The Thunder Keeper(52)

“You have two choices, Eddie,” Father John said after a moment. “You can go with me to see Slinger, or you can keep running from Wentworth and Delaney.”

The Indian regarded him. “I got another choice. You loan me some gas money, and I’m outta here. Soon’s I get back to Santa Clara, I’m gonna be just fine. I’ll pay you back,” he hurried on. “I ain’t like Grover, keeping what don’t belong to me.”

“You said you took the tools.”

“Yeah, but . . .” He bit his lower lip. “Who cares? They got lots of money. They run a diamond company.”

Father John got slowly to his feet, his gaze locked on the Indian. Vicky had said that the man killed in Denver had worked for a diamond mining company. The name? What was the name? Baider Industries.

“What about it, Father?” The Indian’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“What’s the name of the mining company?” he said.

The Indian shrugged. “Kimberly Mining. Can you let me have a couple hundred bucks?”

“Who owns it?”

“How do I know?”

“Where is it, Eddie?” Father John pushed on.

“What difference does it make?” There was a barely controlled exasperation in the man’s voice. “On the Colorado–Wyoming border. Real big operation until last month when it played out and closed down.” He shrugged. “That’s why we was dismantling the buildings.”

“Tell me something, Eddie. Is there any chance Wentworth and Delaney came here to look for a diamond deposit?”

The Indian jumped to his feet. “You don’t get it, Father. They was out for revenge, ’cause we made ’em look real stupid, lifting the tools out from under their long white noses. They killed Grover, now I’m numero uno on the murder list. You gotta help me get outta here, Father.”

“Here’s the deal.” Father John walked around and faced the man. “You go with me to see Detective Slinger, and I’ll give you the gas money.” He had a twenty-dollar bill and a couple of coins in his pocket. He had no idea where he’d get the rest of it.

The Indian didn’t blink. “You’re as tough as those other white guys,” he said, turning toward the door.

“Wait,” Father John said.

The Indian glanced around, a wary look creeping into his expression.

“Where are you staying?”

“Thunderbird,” the man said finally.

Father John could picture the place—a remnant from the fifties, seedy and run down.

“Where all the rich folks stay.” Eddie hunched his thin shoulders and ducked past the door. There was the sound of the front door opening. “Thanks for nothing,” the high-pitched voice called before the door slammed shut.

Father John sat back down and, rustling through a pile of papers, pulled a yellow pad free. He found a pencil and wrote Kimberly Mining Company on one side of the page. Beneath that, a list of names: Eddie Ortiz,Wentworth, Delaney, and Grover. He underlined Grover. Next to the name, he put murdered.

He started another column, with Baider Industries at the top, then: Vince Lewis, wife. Two more slashes and murdered after each name. He drew a line connecting the two lists and wrote: diamonds.

He stared at the scribbled words and tried to recall what Vicky had said about Vince Lewis: the man had wanted to give her some information about the reservation. A new idea began moving like a shadow at the edge of his mind. Maybe Wentworth and Delaney weren’t looking for a couple of small-time thieves like Grover and Ortiz. Maybe they’d come to look for diamonds at Bear Lake, and Grover had spotted them and figured out what they were doing. Or maybe they thought Grover knew about the diamonds and had followed them intent on finding out what they were up to.

He pitched himself to his feet and went to the window. The mountains rose jagged and blue in the orange-tinged dusk. Northwest of the res, where the mountains dropped into a gully that allowed the sky to flow through, was Bear Lake. There was only one thing wrong with this new idea. Vicky said the diamonds were on the reservation. Bear Lake was a good forty miles away.

There was another problem: he had no proof that the two companies were connected. There could be a number of diamond mining companies in Denver.

He went back to the desk and started to pick up the phone, then hesitated. Last night Vicky had called him. He’d resolved not to call her. It was a resolve he wanted to keep. And yet . . . There’s gonna be more murders. The words in the confessional hammered in his head.

He lifted the phone and dialed her number. When the answering machine came on, he left a short message. Could she find out if there was any connection between Baider Industries and the Kimberly Mining Company and get back to him?