The Thunder Keeper(27)
“Diamonds?” The amusement had changed into surprise. “That would have made the headlines.”
“This is still the Old West,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Prospectors still jump claims the way they used to jump the old gold and silver claims. Nathan Baider knows how the game is played. If his people located a new deposit, he’d keep it secret until he was ready to file a claim.”
Steve pulled his mouth into a tight line of disapproval. A second passed. “You want me to buy a theory that Vince Lewis was killed because he was about to blow the whistle?”
“It makes sense.” She struggled to ignore the questions in his eyes and hurried on before the theory she’d been constructing collapsed. “Baider could be waiting for a ruling on a very important case that’s in the federal courts, Navajo Nation v. Lexcon.” She explained the district court ruling. How the tribes didn’t necessarily own the methane gas on their lands. How the ruling was a wedge other companies could use to claim that tribes might not have total control of other natural resources on reservations. How Baider could claim the Arapahos and Shoshones on the Wind River Reservation didn’t control any diamond deposits. She told him she was working on the appeal. The Navajos had to appeal. “Baider could be waiting to file a claim, hoping he won’t have to pay royalties.”
“If what you say is true”—the detective was shaking his head—“Lewis would come in for a share of the profits. Why blow the whistle?”
Vicky sat back against the booth. She didn’t have the answer. She could feel the theory starting to crumble, as if the ground were giving way beneath her feet.
“Look,” he said in a conciliatory tone, “you could be right. Maybe it was homicide. We won’t know until we find the driver.”
“What about the license?”
“Lifted from a Chevy van at the airport,” he said. “Oldest trick in the book, Vicky. Some guy wants to cover his tracks, so he cruises the outlying lots. Security’s not as close. Anybody knows his business can lift a pair of plates in about two minutes. Salesman got back from Florida and didn’t know he was driving without plates until the state patrol pulled him over on I-70. You’d be surprised how many people drive out of lots without checking to see if they still have plates.”
Vicky felt a little surge of excitement. “So, whoever killed Lewis went to a lot of trouble to make the car untraceable,” she said. “Someone at Baider could have arranged for a killer to run Lewis down before our meeting. That explains why the Camry came out of nowhere. The killer was waiting somewhere down the block.”
“Whoa, hold on there.” Steve set his own cup down. Brown liquid sloshed into the saucer. “You’re like an eighteen-wheeler runaway coming off the mountain. First rule in an investigation, don’t get married to one theory. The guy driving the Camry could’ve lifted the plates for some other reason. A burglary, or a drug deal. His mind’s on the big deal coming down when he jumps the curb and hits a pedestrian who happens to be Vince Lewis.”
“You believe that?” Vicky made no effort to stifle the astonishment in her voice.
“Until we find the driver”—he held her gaze—“anything’s possible. We’re running a check on recent arrests and complaints. We’ll see if a black Camry figures in any other reported crimes. And we’re following some other leads.” He tapped his fingers on the table, as if he was trying to make up his mind how much to divulge. “Turns out Lewis’s wife, Jana, served him with divorce papers three days before he was killed,” he said finally. “Alleged infidelity. Could be Lewis was looking for a good divorce lawyer when he called you.”
She didn’t believe it. A man like Lewis could hire the best divorce lawyer on Seventeenth Street. When she didn’t say anything, the detective went on: “The widow gave us the names of a couple of Lewis’s girlfriends. We interviewed them. Seemed pretty broken up by the guy’s death, but you never know. One could have wanted to settle an old score.”
He lifted his cup and took a long sip, regarding her over the rim for a long moment. Then he set the cup down. “Turns out the grieving widow is due to collect on a big insurance policy. Three mil. Could be she wanted to make sure Lewis didn’t have time to change the beneficiary.”
Vicky glanced around the restaurant—waiters hovering over tables, diners getting to their feet. Her theory could still be right. Lewis had called her, an Arapaho attorney. She brought her gaze back. “I heard Roz Baider was taking over the company. How did that affect Lewis?”