
“Nope.” Technically, that car had been abandoned months before.
“All right, son,” the cop said. “I’m going to give you two phone numbers. One is the hotel we’re staying at. We’ll be there for a bit longer. The other is the number to the station here in Kayenta. If you think of anything important, if you get any surprise visits, you give me a call.”
He handed Tony a piece of paper. Tony read it, stuffed it in his pocket, then grinned at the cop.
“You got it, Officer.”
“Lieutenant,” the woman, Kay, said. “He’s a lieutenant.”
“Right. Well, good for him. It was nice to meet you both.”
Tony stared at them. The woman first, then the cop, waiting for them to leave.
As he watched their car finally pull away, Tony had an idea. A guess where George might have gone. Maybe, after the birthday party, he would go and see.
24
JAMES
James closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He had spent the last four hours reading through Cathy Winters’s shoeboxes.
He tapped his pen on the desk. Stared at the name he had circled. The day before, when he and Molly arrived back at the reservation, James had made some calls. To the Winters’ family members, colleagues, neighbors. Not all of them were available to chat on a Monday afternoon, but those who were had nothing particularly enlightening to say about the couple. A neighbor called them a “charming family.” Bartholomew’s sister said they’d been happy. A fellow judge called Bartholomew a workaholic. But Cathy would often visit him during those long hours, bringing him dinner, coffee. He would hear the two of them laughing together. Bart, the judge said, was a warm man. Firm in his beliefs. He echoed much of what Isaiah had said: Bart had made enemies among those with conflicting goals and motivations. Some of the decision-makers in child services. Adoption agencies.
Upon picking up Cathy’s boxes that morning, James had found financial statements of people and companies that meant nothing to him. Names he’d have to run by Barbara. He did recognize one of them, though: the attorney general of New Mexico. At the bottom of the first box was a photocopied letter to him from Cathy. Best not to tell Bart quite yet, it read. Let’s keep it between the two of us. She had clearly been hard at work, and her husband had no idea.
She was sending these financial statements to the AG. This one guy whose name James had circled, this Donald Andrews, had a lot of accounts. Owned a few companies. They were typed in blocky abbreviations: FF AD AGENCY, COG HOME, and NMCA.
SNAFU, James thought. Situation normal: all fucked up.
Barbara’s Shiprock office was at the end of a street lined with government buildings. The BIA, Veterans Affairs, engineering and construction, Indian Health Services. And at the end, the Shiprock Chapter of the Navajo Nation. The trees lining the parking lot had started to lose their leaves. James stepped on a few as he crossed the lot.
The building was unique. All one story, rectangular at one end, round at the other. Lots of windows, and below them, purple stripes painted horizontally around the whole structure.
It was a thirty-minute drive from Barbara and Wayne’s house to Shiprock, with not one town along the way. Just desert. James’s eyes always needed a minute to adjust to the sight of buildings again. The man-made structures looked unnatural when they reappeared.
James walked in to an empty front desk. Helen, the secretary, must have been out for lunch. A sign behind her desk announced, It’s a New Day. Another, sitting on her desk, said, Ring Bell for Help.
James didn’t ring the bell. Instead, he walked straight down the hall to Barbara’s office. The door was just a few inches ajar, and he knocked lightly.
“Come in,” Barbara said, even though she had no idea who it was. That was the kind of councilwoman she was.
She looked up from her work, pen poised midair. She said, “So. Did my list help?”
James sat down. Ran his fingers through his hair and let out a deep breath. “What’s your hourly rate?”
She chuckled. “You can’t afford me.”
“Well then, the Shiprock Police Department thanks you for your generosity with your time, because I’m gonna need some of it. What do you know about Donald Andrews? He wasn’t on your list.”
Barbara’s eyebrows went up. “I can’t say I know of a Donald Andrews. Why?”
“Cathy Winters. The judge’s wife who was murdered. She was investigating Donald Andrews’s finances. Sending her findings to the AG.”
“Did she find dirt on him?”
“Looks that way to me. Problem is, it’s all hidden in different accounts and businesses.”
“What’re the businesses?”
“FF AD AGENCY, COG HOME, and NMCA.”
“So, some sort of advertising agency?”
“Possibly. But I’m wondering if it’s an adoption agency. Molly and I happened to follow a woman straight to a Forever Families Adoption Agency, which would fit.”
“Children of God,” Barbara said, snapping her fingers. “Children of God Home. They’re the largest home for orphaned children in the state.”
“Well, shit. Both owned by the same man? I suppose it makes sense if you’re in the business of children. How about NMCA? Ring any bells?”
Barbara shook her head. “New Mexico something, I would assume.”
