“Same whites that killed Duncan. Buck Wentworth and Jimmie Delaney. They come up here looking to get a piece of Duncan and me ’cause we ripped off some tools.” Eddie spoke so quietly Father John had to lean forward to catch the words.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You and Grover both came to the res to hide out?”
“No, that ain’t it, Father.” The Indian was shaking his head. “Grover come first. We had a deal, me and him. I was the one took the risk getting the tools off the construction site. Wasn’t easy, let me tell you. There was Wentworth—he’s the meanest sonovabitch I ever seen—always watching. Wears those fancy sport coats. Always got on sunglasses. Then there was Delaney, taking orders, doing whatever the boss says. Crazy, both of ’em. And the big boss in Denver that’s giving them orders, he’s craziest of all. I seen Wentworth beat up a guy at the site after word come down from the big boss. Delaney helpin’ out. Beat the guy with a bat till there was blood coming out of his ears ’cause they found a diamond in his boots.” The man seemed to be looking at an invisible image.
“Wait a minute,” Father John said. “The construction site was a diamond mine?” This was the second time somebody had mentioned diamonds in the last twenty-four hours. Vicky, last night. Now Eddie. Before that—he couldn’t remember the last time. Diamonds belonged to a world he no longer inhabited, a world as alien and irrelevant as the possible life-forms in outer space.
An exasperated look came into the Indian’s face. “We was dismantling a couple buildings at the mine.” He glanced away. “We weren’t fool enough to try making off with diamonds. Just tools laying around. Grover knew how to sell ’em for some beautiful cash. Trouble was . . .” He stopped and cleared his throat. There was the ragged sound of phlegm being rearranged.
“The bastard never give me my share.”
“That’s what the fight was about at the Indian Center?”
The Indian nodded. “I tell him, where’s my money, man? He was drunk, and he got wild when he was drunk. Tore into me. Some guys had to pull him off, but I says, this ain’t over, Grover, you can bet your sorry ass on it.”
Father John was quiet a moment. “So you called the police?”
A look of astonishment flashed in the Indian’s face. “I ain’t having nothing to do with the police. Just an anonymous phone call to Wentworth. I figured him and Delaney was gonna hurt Grover a lot more than me. I never figured Wentworth was good for callin’ in the police.”
He gave a little shrug of resignation—you could never figure everything—and went on. “Grover takes off with what he owes me. But I knew his girlfriend moved up to the res, so I figured I’d find him here. Seen her first at the convenience store. Then Grover showed up. Before I could settle with him, he disappears again. Then I seen the newspaper about him killing himself.” He shook his head and glanced about the office. “What a load of shit!”
“You don’t believe it?” Father John said after a moment.
“Wentworth and Delaney got him, Father.” The voice was low again, almost confessional. “Threw him off the cliff.”
“What makes you so sure?”
The Indian’s eyes widened in astonishment. “ ’Cause I seen Wentworth’s white SUV in Lander last week. I was comin’ out of the motel when it went by. Man, I ducked back inside fast and waited. I figured they paid Grover back for taking the equipment, now they was hanging around lookin’ for me. They’re still here, Father. I seen ’em yesterday.” He shot a furtive glance toward the corridor, as if the spirits of the two men might be hovering there.
“Look, Eddie.” Father John leaned over the desk. “You have to tell Detective Slinger.” Father John knew what the man would say even before he said it. No way. He wasn’t going to the police. He’d heard it a hundred times in counseling sessions, in the confessional.
The Indian was shaking his head. “That detective’ll find out about the fight down in Denver and think I’m the one that went up to Bear Lake and pushed Grover off the cliff. Then he’s gonna check around and find out I got a couple warrants out in Colorado, and some judge’s gonna put me in jail and lose the key.”
A new earnestness furrowed the man’s wide forehead. “Soon’s I seen the article this morning, I says to myself, the priest knows what happened to Grover. Wasn’t no suicide. It was murder. You tell the detective what I said, Father. He’s gonna believe you.”