A guffaw burst through the line. “You gotta be kidding! The Creator put all the diamond deposits down on the Wyoming–Colorado border.”
Vicky was quiet a moment, collecting her thoughts. “Is it possible prospectors have been looking for diamonds without the tribe’s knowledge?”
There was a long, considered pause. Then: “The res is a big place, Vicky. Lots of remote areas where nobody’s around.”
She felt a prick of excitement. “So it’s possible. Someone could have found a diamond deposit.”
“Anything’s possible, but you ask me, no prospectors are going to waste time and money looking for diamonds where they’ve never been found.”
Vicky pushed on: “Has any one from Baider Industries contacted you?”
“The diamond mining company?” A note of impatience sounded in the man’s voice. “What’s this all about, anyway?”
She told him how Vince Lewis, the man in charge of locating new diamond deposits for the company, had contacted her. On the way to meet her he’d been killed. Murdered, she said.
“Never heard of him.” Papers crackled at the other end. “Listen, Vicky,” the director went on, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to pursue this. Word gets out that somebody thinks there’s diamonds here, it’ll be like the gold rush. Hordes of people tramping around the res with shovels and Geiger counters. There aren’t any deposits in this part of the state. Talk to Charlie Ferguson in Laramie. He’ll tell you the same thing.”
“Who?”
“Geology professor at the university. Knows every rock and mineral in the West. Any possibility of diamonds in the geological formations on the res, Ferguson would know about it. Hold on.” The line went dead for a couple seconds. Then the director’s voice again: “Here’s his number.”
Vicky scribbled down the number, thanked the director, and hung up. She stared at the phone. Either Adam Elkman didn’t know about any deposits, or he was lying, maybe taking a kickback himself from Baider Industries to keep a deposit secret. She didn’t think so. Elkman had been the natural resources director for three years; the people trusted him. And he’d sounded genuinely surprised when she’d mentioned diamonds.
And yet. . . There were miles of open plains on the reservation where men and trucks could dissolve like flecks of dust in the atmosphere. A small crew could prospect for diamonds without anyone knowing, except the owner of Baider Industries. And Vince Lewis, who died before he could blow the whistle.
If there were diamonds on the reservation. She was chasing a phantom. She had no proof of the existence of diamond deposits within two hundred miles of the reservation.
She picked up the phone again and dialed the number Elkman had given her. After a woman answered—“Geology department”—she was connected to an answering machine. “This is Professor Ferguson. Please leave a message.” She told him who she was, asked if she could see him tomorrow, and left her number.
From the corridor came the sounds of a printer whirring, the subdued voices of people passing by. A phone rang in a nearby office. The intense busyness of Howard and Fergus.
She stared at her own phone, wondering again what Vince Lewis’s wife might know about his work. Vicky could still see the auburn-haired woman weaving down the brightly lit corridor toward her dying husband. A little chill ran through her. If Jana Lewis had any idea of why her husband had been killed, her life could also be in danger.
Vicky pressed the intercom button and asked Laola to get the address for Vince Lewis’s wife.
Within a couple minutes Laola was in her office again, flapping some sheets of paper. “Phone book lists V and J Lewis on Vine Street.” She laid one sheet on the desk. “And the answering service took a message yesterday from Father John.” The second sheet dropped on the first. “He’s looking for a Pueblo Indian named Eddie. Hangs around the Indian Center. Thinks the Indian might know something about the suicide at Bear Lake.”
Vicky took the second sheet and scanned the message. Please call me. She hadn’t talked to John O’Malley since she’d moved back to Denver. There had been no legitimate reason, no excuse, to call him. Now the suicide at Bear Lake. And John O’Malley, looking for the truth about what had happened there. He understood. No warrior would kill himself in a sacred place, on a vision quest. She felt a stab of guilt that she wasn’t there to help.
“You heard about the lawsuit?” Laola said.
“What lawsuit?” Vicky picked up the phone and started tapping out the number at St. Francis Mission.