“Interesting.” James put both feet on the floor and slapped his knees. “When can I get on that calendar of yours? Believe it or not, that wasn’t all. I’ve got some court cases I’d like you to take a look at.”
“Just come over for dinner tonight. Bring Molly. Bring the cases. With Wayne out of town, I’m no good at cooking only for myself, anyway.”
“You got it, ma’am.” James stood up. Gave her a two-finger wave on the way out, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. Now he had a whole shitload of work to do.
25
GEORGE
The closest payphone was miles away at the gas station, and George needed to come up with some excuse to go there. So, he told Mr. Tallsalt he had to get medicine in case Adriel got sick. Mr. Tallsalt never questioned anything George did for Adriel, and this was no exception. Tallsalt nodded once and went back to his newspaper and eggs.
At the gas station, George stared at the payphone. This might be a bad idea, he knew. But he also needed help. As long as he was wanted for murder, he wouldn’t be able to protect Adriel. Until his name was clear, it wouldn’t matter much what Tallsalt did.
He picked up the phone and dialed. Asked the operator to call Pinter P.I. James picked up on the second ring.
“Pinter P.I. This is James.”
George swallowed his doubts. “James. This is George Morris.”
The line was quiet for only a beat. “George. Nice to hear from you. Where you at?”
“I can’t tell you that. And tracing this call won’t help, either. I needed to tell you that I didn’t kill those people. I need your help. Please. I need you to find out who really did it.”
“Believe it or not, I’m workin’ on that as we speak. But I’ve got to be honest, George. It’s not lookin’ good for you. They recovered paperwork of yours right on the judge’s desk and Adriel’s stuffed lizard at the woman’s house where she was murdered.”
“What? Adriel’s stuffed lizard?”
“That’s right.”
George’s head swam. He tried to remember where he’d dropped it. He had thought it was at Janice Stone’s office, but maybe it had been at the judge’s. That whole day was a blur. A nightmare.
“It wasn’t me. It wasn’t us.”
“Were you at Cathy’s house?”
“I don’t even know Cathy.”
“The judge’s office?” James asked.
George thought of what Tallsalt had told him. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t admit to anything related to any of this.
“Yes, we were at the judge’s office. Maybe Adriel left Sunny there. I can’t remember. But the judge was alive then. We saw him. I spoke to him.”
“What about?” James asked.
“I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you anything else. I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”
“Who told you that?” James asked.
“I have to go. But, James . . . I need you to clear my name. Please.”
“More information would help, George. Where can I call you if I need to talk to you?”
“You can’t call me. I’ll call you again. Sometime soon.”
“Is Adriel safe?” James asked.
“Yes, Adriel is safe.” George hung up quickly before James could say anything else. His heart hammered in his chest. He hoped he hadn’t just made a mistake.
When George pulled back into the driveway and saw Tony’s car sitting there, he forced himself to take deep breaths. He dug his fingernails into his palms to snap himself out of it. Had Tony seen him at the gas station? If he had, how had he gotten here first?
But it didn’t really matter how Tony had found him. It would only be a matter of time now before someone else found him, too. George moved one leg and then another to get out of the car. Shut the door behind him. Tony got out of his car, too, and put his hands up in surrender.
“Brother!” Tony called and, when they were close enough, shook his hand.
“How did you find me?” George asked, quietly.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” Tony said. “Especially not them cops that came asking. Or your boy’s aunt. You didn’t tell me you were married.”
Were, George thought, grief blanketing him for a moment. He still wasn’t used to thinking of Linda in the past tense. “So, Kay told you she died.”
“Murdered, she said.” Tony crossed his arms. “But not by you.”
George’s jaw clenched. “I would never have.” He felt his breath catch. “I loved Linda.” He looked away from Tony. “I miss her.”
“I’m not going to ask if you killed those other two people. I don’t want to know. I just want to know that you and your boy are safe.” Tony craned his neck to look past George.
“Huh,” George huffed. “Well, I didn’t kill those people, and I don’t know if we’re safe. If you found me here . . .” He trailed off. Shrugged. Tried not to feel the weight of what it meant that Tony was here in front of him.
Tony uncrossed his arms. He looked down at the dirt road beneath his feet. Toed a rock. The gesture made him look younger for a moment. Maybe even embarrassed.
“You know how I’ve got a son, too? Well, when me and his mom were at our worst, she threatened me with a lot of shit. Tallsalt—” Tony jerked his head toward the house. “Everybody told me to come see him. He handled that kind of thing. Maybe he could help me keep my boy. Luckily, we made nice before it came to that.”
George was still quiet. Wondering how Tony had made the connection between someone who helped people gain custody of their children and George.
“The news said that’s why they think you did it. That there were some things you left for the judge. About being Adriel’s dad. You were the last person to see the judge alive.”
George wanted to laugh. What a poorly timed visit. Talk about some luck.
“I could help you, you know,” Tony said.
George didn’t want help from a criminal. He was in enough trouble. Maybe Tony could see it on his face, because he put his hands up again. George couldn’t remember him ever being humble like this. Acting like George was the one to be afraid of. It made him feel upside down.
“I just mean I could keep an eye out around town,” Tony went on. “Let you know if I hear about anyone looking for you. Make sure that cop gets off your ass. I want to help you keep your boy safe.”
Just then, almost as if he had been summoned, George could hear Adriel’s quick, light footsteps behind him. George hated this part. And he hated himself for hating this part. George loved Adriel with all his heart. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be doing any of this. And George knew God loved Adriel even more than he did, somehow. Other people’s judgment shouldn’t matter. Still. He couldn’t help the little bit of shame that washed over him, then. It didn’t always happen when new people met Adriel. But it often did. This feeling. This need to explain to new people about the way Adriel was. To explain that it wasn’t George’s fault. Adriel didn’t actually have any of George’s genes.
But he knew that Adriel was exactly the way God intended him to be. It was this conviction now—this conviction always—that allowed George to cast away those feelings of shame at the last minute. To stand tall next to Adriel. To say, “This is my son. He can’t speak, but he’s smart. And he can love. Boy, can he love. You’ll see.”
Tears came to George’s eyes. Why had he done it? Why had he gotten them into this mess?
26
BARBARA
Barbara knew of both organizations from all the work she had done over the years. When she went home that evening, she went back through her own files to see if she could find any mention of an NMCA. Some of the stuff she had kept was a painful reminder of a time when she had been hopeful about becoming a foster parent. After she had given up on having children of her own. She sat on her closet floor, brochures from the state of New Mexico on her lap. As she read over them, she allowed the memories and the anger that accompanied them to pass through her. She had done everything right. She and Wayne had both had steady jobs by then, steady paychecks. She had finished law school. She had been elected to the council. They had bought a new trailer with an extra bedroom.
The state had sent a woman for a home check. Barbara had been polite and welcoming and had even made the woman a fresh plate of fry bread. They sat at Barbara’s table as the woman praised the smells coming from the kitchen.
“And tell me, where is the closest hospital?” the woman had asked. “Closest elementary school?”
Barbara told her and watched the woman purse her lips and nod her head. She didn’t think much of it at the time, but Barbara remembered now, when she watched the woman leave, how the woman had looked around her, down the road. Had squinted her eyes. Had brought her hand up to her forehead as a shield from the afternoon sun.
“You don’t have neighbors,” the woman had said.
“Oh, we do,” Barbara had said, smiling. “A bike ride away.”
“A bit isolated, isn’t it?” the woman had asked.
Barbara had shrugged. “It’s home.”
She had never heard from the woman or from anyone else from the state ever again about being a foster parent. Despite the phone calls she had made and the letters she had written. That’s when Barbara had refocused her efforts on passing the Indian Child Welfare Act.
Barbara put the boxes away after finding nothing regarding NMCA. She steeled herself for the evening ahead.
Molly showed up first, before James, with a Tupperware full of cupcakes. She kissed Barbara’s cheek and strode into the house.
“What is this?” Barbara asked, accepting the cupcakes.
“Dad’s bringing the files. He’s been obnoxiously busy all day. Hasn’t even stopped long enough to give me something to do.” Molly shrugged. “So I thought I’d make dessert. Mom and I used to bake together.”
Her face fell a little, and Barbara touched her arm. Her heart ached for the girl. Such a delicate age to lose the only parent she had ever known.
Barbara had never imagined Kay Benally as a mom, but she and Molly were filling space for one another in surprising ways. It wasn’t a mother-daughter relationship. It was something else. Something special. Barbara knew that even with a missing piece, Molly could fill up on love from others. Love from Kay. From Barbara and Wayne. The Navajo had always believed—had always known—that family was just another word for people who loved you. People who cared.
“I can’t wait to try them,” Barbara said about the cupcakes.
Molly shrugged again but looked more unsure this time. “It’s been a while. I hope they’re all right.” Then, she plopped down on the armchair. Barbara left for just a moment and returned with a bag of chips. She handed them to Molly with a smile. “While we wait for your dad.”
Molly popped one in her mouth. “Thank you.” She licked the salt from her fingers. “Tell me about your day, Barb.”
Barbara sat down on the couch opposite her. “Well, your dad came to visit me. He wanted to know about Donald Andrews.”
